The Girl from Felony Bay (17 page)

“Do you know why he did that, sir?” I asked.

Mr. Barrett made a little movement with his hands. “I don't think the reason really matters now. The point is that when the plantation had to be sold, the members of the firm who were overseeing this on your father's behalf were able to sell Felony Bay separately, for a higher price per acre.”

“Because you needed to pay back Miss Jenkins, sir?”

Mr. Barrett gave me a sad look and nodded. “That's right.”

“So who bought it, sir?”

“A partnership.”

I smiled and nodded. Mr. Barrett smiled back. “Who are the partners?” I asked, forgetting my
sir
. Since Daddy was a lawyer and didn't have anybody else to talk to at the dinner table all those years, I was a lot smarter about legal stuff than most twelve-year-old girls. It had probably also made me more persistent in asking questions. Daddy had joked that I sometimes had a tendency to “badger” my witnesses.

But if Mr. Barrett felt badgered, he didn't show it. “I wish I could help you, but the names of the partners were not disclosed in the transaction. Under the law there is no reason they need to be.”

“But there has to be a head person.”

Mr. Barrett nodded. “Indeed, young lady! You're a sharp one. It's called a general partner,” he said. “And it is true that the general partner's name has to be disclosed on the deed. However, in this case, the general partner is not a person. It is another LLC. That stands for ‘limited liability corporation.'”

“I know what LLC stands for, sir,” I said. “This law partnership, Force and Barrett, is an LLC. My father is the managing partner.”

That last part had probably not been the smartest thing to say, but it just seemed to pop out. It made Mr. Barrett's smile bunch into something more like a bruise than a happy expression.

“I know that, Abbey. But he can't manage very well from his hospital bed, can he?” Mr. Barrett was trying to keep his voice light and easy, but his cheeks were tinged with red. He glanced toward the receptionist, but she appeared to be busy typing on her computer.

“So,” I said, “bottom line. The land that my father was going to give to Mrs. Middleton because it was heirs' property and rightfully hers got sold to some partnership.”

Mr. Barrett held up a hand to stop me. “Hang on there, Abbey. Heirs' property is a very complicated topic, and ‘rightfully hers' is as well. We know that your father broke Felony Bay into a separate parcel. Perhaps he believed that Mrs. Middleton might at one point have been entitled to claim that Felony Bay was heirs' property, but perhaps the reason he never recorded the deed is that he changed his mind. After all, she had moved off the property—”

“Do you know when that happened?” I interrupted.

“I believe it was when your grandfather was still alive.”

“And do you know how it happened?”

“According to my knowledge, your grandfather was too ill to handle his own affairs, and your uncle Charlie had something to do with it.”

I nodded. “Mrs. Middleton's family had lived in that house for more than a hundred years, and in that whole time they'd never been charged rent. Mrs. Middleton was a widow, and Uncle Charlie started charging her way more than she could afford. She had no choice but to leave.”

Mr. Barrett leaned closer to me. “That may be true, Abbey. But, sadly, it doesn't matter now. What matters is the fact that Mrs. Middleton moved. By moving, she effectively negated her claim. That means that when it came time to sell the property to repay Miss Jenkins, there was no valid outstanding claim by another party.”

I felt my own face getting red. I knew I should have buttoned my lip five minutes earlier, but now it was way too late. “So the letter of the law was satisfied but not the intent of the law,” I said. “A poor, handicapped lady's land got sold to somebody else, but it was legal. Daddy always said that when a lawyer did his job the right way, the intent of the law was what was honored. Sir. Daddy was going to set this right, to give Mrs. Middleton what she deserved, and, after his accident, it didn't happen.”

Mr. Barrett glanced at the receptionist. His teeth were clamped together, and his lips were slightly open. If the red-haired lady hadn't been there, I think he might have tried to bite me.

“I have continued to try to be a friend to your father because of his circumstances, but let me be very clear about something,” he said, his voice just above a whisper but shaking with anger. “Because of what he did, this law firm found itself saddled with shameful damage to our reputation and a tremendous debt to one of our clients. We did not worry about the finer points when we sold Reward. We worried about recovering enough money to repay Miss Jenkins. We worried about salvaging what we could of the company your father and I built together. Without your father around to help, this is work I've been doing all on my own. I know how tough things have been for you since your father's accident, Abbey, but you weren't the only one who was hurt that day, the only one left trying to put the pieces of your life back together, alone.”

I was speechless. I knew that Mr. Barrett and Daddy were friends, but I hadn't before considered how he might have felt about what happened.

Mr. Barrett stood up and brushed off his pants as if my questions were like dirt that had somehow gotten on him. “I believe we have discussed this matter sufficiently, and I hope this can be our last conversation about it. I will also tell you that Custis is a junior lawyer here, and it is not beneficial for his career for you to be coming in during business hours and taking up his time with personal matters that are antithetical to the interests of this firm. Good day, Abbey.”

He started to walk back toward the door that led to the offices.

I stood up. “What's about to happen at Felony Bay?” I asked.

Mr. Barrett came to a stop like he was a car and somebody had just slammed on his brakes. He turned. “What did you ask?”

“I think you heard me, sir.”

His eyes narrowed. “There's nothing that's about to happen at Felony Bay,” he said. “But if you go onto that property, or make trouble for whoever now owns it, I must tell you that no one here, not Custis or I, will be able to help you.” He watched me to see if that was sinking in.

“I don't think I should need to tell you this,” he went on after a few seconds, “but given what happened with your father, a judge would not look kindly upon you breaking the law.”

