Hidden Hills (18 page)

He held Andy's hand and followed Maggie and the nurse into the first room on the right. “They do?”

“Uh-huh.” Maggie twisted like a contortionist trying to poke a finger in the top of her cast. “They talk all the time, but me and Becky don't get to listen. I think they tell secrets.”

The doctor hung his stethoscope on a hook outside the door. He caught Maggie from behind in a bear hug and swung her around. “How's my girl?”

She giggled. “It itches, Uncle Mark!”

“Of course it does.” He heaved her onto the table in an exaggerated show of strength. “My goodness you're heavy. How would you like to lose five pounds in a hurry?”

“Yeah! Mama says Andy can sleep with me when it's gone and she don't have to work and Mr. Jake says okay.”

“Is he your new boyfriend?”

“No, silly. You're my boyfriend. This is Andy. He's only three.”

Jake kept his toddler out of the way while Mark removed the cast. Not only was he quick, but his nurse kept Maggie talking so there was none of the earsplitting screams he'd expected.

“This might hurt a little.” Mark lifted her arm in a range of motion exercises. “Good girl. Now, no more playing in the toilet.”

She gave him a hug. “I promise, Uncle Mark.”

Jake sat Andy on the floor and traded places with Maggie. Sitting there surrounded by cartoon characters, he felt as out of place as Gulliver in Lilliput.

“Lose the cap,” Mark said, washing his hands.

He did as he was told, revealing patchy flakes of peeling skin. “Was the cream supposed to take the red out?”

“Usually,” replied the doctor. “But yours was almost a second degree burn where the glue was the thickest. This looks a lot better.”

Maggie tugged at her uncle's coat. “Can we have a toy?”

“Sure you can. But come back in here when you get it.” He returned his attention to Jake. “Tell Charlotte not to worry about Maggie. Her arm's fine.”

“Good. Then she only has a house and thirty thousand dollars to keep her awake at night.”

The doctor glanced at him while washing his hands again. Reaching for the handle, the towel rack groaned when he cranked out a paper. “What thirty thousand?”

“The amount she owes your dad.” Mark's scowl of displeasure had Jake thinking his scalp was worse than he'd let on. “My head?”

“You're head's fine,” he replied with a dismissive gesture of his hand. “Charlotte doesn't owe Dad a red cent. The money was part of our inheritance and a tax write-off for him. Mine went for medical equipment, and Mitch spent his on the house.”

“Then why did she say…”

Anger emanated from the doctor, causing Jake to wonder what can of worms he'd unwittingly opened. “Because Dad probably told her she did.”

“The woman's flat broke with two kids. Why would he insist she pay him back?”

Mark's expression revealed pure disgust. “Because money is money as far as my dad is concerned, and it doesn't matter who he hurts to get it.”

“You've lost me.”

“Charlotte doesn't deserve another raw deal.” Mark shut the faucet off before continuing, his bleak tone like a dreary winter's day. “She could've had a string of shops by now, but Mitch wanted her to stay home and look after those foster kids. My brother knew how to get his way.”

Jake frowned. Charlotte mentioned caring for the foster kids, just not how it came about.

“Don't get me wrong, I loved my brother, and helping those kids was a good thing, but he failed to ask her opinion — just told her what they were going to do. Then the same thing happened when he agreed to the terms of Grandpa's estate — even though it meant selling their home.”

Jake whistled through his teeth. “I'll bet it raised a ruckus.”

“Oh, yeah.” Mark dried his hands before hurling the wet paper towel into the trash. “But Mitch talked her into it. Now they're squeezing the life out of her. He's my dad, and I can't stop him — but you can.”

“Me?”

The doctor's gaze was steady. “I don't know of anyone else.”

He could see where Mark would have trouble defying his parents, especially since they'd lost their other son. The odds were against Charlotte, and up to this point, he'd been no help at all. What she needed was a miracle.

“I've seen the way you look at each other,” Mark said. “You're the only one she'll listen to.”

Jake glanced at Maggie and Andy digging in the toy chest in the waiting room. He didn't think they could hear them. “Tell me what I need to know, and I'll do my best.”

