Home for the Summer Page 30

  He led Ellis to his office and closed the door behind them.

  “So how do you really feel?” He held out a chair for her, and she sat.

  “Strange. It’s strange to introduce myself as Ellie instead of Ellis. My father hated nicknames so I’ve never had one. Ryder is my middle name, but I never use it, so that’s strange, too.”

  “You don’t have to do this, you know.” Jesse sat behind his desk in a dark green leather chair. “I think you’ll find people here to be much less judgmental than you might assume.”

  “Over the past year, I’ve had more judgment passed on me than you could possibly imagine. Friends I thought for sure I could count on stopped returning my calls as soon as the news broke.” Her best effort not to sound bitter was failing her. “My father has a fairly large family, but every one of them has turned their back on me. Even when my home was confiscated, my car, my jewelry, my bank accounts—no one would let me sleep on their sofa for even one night. If not for one friend who stuck by me, I wouldn’t even have had a car to drive down here.”

  “The Mercedes you parked out front belongs to a friend?” Jesse asked.

  When she nodded, he smiled. “Nice friend.”

  “The best,” she agreed. “I don’t know where I’d have been this past year without her.”

  “I understand that you’ve been treated unfairly, but I’m asking you to keep an open mind as far as the people in St. Dennis are concerned. You’ll find them welcoming and friendly, if you let them.”

  “I’m not here to make friends, and frankly, I hope I’m not here any longer than it will take to sell the house my mother left me.” She looked at him across the desk and added, “You don’t know what it’s like to have people judge you because of something your father did.”

  “Oh, but I do.” Jesse leaned back in his chair. “My father was the black sheep of the Enright clan. Still is, actually. Suffice it to say, I had to earn my grandfather’s trust to join this firm, prove that I was good enough to call myself an Enright here in this town where Enrights have practiced law for close to two hundred years. So yes, I do know what it’s like to be judged because of something your father did. I overcame it, and so will you.”

  “But you were still able to work as a lawyer somewhere, right?”

  “In Ohio before I came here, yes.”

  “I can’t get anyone to even give me an interview or return my calls. I ran public relations for a major corporation for eight years, and I can’t get anyone to hire me. Granted, the company was owned by my father—hence the confiscation of my worldly goods, all being perceived as ‘fruit of the poison tree,’ as the FBI told me repeatedly—but still, I was very good at what I did. One of the investigators even said that one of the reasons the entire scheme came as such a shock to everyone was the fact that I’d done such a good job creating the company’s image. So even though I had no hand in the scheme, I did have a hand in the public’s perception of CC Investments.” She blew out a breath. “When I think about all of the lives he ruined, I get sick to my stomach. All the retired people who’d trusted him with their pensions, their mortgages, their futures …”

  “What your father did was unconscionable, but you’re not responsible for the decisions he made. I think the fact that the FBI and the SEC have both totally exonerated you from any involvement in your father’s scheme makes that clear.”

  “Intellectually, I do know that I’m not responsible. I do. But then I think about all the suffering he’s caused, and I just feel sick all over again.”

  “I understand,” Jesse said. “But you’re here to pick up the pieces and put your life back together again. I want you to know that you can call on this firm for anything, any time.”

  “I appreciate that, Jesse. You’ve already done so much. My mother was wise to have entrusted the Enrights with her property.”

  “Actually, it was your mother’s cousin, Lilly, who first came to us, as clear as I can figure out from reading the file and from talking to Violet.”

  “Violet?” Ellis tried not to panic. Someone other than Jesse knew?

  “My receptionist. You may have noticed she’s a bit … advanced in her years.”

  “She knows?”

  “She knows that you are Lynley’s daughter, and that you’ve inherited the house.” Jesse held up a hand. “There’s no way she wouldn’t have known, Ellis. Ellie,” he corrected himself. “Violet’s been here forever—she worked for my grandfather for years. She knew Lilly—went to school with her, I think—and she knew your mother and your grandmother. She typed up the original wills. But she also knows there’s a confidentiality issue here, and she will not discuss it with anyone, I can assure you of that. That woman has kept more secrets than either of us will hear in a lifetime. Your identity is safe with her.”

  “I trust you, so I will have to trust her, I suppose. Though the way she looked at me when I came in …” She paused, remembering the woman in the coffee shop. “There was another woman, one in the coffee shop, who greeted me as if she knew me.”

  “Don’t let your imagination run away with you. I told you, it’s a friendly little town.”

  “Be that as it may, I’d like to stick to the explanation we discussed on the phone.”

