A Family Affair: Spring: Truth in Lies, Book 2 (6 page)

“Christine’s in business,” Pop said. “She’s renting an office next door to Barbara’s Boutique and Bakery.”

Of course, Mimi must already know that, being the mayor and all. She eyed Christine over her lime reading glasses. “I heard you helped Richard Voormen get a loan and gave him a budget.”

How had she heard that? “Well, I can’t really say.”

The woman waved a hand in the air. “Don’t need to. I’m friends with the boy’s aunt and she told me all about it. Says there might be hope for him yet.”

“See there?” Pop nodded. “Christine’s a financial whiz.”

“Good to know. Now, go grab yourself something to eat. I brought those sugar cookies you like and there’s hibiscus tea over there, too. And Ramona brought sweet rolls.” Mimi excused herself and moved toward the oblong table.

“That didn’t go very well.” Christine said in a low voice. She’d had more success in a boardroom filled with top executives than she did with the
mayor of Magdalena.

Pop shrugged. “It
ain’t over yet. Give it time to percolate. Now, let’s get some sugar cookies.”

The meeting began and ended with plans to plant flowers in the wooden boxes alongside the business locations downtown and in the hanging baskets near the coffee shop. Suggestions for specific flowers were given and noted, votes were taken, and petunias, impatiens, alyssum, and tuberose
tuberous begonias were the winners. There were nine people in attendance, including Pop and Christine. Will Carrick was the only other male. He owned a stretch of land outside of town and the society used a patch of his property to grow and harvest perennials. When Mimi Pendergrass introduced Christine, the members mouthed their welcomes, some even smiled, but the wariness in their eyes said they didn’t know Christine Desantro any more than they knew Christine Blacksworth.

The majority of The Bleeding Hearts Society monthly meeting had nothing to do with planting, propagating, or harvesting. In fact, it had nothing to do with anything related to plants. It did
, however, have to do with Will Carrick’s niece, age fifteen, sneaking out after curfew, threatening to run away, disrespecting the rules of the house. In other words, being a teenager.

“What can you do about it?” Will rubbed his temples with
callused hands. “My sister is beside herself with worry that Megan is just going to take off one day, and if she does she’ll have gotten into deep trouble.” Code for pregnant.

“Where’s her father?” Christine asked.

They all looked at her as though she’d asked about running a highway through their town.

“Gone,” Ramona
Casherdon said between pinched lips.

“Amen to that,” Will
muttered.

“It is so hard to be a parent today,” Wanda Cummings said.
“Almost worse to be a grandparent and witness it all.” Pop had told Christine that Wanda had eight children and sixteen grandchildren, all living within a ten-mile radius of Magdalena. “Do you think we can invite someone to speak at the library about troubled teens? They brought in that social worker last year and I thought she was real helpful.”

“I suppose we could have a plant sale and put the proceeds toward the cost of the speaker.”
This from Mimi. “Even a bake sale would help. Ramona,” she turned to the woman with the solemn expression and said, “maybe we could coax you into baking a few dozen sweet rolls?”

“And I’ll make
pizzelles,” Pop piped in. “But if we want to raise serious money, we need the help of a professional.” He grinned and extended a hand in Christine’s direction. “This little lady knows all about raising money and she’s going to teach us how to do it.”

***

The most valuable lesson Gloria learned from her father-in-law, Randolph Blacksworth, was to employ the element of surprise whenever possible. It worked in battles fought on the field, in the boardroom, and in life. For this reason, Gloria did not announce her impending arrival in Magdalena. Rather, on a sunny Tuesday in early June, she drove her black Mercedes sedan through the streets of the small town and straight to ND Manufacturing. She didn’t expect to find Christine there. She did, however, expect to locate her target: Nathan Desantro, Christine’s husband. If Gloria had any say in the matter or could manipulate the situation to her satisfaction, the man would not possess that title much longer.