By the time he finished, my cheeks were burning, and tears were bunching in the corners of my eyes. I told myself I would not cry in front of Mr. Barrett, no matter what. I started to say something to excuse myself, but it was unnecessary. Mr. Barrett opened the door leading back to the offices. He walked through and disappeared without looking back.

The red-haired receptionist was watching me, her face unreadable. I said nothing to her as I walked out the front door and down to the sidewalk. What Mr. Barrett said had hurt, but it wasn't nearly as upsetting as the fact that, once again, I was all alone in trying to figure out what was really going on.

I
t was almost five o'clock,
and I was in a black mood as I caught the bus back toward Leadenwah. I felt utterly defeated, because every single place I'd gone seemed to be a dead end. The city turned to suburbs, and the suburbs turned to country, but my eyes didn't register anything, and when I got off I used the pay phone to call Ruth to ask if she would pick me up.

“What are you doing at the bus stop?” she demanded. I could hear the television in the background.

“I went to see Daddy,” I said, leaving out the other meetings.

“Well, I'm very busy.”

“I know. I'm sorry to ask you.”

She muttered something under her breath, then said, “Okay, I'll be there when I can get free. It's going to be a while.”

I knew it meant that she'd come when her show was over, but having no other choice, I thanked her and sat down to wait.

As I was watching the early-evening traffic roll by, I was surprised to see Grandma Em's car go past. Instinctively I raised my hand to wave. I saw Grandma Em turn her head in my direction, and a second later her brake lights went on as she pulled over to the shoulder. Bee climbed out of the passenger seat with a big smile. “Want a ride?” she called.

I was already on my feet heading in her direction. “Please,” I shouted back.

When I climbed into the backseat, I asked, “What are y'all doing home so quickly?”

Grandma Em turned. “Bee's doctors' appointments went so smoothly that we had no reason to stay. She told me we had to get back right away, so I changed our flight.”

“You want to have dinner with us?” Bee asked. “Grandma got flank steak and fresh corn on the cob, and she's going to make tomato-and-mozzarella salad.”

I hadn't had lunch, and my stomach growled at the mere mention of Grandma Em's food. “Thanks,” I said. “I'd love to.”

I was dying for Bee's company and her help with all my jumbled-up ideas, but I also knew I wouldn't be being a good friend unless I found a way to tell her that I needed to go after the mystery of Felony Bay on my own. I had no idea how I was going to do that, but every time I thought about my dream, I became more convinced there was something dangerous going on. I was increasingly certain it had to do with both Daddy and Mrs. Middleton, and I knew I had no choice but to keep digging. I had to find a way to explain all that to Bee, and a good meal might help me think.

On the way back I borrowed Grandma Em's cell phone and called Ruth to tell her I didn't need a ride after all. She sounded relieved and didn't even ask how I was getting home.

When we drove into Reward, I got out of the car at the foot of Uncle Charlie's drive and walked up to the house. Rufus ran off the porch to greet me, and we walked around the house and found Ruth in back, now reading a book in the shade of a live oak. The book was one of those paperbacks with a shirtless guy with long hair and a woman with a low-cut dress on the cover. She managed to hold back her sorrow when I told her I wouldn't be around for dinner.

“You still need to do the dishes when you get home,” she said. “Just because you don't eat here doesn't mean you can skip your chores.”

“Yes, ma'am.”

“And I told you before: Don't get used to it. You don't live there anymore.”

I didn't even try to come up with a response. I went up to my room to change my clothes and heard Uncle Charlie come home just as I was ready to leave. Instead of walking out the front and taking the chance of meeting him on the porch, I went along the hallway to the kitchen and out the back door.

Rufus and I jumped off the back porch and started around the side of the house. I was planning to skirt the edges of the yard, staying in the shadows where Uncle Charlie wouldn't see me, and we were halfway around when I noticed Uncle Charlie's pickup truck was parked in a totally strange place.

On most nights he parked the truck out in the open to keep from getting leaves and bird poop on his windshield, which usually happened if he parked beneath one of the live oaks. However, tonight he had not only backed the truck all the way under a tree, but he had gone so far back that the truck bed was jammed into group of oleander bushes.

At first I suspected that Uncle Charlie had come home even drunker than usual. My second theory was that he'd backed into some car and driven away without reporting it, and then parked that way to keep anyone from seeing the truck's damaged rear end.

Curious, I pushed into the oleanders to check out the back of the truck. At first I was confused, because there was nothing visible, not even a fresh scratch or a tiny new dent. But then I noticed the big tarp in the truck bed and the large object underneath it. With a fresh surge of curiosity, I wondered if there was something under the tarp that Uncle Charlie was trying to hide. With him just around the corner having his whiskey on the porch and Ruth in the kitchen heating up canned slop for dinner, I knew it was risky, but I also wanted to find out what was under that tarp.

Being as quiet as possible, I put one foot on the rear tire and stepped into the truck bed. I got down on my knees, took one last look up at the house, and lifted the edge of the tarp.

At first it was too dark to see. I could only make out what looked like a very rough, square object, so I pushed more branches aside and pulled off more of the tarp. My heart started to beat faster, because I could now see that what was underneath was an ancient crate. There was a hasp on the crate's lid with a very old-fashioned, rusty padlock on it, which was hanging loose.

My very first thought was that all the stuff about the
Lovely Clarisse
was true and Uncle Charlie had somehow discovered the gold. But almost right away I realized that a few things didn't make sense. First, if the chest had been buried for many years, it would have been damp and covered with dirt. This one was clean and dry as a bone. Also, knowing Uncle Charlie, if he had found treasure, he would have been yelling and screaming his head off. But he wasn't doing that. So what was in the crate, and why was it hidden?