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Winter Deception

By Sally Jo Pitts

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CHAPTER ONE
Private Investigator Robert Grey grabbed the crystal goblet that clipped the edge of gold-trimmed plate before it toppled over. His heart pounded in the same way it might have if confronted by a knife-wielding criminal. Facing bad guys in bars, nightspots or parking lots was more his speed. Fancy luncheons in an antebellum dining room with vintage family crest china, and an embossed menu card were foreign to him.
He leaned forward in the dining chair, avoiding the carved ridges of the chair back designed for looks, not comfort. At the invitation of Attorney Cameo Clark seated to his left, he and his intern Jane Carson had arrived at Topazus, the Clark family plantation in South Carolina. The imposing manor stood as a bastion of old southern charm at the end of a long drive lined with moss-laden oak trees. They were there to enjoy Christmas events while conducting research on the developer interested in buying the estate.
Robert’s law enforcement background triggered him to locate the windows, and doors in the room for entry and exit. But he also spotted the crown molding, wainscoting, and decorative ceiling medallion above the chandelier that he wouldn’t have noticed it weren’t for Jane.
She had supplied live audio book narration during the nine-hour drive from Mobile, Alabama. “Topazus was built for Morgan Danford Clark and his wife Martha Lee in 1842. The name of the estate is derived from the rare red topaz Morgan mined in South America and had fashioned into a ring for his wife.”
Jane’s love for history and research had provided him with a crash course on the story behind the plantation along with the surrounding region. No surprise that she was enthused about the trip. What did surprise him was that he enjoyed hearing the stories she shared, especially about the impact of the Civil War in the area and the use of Topazus as an infantry hospital.
Now that they had arrived, he was ready to complete his assignment for Cameo. Running backgrounds and conducting interviews, Robert could handle. What he didn’t feel comfortable with was this hoity-toity luncheon and the place setting that vexed him.
According to the Topazus Carte Du Jour, assorted garden greens with roasted carrots and lemon-pepper dressing sat before him. Which fork should he use on the tangy smelling mixture? And was the monogrammed cloth napkin in the golden ring for looks or use? Sharing the table with eight other guests, he didn’t want to commit a major gaffe.
Robert nudged Jane. She cocked an eyebrow and leaned toward him.
“I need a quick lesson in etiquette.”
Smirking, she pulled her napkin from its holder and spread it in her lap.
He’d met Jane at the cancer support group for family members after his wife died and offered her an internship in his agency opened after his recent retirement from law enforcement. She’d been a fast learner, which he needed to be right now.
“Is it my turn to issue rules?”
“Lay it on me. Which fork do I use?”
“Work from the outside in.”
“What about the three-pronged item above my plate?”
“It’s for dessert.”
What was wrong with using one fork for everything?
She pointed. “That is your beverage and you pass food to the right.”
“How many rules are there?”
“Lots.”
Robert scowled. “I don’t dump investigator mandates on you all at once.”
“You’ll be fine. Just follow my lead.”
He followed and tolerated her smug grin.
“Jane, I understand you’re a private investigator. Sounds thrilling.” The comment came from Rita Parsons, seated opposite Jane. Cameo had introduced Rita as a long-time family friend and caterer who was overseeing the luncheon.
“PI intern,” Jane said. “I’m really a kindergarten teacher on temporary leave.” Jane turned toward Cameo. “But the murder case we worked last month offered enough thrills to last me a while.”
Cameo smiled and raised a thumbs up. “Robert and Jane have made quite a team. They exposed a killer and cleared my client. After working so hard, I thought spending Christmas on the plantation would give them time to relax and unwind.” She left off the part about the confidential investigation she had assigned.
Attorney Alfred Berdanier, the estate trustee seated directly across from Robert, addressed him. “Cameo says you’re a retired lawman. You don’t look old enough to be retired.”
“I started at nineteen, right out of standards training, and put in twenty-five years.” He was forty-four and would have stayed in law enforcement longer, but life had thrown him a curve.
Berdanier’s bushy eyebrows met in the middle. “Working for Cameo puts you on the wrong side of the system, doesn’t it?”
Robert bit down hard on a salad crouton. Bullseye. The comment hit gut level. As a lawman, he cringed when defense attorneys championed criminals and sought or created loopholes to turn them loose. A crafty lawyer like Cameo could argue white is black and make you believe it. Truth: working as a private investigator for defense instead of prosecution did give him wrong-side twinges at times. He cleared his throat to respond but was too late. Cameo took over. Head of the table suited her.