  “That you purchased the house from Lynley Sebastian’s estate and you’re fixing it up to sell it?”

  “Yes.”

  “You’re the client.” Jesse pulled a thick folder to the center of the desk. “Now, I suppose you want to get on with the business at hand.”

  He pulled a sheaf of documents from the folder, explained each, and showed her where to sign. Twenty-two minutes later, he handed her a small envelope with the address, 1 Lighthouse Lane, written on the front in blue ink. She could feel the shape of keys inside, and her heart took an unexpected leap.

  “The keys to your home,” he said. “I went over this morning and turned up the thermostat, so it should be nice and cozy for you. There’s wood stacked outside if you feel like building a fire. The chimneys were all cleaned out four years ago and to the best of my knowledge, none of the fireplaces have been used since. The bank account your mother set up years ago has paid the taxes and utilities and periodic repairs—we had to have the roof replaced a few years back—and from time to time we checked in to make sure that all was well, that the faucets weren’t leaking, that sort of thing.”

  “I can’t thank you enough for looking out for the place. I’m sure my mother appreciated it.”

  “She was the one who made it possible. She set up the account a long time ago, with money she made from her modeling career. Once it was verified that she’d earned that money and set it aside before your father even set up his investment fund, the Feds weren’t able to touch the accounts. Because your father’s fingerprints weren’t on any of it, you still have that money to work with. I never personally met your mother—I guess she passed away before I came to St. Dennis—but Violet spoke very highly of her.”

  “Violet knew my mother?”

  “Sure. I imagine there are more than a few of the old timers who knew her when she was younger. She did grow up here, you know.”

  “But she left so long ago, I didn’t think about people having known her.”

  “I didn’t grow up here, but I assure you, I remember Lynley Sebastian. After all, she was one of the first supermodels. Back in the day, every boy on the planet had one of her posters in his room.” He smiled. “I know I did.”

  “Let me guess. The one where she’s leaning on a fence and she’s wearing a very thin pale pink dress.”

  “And the wind is whipping that long blond hair around her.” Jesse grinned. “The very one.”

  “If I had a dime for every time someone brought that up to me …” She rolled her eyes.

  “Speaking of money …” Jesse pulled another stack of papers front and center on the desk. “Here are the bank accounts I told you about. There’s not a whole lot of money left at this point, but if you’re careful, I think
you can manage until the house is sold.” He looked up at her. “You are still planning on selling the house?”

  “Yes. The sooner the better. That’s why I’m here.”

  “I can put you in touch with a Realtor when you’re ready. Now, there might be some minor repairs that need to be done or perhaps some upgrades you might want to think about before you put it on the market. There’s been no updating in thirty years, so I’m sure it all looks very dated. I can send Cameron O’Connor over to talk to you about all that. He’s actually the one who’s been taking care of the place.”

  “He’s the handyman?”

  “You could call him that.” Jesse appeared to be suppressing a smile. “Now, here are the papers you need to take to the bank in order to have the accounts moved into your name.”

  “But if I put my real name on the account, then the people at the bank will know.” She frowned. So much for her desire for anonymity.

  Jesse tapped a pen on the desktop and appeared to be considering other options.

  “We can do this: We can maintain the accounts as they are now, in the name of your mother’s estate. As executor, I’ve been signing the checks on behalf of the firm. I can continue to do so until the house is sold. You can submit any bills you have for repairs or whatever to me, and I’ll pay them. If you need cash, we can arrange that as well. We can work under the pretext that the estate has agreed to pay for any repairs to the property as part of the agreement of sale.”

  “Perfect.” She sighed with relief.

  Jesse gathered all of the papers and slid them into a brown legal envelope and tied the strings to secure it.

  “Here you go, Ms. Ryder.” He handed it over to her. “I wish you all the best.” He paused, then added, “I hope you do give the folks around here a chance. Everyone isn’t out to hurt you.”

  “I’ll try to keep that in mind.” She rose, the large envelope under her arm. “Hopefully, I won’t be here long enough to find out.”

  Jesse opened the door for her and led her into the foyer.

  “If you need anything, anything at all, let us know and we’ll do whatever we can to help,” he told her.

  “Thank you, Jesse. I can’t even put into words how much I appreciate everything you’ve done.”

  “You’re welcome. Maybe we’ll run into you at Cuppachino for coffee one of these days. It’s the place where all the locals gather every day.”

  “I don’t know that I could handle one of those cupcakes every day.”

  “They are lethal, but I’ll be sure to tell Brooke that you enjoyed it.”

