Hidden Riches (8 page)

“Reverend le Baptiste, do you agree?”

“Absolutely,” the preacher said.

“Mrs. Foster?”

Delcine sent daggers in the direction of JoJo and Clayton, then gave Lester a lethal dose of her glare. “Yes, that's fine,” she finally said. “If we find it.”

“Then it's settled,” Lester said rubbing his hands together and grabbing his wife's hand. “Come on.”

“I'm really, really sorry, everybody,” JoJo said.

Rollings stood. “I suggest that you all go back to the house and reconstruct the events that led to the, uh, disposal of the quilt. If it's found . . .”

“When it's found,” Lester interjected.

“When it's found,” Rollings conceded, “please immediately bring it here. That is not negotiable. Does everyone understand? The quilt is to be retrieved and returned to this office immediately.”

He got everyone to verbally agree. For a moment he turned toward his desk, looking as if he might draw up a contract to that effect for each of them to sign. But in the mere seconds it took him to think the thought, the heirs were dashing for the door.

For the first time since arriving in North Carolina, Marguerite felt that her world might not be imploding around her. While the others went outside, she'd hung back for a moment in order to ask Rollings a question.

His assurance—that the money would immediately be available to the winning heir or heirs—eased her trepidations. While little could be done about the indictment Winslow faced, with the promise of three point eight million dollars, she could stave off the creditors and the foreclosure.

With shrewd eyes she assessed her brother and sister. JoJo was trying to hide it, but she and Lester probably needed money as well, judging by the way Lester pounced on the offer of ten thousand. Then there were the other signs. The too-done makeup could be attributed to JoJo's former profession. But cheap clothes couldn't be masked with costume jewelry and Payless shoes.

Her glance then slid to her brother Clayton, the only Futrell who'd actually made it.

The irony didn't escape Marguerite. Neither did the resentment that their mother, and even Ana Mae, always seemed to favor the boy in the family. It was something of sweet justice that he didn't turn out to be the man their mama thought he'd be. Marguerite couldn't begrudge him his success, though. A doctor “married” to a lawyer. Wasn't that every girl's dream, to marry well?

She thought she'd chosen wisely with Winslow. But time proved just how wrong she'd been. And how stuck she was now.

It was pretty likely he'd go to prison. Where would that leave her? The scandal ruined friendships that had been built on professional achievement rather than true caring or sentiment. And it was highly possible that the lies on which she'd built her own history and reputation would come to light when reporters started digging around into Win's crimes.

There was but one way to put a positive spin on her current situation, just one way to resolve all of her problems: She had to be the one to get all of Ana Mae's money.

In a stall in the ladies restroom, JoJo was thinking similar thoughts, a fact that would have set Marguerite's teeth on edge had she known.

She'd had to hock her wedding rings to get the fare to North Carolina. Unfortunately, it hadn't been the first time she'd made her way to Vegas Thrifty Pawn. The owner there, who'd been sweet on her way back when, always gave her a good rate and didn't mind if she was a bit late getting her stuff back.

This time, though, JoJo probably wouldn't claim her jewelry. What was the point? Her marriage was all but over. The only reason Lester even showed up in Drapersville at all was because he had a sixth sense for sniffing out money. And, boy, had his nose been working overtime this go-round—almost enough to make JoJo wonder, if just fleetingly, if he actually could claim some level of psychic talent or ability.

She quickly dismissed that, though. Lester's primary skill was conning people out of their hard-earned money, whether by sleight of hand or one of his “psychic” readings.

There was a lot JoJo could do with the kind of money Ana Mae left them, even if it had to be split up three ways.

Clayton didn't need it. He was a doctor with a successful practice back in San Francisco. And his sexy sweetie, Archer, made a ton of money suing people or doing whatever it was he did.

No, the only Futrell who hadn't lived up to her—or anybody's —potential was Mary Josephine. It was time her luck changed, though.

Time indeed.

Out on the sidewalk on Clifton Street, the heirs sort of stood around looking stunned.

“Three point eight million dollars,” Lester muttered. “That's like four million bucks. And it's all cash?”

Marguerite narrowed her eyes at her brother-in-law. “For some of us. Her direct heirs.”

Lester slipped his arm around his wife's shoulders. “And my baby here is gonna get her cut.”

“Girl, what possessed you to throw out that quilt?” Rosalee asked.

JoJo shrugged out of her husband's embrace. “It was ugly. The squares made no sense. It looked like something from the country.”

“The last time I checked, this was the country,” Winslow said on a dry note, uttering the most words he'd spoken around any of them since arriving in North Carolina. “There's not a decent coffeehouse within thirty miles.”

