A Pocketful of Stardust

by J P Barnaby

  “Maybe that lawyer guy would know if the book would help.”

  “Steve? Maybe.”

  “Call him. What’s the worst he can say?”

  “Um, ‘Brother, you’re screwed’?”

  “So then you’re no worse off than you are now.”

  Noah nodded and picked up his phone.

  IT TOOK a while and a couple of missed callbacks, but he finally connected with Steve. “Sorry,” the lawyer said. “I was presenting a webinar. What can I do you out of, Noah?”

  “Well, it’s about the mortgages? They’re due tomorrow, and while I haven’t got the money, I did find a first edition of a book that I think is valuable. I just don’t have the time to get it authenticated, but I’m pretty sure it’s worth more than the mortgages are.”

  “Hang on, kiddo. The mortgages are due tomorrow? I thought you had until the end of the year to get them caught up.”

  “Well, I got them current right after I saw you—you said I should. And yeah, I thought I had till the end of December too, but a couple of weeks ago I got a letter from the bank telling me they’d be due November 30. And then today I got the final letter saying they’re due tomorrow. I have some of the money, but not all of it, but I thought if they’d take the book on security maybe they’d give me a couple more months. At least enough time to get it appraised or whatever.”

  “Okay. I’m confused. You got the accounts caught up.”

  “Yeah.”

  “And the estate’s still in probate.”

  “Yeah. But Matt said that the bank, as a primary lienholder, can foreclose even if the estate’s not out yet.”

  “Technically, yes, but that usually only goes if the account is still in arrears. Which you tell me it’s not.”

  “Right.”

  “Well, I don’t know about the book—it’s something you should talk to the bank directly about. But I do know that a deed in lieu should give you enough time to get the book appraised and even sold.”

  “What’s a deed in lieu?”

  There was silence on the other end. “They didn’t offer you the deed in lieu of foreclosure option?”

  “I don’t think so. Kyle, can you hand me that letter? Thanks. Okay. No. It’s a ‘pay up’ letter. There wasn’t anything in the other notice either, except for a Post-it from Matt saying ‘tried, sorry’ and a smiley face.”

  Again, a couple of moments of silence. Then, “Let me check into something and get back to you, okay?”

  “Sure. Whatever you can do. I mean, we’re packing up the books, but we won’t be done with that by tomorrow either. I’m hoping they don’t want us to clear out immediately.”

  “No, I’m sure not. Give me a few, okay?”

  “Sure. Thanks for your help.”

  “Uh-huh.” Steve sounded distracted. Noah assumed someone else was demanding his attention until Steve came back and said, “Put together everything—and I do mean everything—you have on the mortgages.”

  “Will do.” Noah clicked off and looked at Kyle. “Is it my imagination, or do you think he’s onto something?”

  “I hope he is. He seemed pretty taken back by what you told him.”

  “Well, guess we’d better get those papers together.”

  Kyle nodded. “On it.”

  WHEN THE phone rang a little while later, it wasn’t Steve’s number that came up but a local Aster exchange. “Hello?” Noah asked curiously.

  “Hi, is this Noah Hitchens?”

  “It is.”

  “This is Bob Washington over at First National. I just got off the phone with Steve Gorwin, and he’s got me confused about the terms of the mortgage and the foreclosure. Would it be possible for you to come by the bank this afternoon and bring all the paperwork you have for both mortgages?”

  “Sure.” He glanced over at Kyle, who was watching him with hope in his gray-green eyes. “What time?”

  “How about in an hour? That’ll give me time to go through our records as well.”

  “Sure.”

  “Okay, see you then. Just let the receptionist know you’re here to see me, not Matt.”

  “Okay… sure. See you in a bit.” He clicked off the phone.

  “Was that Steve?”

  “No. That was Bob Washington at the bank. He’s the VP of the loan department. Fucking Matt Handley’s boss.”

  “One of these days you’re going to slip and call him that to his face.” Kyle grinned. “I want to be there. So, the boss, huh?”

  “Yep. And we need everything we can possibly find for the bank. I’m not trusting just the mortgage paperwork. I want everything. Can you help?”

  “Is the sky blue?”

  THEY TRIED to organize everything as it went into Noah’s messenger bag, but it was still a thick wad of paper he carried into the bank, right on time. Bob was standing outside his office, talking to a teller, but when he saw Noah, he waved him over and into the office.

  “Thanks for coming, Noah. Things have been crazy for you lately, haven’t they? What with the cult and your friend and all—on top of losing your dad.”

  “Yeah, pretty much. Thanks for coming to Dad’s funeral. It was nice to see so many people cared about him.”

  “Charlie was good folks. He’ll be missed. And Aster wouldn’t be the same without Stardust Books.”

  Then why are you guys trying to shut us down? He didn’t speak the words out loud, just gave him a thin smile and pulled the stack of file folders out of his bag.

  Bob took the pile and went through the first few, which were the mortgage papers for both the twenty-year-old mortgage on the house and the newer loan against the store. Then he went through them again. He made some notes on the computer, then sat back, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Noah, would you mind waiting outside a few minutes? I need to go over something with another employee. Leave the papers—I’ll take care of them.”

