Red Clover (10 page)

He hesitated. “Six hundred and eighty-four.”

CJ’s eyes got big. “That’s a lotta honkin’ acres.”

Lee shrugged.

Someone called her away from their conversation. Being one of only two bartenders in a standing-room-only bar, she had her hands full. He finished his beer and headed toward the door.

“Hey, Socrates.”

He turned around.

“Keep laughing.”

He shot her a quick wave and left the bar.

Lee thought about CJ’s parting remarks on the drive home. He had to admit, he had enjoyed the laugh, even if it was at his own expense. He had never been one to laugh much. He would have said laughing just didn’t come naturally for him...until now.

He realized that this night in the bar might have been the first time he had actually socialized with a group of people without feeling uncomfortable. The laughing had energized him. He wouldn’t have anticipated that.

“You’re someone who isn’t quite in the so-called normal range,” she had said.

His parents had spent a lot of money to get that diagnosis, and she had picked it up after their second casual meeting.

“It should never be your goal to be normal. It should be your goal to be whole.”

He had to admit he had spent his entire life trying to achieve normal. What he hadn’t realized until that moment was that he had been focusing on all the wrong things.

It amused him that he had spent most of his twenty-six years in one psychologist’s office or another, and yet the most valuable piece of advice he had ever received had just come from a brassy twenty-something-year-old bartender named CJ.

8 | Ebenezer Scrooge

Basil Stonebugger was a tall thin man with a bushy head of jet-black hair, a hawk-like face, and unusually large hands. He sat exceptionally erect in a big leather chair behind a massive desk where he began his discussion with Lee by defining the players.

“Your Uncle Nelson is called the grantor or the donor of the trust,” he said in a grating voice. “You are the sole beneficiary, and I am the trustee.” His speech was slow and deliberate, as though he felt Lee might not be able to keep up with or understand what he was saying. “You cannot withdraw any money from the trust without going through me.”

He appeared to be wearing one of those invisible
I’m the only important one in the room
hats, the kind Lee imagined school principals wore when a kid was called into the office for doing something wrong. And the chair Lee sat in, which was too big for his slight frame, made him feel like
he
was in the principal’s office.

He acknowledged what Stonebugger was saying with an occasional nod.

“Here are the terms and conditions. There are three.” He looked down at a document on his desk and read from it. “Number one: Only the Trustee and the Beneficiary shall be privy to the terms and conditions of this trust. If the Beneficiary shares this information with anyone else, whatever is remaining in the fund, combined with proceeds from the sale of the land, will be donated to a charity of the Trustee’s choosing. Two: Only the Trustee has authority to approve withdrawals from the trust fund, and the Trustee will approve withdrawals only if the money is used for the sole purpose of improving the Harvard acreage. And three: The increased value of the land must be shared with at least one other person, no earlier than one year and no later than three years after possession. If it isn’t, whatever is remaining in the fund combined with proceeds from the sale of the land will be donated to a charity of the Trustee’s choosing.”

Lee stared at Stonebugger for several seconds without speaking.

“Questions?”

Are you kidding me?

“Mr. Winekoop?”

“First of all, did you know my uncle?”

“I knew him.”

“Well, I didn’t know him very well. Can you tell me something about him?”

“I think our time would be better spent discussing his will.”

So much for this guy being accommodating. “Do you know why all this has to be a secret? The terms of the inheritance, that is. Why can’t I share it with anyone?”

“I’m not sure.”

“So you didn’t speak with him about this before he died?”

“I didn’t know I was named Trustee until after he died.”

“So the way I understand it, you’ll be making the decisions as to whether I can withdraw money from the trust based on whether you believe what I’m going to do with it will increase the value of the land. Do I have that right?”

“Yes.”

“How will you do that?”

“I beg your pardon.”

“How will you make that determination? What if I feel it will benefit the land value, but you don’t?” A vision of the tent dashed through his mind.

“I have the legal right to make that determination.”

“Mm-hm. And what’s the part again about my having to include someone else in the deal?”

“It means just what it says.”

His not revealing any more than he had to was getting annoying and made Lee suspicious of Stonebugger’s intentions. For example, maybe he secretly wanted Lee to violate the terms of the trust in order to get all that money freed up for his favorite charity.

Or maybe I’m jumping to an unfair conviction.

“Can you give me an example?”

Stonebugger sat in silence for several seconds. “Let’s say you decide to build a facility on your property where people with disfiguring diseases could get treatment. That would increase the value of the land because now the land would include a building. And other people, the patients, would benefit from it.”

“Disfiguring diseases?”

“You asked for an example.”

“Yes, I did.”

“Do you have any more questions?”

Trust document in hand, Lee left Stonebugger’s office, got into his car, and drove back to Lake Geneva. It took him most of the drive home to decide who the man reminded him of—the actor who had played Ebenezer Scrooge in the Broadway show his mother had taken him to in New York when he was ten.

I need to get that image out of my head.

9 | “You Can’t Stay Here”

Lee awoke the next morning tired after a restless night. Thoughts about his inheritance, his family, and his life in general throughout the previous eight hours had left him knowing three things for sure.

One, the sooner he was out of the Lake Geneva house and in a place of his own, the better. Two, he didn’t have enough in his bank account to keep him going forever, so he had to come up with a way to make a living. Three, he needed a long-range plan that satisfied the conditions of the trust fund. And maybe there was a fourth: Stonebugger wasn’t likely going to make this complicated venture any less confounding.

As soon as he finished the breakfast Shaneta had prepared for him, Lee drove to the Harvard property for what he hoped was inspiration. The last thing he expected to see was the sheriff’s car going in reverse along his property line on the outside of his fence.

Lee stood near the road waiting for the sheriff to reach him. When he did, the sheriff rolled down his window.