“A sanctimonious Alfred Berdanier? You surprise me. You know many people accused of crimes aren’t guilty. But guilty or not, my job as a defense attorney is to help my client navigate the legal system. Right, Robert?”
She made a good point. Defendants did need the assistance of a lawyer to deal with legalities. “The way I see it, an investigator, whether private or government, should work just as hard to prove a man is innocent as he is guilty.”
“Well,” Rita’s voice lilted with a cheery edge, “no matter the side of the law you work for, I hope you two have found your accommodations satisfactory.”
Robert and Jane had been assigned rooms in the separate bed-and-breakfast building behind the mansion’s gardens.
“Jane, I had an idea the red room with its Hepplewhite furnishings might suit you. The desk chair in the room was once used in the Topazus drawing room.”
“A lovely room and—” Jane began.
But Rita talked over her. “I selected the green room for you, Robert. The first Morgan Clark purchased the four-poster bed in Europe. The carved cherry wood headers are magnificent.”
To Robert, a bed was a bed. What he did notice was no TV. “The room is terrific, and I will be sure to take note of those headers.”
Rita’s nod accentuated her upswept hairdo pulled tight enough to erase wrinkles. “My pleasure to host you both.”
Berdanier reached plump hands into the breadbasket and said, “I believe the hostessing title belongs to the Clark ladies at the ends of the table.” He handled all the rolls and finally settled on one, slathered it with butter, and took a big bite.
Cameo grabbed the basket with a scowl which told Robert that Berdanier hadn’t used proper breadbasket protocol.
“Of course,” Rita tittered, “but as caterer for the bed-and-breakfast and this luncheon—”
“You needn’t sugarcoat titles for me.” Katherine Clark, Cameo’s mother, spoke in the same authoritative manner as her daughter from the opposite end of the table. The bold slash of silver that cut across the front of her chestnut hair resembled the mark of Zorro.
“The small plate to your left is for bread and butter,” Jane whispered to Robert.
Berdanier didn’t need a bread plate. He devoured his roll in two bites.
“Gracious of you.” Berdanier said and sent a head bow to Katherine.
“I’m not sure gracious is the right word. Sitting at the table end holds no real meaning, as you well know.” She arched one eyebrow. “Besides, I have gladly relinquished the hostessing duty to Rita.” Katherine acknowledged Rita with a head tilt. “Ever since we were Belles, it was obvious she was made for the role.”
“Ah. A mistress minus the master,” Berdanier said.
“Too bad Rita had to settle for second best.” The comment came from Dean Parsons seated to Katherine’s left. He had been introduced as a realtor and representative for the Chandler Company that Robert was to investigate.
“You flatter yourself with that high a ranking,” Rita shot back at him.
“I shall rephrase.” His stark white hair shimmered in the chandelier’s light as he lifted his hand and pointed to himself. “I was the poor schmuck who married you on the rebound and thought it best for all to bounce out after a few long years.”
The poor schmuck? Second best? Dean was Rita’s ex?
Micah, the estate’s foreman, nudged Dean with the breadbasket. Dean took a roll from the basket and passed it to Katherine.
“You are entertaining.” Rita snickered and lifted her chin. “At least our relationship produced James.” She patted the hand of her son seated next to her. He was a thirty-something attorney with a hairline retreating on either side of a widow’s peak.
Dean sipped his water and set the goblet down. Both father and son locked eyes. Dean gave a perfunctory nod. “That we did. If Katherine hadn’t stolen Morgan from you, there would have been no James.”
“What are Belles?” Jane asked.
Jane to the rescue. The conversation had headed south, but the banter between Robert’s potential interviewees had generated questions he could ask later concerning the sale of the property.
“Belles and Beaus were my grandmother’s brainchild,” Cameo said. “High school students train as docents, learning the plantation’s history and wearing costumes from the 1800s. Rita was in the first group of Belles.”
Rita’s face brightened. “I was a sophomore in high school and recruited Katherine to be a Belle when she moved here our senior year. The tradition is still in place.” Rita pointed at the young woman dressed in a black uniform and white bib apron, serving them. “Mary Sue was once a Belle. With her experience, I was glad to hire her.”
Jane whispered to Robert, “Place your fork across the salad plate to indicate you are finished.”