Gloria parked her car in the truck-filled lot and entered the low, squat building. She’d never been inside a factory, and while there was no distinct odor to the place, she wrinkled her nose. What would Charles have said if she’d made the trip while he was alive? Would he have begged her to leave, promising to end his relationship with Magdalena and everyone associated with it? Or would he have stood beside that woman and their child and told Gloria he wanted a divorce? She couldn’t say, even now after his death, and that was why she’d never entered Magdalena while Charles was alive.

But now he was dead and Christine had married the mistress’s son and practically disowned her mother. It had to stop, no matter what methods need be employed, and Gloria was quite good at inventing ways to get what she wanted. It was ultimately for Christine’s own good. Mothers always knew what was best for their children, and it was a mother’s duty to steer the child back onto the right track, especially if said child had gone astray—which Christine had.

The
Desantro man was the key. She’d read enough about him in Lester Conroy’s report to know he was fiercely loyal, proud, hard-working, loved his sister and apparently Christine. Damn to the last one. Maybe Lester was wrong? Just because he saw a couple holding hands did not mean love. Or kissing or cooking a meal together. But the man usually had a keen sense about these things, so it might be true. Even if love were involved, Nathan Desantro was a hothead with trust issues, and Gloria would make those work to her advantage.

“Ma’am, can I help you?”

A thin woman with tight curls and cat-eye glasses peered at Gloria from across the receptionist window as though she’d just spotted a lioness and couldn’t put a name to it.

“Yes.” Gloria advanced toward the window and offered a smile in the woman’s direction. “I’m looking for Nathan
Desantro. Is he available?”

“I don’t know. I can check.” She lifted the receiver on the phone and paused, her small face a wrinkle of confusion. “Who should I say is calling?”

“Gloria Blacksworth. His mother-in-law.”

***

Nate had been working on a machine that went down on second shift when Betty called to tell him his mother-in-law was waiting for him in the lobby. For a half second, he thought Jack Finnegan was playing a joke on him as he did now and again, but the nervousness in Betty’s voice told him this was no prank.

What the hell did Gloria
Blacksworth want with him? Did Christine know her mother was in town? He bet she didn’t, and if he had anything to do with it, the woman would be heading out of Magdalena in fifteen minutes or less. He thought about washing the grime from his hands and face, changing into a shirt that wasn’t rimmed with sweat, but figured the hell with it. The woman would consider him low-life scum even if he greeted her in a tuxedo. Nate grabbed a rag, wiped his hands and face, and headed toward the lobby.

He spotted her before she saw him, which gave him a half-second advantage.
Small, petite, blonde, a real blue blood with the education and manners to go along with it. Clothes, too, designer, no doubt, and he knew the glint of diamond on her ears was not cubic zirconium. She turned and her gaze met his, equally assessing, equally disdainful. The woman didn’t need designer duds to ooze wealth; it spilled from her pores. She moved toward him with casual grace and elegance, in a sleekness that proclaimed,
I’m rich, more than rich. And you’re not.
“Hello, Nathan.”

“Gloria.” Oh, but those damnable eyes were cold. “What a surprise.”

Her laughter filled the tiny lobby, swirled and grabbed him around the neck. “I’m sure it is.”

He crossed his arms over his chest, forcing her to take a step back. “Does Christine know?”

“No.” She sighed and lifted a delicate shoulder in a gentle shrug. “As much as I’d love to see my daughter, it’s obvious she’s not interested at this point in time.”

Betty gasped, dropped a basket of paper
clips on the floor. “Oh, oh, oh.” Nate glanced over to see her scrambling after them.

“Let’s go in my office.” He shot one more look at Betty who pretended to zip her mouth closed and led his mother-in-law into his office. He’d never been much good with in-laws. Patrice’s father was dead and her mother had been a money-grubber who’d expected to move in with Nate and Patrice or at the very least, receive a monthly check from them. It hadn’t happened. If the woman could spend half her paycheck on lottery tickets and smoke a pack of cigarettes a day, then she could figure out her own issues. It was a damn sure bet Gloria wasn’t after money. What did she want? His help repairing the mother-daughter relationship she destroyed with her manipulative bullshit? She could go to hell and back if she thought he’d help her do anything other than point her out of Magdalena. Nate snatched a stack of papers from a chair and said, “Have a seat.”