  “Sure.” Noah got up and picked up his empty messenger bag.

  “There’s coffee on the sideboard. Help yourself.” Bob was already picking up the phone as Noah left the office.

  He sat on the leather couch just outside Bob’s office. He’d gotten spoiled for good coffee and didn’t have any interest in the stuff that had been probably sitting there since the bank opened. Thinking of coffee made him think of Kyle—but then, practically everything made him think of Kyle—and he allowed himself a little smile.

  Matt’s door opened and he came out, and Noah’s smile vanished. When he saw Noah, though, Matt’s lips curled in a smug grin. “Begging for mercy, book boy?”

  “Not yours,” Noah said dryly and pulled his cell phone from his back pocket to avoid any more interaction with him.

  Matt snorted and went into the office.

  “Close the door,” Bob said curtly, and Matt obeyed.

  Noah couldn’t hear anything at first, but apparently Bob was building up a good head of steam, because eventually he could make out phrases, if not actual sentences. Phrases like “customer service” and “bank reputation” and “I don’t care if it’s technically legal, we don’t do business like that!” Then it was on to “foreclosure costs” and “bad decisions.”

  Matt said, “But there won’t be any costs! One of our bigger clients has already made a bid for the store!”

  Dead silence. Then Bob snapped, “You are not telling me you shared confidential information regarding a client with another client?”

  Muttering from Matt.

  “And we do not differentiate between our clients. I expect you to treat every client—from six-year-olds depositing their allowance to the biggest multimillionaires—with exactly the same courtesy and confidentiality.”

  Noah glanced over at the teller Bob had been talking to. She was grinning widely, and when she met his eyes, she gave him a thumbs-up.

  Another door opened and Mike Handley, president of the bank, emerged. He paused when he saw Noah and gave him a nod. “Noah.”

  “Mr. Handley.”

  Th
e bank president went into Bob’s office, and there was quiet conversation for a quarter hour. Then the door opened again and both Handleys came out. There was no smug smirk on Matt’s face; he didn’t look at Noah at all.

  “Thanks for waiting, Noah. Come in.”

  KYLE POUNCED as soon as Noah floated in the door. “What happened?”

  “Fucking Matt Handley got his fucking ass handed to him. In pieces. It was glorious.” Noah dropped the messenger bag on the counter and grabbed Kyle, hauling him into a passionate kiss. “The store mortgage was all fucked-up from the get-go, and the foreclosure shit was as well. The bank doesn’t take any action on current accounts that are in probate, like Steve said. It’s standard procedure. And even if they did, there were options we had that Matt didn’t tell us about. The store mortgage is being converted into a business loan at better terms, which is how it should have been to begin with. And—the authentication and appraisals for the book that Dad had done a few years ago were in the safe deposit box. Steve told me that increased my assets tremendously since it’s worth way more than fifty grand. Best yet? It’s in my name, not Dad’s, so we don’t have to wait for probate. They’re going to refinance the loans at a lower interest rate based on my new circumstances, namely that I came into possession of a very valuable asset.” Noah dropped onto the stool behind the counter. “After probate’s completed, the bank is going to convert the mortgage on the house into my name, but Bob said there wouldn’t be any trouble doing it, even with the school loans.”

  “And you won’t have to sell your dad’s book.” Kyle put his arms around Noah. “Oh, boy. I feel like a weight is lifted off us.”

  “A fifty-thousand-pound weight,” Noah said. “Yeah.”

  “It’s like we both get to start our lives all over again,” Kyle said, and Noah could see in his face that he was thinking about his family.

  “Only this time, we get to start them together.” Noah wrapped his arms around Kyle and kissed him lightly.

  “Together,” Kyle agreed.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  DECEMBER BEGAN with a chill not often seen in Georgia. Even Jake was reluctant to leave the warmth and comfort of their house, and he wore a full-time fur coat. Noah pulled his heavy winter coat out of the New York stuff he still hadn’t gone through yet. He had another, dressier one that he gave to Kyle. Together they climbed into the truck and headed out to Calhoun Baptist, where generations of Henry’s family had been buried. The church was a small white building laid back against the countryside just outside Aster. The day might have been cool, but the sun shone bright and strong against the church steeple high above them. It had a one-room-schoolhouse kind of feel to it with four low windows along its side. An American flag waved at them from a pole out front, and sparse well-kept greenery lined the entrance. Those were the only colors against a cloudless blue sky.

  They parked in a small gravel lot next to the church and headed for the wrought iron gate peeking out from behind the building. Rust dotted the surface of the fence, but the space within was well maintained. There were few leaves between the modest markers as they peeked up out of the ground in bunches. Miss Berenice said that the old church cemetery had nearly hit its capacity, but old Reverend Lincoln remembered her daddy and opened up its gates. She hadn’t held a service because all of Henry’s friends were long dead. Instead she simply asked them to lay him to rest.

  Noah lifted the latch on the gate, and it moved with surprising ease. He held the gate open for Kyle, and together they walked directly to the only grave covered in dying flowers and a mound of dirt that hadn’t had a chance to settle. They read the tombstones along the way and found Renee McDaniel, Henry’s wife. Then, just a few markers up, Estelle and Jonah McDaniel, which judging by their dates must have been Henry’s parents. They found a few others who might have been siblings, though Henry had never mentioned any. But soon they stood above the new markerless grave, and Noah’s curiosity turned to sorrow.

