father called him Jacob, Jake knew that whatever he wanted to talk about was serious—to him. “Hey, you’re the boss. Your name is first on the plaque,” he said, bitterness ringing in his voice. “Backbay at six thirty. I have to eat and run, so don’t try throwing any guilt trips in my direction.”
“It sounds fine, Jake. I’ll see you at six thirty.”
Jake’s hand was shaking when he broke the connection. He took deep breaths to stop his internal shaking. He was on his last one when he heard her cane before he saw her. He got up and walked over to the door. For some reason he felt like he always had to escort Clara Ashwood to her chair. “Miss Clara, how are you on this fine June day?”
“Don’t ask me that, Jake. I wouldn’t be here unless something was wrong. Here,” she said, reaching into the huge straw bag she was never without, “I brought you some brownies. I made them early this morning.” The brownies were his payment.
“Well, I appreciate it, Miss Clara. Would you like some sweet tea?”
“I would. I told Jocelyn to fetch it when I came in. Such a darling lady. You’re lucky to have her. She’s always so pleasant. I wish I could be pleasant all the time the way she is. I get so damn cranky sometimes. I made up my mind this morning that I want to change my will and leave everything to the SPCA.”
Jake blinked. Everything wasn’t all that much. “Okay, if you’re sure. I’ll get right on it. You can stop in tomorrow and sign the new will. Are you sure, Miss Clara?”
“Damn straight I’m sure. I’m not even going to bore you with the details. I stopped by the cemetery to visit with Arnold, and who do you think I saw? Sarabess Windsor, that’s who. She was sitting there on that green grass with a huge bouquet of summer flowers, and she was all gussied up in fine linen and those pearls of hers. She was wailing up a storm. That mausoleum is so ostentatious.” She sniffed. “I wanted to go over and tell her to give it up already. Fifteen years is too long to be railing on like that.
“I’d give up my porch rocker—and you know how I like my porch rocker—to know where little Trinity is,” she said, changing the subject. “Every time I think about Sarabess Windsor I think about Trinity Henderson. She arrived a little too conveniently after Sarabess’s return from New York.” Clara sniffed, then said, “Emily now, she was a mean-spirited little girl. I know, I know, she was ill, and Sarabess didn’t help matters any the way she coddled her.”
This was all said in one long breath. Clara was Crestwood’s town crier, but Ardeth Gamble was snapping at her heels for the honor.
Jocelyn tapped on the door and came in with Clara’s sweet tea. After thanking Jocelyn, Clara took a sip and put the tea glass on the little table next to her chair. After Jocelyn had left, Clara said, “Do you know, Jake, Sarabess hasn’t invited any of us to the Hill in years? I find that peculiar. I think she’s tetched in the head these days. Not that I care. I did get a little sick and tired hearing about Princess Emily for two hours every week. I couldn’t concentrate on my cards.
“Now, where was I? Yes, yes, the SPCA. Call me when the changes are ready, and I’ll come by and sign it. That’s my business for the day. You need to tell Jocelyn the tea is a tad too weak. Not that I care, but someone else might. Too many ice cubes water it down. You need to make a tray of ice cubes out of the tea so that doesn’t happen. You might want to pass that on to her. Good-bye, Jake. It was nice seeing you again. No need to walk me out. I can still do that myself.”
Jake knew the drill. He smiled and waved. He waited until he could no longer hear the sounds of Clara’s tapping cane before he propped his feet on the desk. A frown built itself between his eyebrows. Trinity Henderson. Now that was a name from the past. A name that made his heart pound in his chest. He didn’t want to think about Trinity Henderson because then he’d have to look at his own conscience.
Stacy Messina knocked on the edge of the door and poked her head in. She gurgled with laughter when she said, “Who is Miss Clara’s new beneficiary this time? Hey, I’ll fight you for those brownies.”
Jake grinned as he looked at his secretary. Stacy made coming to work easy. She was a short, buxom young woman with shoulder-length red hair that was so curly it looked like a mass of corkscrews. She was always early for work and the last one out of the office at night. Jake knew he was going to miss her when she left at the end of the summer to get married. “The SPCA this time. You can have one brownie. You don’t want to lose that girlish figure and not fit into your gown, now, do you?”
Stacy was also defiant. She helped herself to two brownies. “Why so pensive, Jake? You looked like you were a million miles away. Is anything wrong?”
“No, nothing’s wrong. Miss Clara was talking about Trinity Henderson. I used to play with her. I was five years older, but they had horses out at the farm and I liked to ride and so did she. When you’re kids, age doesn’t matter. She could climb a tree better than me. I always fell out. She never did. She was a nice little kid. I had a really serious crush on her back then.” Even now I can’t think about her without my heart quickening.
Stacy looked at her handsome boss. Six-two, curly black hair, eyes that were the color of cobalt and two of the most adorable dimples she’d ever seen. When he smiled he looked like a movie star. She’d told him that once, and he’d laughed his head off. “Was a nice little kid? Did something happen to her?”
“I was in college at the time but Dad said she ran away on her fifteenth birthday. As far as I know, she’s never come back. If she had, this town would have buzzed like a beehive. I don’t think anyone talks about it anymore. You were probably five or six at the time, so I can understand why you didn’t know her.”
“So, why was Miss Clara talking about her? Are they related or something?”
“No, nothing like that. Miss Clara said she went to the cemetery the way she always does and saw Sarabess Windsor there. It’s not important, Stacy. Get me the Merrill file. I need to do some work for Mr. Merrill. Type up the new will and make sure it’s ready tomorrow. Oh, Miss Clara said to tell Jocelyn that the tea was a tad too weak. You might want to correct that the next time you make it. She also said that making a tray of sweet tea ice cubes will prevent watering down the tea. How come you didn’t think of that?” Jake teased.
“Uh-huh,” Stacy said as she left the office, closing the door behind her. A second later the door opened again. “There’s a story about the runaway girl, isn’t there? You’re supposed to keep me apprised of everything. I am your secretary.”
“Go! There’s no story!”
The door closed.
Like hell there was no story, but he couldn’t dwell on it right now. He reached for the Merrill file and got to work.
Rifkin Forrest was early, so he settled himself down outside the restaurant on a weathered bench festooned with an old fishing net to wait for his son and to do a little people watching. He packed his pipe and fired it up. A fragrant puff of smoke circled upward. From time to time a customer would stop for a few seconds, and greetings were exchanged. Others would clap him on the shoulder, ask about his golf game, while still others would comment on the weather. Sometimes it was nice, Rifkin thought, to live in a town where everyone knew everyone else. Other times it wasn’t so nice. No matter, he would never leave Crestwood.
As Rifkin puffed on his pipe he did his best to concentrate on his golf performance earlier in the day, but his thoughts took him elsewhere. He didn’t want to think about the reason he was meeting his son for an early dinner.