He barely had time to assimilate the latest rule when Berdanier quipped.
“Interesting. It may be a Belle trait to steal masters from their missus. A fair assessment, Mary Sue?” He flipped the basket cozy aside to reveal one remaining roll and took it.
Mary Sue flushed a bright pink, grabbed the breadbasket, and disappeared through the kitchen door.
“Alfred,” Cameo scolded Berdanier. “Why embarrass the girl?”
“I have my reasons.” He buttered his roll with a flourish.
Rita got up, “I’d better check on her.”
With the swiveling neck of a tennis spectator, Robert paused to place his fork across his salad plate and looked to Jane for approval.
She nodded.
Berdanier continued. “And I have several reasons for wanting to meet with you today, Cameo. I have prepared reports.”
“What about?” Cameo asked.
“The estate’s poor financial status, for one.”
“Financial reports can mislead, depending on the way they are displayed.” James dropped his words of wisdom, but no one acknowledged his remark.
“Financial supervision is your job.” Cameo tugged a strand of thick hair like her mother’s behind her ear and addressed Berdanier with knife-edged words. “Is now really the time to bring this up with guests here?”
“Guests?” Berdanier blurted. “They’re your employees and I’m sure they will understand. The people gathered here all have an interest in the estate, which is supposed to be self-supporting. Micah, tell us how you intend to make the farm profitable again. It has become a liability and not an asset.”
Jane started to pull a tiny notebook from her purse. Robert touched her wrist and gave a slight head shake. Reading body language was more important than writing right now.
Seated next to Jane on the same side of the table, Micah spoke in a distinctive baritone. “It’s true. We’ve had some disastrous growing seasons. I’ve lost cotton crops in the Thousand-Year Flood, followed by Hurricanes Matthew and Florence. But I have two hundred acres plowed and prepared for a good crop this upcoming year.”
“I’d have thought you would have learned how to plan for such problems in your agribusiness courses,” Berdanier said. Micah’s grip took a stranglehold on his fork while Berdanier swallowed the last of his roll and dusted his hands together. “The Topazus ring’s being stolen saved the day last year. The insurance money has kept this plantation afloat.”
“If it took the theft of the family’s rare topaz to keep the estate viable, I question your management capabilities.” Cameo had delicate features but a harsh back-at-you courtroom technique that zinged. She twisted a bite from her roll and popped it in her mouth. “I received a call from an environmental office inquiring about a Roger Underwood and mineral leasing. I was in the dark, but apparently, you’re not?”
Berdanier’s ears reddened as Cameo pressed on. “And how is it the ring conveniently disappeared? Insurance fraud is a criminal offense.”
Slamming his water glass on the table, his dessert fork jumped and clinked against his plate. Berdanier said, “Are you suggesting—”
“I’m suggesting it may be time to rid the estate of the middleman,” Cameo said.
Berdanier eyes narrowed and he faced Cameo. “Don’t forget Sandra Cathey. There are some offenses that have no statute of limitations and a middleman was your salvation.”
Cameo’s face drained of color.
Attorney Berdanier, having drawn blood, launched a barb in a different direction. “As for the ring, Rita discovered it was missing. I merely reported it.” He clipped words at the end of his sentences.
Rita returned from the kitchen with a steaming platter. Mary Sue, composed but solemn, removed salad plates. “Cameo, please serve yourself and pass the entrée,” Rita said.
Cameo, visibly shaken, tried to accept the dish but almost dropped it. Robert reached for the serving piece and held it for her.
Rita didn’t seem to notice Cameo’s near slip and continued talking. “This is my signature chicken with a special cranberry orange sauce,” she said with flair and returned to her seat.
“Not to brag, but I helped Mother perfect the seasoning on this dish.” James leaned to one side for Mary Sue to clear his plate and clasped his hands in bravo style. “Culinary dabbling is a hobby.”
“James did help me. A man that loves to cook will make a fine catch,” Rita said and sent a smile in Cameo’s direction.
Robert slid two chicken breasts onto his plate and breathed in the warm citrusy bouquet. The scent swirled around and mixed with his investigative juices. The questions of correct utensil use pestered him, but inquiries around mineral leasing, liabilities, and theft, drew him like a Bluetick Coonhound on a track.
Berdanier flicked at crumbs on his tie and spoke to Cameo. “The topaz ring is among the matters I wish to discuss after lunch.”