  “Hi, Henry,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. It felt sillier than it should talking to a mound of dirt after spending a month with a ghost. “We were able to save the store. My dad had a first edition you would have loved.” Noah smiled then, thinking about how excited Henry would have been to see the rare Dickens book.

  Kyle reached down and held his hand, cold in the icy December morning, and a tear slid down his cheek.

  “The coffee bar is doing well, and the cult has been broken up. Yeira said that most of them are in jail. Hope went into protective custody, and it looks like she’ll be okay. Berenice is good. I think finding you and talking with you brought her some peace. I think she’s got the church to host a dinner for all of the county firemen. She’s a force,” he said with a chuckle. He was quiet for a long moment after, letting his eyes roam the landscape. They landed on a tree in the corner of the cemetery, the fence bulging up out of the ground around it. It stood old and strong like a sentinel watching over the dead.

  “I miss you, Henry, but I’m glad you’re at peace now. Maybe you and my dad can become friends. Maybe he can thank you for helping his son save his store. Because I’m very grateful to you. You made such a difference in my life, even in just that one month, and I’ll never forget what you’ve done for us.” The tears came faster now, and Kyle squeezed his hand a little harder.

  They stood there for several minutes, hands clasped, looking down at the mound of dirt. Noah wasn’t sure what he expected to happen, but nothing happened except a soft breeze and the rustling of leaves against the fence. The tree swayed soundlessly above them.

  “Let’s go home,” Kyle said and pulled him close. He kissed Noah’s hair and led him back to the truck.

  Kyle drove carefully. Since the cult had been disbanded, Kyle was free to get government registrations, IDs, and his driver’s permit. He’d planned to do those things after they’d cleared out the bookstore. The whole world lay before them now.

  They parked in front of the store and had just stepped up on the curb when Noah glanced up and noticed movement in the store. He put a hand over his eyes and peered through the window. Miss Edna flitted across the aisle, carrying a tray. With the shadows, he couldn’t make out what she carried, but she disappeared into the coffee bar. He glanced at Kyle, who shrugged and turned the knob on the door. It opened easily even though the Closed sign showed through the door.

  “Hello!” Noah called and heard a bit of murmuring on the other side of the room. “Miss Edna?”

  “I’m back here making coffee,” she called.

  “Why are you making coffee, we aren’t even op—” He stopped abruptly as he came around the corner to see half the town squeezed into the coffee bar. A handmade banner that read “Congratulations” hung on the back wall with balloons.

  “Surprise!” she cried with a smile. Her voice seemed to break the milling crowd from their silence, and they surrounded Noah with handshakes, smiles, and half hugs. Miss Berenice and Miss Ellie gave him the hardest hugs of all.

  Noah stood quietly, dumbfounded by their support, looking around at their familiar faces, and knew he was home.

  JP BARNABY, an award-winning gay romance novelist, is the author of over two dozen books, including Aaron and the Little Boy Lost Series. She recently moved from Chicago to Atlanta to appease her Camaro, who didn’t like the blustery winters. JP specializes in recovery romance, but slips in a few erotic or comedic stories to spice things up. When she’s not hanging out with hot guys in leather, she binge-watches superheroes and crime dramas on Netflix. A physics geek, she likes the science side of sci-fi and wants to grow up to be Reed Richards.

  Want to keep up with JP’s latest releases?

  Follow her on Amazon, Facebook, Twitter, or on her website.

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  ROWAN SPEEDWELL is a cynic who believes i
n romance, an obsessive-compulsive who lives in chaos, and an introvert who loves to start conversations with strangers. Everything is fodder for a story, so be careful what you say to her.

  While not plotting either a novel or world domination (which will never happen because she’s far too lazy, but the world would be run so much better if she was in charge), she can be found reading, watching superhero movies, reading, and trying to avoid being bitten by her cat, Psycho. (Just kidding—her cat’s name is Pandora. Not kidding about the biting, though.) And reading. She loves history but hates historical novels, because people never get them right. Historical romances are okay because no one expects them to be remotely accurate. Her other hobby is buying craft supplies. Not doing crafts, just buying the supplies.

  Her favorite activity is untangling yarn snarls.

  She is a longtime member of the Society for Creative Anachronism.

  She has a website, www.rowanspeedwell.com, but is terrible about keeping it updated.

  By JP Barnaby

  Bane of Boston

  A Heart for Robbie

  Mastering the Ride

  Papi

  Saving Hannah

  With Rowan Speedwell

  ASTER

  A Pocketful of Stardust

  LITTLE BOY LOST

  Enlightened

  Abandoned

  Vanished

  Discovered

  Escaped

  Sacrificed

  SURVIVOR STORIES

  Aaron

  Ben

  Spencer

  Anthony

  Sophie

  Published by DREAMSPINNER PRESS

  www.dreamspinnerpress.com

  By Rowan Speedwell

  Finding Zach

  The Florentine Treasure