Mark hesitated, his conscience seeming to battle against a strong familial loyalty. It was commendable, but badly misplaced.

“I can assure you, anything you say goes no farther than this room.”

“Fair enough.” He removed his lab jacket, indicating his day was over. “I'm not sure how much you know about Charlotte's finances, but you know she's broke, so I'm assuming she's confided in you.”

“We've been over a few things.”

“Okay. For starters, Dad's going to make an offer to buy the property for what she owes in Wilson's Realty name, prior to the foreclosure. If she won't sell, then he plans to wait until the estate goes into foreclosure. Once Charlotte loses the house, or sells to the business, the terms of the will have been met. There's nothing to stop him from buying it outright in his name.”

Jake thought for a moment, recalling an article he'd read after learning of Charlotte's problems. “State law says a notice of foreclosure has to be run in the local paper for three weeks, then the sheriff auctions off the property at the courthouse. If that happens, how can your dad be sure about having the highest bid?”

“I don't know,” Mark said. “But I promise, he'll get Grandpa's estate if you don't stop him.”

He didn't like what he was hearing. “And he'll still demand the thirty thousand. It sounds like she's sunk, unless the house sells to an outside buyer.”

“It's not going to an outsider,” Mark added. “Charlotte doesn't know Dad owns Wilson's Realty. I've heard he's telling potential buyers Hidden Hill's has already sold. Like I said, he's determined to get Grandpa's estate.”

“I know.” Jake recounted his morning visit. “How much money does Charlotte have invested in the place?”

Mark's arms were crossed while he studied the tile floor and did some quick calculations. “Let's see, Mitch sold their first home, borrowed on his life insurance, and cashed in everything they had, plus the money from Dad. I'd say probably upward of three hundred thousand.”

Knowing the dollar amount made the seriousness of the situation clearer. It was hard to understand why anyone could hate Charlotte so much. What had she possibly done to make Mitch's parents feel this way, or were they afraid she would remarry and the estate would leave the family?

“I had no idea of the amount. How can he want her to lose so much money? Does the fact she's raising Mitch's kids not mean anything?”

“Like I said, money is money, and there's no love lost between Dad and Charlotte. If his plan works, by this time next year, Hidden Hills will be a country resort. He's got a paving crew ready to asphalt the dirt road as far as the bridge and bulldozers on standby to join Sam Drenfield's fishponds together. We're talking about a ninety-acre lake, fully stocked.”

Jake had proof it wouldn't take a year. “Is Drenfield in with your dad?”

Maggie came bouncing into the room, waving a princess crown in the air. “Are we going fishing?”

“Not today,” Mark said, urging her back toward the toy chest. “Why don't you get Becky something?” He waited until she'd started digging again before he continued. “As far as I know, Sam's holding out for more money.”

Jake reached for the webpage in his pocket, then thought better of it. He'd never been much of a poker player, but he knew not to show his cards until he was sure of the hand he'd been dealt. Mark came across as a straight shooter, but this was his father they were talking about.

On their way home, Jake and the kids went by to check on Cucumber and her kittens and put out fresh food. The day of reckoning was getting close for the cats. Their fate rested in the hands of the judge unless he could think of something fast.

Jake's grim mood brightened considerably when he returned home, and saw Charlotte, dressed in cut-offs and an old tee-shirt, materialize from under the hood of her car, a greasy rag swinging in one hand and an empty oil bottle in the other. He adjusted his cap, reached back to unbuckle Andy's seat belt, then opened the truck door.

“Hey, neighbor,” she called. “How were the check-ups?”

He slid out of the truck, his eyes never once leaving her grease-smeared face. Charlotte McGregor had to be the prettiest mechanic this side of the Mason-Dixon. Her bright smile made his heart race, and he crossed over to her yard, a fresh spring in his step.

“Maggie's fine, and I'm still bald. How is it with you?”

“Don't ask!” She closed the hood; a solid slam shook the car.

He leaned against her old hatchback, amazed it still ran. “How many miles does she have?”

“More than me, but I'm gaining fast.” She wiped the oil from her hands. “They did a good job. It looks nice.”