Gloria Blacksworth eyed the vacant chair a second too long before she sat down. “Thank you.”

Nate leaned against the desk, determined to gain any leverage over the woman he could. A standing position dominated a sitting one; he’d take it. “Why are you here?”

The smile she offered was forced and fake. “Maybe I wanted to get a first-hand opinion of the man who stole my daughter from me.”

“I didn’t steal her. You lost her.”

The lips pinched, the eyes narrowed. “That’s not true.” She sighed, tucked a stray lock of blondish hair behind her ear. “Christine and I shared a special relationship that only mothers and daughters can share.” She paused, bit out her next words. “Until she came here and this town destroyed it.”

Was she for real? “You make it sound like we’re the plague.”

Her chin inched up. “This town and the people in it ruin lives. They latch onto unsuspecting victims and destroy them.”

“I think you’re the one who does that.”

She ignored him. “Christine should have married Connor Pendleton, not someone like you.”

“From what I’ve heard
, the guy was more in love with his clients than he was with Christine.”

“Because he knew restraint?
Because he understood lineage was important in a relationship? You’re nothing but a shot of testosterone in a flannel shirt and your mother’s no better.”

So there it was. She wanted to zing him about his mother. Well, he wasn’t biting. Nate pushed away from the desk and towered over her. “You need to leave.
Now.”

The damn woman didn’t budge. “I’m not afraid of you, but you should be afraid of me.” Her lips curved into the faintest smile. “I might look small and fragile, but I have a lot of power.”

“I don’t think there’s anything fragile about you, Gloria. You’re as dangerous as a rattlesnake.”

“I’m glad you realize that.” The smile spread. “Do you have any idea where Christine comes from, the opportunities she’s passing up to remain in this backward town with a husband who sweats for a living and,” she wrinkled her nose in disgust and pointed to his clothing, “dresses like that?”

“I don’t give a damn what you think about me. Christine and I love each other and that’s something you damn sure know nothing about.” There. He’d said it. Gloria Blacksworth paled, sputtered, then calmed so quickly, he wondered if he’d imagined her earlier upset. Goading her had been low and cruel, but dammit, she’d pushed him.

“I’ll make you regret those words.” She stood, smoothed the wrinkles from her slacks
, and gathered her handbag. “Good-bye, Nathan.” Her tone was cool, assessing, dismissive. She turned to leave, stopped and shot him a parting glance. “Tell your mother I think of her every day.”

She swept out of the room before he could ask her what the hell that comment meant. Gloria
Blacksworth really was a miserable person with her superior attitude and arrogant demeanor. So what if he hadn’t been born with a stock portfolio and his father had worked a blue-collar job? So what if Nate used his hands and his brain and wore jeans to work? Did that make him inferior to a suit like Connor Pendleton? Well, did it? Of course not. But Gloria’s insidious comments crept past his logic and common sense to take a front and center spot in his brain.
Christine should have married Connor Pendleton, not someone like you.
And,
Do you have any idea where Christine comes from, the opportunities she’s passing up to remain in the backward town with a husband who sweats for a living
… By the time he made his way to the lobby, he’d begun to wonder if Christine hadn’t been crazy to marry someone like him. And he didn’t like that feeling, not one bit.

“What in the hell was that about?” Jack Finnegan pointed to the front window and shook his head. “Betty said that was Charlie’s widow.”

“Yup.” Nate rifled through a stack of mail in the basket beside Betty’s desk.

“And?”
Jack made his way toward Nate and waited.

“She wasn’t very pleasant,” Betty chirped. “I mean, seeing as how she’s from the city and all, you’d think she’d have had better manners.” She lifted her bony shoulders.
“Didn’t even ask who I was.”