  “Please do.” Ellis craned her neck to see if Violet was at her desk so she could say good-bye, but the room was empty.

  Jesse held the front door open and stepped outside with her. “Glad to see the sun came out. It’s been a little on the gloomy side the past couple of days.”

  “It’s still chilly,” Ellis noted.

  “November moving head-first into winter,” he said. “Hope you brought some warm clothes.”

  “I did, thanks.”

  Jesse accompanied her to the end of the cobbled walk, his hands in his pockets. “Check in from time to time and let me know how things are going.”

  “Will do. Thanks again for everything, Jesse.”

  He nodded and waited at the sidewalk while she walked to her car, then waved before turning and going back into the building.

  Nice guy, she told herself, and said a prayer of thanks that her mother’s family had selected such a firm to represent them. She was well aware that another attorney might have been willing to sell her out. She could see the headlines now:

  Daughter of Clifford Chapman Found Living Under Assumed Name in Small Maryland Town!

  King of Fraud’s Daughter Dumps His Name, Hides Out on Eastern Shore!

  Sad but true.

  She slid behind the wheel and started the car. Following the directions Jesse had printed out for her, she drove around the square and made a left to head back to Charles Street. Once on Charles, she made another left and drove back through the center of town. Two blocks past the light, she took a right onto Lighthouse Lane and drove all the way to its unpaved end. The number 1 was painted in dark green on a white mailbox that looked surprisingly new. She stopped in the middle of the street and stared at her inheritance.

  The house seemed to have nothing in common with the others she’d passed on her travels through town, those colonial and federal and Queen Anne styles that appeared on every block. This house, set back from the road, looked like an overgrown cottage, with a misplaced gable here and there. The white clapboard could have used a new coat of paint and the shutters were faded. Three brick chimneys—one listing slightly to the side—protruded from the roof. At the end of the driveway, which was covered in what appeared to be crushed shells, stood an outbuilding, a garage or a carriage house, its windows painted black. The shades in every window of the house had been pulled down, making it look as if it had something to hide. The entire property was encircled by some of the tallest trees she’d ever seen. All in all, the impression was far from inviting.

  Like it or not, this was home.

  She eased the sedan into the driveway and sat for several long moments before bursting into tears.

  To Cole—you are our sunshine

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Because writing the book is only the beginning, I must send many thanks to the amazing team at Ballantine Books—Kate Collins, Gina Wachtel, Scott Shannon, Libby McGuire, Linda Marrow, Junessa Viloria, Ania Markiewicz, Alison Masciovecchio, Kristin Fassler, Scott Biel—I sure hope I didn’t forget someone! These are the folks who do the heavy lifting, and they do a phenomenal job of making what I send them into a book, and then getting it out there and making sure people know that it’s out there. I owe them all big time.

  Thanks also to my agent, Loretta Barrett, and her crew—Jennifer Didik and Nick Mullendore—for all the years of working so hard on my behalf.

  The book you’re holding in your hands is number thirty-five for me! I know! I can hardly believe it myself! But without the support of my friends and family, I’d never have finished that first one. So huge thanks to Helen Egner and the late Carole Spayd for cheering me on back in those early days—and to Bill, Becca, Katie, Mike, and the newest member of the family, our darling Cole, for giving meaning to the journey.

  Many thanks to Marianne McBay, Wed Accompli—Weddings and Events, Savannah, Georgia, not only for years of friendship and laughter (we don’t need to say how many years), but for sharing her knowledge of the world of wedding planning that made this book possible.

  Karyn Park won the right to have a character named after her in the annual ADWOFF raffle benefitting the Nora Roberts Foundation (thanks and love, as always, to Phyllis Lannik). Hopefully, Karyn is enjoying her new career as a celebrity photographer.

  Lastly, since we have three cousins named Bonnie, it was only a matter of time until I named a character after them. So here you go, Bonnie Slavin-Walls, Bonnie Bricker Almquist, and Bonnie Shafer Sayette (whose maiden name was so good I poached it all!).

  BY MARIAH STEWART

  Hometown Girl

  Home for the Summer

  Almost Home

  Home Again

  Coming Home

  Acts of Mercy

  Cry Mercy

  Mercy Street

  Last Breath

  Last Words

  Last Look

  Final Truth

  Dark Truth

  Hard Truth

  Cold Truth

  Dead End

  Dead Even

  Dead Certain

  Dead Wrong

  Forgotten

  Until Dark

  The President’s Daughter

 

 

 
k with friends