Rita jerked around; a strand of hair sprung loose. “Really, must you do that today? I was counting on Cameo and James trying on their costumes after lunch, in case adjustments are needed before the Christmas events.”
Robert imitated Jane’s use of fork and knife as she commented. “Stepping back in time and wearing antebellum fashions sounds intriguing.”
To Robert it sounded about as intriguing as a cold bath on a winter night. But Jane’s being charmed by this place pleased Robert.
“I visited Topazus with my aunt when I was ten, and I’m thrilled to return. I’m surprised you don’t live in this house,” Jane said to Katherine.
Katherine huffed. “Stay in this damp, musty place? No, thank you. Be glad you’re staying in the bed-and-breakfast rooms behind the gardens. I’m happier in my house on the hill, even though I’m harassed by squirrels and raccoons.”
“Coons are intelligent creatures and clean. They like to wash their food.” James inserted another unsolicited tidbit.
“I don’t know about intelligent,” Dean said. “I was grilling steaks last night on Katherine’s patio and a coon jumped from the picnic table onto the grate, going for the steak. The crazy animal had to have burned his feet. Unbelievable. He knocked the grill over and made a mess.”
“The squirrels wreak havoc on my bird feeders too.” Katherine squinted. “I keep my .22 rifle handy by the back door.”
“You don’t want to mess with Katherine. She’s an expert shot.” Dean said.
“Another Belle trait. My mom is a dandy shot too,” James said.
Amazing. Two guys sparring over which lady was the best shot.
Micah spoke up. “Ladies, I could use your expertise on the farm. Besides the flood and hurricanes, we’ve had trouble with squirrels and rodents getting into the cotton seed.”
“What about the flood water?” Cameo asked Berdanier. “Have you had the house checked for mold?”
“Again, another topic to address—” Berdanier began and Rita interrupted.
“I was concerned too. I had James’ friend Brandon, who has a restoration business, check for mold. He gave the house a clean bill of health.”
Berdanier lifted his brows. “Really? You’ve played mistress here so long; I believe you think you own the place.”
Stabbing the chicken on her plate with a fork, Rita used her knife to saw off a bite with a vengeance. “I am here more than any of you, except Micah.”
“Exactly what topics are on your list?” Cameo asked. She’d regained color and seemed back in command.
Berdanier held up an index finger. “Number one, insurance. We can’t afford what they charge to insure a house that would go up like kindling if it caught fire. There is no sprinkling system or fire hydrant close by.”
“Are you saying we are no longer insured?”
“We’ve got liability, not replacement.”
“All the more reason to consider Chandler Development’s purchase proposal,” Dean said.
Katherine nodded. Rita glared.
“Chandler Development is on my list,” Berdanier said. “And Dean is here to answer questions regarding their proposal. But selling the property means dealing with historical preservation and heirs’ property.”
Katherine threw her shoulders back. “What? Preservation? Heirs’ property? Since when are those issues?”
Rita perked up.
“There’s a new law, the Clementa Pinckney Partition of Heirs’ Property Act to be exact. It could sabotage a sale.” James again.
“What are you talking about?” Cameo asked.
James lifted his hand, palm outward, and offered more information. “The act pertains to descendants of slaves who live on land inherited without clear title. Micah living on Topazus is an excellent example. Early black landowners didn’t make wills, largely due to a lack of access to legal resources.”
Berdanier nodded. “If descendants of slaves belonging to the Clarks filed a claim, the property could be designated as heirs’ property, which would sabotage and throw a monkey wrench into a property sale.”
“Sabotage? Monkey wrench? You make it sound underhanded for ancestors of slaves making property claims.” Micah’s fists rested in tight balls beside his plate. “The original owner of this plantation freed his slaves,” he jabbed his chest, “my ancestors. And we’ve been on the land for seven generations. Bad enough you challenged my farming ability. But there has always been an understanding about property rights. I take offense at your remarks.”
Micah was articulate and knowledgeable about the estate. Robert made a mental note to put him up top on his interview list.
Berdanier gulped water from his goblet and wiped a drip from his chin. “Excuse my poor word choice. Unless paperwork exists regarding this understanding, as you put it,” he shrugged, “my point may have no bearing on a sales deal.”
Katherine spoke up. “Micah, the estate appreciates your work. You have a home and the property it sits on as long as you want. That is if my say counts in the matter.” She wrinkled her forehead and eyed Cameo.
