Chapter 7 - The Things We Were Told
Lillian Voss kept her office above a bakery on Main Street. The stairwell smelled of cinnamon and old carpet. Her receptionist led me into a room lined with legal books and potted plants that had survived years of neglect.
“Your grandmother warned me you would arrive angry,” Lillian said.
She was in her sixties, with silver hair cut close to her jaw and glasses attached to a red cord.
“She knows me well.”
“She also said you would listen once you discovered you were not the only person being deceived.”
“Did she tell you what Diane plans to sign?”
“A purchase agreement and a deed.”
“Using the power of attorney?”
“That is what Diane believes she can do.”
Lillian showed me the revocation. It had been signed, witnessed, and dated twenty-three days earlier. A copy had been mailed to Diane’s clinic address, but the clinic had closed before delivery. The envelope had been returned.
“So Diane can claim she never received it.”
“She can claim anything. The question is what a court will believe.”
“Can Mercer foreclose?”
“If the loan is valid, yes.”
“Is it?”
“The note appears valid. The collateral documents are more complicated.”
“Because of the dissolved company.”
“Because the western acreage has a broken chain of title. Mercer may be buying a lawsuit, not a parcel.”
“Then why is he pushing so hard?”
“Because lawsuits scare people into cheap sales.”
I thought of his calm face in the foyer. “What does he want with the land?”
“A rail spur is planned along the eastern boundary. If he assembles enough acreage, he can sell the development rights at a premium.”
“And if he doesn’t?”
“The house remains an ordinary house.”
“So my mother borrowed against a property Mercer wanted.”
“Your mother may have borrowed from someone who wanted the property.”
The distinction made my stomach turn.
On the way back, I stopped at the pharmacy for Grandma’s prescription. The pharmacist recognized me.
“Evelyn’s granddaughter,” she said. “You look like her when you’re mad.”
“Everyone says that.”
“Your mother says you look like Arthur.”
I stared at her. “She does?”
“She said it last week.”
It was a small thing, but I could not remember Diane ever comparing me to my grandfather. In our house, Arthur had been a locked room. His photographs had disappeared after the funeral, and whenever I asked about him, Diane said, “He was complicated.”
When I returned, Grandma was in the parlor sorting mail. I placed the prescription beside her.
“Did Mom ever tell you I look like Arthur?”
Grandma glanced up. “You do.”
“She said it recently.”
“She has always thought it.”
“Why didn’t anyone tell me?”
“Because you asked different questions.”
“I asked why he died.”
“You asked why he left us.”
“Did he leave?”
Grandma’s hand paused over an envelope.
“He died at the barn.”
“You said his heart gave out.”
“It did.”
“And the fire?”
“The fire came after.”
“Was he inside?”
She looked toward the fireplace. “No.”
The answer was too quick.
“What happened that night?”
“Arthur had gone to meet someone.”
“Who?”
“Warren Mercer.”
Cal’s father.
Grandma opened the envelope. Inside was a photocopy of an old police report. She placed it face down.
“The sheriff ruled the death natural,” she said. “The fire was accidental.”
“But you don’t believe that.”
“Belief is not proof.”
“Why did you hide this?”
“Because Warren threatened to take the house if I spoke about the money.”
“What money?”
“The money Arthur won.”
I remembered her words in the attic. He won the house.
“Poker?”
“A business settlement.”
Grandma explained that Warren Mercer had operated an illegal dumping site on the western acreage. Arthur, who had worked for him, discovered contaminated soil and demanded payment to clean it. Warren threatened him. Arthur secretly copied records and took them to the county. The settlement purchased the land and required the Mercers to remove the waste.
“The fire destroyed the records,” I said.
“Most of them.”
“You still have copies.”
“Some.”
“Where?”
Grandma touched the blue ledger.
“Not in the ledger.”
“Then where?”
“In the place where I first learned that secrets can keep a family alive and poison it at the same time.”
I felt the old instinct to leave, to let mystery belong to someone else. Instead, I pulled a chair across from her.
“Tell me the truth about the fire.”
Grandma met my eyes.
“I will,” she said. “But not until you understand the truth about your mother.”
“What did she do?”
“She did not steal from me.”
“I never said she did.”
“You thought it.”
Grandma pushed the old report toward me.
“Diane borrowed the money because I asked her to.”
I stared at her.
“I wanted her to buy the clinic,” Grandma continued. “I believed giving her a business would repay the years she lost caring for Arthur.”
“You financed the clinic.”
“I financed her hope.”
May you like
“And now?”
“Now I must decide whether protecting her from the consequences is still kindness.”