Marguerite rolled her eyes. “Winslow, please.”

“We need to find that quilt,” Rosalee said.

“We?” Marguerite inquired.

Rosalee nodded, smug. “That's right. I'm reckoning if JoJo tossed it out as a rag, none of you will be able to figure out any clues. That leaves me.”

“Over my dead . . .”

“Excuse me,” Archer interjected before either Rosalee or Marguerite landed the first slap, push, or pull of hair. “We, as the people who were witness to the reading, need to stop arguing and set about finding this quilt.”

Clayton leaned over, whispered something in Archer's ear.

Seeing the two, JoJo's husband smirked. A pack of cigarettes materialized in his hands. He tamped down the Newports, then slipped one from the package. Before Lester could reach for a book of matches, JoJo plucked the cigarette from his lips and snapped it in two.

“Hey!”

“You're supposed to be quitting.”

“You're the one who quit. Don't take your cravings out on me.”

Clayton nodded to Archer and then announced, “We're leaving. I guess this is something like a treasure or scavenger hunt.”

“Yes, rather so,” Winslow added with one of his sage nods.

“And may the best team win,” Lester said.

Even though Clayton had put the suggestion in everyone's head that they were on a scavenger hunt, it took the Futrells about a minute for them all to realize they had to find the quilt before they could divide and conquer anything.

Eventually realizing that Ana Mae's house was the best place to begin, they headed there.

Marguerite put on a pot of coffee as the heirs, Rosalee, and Reverend Toussaint crowded into the kitchen.

“Would she really leave all that money to a couple of cats?” JoJo asked.

Rosalee nodded. “Ana Mae loved all animals and spent a lot of time over to The Haven, the no-kill animal shelter. But she loved Diamond Jim and Baby Sue the best. She loved 'em like they was her own kids.”

JoJo shuddered. “I don't see why. Cats are scary creatures.”

“That's just 'cause they make you sneeze,” Lester said.

“I've been doped up on Benadryl from the first day I walked into this house,” JoJo added.

Archer gave Clayton a told-you-so glance.

“You should have stayed at a hotel,” Clayton offered.

JoJo flushed, then glanced guiltily at her husband. “Well, yes, but, uh, someone needed to be here.”

As if picking up steam for her explanation, JoJo pointed to the countertops still overflowing with food from neighbors and friends. “Somebody needed to be here for when people dropped by.”

She smiled broadly, as if suddenly satisfied with that explanation.

“JoJo, start from the beginning,” Marguerite said. “Tell us what you did with the items to be donated or destroyed.”

The field marshal's command put them all back on track.

JoJo bit her lip and looked around as if just seeing the kitchen for the first time. “Well, first I gathered up all the stuff that was over there.” She pointed toward a corner where an ironing board was set up in a little alcove.

“That's where Ana Mae did her work,” Rosalee pointed out.

“Work?” Marguerite said, trying—and failing—to keep the sneer or the haughtiness from her tone.

Rosalee sucked in her breath and stood straight and tall. All five foot two inches of her challenging the taller, sophisticated woman. “Ana Mae and me did honest work. Every single day. Ain't nothing wrong with washing and ironing clothes and cleaning houses.”

Marguerite closed her eyes for a moment, trying to gather her composure.

“Unless you punch out in a toilet,” Lester said with a nudge at Archer.

“Out!”

“I was just funning,” Lester said.

“Actually,” Clayton said, sending a brief glance in Archer's direction, “would you all give us a moment, please? Just the siblings. JoJo. Marguerite.”

The sisters exchanged a look, wondering at the authoritarian tone in their otherwise docile brother's voice. After a moment, Marguerite nodded.

“I think that's a good idea,” she said. “We, the three of us, need some time alone.”

Muttering under his breath and pulling out his cigarettes, Lester stomped off.

With a long and lingering look at Clayton, Archer took his leave, giving Clayton plenty to wonder about the message his partner was trying to send telepathically.

Pulling out a pipe, Winslow excused himself and headed out the back door.

When just four of them remained, as one the Futrells turned toward Rosalee.

“I got to leave too?”

“Please,” Marguerite said.

“You don't have to be snappish about it,” Rosalee said. “I know where I'm not wanted. I just wonder if any of you all know that. You're acting all brotherly and sisterly now that Ana Mae is in the ground. But not a one of you cared a whit about her while she was alive.”

“Be that as it may,” Marguerite began.

Clayton's hand on her arm stayed the rest of her comments. Marguerite cleared her throat.

JoJo just watched the byplay, feeling, as usual, much like a third wheel with a broken spoke.

When Rosalee left, slamming the side screen door on her way out, the three looked at each other.