Robert pinched his chin. The distance between mother and daughter extended beyond that of the seating at the table. Topazus complexities had loosened the lid on a boiling cauldron.
“I’m sure Chandler Developers will honor Micah’s claim,” Dean said.
“On your say so?” Berdanier snickered. “I reiterate. The heirs’ property issue could kill a developer’s interest in the property.” Berdanier cocked his head toward Micah. “As you say, there have been seven generations, so undoubtedly more descendants exist than just you and your family. What can impede a sale is locating all the potential parties who could lay claim to the land and then reaching an agreement that satisfies all involved.”
Katherine thrust her index finger toward Berdanier. “You are looking for ways to stir things up unnecessarily and stop the sale.”
James piped up again and directed his comment to Robert and Jane. “You can surmise from the fiery conversation, Topazus is well-named—the word derives from Greek, meaning fire. The estate has a reputation for heated conflict since the War Between the States when the feuding Clark brothers fought on opposite sides.”
The guy seemed to know a little something about everything.
Rita continued to stir. “If there is financial concern, keep in mind that my catering business pays the estate a percentage when Topazus is used for receptions and weddings.”
“Which is paltry compared to the financial need. In case the water isn’t muddied enough, I support selling Topazus.” Katherine said.
Rita snorted, and Dean suppressed a cough.
“Chandler Development boasts an incredible vision.” Katherine surged forward. “They’ve offered to preserve what they can of the house and move it alongside the chapel and historical cedar tree. Continuing to patch this house,” Katherine pointed to the walls, “and slap on paint and wallpaper, is pouring good money after bad. The developers can afford to restore it properly.”
“But Topazus would pass out of the family.” Cameo said.
Katherine whacked the table with her hand. “What difference does that make?”
“It’s not what Daddy wanted,” Cameo fired back. “And protecting the family heritage is why it was held in trust to begin with.”
Katherine turned to Berdanier. “Remember, making wise investments is what you are to do.” She thrust an admonishing finger at him.
“I’m trying to do the wise thing by keeping you informed.” Berdanier waved his hand, wiggling his pinky ring at Katherine. “Don’t shoot the messenger.”
Katherine stood and stomped to the dining room door. She turned around, nostrils flaring. “I wouldn’t bank on that request if I were you.” She dropped the verbal bomb and the sound of her heavy departing footsteps echoed from the hallway.
So much for Cameo’s perfect place to relax and unwind. Topazus may have outlived the Civil War, but could it survive the bitterness on display here today? Experience told Robert this Christmas vacation away from his “PI normal” would not be restful.
###
Jane set down her fork beside her half-eaten dessert. A pall covered the room. Luncheon plates had been cleared and lemon cheesecake served. Dining in this historic home had filled her dreams since Cameo extended the invitation to the plantation. But her dreams hadn’t anticipated the quagmire she and Robert had stepped into.
Dean pushed back his chair and stood. “Excuse me. As Classic Realty’s liaison for Chandler Development, I am presenting their Topazus vision at a meeting in Columbia later this afternoon. I had hoped to share the designer’s proposals for this property with you. But now, all I can say is, keep an open mind about the company’s offer.” He directed his remarks to Cameo and Berdanier. “Thank you for lunch.” He made a slight bow toward Rita and left.
The dessert lumped in Jane’s stomach. Partially eaten cheesecakes rested on plates around the table except for Mr. Berdanier’s. At present he was using his finger to lick his plate clean. She would have reprimanded her kindergarten students for showing such poor manners.
Berdanier leaned toward Robert and Jane. “You are being introduced to Topazus and the Clark family saga. My unenviable assignment as trustee is to handle the estate responsibly…” He drained his coffee cup, and it clattered against the saucer as he set it back down. “… which I will do.” He folded and dropped his napkin on his dessert plate.
Jane placed her napkin beside her plate and instructed Robert. “Lay your used napkin beside the plate, not in it.” She nodded toward Berdanier’s bad example. “And don’t refold it.”
Micah had disappeared behind Mary Sue through the kitchen door, and James talked on his cell phone away from the table.
Berdanier picked at something lodged in a tooth. “Rita should offer toothpicks with her catering service,” he muttered, but his voice carried throughout the room.
“So, Cameo,” Berdanier said, “I guess it is best to let the dust settle on this foray. Let’s meet in my office tomorrow. My reports are meant for your eyes only. But with a century-old house, one more day won’t make a difference.”
