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Angels Landing is dedicated to my Gullah
ancestors for their pride, strength,
and determination to survive.
Who is left among you that saw this house in its former glory? And how do you see it now? Does it not seem like nothing in your eyes?
—Haggai 2:3
Chapter One
Good morning, ma’am. May I help you?”
Kara returned the receptionist’s friendly smile with a bright one of her own. She’d recently celebrated her thirty-third birthday, and it was the first time she’d ever been called “ma’am”; but then she had to remind herself that she wasn’t in New York but in the South. Here it was customary to greet people with “yes, ma’am” and “sir,” rather than “missy” or “yo, my man.”
“I’m Kara Newell, and I have a ten o’clock appointment with Mr. Sullivan,” she said, introducing herself.
The receptionist’s smile was still in place when she replied, “Please have a seat, Miss Newell. Mr. Sullivan will be with you shortly.”
Kara sat down in a plush armchair in the law firm’s waiting area. The walls were covered with a wheatlike fabric and artwork depicting fox hunting scenes. She’d planned to take a break from her social worker position at a New York City agency by visiting her family in Little Rock, Arkansas. She never anticipated having to travel to Charleston, South Carolina, instead.
The certified letter from Sullivan, Webster, Matthews and Sullivan requesting her attendance at the reading of a will had come as a complete shock. When she’d spoken to Mr. David Sullivan Jr. to inform him that she didn’t know a Taylor Patton, the attorney reassured her that his client had been more than familiar with her.
Kara had called her parents to let them know she wouldn’t be coming to Little Rock as scheduled because she had to take care of some business. She didn’t tell her mother what that business was because it was still a mystery to her as to why she’d been summoned to the reading of a stranger’s will. It was only when the attorney mentioned it had something to do with a relative she wasn’t familiar with that she’d decided to make the trip.
She unbuttoned the jacket to her wool pantsuit. Although the temperatures had been below freezing when she’d boarded the flight in New York City, it was at least fifty degrees warmer in Charleston. One of the things she’d missed most about living in the South was the mild winters. By the time the jet touched down, Kara barely had time to hail a taxi, check into her downtown Charleston hotel room, shower, and grab a quick bite to eat before it was time to leave. She sat up straight when a tall, slender black man approached her.
“Miss Newell?”
Pushing off the chair, Kara smiled. “Yes.”
“Good morning, Miss Newell. David Sullivan,” he said in introduction, extending his hand.
His hand was soft, his grip firm, which took her by surprise. As she took in the sight of him, she realized he didn’t quite fit the description she’d had. The one time she’d spoken to Mr. Sullivan, there was something in his tone that made her think he was much older than he looked. Now she realized they were about the same age. Conservatively dressed in a navy-blue pin-striped suit, white shirt, blue-and-white dotted tie, and black wing tips, he released her hand.
“It’s nice meeting you, Mr. Sullivan.”
David inclined his head. “Same here, Miss Newell. It’s nice having a face to go along with the voice.” Taking her elbow, he led her out of the waiting room and down a carpeted hallway to a set of double ornately carved oak doors at the end of the hallway. “I’d like to caution you before we go in. I don’t want you to reply or react to anything directed toward you. Taylor Patton was my client, and that means indirectly you are also my client.”
A shiver of uneasiness swept over Kara like a blast of frigid air. What, she mused, was she about to walk into? For the first time since she’d read the letter, she chided herself for not revealing its contents to her mother.
“What do you mean?” Kara asked.
“I can’t explain it now, Miss Newell. But I want you to trust me enough to know that I’m going to make certain to protect your interests.”
When the doors opened, Kara suddenly felt as if she were about to go on trial. The room was filled with people sitting around a massive rosewood conference table. She heard a slight gasp from the man sitting nearest the door, but he recovered quickly when she stared at him. The hazel eyes glaring at her—so much like her own—were cold, angry. The resemblance between her and the man was remarkable. So much so that they could have been brother and sister. But Kara didn’t have a brother—at least not one she was aware of. She was an only child.
David directed her to a chair at the opposite end of the room, seating her on his left while he took his place at the head of the table. He still hadn’t revealed to Kara why he’d wanted her to attend the reading of the will of Taylor Patton, but his cautioning was enough to let her know she was involved in something that was about to change her life. The fact that she resembled several of those in the conference room led Kara to believe there was a possibility she just might be related to the deceased.
Resting her hands in her lap, Kara listened as David informed everyone that a stenographer would record the proceedings, asking those present to introduce themselves for the record. Kara glanced at the stenographer sitting in a corner, fingers poised on the keys of the stenotype machine resting on a tripod.
David touched her hand, nodding. “Kara Elise Newell,” she said, beginning the introductions. One by one the eleven others gave their names.
The men were Pattons, while the women were hyphenated Pattons, with one exception. Kara glanced at Analeigh Patton’s hands. Unlike the others, her fingers were bare. A hint of a smile inched up the corners of Analeigh’s mouth, and a slow smile found its way to Kara’s eyes.