“Can I help you, Sheriff?”

“No.”

Lee’s heart pounded. He knew what he wanted to say but wasn’t sure if the words would come out. “What brings you onto my property?” he asked.

The toothpick lodged between the sheriff’s back teeth caused his speech to be slow and tight. “Not on your property.” He tipped his hat. “Have a nice day.”

“Before you go, Sheriff, can I ask you something?”

“Make it quick. I have better things to do with my time.”

“Where would I get a permit to build a house on this property?”

The sheriff stared at him as if he had grown another head. “A what?”

“A permit to build a house. I’m assuming I would need a permit.”

“Yeah. You’d need one all right.” He removed his hat and scratched his head. “You know, I don’t rightly know. Not my job.” He put his car in gear.

“One more thing, Sheriff.”

The sheriff gave him a
what-now?
look.

“Have a nice day yourself.”

The sheriff glared at him before saying, “You know, boy, you’re lucky there’s only so much I can get away with wearing this uniform. I wouldn’t ever push me when I’m in my civvies if I were you.”

As soon as the sheriff disappeared from site, Lee leaned over and vomited...directly on his left shoe.

His stomach in a state of flux, Lee contemplated going to the back of the property to check out the general area from which he had seen the sheriff emerge. Instead, he went back to his car, cleaned off his shoe, and sat for a few minutes trying to sort things out.

The sheriff’s intimidating behavior puzzled him—he was obviously no match for someone who wore a badge and carried a gun, so why would he feel the need to threaten him? Should he back off? Forget about doing anything with the land? Forsake the inheritance and go back to Illinois? The sheriff’s behavior could be a sign of worse things to come, so maybe it would be a prudent decision to just forget the whole thing and go back to Illinois. He’d have nothing to lose.

Lee knew he was in over his head when it came to meeting the conditions of the trust. “The increased value of the land must be shared with at least one other person, no earlier than one year and no later than three years after possession.” Who was he trying to kid? He had no clue as to how to make that happen.

He recalled a quote from one of his karate instructors. “The higher you climb the mountain, the greater your chance of falling, but the only chance you have for reaching the top.” Visions of his past pathetic struggles with even the simplist things flashed through his head. That wasn’t how he wanted to continue to live. He had to move on.

Up until now, Lee hadn’t given too much thought to building a house on the property, and he had surprised himself with the permit question. But would a house pass the Scrooge test? That was the big question. He didn’t see why not. He
had
said that a building would improve the value of the land.

Lee was tempted to walk the whole property to find the spot that screamed “Build a house here!” Instead, he decided to do the appropriate due diligence at the Lake Geneva Public Library.

The library served Lee well, as he spent hours browsing reference books and then finally checking out one he thought provided good basic information on building a house, covering everything from home styles, architects, permits, builders, budgeting, contracts, and insurance. Once home, he pored over the book’s contents, and by the end of the day felt he had learned enough to work with an architect to design a home that suited him and the land.

Lee fell asleep that night in a blissful state. But while he tried to remain optimistic about what he was about to endeavor, based on his previous life experiences, he expected the feeling would be short-lived.

The following morning, when Lee called Mr. Stonebugger, his secretary answered the phone and informed him the attorney was not in. Lee explained his plan to build a house on his property and asked her if she knew or could find out what procedures he needed to follow. She explained he would have to submit his request in writing and then if it passed Mr. Stonebugger’s initial approval, they would let him know what else to submit, like architectural drawings.

What does he care what style house I build? Ebenezer is sure being a pain in the ass.

* * *

As soon as Lee picked up the phone and heard his mother’s voice on the line, his heart began to race. He hadn’t talked to her since Uncle Nelson’s funeral. He didn’t know what frame of mind she would be in, and he feared she would ask him what he was up to. And while he had a plan of sorts, he didn’t know if he could tell her about it based on the language in the trust document. He wished he understood it better.

“Hello, Mother.” He chose to lie in order to avoid a long conversation. “You caught me just as I was headed out the door.”

“Your father has business in Milwaukee on Thursday, and I was thinking of having him drop me off in Lake Geneva so we could visit.”

He wondered what “visit” meant in terms of content and duration but was afraid to ask. “What time on Thursday?”

“We would get an early start and arrive around ten, ten-thirty. Then your father will go on to his business and be home later that evening. We would head back home early Friday morning. How does that sound?”

Lee tried to do the math in his head as to how many hours that meant for their visit, during which time he would have no place to escape. “Sure, Mother. That would be fine.”

After hanging up, Lee reviewed the terms and conditions of the trust, which now confused him even more. He wasn’t sure if he could tell anyone he was thinking of building a house on the land. His parents coming to visit only compounded the situation.

Telling them he didn’t have a plan wouldn’t go over very well. He supposed he could concoct a phony plan just to appease them. But then he’d have to keep building on it, and he didn’t know how long he could keep that up. Or he could always tell them the truth, and then when Stonebugger found out about it, he’d lose everything. Then he wouldn’t have to deal with any of this anymore. He wished that thought would stop provoking him.

* * *

Despite not having gotten much sleep for several nights, Lee managed to feign reasonably good spirits when his parents arrived two days later, something he unfortunately had had a lot of practice doing when living with them. Luckily, his father left within ten minutes of arriving.

“Shaneta is making us some tea, Mother. Why don’t you get settled in your bedroom and then join me in the sunroom?” His take-charge conduct, albeit small by other people’s standards, stunned him.

“Make sure it’s herbal, dear,” his mother said.

“Of course, Mother.” Everyone who had ever worked under the rule of Abigale Sedgwick Winekoop was well aware she would drink nothing but herbal tea.

Ten minutes later, she joined Lee in the sunroom. “So, Lee, how have you been?”