Rita interjected. “The house is one-hundred seventy-seven years old, closer to two centuries.”
“I suppose, if you want to nitpick,” he said, sucking at his tooth.
“And I do.” She winced and looked down at her stylish tan shoes with narrow toes. “But like these shoes pinching my feet, it’s not worth the hassle.” She lifted a platter and limped her way to the kitchen.
Jane’s feet twinged with empathy. She’d worn pointy-toed shoes like Rita’s before and decided the looks did not outweigh the pain.
Berdanier shrugged. “I’ll see you tomorrow?” he said to Cameo.
“Ten?”
“Ten it is.” Berdanier left the dining room and walked into the hall where he sniffed ribboned cinnamon stick clusters on a Christmas tree.
Familiar with the Mobile attorney’s punctuality, Jane predicted that Cameo might make the meeting by eleven. With the luncheon party scattered, she gave Robert a “what now” look.
Cameo took a last sip from her coffee cup and rose. “Robert, you and Jane join me in the library across the hall.” I’ll just be a few minutes.” She took her cup to the kitchen.
“A few minutes?” Robert said. “We’ll probably have time for a game of chess.”
Jane snickered.
James passed by them, his ear to his cell phone, saying in a low voice, “Don’t worry, you’ll get your money.” He ended his call and dropped the phone into his jacket pocket.
“Lovely luncheon.” James rubbed his hands together and looked through the doorway. “Sorry you had to witness the discord.” He lifted his chin, indicating Berdanier who was examining a vase in the great hall. “Enjoy your stay.” He hurried toward the front door.
“I don’t know if that directive is possible,” Robert said. “Lead the way to the library.”
“With pleasure.” Jane stepped into the wide central hall that divided the Federal-style house, extending from the front entry to the back door. Since hearing about their assignment at Topazus, she had checked out books at the Mobile library and read internet articles about the house’s history and printed off the floor plan. Off the main hall, the drawing room and library were on the right. On the left were the music room and dining room with an add-on kitchen. The original kitchen had been separate from the house as a precaution against fires.
Entering the library, Jane stared, unblinking, a moment. She took in the bookshelves that covered the library walls with a ladder on rollers providing a way to reach books shelved up to the ceiling. A Christmas tree stood in front of the window to the left and a small fire crackled in the fireplace on the right. Cozy.
“I could spend hours in this room.” Filled with old books, the room carried a faint earthy scent tinged with cedar from the Christmas tree. Jane breathed deep, smelling memories. Many times, her brother and she put jigsaw puzzles together while a fire blazed in the family fireplace.
Robert scanned the room. “Looks like a place the men used to come to smoke.”
“Could be,” Cameo said. She arrived more quickly than Jane had imagined. “Topazus didn’t have a dedicated smoking room popular in large homes of the period.”
A massive desk designed with seating on both sides commanded the room’s center.
Cameo motioned for them to take a seat at the desk. “Sorry for the edgy conversation at lunch. But here’s the deal. Family ownership has passed down from the original ancestors, Morgan and Martha Lee Clark, but stopped when my father married my mother instead of Rita as everyone expected. My grandfather, Stanford Clark, placed the estate in a trust with Torrance Berdanier. His son, Alfred who you met today, is successor trustee, and when his service ends, the management and control reverts to me.”
“What is a successor trustee?” Jane asked.
“The person responsible for settling the trust for the beneficiary.” She shrugged. “That’s why I call him a middleman. My grandfather wanted to ensure that ownership bypassed my parents. I own the property, but the trust manages it. Since Daddy died, I’ve been busy with the law firm in Mobile and it has been easier for me to allow Berdanier to continue as trustee. But it may be time to pull his involvement. Mother has the right to live on and draw income from the property and voice her opinions only.”
“Your mother mentioned living in a house on the hill.”
“Yes. After Daddy retired and turned the law practice over to me, Mother had hoped to move back to Pine Bluff where they started married life and I grew up. But Daddy wanted to return to his roots. Mother agreed to live on the estate, but not in the plantation house. She said it made her head hurt. Building Crest Manor was the compromise.”
Cameo’s phone buzzed. She read the message, puffed out air and dropped her chin. “Dean is concerned about mother being upset and wants me to check on her.” She pushed back from the desk. “She’s not the only one upset.” A frown creased her forehead. “Alfred Berdanier enjoys pressing people’s buttons and went overboard today.” She slapped her fist against the desktop. “He needs to be stopped.” She stood, shoved the phone in her jacket pocket and strode toward the door. “Make yourselves comfortable. I’ll be back shortly.”