“What does?”

She nodded behind him. “The yard.”

He'd been so wrapped up in watching Charlotte he hadn't noticed the open space separating their houses. Now he stared dumbfounded at the spot where the overgrown hedge had stood undisturbed for the past ten years. It was gone, the ground tilled and raked smooth.

The nerves in the back of his neck tighten into rigid bands. First his scalp — now this! He glared at Charlotte. A fierce anger surged through him when she appeared more concerned with the grease under her nails than anything he was feeling. Her brazen indifference rubbed salt in an open wound. “What happened to my hedge? Betty planted the hedge, and you had no right to get rid of it!”

Her chin shot up. “You think I did it?”

“Who else? You've always hated it!”

The greasy rag slammed against the car. “What did I use, my scissors?”

Jake didn't know why he was accusing Charlotte. He'd seen her sorry excuse for a toolbox with its hammer and handful of bent nails. She didn't own a saw, much less a shovel or rake. An apology might have gone a long way toward saving the day had he given one, but Becky and Bruce rounded the corner coming to a screeching halt at the sight of him.

“I should have known.” His anger mounted, disappointed the boy cared so little for his mother's memory. “He's gone too far this time.”

“Now, Jake.” Charlotte jumped between him and their kids like a human shield. Her hands pushed against his chest, leaving oily fingerprints on his blue dress shirt. “You don't know for sure it was Bruce. Mistakes happen. Someone might have gotten the address wrong.”

Grim certainty marked his expression. “Just how many houses on this street are separated by hedgerows?”

His large hands clamped her shoulders, picked her up, and moved her aside to get to the kids. “Come here!”

Lunging from behind, Charlotte locked both arms around his middle and made him stagger. For a featherweight, she had a solid grip.

“A minute ago you were blaming me!” she cried. “Why don't you try listening for a change?”

“Excuse me, folks,” came an amused voice from somewhere behind them. “I hate to break up a good fight, but I have a bill for a Ms. McGregor.”

Her arms went limp, and they turned in unison to see a tan, muscular man about their age walking toward them. His green cap and shirt matched the truck parked at the curb, both carrying the Larry's Landscaping Service logo in bright yellow print.

Jake fumed when the man's eyes consumed Charlotte from head to toe, but when he handed her the invoice and his fingers deliberately brushed against hers — he saw red. The guy wasn't any taller or better looking than himself, he reasoned, just a swift reminder adolescence wasn't the only time testosterone ruled the male brain. He had squatters' rights.

In an effort to reaffirm his claim, Jake slid his arm around Charlotte's shoulder and locked her to his side. He glanced down expecting a fight, but she'd gone pale as a ghost.

“Oh, my…” she began, staring at the total. “I don't have any cash. Will a check do?”

“Give it here!” He snatched the bill from her shaky hand. Women! He'd swear this one didn't have a pot to pee in, but if pride were money she'd be a millionaire. This beat all; he couldn't believe he was paying for the privilege of being victimized, but here he was pulling out his wallet like he had good sense. “I'll pay it!”

He felt a slight tug on his sleeve. “The bill has my name on it,” she said, the color returning to her cheeks. “But it wasn't me.”

“I know.” He glared at the landscaper for being alive. The way he saw it, the man should have been paying more attention to his money and less to Charlotte.

The wallet sliding into his back pocket was as flat as a proverbial pancake, but at least the bill was marked paid-in-f, thereby eliminating any reason Larry's Landscaping might have for a return call. All in all, it was money well spent.

“I'm truly sorry, Jake. Jeremy told me they were spending time on your computer, but I never dreamed they'd do something like this.”

Charlotte's remorse-filled eyes made him forget about the money — almost. He propped his hands on his hips and gave a significant nod in the kids' direction. They were huddled together, all five of them, looking as angelic as babes in a cradle, but he knew better. The cap on his head was a constant reminder of what Maggie had done, and now, if he wasn't badly mistaken, he'd seen firsthand what the older girl could do. As for his boys, he wouldn't even go there. “Who's taking responsibility for this mess?”