home so fast that she needed some things. Shampoo. Her favorite brand of toothpaste.
En route to the pharmacy, she accidentally spotted a shoe sale.
By the time she’d tried on and bought a pair of sandals, she’d put her mind off handsome, interfering doctors and had her head back where it belonged. On Gramps.
Nothing Ike told her had been reassuring. He’d only opened up more worries, more concerns. She needed to know the truth. She just didn’t know what to do about the situation.
Perhaps by instinct, she found herself standing in front of the Butter Bakery. She’d forgotten—or just hadn’t had a reason to remember before—that Gramps had an attorney. Ginger knew the name. Louella Meachams. Ginger must have met her sometime—Sweet Valley was such a small town that everyone about met everyone else at some time or another. But Ginger couldn’t recall anything about her, until she spotted the sign for Louella Meachams, Esq., just above the stairwell from the bakery.
She couldn’t imagine the attorney would be able to see her without an appointment, but she could at least stop by while she was right there in town, set up something.
The old-fashioned stairwell was airless and dark, with steep steps leading to the upstairs offices. Her stomach churned in protest, partly because she’d always been claustrophobic, and partly because she needed to eat something, and soon. She’d planned to have breakfast right after seeing Ike, but that stupid fainting business had stolen her appetite. Still, she’d immediately started to feel better once she’d gotten out in the fresh air. As soon as she made contact with the attorney, she’d stop and get some serious food before heading home.
Upstairs, she found an old-fashioned oak door with the attorney’s name on a brass sign. She turned the knob without knocking, assuming she’d be entering a receptionist and lobby area, not the lawyer’s specific office.
“Oh. Excuse me. I was hoping to make an appointment with Mrs. Meachams—”
“I’m Louella Meachams. And just Louella would do. Come in. Sit yourself.”
The lady had to be around fifty, had a wash-and-wear hairstyle and a general bucket build. She wore men’s pants, a starched shirt, no makeup. Hunting dog pictures graced the walls. The sturdy oak chairs facing the desk had no cushions. Windows overlooking the street below had blinds, but no curtains. The whole office looked like a male lawyer’s lair, rather than a woman’s. And Louella looked a little—maybe even a lot—like a man herself. She peered at her over half-rim glasses.
“I believe you’re my grandfather’s attorney. Cashner Gautier,” Ginger started. “I’m Ginger, his granddaughter. I just got into town a few days ago. And I was hoping you could help me clarify his situation.”
“I know who you are, just from all that red hair. You were one fiery little girl. And I’m more than willing to talk with you, but you need to understand that your grandfather’s my client. I not only can’t, but never would, break confidentiality with him.”
“I understand that. And I’d never ask you to.” Haltingly she started to explain the situation she’d found at home, how her grandfather wasn’t himself, that he seemed to have both memory and health issues, that the place looked in serious disarray compared to the last time she’d been home. Louella leaned back, stuck a leather shoe on a wastebasket for a footrest and listened until she came through with a question.
“As long as I’ve been Cashner’s attorney, I’ve never been completely clear about his family situation. I know your grandparents only had one child, a daughter—your mother. And that even when your mother married, she kept the Gautier name, which is pretty unusual in these parts. If I have it right, you’re now the only close blood kin of Cashner’s, because your mama died quite a while ago.”
“Yes. Mom was in a terrible car accident. I was barely ten. And that was when I came to live with my grandparents.”
“But are there other blood kin? Brothers, cousins? Any relatives at all on your grandfather’s side of the fence?”
“No, not that I’m aware of. The Gautiers came originally from France … there may be some distant relatives still there, but none I know of. My grandmother had some family in California, but I never met any of them. They were like second cousins or that distance.”
“What about your father?” Louella leaned over, opened a drawer, lifted a sterling silver flask. “Need a little toot?”
“Uh, no. Thank you.” She added, “My father has nothing to do with this situation. He’s not a Gautier—”
“Yes. But he’s family for you, so he could help you, couldn’t he? Advise you on options you might consider for your grandfather.”
Ginger frowned. So far she’d given more information than she’d gotten. Not that she minded telling her grandfather’s attorney the situation. Gramps trusted Louella. So Ginger did. “My dad,” she said carefully, “is about as lovable as you can get. He’s huggable, always laughing, lots of fun. I adored him when I was little. He brought me a puppy one birthday, rented a Ferris wheel for another birthday party, took me out of school—played hooky—to fly me to Disney World one year. You’d love him. Everyone does.”
“I’m sure there’s some reason you’re telling me this,” Louella said stridently.
“I’m just trying to say, as tactfully as I can, that my dad can’t be in this picture. I love him. Not loving him would be like … well, like not loving a puppy. Puppies piddle. It isn’t fun to clean up after them, but you can’t expect a puppy to behave like a grown-up. Which is to say … I don’t even know where my dad is right now. Whatever problems my grandfather has—I’m his person. His problems are mine. And there’s nothing I wouldn’t do for him.”
“All right. I always heard the gossip that your father was your basic good-looking reprobate, but I never met him, didn’t know for sure. I’m glad you clarified the situation. I’m sorry that he’s out of the picture for you. That makes Cashner’s circumstances all the more awkward. But I still can’t tell you about his will—”
“I don’t give a hoot about his will. I need to know if he’s paying his bills. If he’s solvent. Can you tell me who has power of attorney? If someone has medical powers? I need to know if I have the right to look into his bank accounts, make sure that bills are being paid, what shape the business is in, whether he’s okay financially or if I need to do something.”
Louella harrumphed, looked out the window as if she were thinking about how to phrase an answer. Ginger was more than willing to wait.
At least she thought she was. A glance at an old wall clock revealed it was well past noon. Apparently they’d been talking—and she’d been running around town—a lot longer than she’d expected. Technically time didn’t matter; it wasn’t as if she was on a schedule. But the queasiness that plagued her earlier in the morning was suddenly back. So was exhaustion. Not exhaustion from doing anything; she just had a sudden, consuming urge to curl up in a ball like a cat and close her eyes, just nap for a few minutes.
She’d never been a napper. Until eight weeks ago. Now she could suddenly get so tired she could barely stumble around. It was crazy. She felt crazy. And in a blink of a minute, she just wanted to go home.
“Well, Ginger. I don’t know how to say this but bluntly. Your grandfather needs to move out of that big old place. But he won’t. He needs to hire someone to take