Jane squeezed her hands together, her eyes following Cameo. “Family dynamics bring out raw emotions.”
“Ask any cop and he’ll tell you domestic calls can be the most lethal. The love connection is powerful—along with its counterpart of hate and discontent.”
Jane pursed her lips. “I can relate to the mixed feelings. My brother and I used to be close.”
“Doesn’t he live near here?”
“Outside Florence. He’s an electrician and works with a remodeling and construction firm.”
“You should invite him over while you’re this close.”
Her insides wilted. She shook her head. “What’s the point? If he wouldn’t come when mother was dying, I doubt he’d take time to see me.”
“You won’t know if you don’t try.”
She sighed as bitterness tapped her on the shoulder. Her brother, Adam, was the only close blood relative she had left. Her father had died in a construction accident after her parents divorced. Her mother, who died from cancer, had been gone six months. Sadly, she felt closer to those in the family cancer support group where she’d met Robert, than to her brother. “My heart says you’re right. I’ve tried to push aside resentment, but ... I can’t forget.”
She dusted her hands together and stood, scanning the room. “For now, I’ll enjoy Topazus.” She turned all the way around. “All these books. All this history.” Maybe her exposure to this room when she came with her aunt years ago is what sparked her bent for nostalgia. She ran her fingers along the spines of a matched set of history books. “If these books could talk, what would they say?”
“We’re tired of being cooped up in here.” Robert mimicked a high-pitched voice.
Jane sent him an eye roll.
Raising the corner of his mouth, he said, “What do you think they’d say?”
“I think they’d say, ‘Come see what you can learn from me. Treasures are waiting to be discovered.’” Jane used her teacher voice.
“Hmm. A book filled with adventure and the good guy wins after guns blaze and horses whinny is my speed. I’m not all that big on flowery poems, classics, and such.”
Jane reached for The Last of the Mohicans by James Fenimore Cooper. “Not all classics are as dull as you might think. Here’s a good example.” Jane brushed away a powdery gray haze on the cover and sneezed. “They should probably run a dehumidifier in here.”
Jane pulled a tissue from her purse and wiped the cover. Opening the book, goosebumps tickled her neck. “This is a first edition. No telling what it’s worth.” She tapped the front. “The first hardbacks were made this way, using paper-covered boards.”
“I recognize the title,” Robert said, peering over her shoulder. “What’s it about?”
Jane read the summary page which spoke of wars, kidnapping, Indians, horses, guns, and gruesome conflict. “See? Adventure in abundance.”
Cameo reentered the room. “Quite a collection, isn’t it?”
Absorbed in book plots, it seemed she was gone a few minutes, but it had been close to thirty.
“Jane is trying to bestow me with a bit of culture.” Robert returned to his seat and Jane shelved the classic. Patting the spine, the unique find sent another thrill through her.
Cheeks flushed, Cameo sat down in the desk chair and stared at her feet. Odd for her. After a moment, she straightened and inhaled deeply. “Sorry for the interruption. Berdanier’s rudeness, innuendos and bullying has me unsettled.” She tapped the desk. “Tell me. What have you found out about Chandler Development?”
“I ran a background on the company and the registered owner—a Mr. Reginald Wittmer. I found nothing amiss. No bankruptcy. No criminal charges. Credit scores are good.” Robert touched his fingers making his points. “Dean Parsons acting on their behalf doesn’t raise any red flags.”
“Selling the plantation is not the legacy my grandfather wanted ...” Cameo choked on the words, and a pained expression crossed her face. She tilted her head upward. Keeping tears from spilling?
Jane hung her head in the uncomfortable silence. Having to deal with her mother’s meager estate was challenging enough. Problems with a large plantation like Topazus must weigh heavy.
Robert sat and waited
Cameo sniffed. “Putting the estate in trust was grandfather’s solution. But he dealt with Alfred’s father, Torrance Berdanier, who is dead and gone.”
Robert, steepled his fingers under his chin and gave Cameo a contemplative nod. “I can see the decisions you must deal with are—”
Heavy footsteps thudded down the hall. Jane turned toward the library entry as James surged into the room, eyes wide.
“Alfred Berdanier. He’s dead.”

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