Everyone’s attention was directed toward David when he cleared his voice, slipped on a pair of black horn-rimmed glasses, and opened the folder in front of him. “ ‘I, Taylor Scott Patton of Palmetto Lane, Cavanaugh Island, South Carolina, do hereby make, publish, and declare this to be my Last Will and Testament, hereby expressly revoking all wills and codicils, heretofore made by me.’ ”
Kara felt her mind wandering when David mentioned that as the executor he would judicially pay the deceased’s enforceable debts and administrative expenses of Taylor’s estate as soon as possible. Taylor hadn’t married; therefore, there was no spouse to whom he would have bequeathed his belongings. All of the Pattons leaned forward as if the motion had been choreographed in advance when David paused briefly. Then he continued to read.
“ ‘I do give and bequeath to my daughter, Kara Elise Newell, all my personal effects and all my tangible personal property, including automobiles owned by me and held for my personal use at the time of my death, cash on hand in bank accounts in my own name, securities, or other intangibles.’ ”
Kara went completely still, unable to utter a sound as pandemonium followed. The room was full of screams, tears, shouts of fraud, and threats to her person. Another two minutes passed before David was able to restore a modicum of civility. “Ladi
es, gentlemen, please restrain yourselves. Remember, this proceeding is being recorded, so please refrain from threatening my client. By the way, there is more.”
The man who’d glared at Kara stood up. “What’s left? My uncle has given this impostor everything.”
“Please sit down, Harlan. I can assure you that Miss Newell is not an impostor,” David said.
Kara wanted to agree with the Pattons. Austin Newell, not Taylor Patton, was her father. She closed her eyes, her heart pounding a runaway rhythm, as David outlined the conditions of what she’d inherited: She must restore Angels Landing to its original condition; make Angels Landing her legal residence for the next five years; and allow the groundskeeper and his wife, who would receive a lump sum of fifty thousand dollars, to continue to live out their natural lives in one of the two guesthouses. In addition, she could not sell any parcel of land to a nonfamily member without unanimous approval of all Cavanaugh Island Pattons, and the house and its contents could only be deeded to a Patton.
She opened her eyes and let out an inaudible sigh when David enumerated names and monies set aside in trust for three grandnephews and two grandnieces for their college education. This pronouncement satisfied some, but not all. There were yet more threats and promises to contest the will.
Forty-five minutes after she’d entered the conference room, Kara found herself alone with Taylor Patton’s attorney. Holding her head in her hands, she tried to grasp what had just happened. She hadn’t risen with the others because she wasn’t certain whether her legs would’ve supported her body. David had warned her not to say anything, and she hadn’t, but only because she couldn’t. Reaching for the glass of water that had been placed before each chair, she took a sip.
David removed his glasses and laced his fingers together. “So, Miss Newell, you are now the owner of a house listed on the National Register of Historic Places and two thousand acres of prime land on Cavanaugh Island.”
Kara’s eyelids fluttered as if she’d just surfaced from a trance. “I’m sorry to inform you, but Taylor Patton is not my father.”
David’s eyes narrowed. “Did your mother ever mention Taylor Patton’s name?”
She shook her head. “No. The only father I know is Austin Newell.”
“Well, I can assure you that you are Taylor’s biological daughter. In fact, you are his only child.”
Kara closed her eyes. When she opened them, they were filled with fear and confusion. “How is that possible?” The query was a whisper.
“That is something you’ll have to discuss with your mother.”
She would talk to her mother, but not over the phone. What she and Jeannette Newell needed to discuss had to be done face-to-face. Combing her fingers through her hair, Kara held it off her forehead. “Please tell me this is a dream.”
David sat on the edge of the table, staring at Kara’s bowed head, a look of compassion across his features. “Even if I did, it still wouldn’t change anything.” Reaching into the breast pocket of his suit jacket, he took out a small kraft envelope, spilling its contents on the table in front of her. “These are keys to the house in Angels Landing, Taylor’s car, and his safe-deposit box in a bank in Sanctuary Cove.”
Kara released her hair, the chin-length, chemically straightened strands falling into place. “Where’s Sanctuary Cove?”
“It’s on Cavanaugh Island, southeast of Angels Landing. You only have ten days to transfer the accounts from Taylor’s to your name. By the way, do you have a rental?”
“No. I took a taxi from the airport to the hotel.”
“Good.”
“Good?” Kara repeated.
David smiled. “Yes. It means I don’t have to get someone to drop it off for you. I’m going to have our driver take you back to the hotel so you can pick up your luggage, and then he’ll take you to Angels Landing.”
“I’m sorry, but I’m planning to leave for Little Rock tomorrow.”
“Can you hold off leaving for a few days?”
“David. May I call you David?” He nodded. “When you wrote and asked me to come here, I never could’ve imagined that the man I’ve believed was my father all these years is not my father. Not to mention that I now have a bunch of cousins who can’t wait to put out a hit on me so they can inherit my unforeseen assets, assets I don’t need or want.”
“Are you saying you’re going to walk away from your birthright?”
“A birthright I knew nothing about.”
David leaned in closer. “A birthright you need to protect, Kara. If you walk away from this, then you’ll be playing right into the hands of the developers who’ve preyed on the folks who’ve lived on the Sea Island and who’ll turn their inhabitants’ birthright into a playground for millionaires.”
Kara felt as if her emotions were under attack. “But… but the will states I can only sell the land to a Patton.”
“Pattons who want to sell more than half of Angels Landing.”
“Why would they want to do that?” A pregnant silence filled the room as she and David stared at each other.
“Greed, Kara. If they can get you to go along with their way of thinking and you sell your two thousand acres, the monies they’ll receive for the sale will be divided among them evenly.”
An expression of confusion crossed her face. “How many acres do they hold collectively?”
“Probably about four hundred,” David said.
“Hypothetically, if I decide to hand over my shares and we sell twenty-four hundred acres at let’s say a thousand dollars per acre. Are you telling me two-point-four million will be divided among twelve of us?”
He didn’t respond. Instead, she did the calculations in her head. Instead of $2 million she would get $200,000. “The split seems a little inequitable, especially if I hold the majority shares.”
David’s dark eyebrows lifted a fraction. “They see you as an outsider, someone who will take the money and run. Please don’t prove them right.”
“What do you expect me to do?”
“I’d like you to give yourself a week to think about it. Stay at the house, tour the island. If you decide you prefer the Big Apple to the Lowcountry, then you walk away and…”
“I walk away and what?” Kara asked when David didn’t finish his statement.
“The surviving heirs will contest the will, it will go into probate, and after the state of South Carolina gets its share, the family will get what’s left.”
She gave the dapper attorney a long, penetrating stare. He was asking for a week while her supposed biological father had asked her for five years. Right now Kara had three weeks of vacation time: one she could spend in Angels Landing and the other two in Arkansas before returning to New York. She hadn’t told her parents when to expect her, so Kara decided to change her travel plans yet again.
“Okay. I’ll try it for a week.”
David blew out an audible breath. “Thank you.” He stood, walked over to the wall phone, and pushed the speaker feature. “Please tell Linc I need him to drive a client to her hotel. He’s to wait for her to check out, and then I want him to take her to Taylor Patton’s house.” He ended the call and came over to cup Kara’s elbow when she stood up. “I’m going to call my cousin, Jeffrey Hamilton, who’s the island’s sheriff and have him stop in to check on you. I’ll be in court for the next two days, but as soon as there is a recess, I’ll come out to see you. Meanwhile, Jeff or one of his deputies will help you if you need anything.”
Kara nodded her head in agreement, trying to keep her emotions in check. Taylor Patton was her biological father?
Jeffrey Hamilton leaned back in his chair, booted feet propped up on the corner of the scarred desk. He’d submitted his department’s budget to the mayor and town council at the January meeting, yet it was mid-March and he was still awaiting delivery of new office furniture. Ever since he’d been appointed sheriff of Cavanaugh Island, Jeff had attempted to refurbish his office and expand the force from three deput
ies to four. Sadly, things seemed to be taking a lot longer than he’d first thought.
The cell phone on his desk rang. Glancing at the display, Jeff answered it on the second ring. “What’s up, David?”
“Is there anyone in your jail that needs legal counsel?”
He laughed softly. “Sorry, Cuz, but I haven’t locked up anyone in more than three weeks. Are you calling to let me know that you’re ready to pop the question to that gorgeous oral surgeon you’ve been seeing?”
“We’re not even close to that. I’d like you to go out to Angels Landing and check on the new owner. Her name is Kara Newell.”
“Is there anything I should know about her?” Jeff asked.
“I may as well tell you now because gossip about her is going to spread across the island faster than a cat can lick its whiskers. She’s Taylor Patton’s daughter.”
“I was under the impression that Taylor didn’t have any children.”
“Most of us thought the same thing.”
Jeff shifted, and his chair groaned like someone in pain. “How are the others taking the news?”
“Let’s just say they’re not too happy that she exists. That’s why I’m calling you.”
“Don’t worry, David. I’ll keep an eye on her.” He knew his cousin couldn’t divulge how he’d come by the proof because he was still bound by attorney-client privilege, even in death.
“Thanks, Jeff. By the way, how is Aunt Corrine?”
“Grandmomma’s good. Have you made plans for Easter?”
“Yep. Petra and I are going down to St. Thomas for a few days. You’re welcome to join us.”
Jeff stared at his spit-shined boots. After spending twenty years in the Marine Corps, he still enjoyed the age-old tradition of shining his shoes and boots. “I’d love to, but I gave my deputies time off to spend with their families.”
“Speaking of families, Jeff, when are you going to settle down and have a couple of kids?”
He sat up and lowered his feet. “After you get married and have one.”
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