Roses (62 page)

“No. The court order would not be retroactive. The transfer of the title would still be fraudulent.”

Rachel reached for her now watery gin and tonic and took a sip to relieve her parched throat. Setting the glass back on the
desk, she asked, “Does this mean I have a case for fraud?”

Taylor picked up her grandfather’s letter. “First, do you have another signature of Miles Toliver that would corroborate the
one on this letter?”

Rachel thought of the ledger books signed by her grandfather back in the study on Houston Avenue. “I know where I can get
corroborating samples of his handwriting,” she said. “That takes care of that problem. What’s the next?”

Taylor hesitated, and Rachel wondered if he was struggling with an unwillingness to bring legal action against Percy Warwick.
“You’ll need to make certain the deed
was
transferred, and if so, that the land described on it is the section Percy bought. You do that by going to the Howbutker
County Courthouse and checking the deed index records for a land transaction between your great-aunt and Percy Warwick around
the date on his note. Then we’ll talk some more.”

“But if I do find that such a transaction did take place, will I have enough evidence to prove fraud?”

Again, Taylor took his time answering. “Even though Mary DuMont’s name is on the deed, her brother clearly instructed that
she was to hold it in trust for his son until he reached the age of twenty-one. If Mary DuMont sold the land as her own, without
the formalities of court approval, then that’s fraud.”

“Is there a statute of limitations on fraud?” she asked, and held her breath.

“Yes, but the statute would commence from the time of the discovery of the fraudulent transaction. Where is this land along
the Sabine? Is there anything on it?”

She exhaled slowly. “My guess is that Warwick Industries built a huge pulp mill and paper-processing plant on it as well as
a large office complex. There’s also a housing development nearby.” She expected Taylor to show surprise, but his only reaction
was to rotate his glass on its damp napkin. “What exactly would I be entitled to if fraud is proven?” she asked.

With an eye now slightly narrowed, Taylor replied, “If the title was improperly conveyed, as your father’s heir, you would
be entitled not only to the land, but to all existing improvements and buildings on it. The housing development might be an
exception.”

Rachel closed her eyes and clenched her hands.
Yes!
It was more than she could have hoped. For the first time in a long while, she felt a reason to live. She raised her lids
to gaze directly at the lawyer. “How would you feel personally if I sued Percy Warwick for what is mine?”

Taylor frowned. “You… don’t literally mean the land, do you?”

“Oh, but I do. I’m not interested in a monetary settlement.”

The lawyer studied her for a long moment, then rocked back in his chair and linked fingers again over the bulge of his stomach.
“Remember you asked,” he warned, “so here it is. Despite your justification, I’d be very disappointed in you, Rachel. Your
legal action could seriously damage the most efficiently run and economically essential operation in that part of the state,
not to mention impair the final years of one of the truly great men of Texas.” He paused to give her time to rebut, but when
she remained calmly silent, he continued. “I know of the money you’ll be inheriting, Rachel, first due to the generosity of
your great-aunt and then”—he wagged his head sadly—“through the awful, untimely deaths of your father and little brother.
I don’t know, of course, why Percy Warwick entered into such a contract with Mary DuMont in 1935—if, in fact, he did—but I
suspect he had good reason. Those were very difficult times, and it could have been that the sale of that land prevented financial
disaster for your great-aunt and subsequently for her heirs, of which you are one.” He picked up his glass, his eyes no longer
warm and fatherly over its rim. “I believe that should answer your question. You’re off the hook for lunch, by the way.”

Rachel returned an undaunted stare. “We’ll see,” she said. “Thanks for your honesty. It satisfies me that I’ve come to the
right man to handle my suit, if I have a case.”

Taylor lowered the glass. “Say what?”

“I don’t want to hurt Percy Warwick or take from his grandson
his
birthright. What would I do with a pulp mill and paper-processing plant? I want to effect a trade—my family’s plantation
of Somerset for Percy’s industrial complex along the Sabine.”

Taylor regarded her silently, then his face broke into a smile. “Ah,” he said, “now
that
I believe I can stomach.”

She glanced at her watch. “Which reminds me. It’s past twelve. I imagine you’re ready for that hamburger—on me.”

He rose hastily. “Not only a hamburger, but French fries, onion rings, a malt, and a double chocolate brownie à la mode for
dessert.”

Rachel slung her purse over her shoulder. “And you worry about Carrie’s eating habits.”

R
achel followed the arrow signs pointing to the county clerk’s office in the Howbutker County Courthouse. It was midafternoon
of the Monday following her meeting with Taylor Sutherland. She had chosen the time as the best part of the day to slip in
and out of Howbutker unnoticed. It was October, but the enervating heat still hung, and few townspeople were about. Most were
napping, sleeping off their lunch, or behind their shop counters, trying to keep cool. She had booked a room for the night
at a motel in the next county in case she felt too tired after her mission to make the return trip to Dallas, three hours
by the time she was back at Carrie’s door.

Rachel had never laid eyes on the county clerk, but she was certain the clerk would recognize her. If the woman hadn’t passed
in one of the receiving lines during the days of the funeral, she had only to glance behind her at the hanging portrait of
her great-aunt at the 1914 dedication of the courthouse to guess her identity. She wished for anonymity. Matt would come looking
for her when he heard she was in town, the reason she’d exchanged her green BMW, familiar to Amos, for Carrie’s black Suburban
and reserved a motel room outside the county. She couldn’t risk what seeing him would do to her resolve. If her suspicions
proved correct, there was no hope for them anyway. She’d never feel the same for Percy, and Matt would never forgive her if
she dragged his grandfather into court and exposed his complicity in committing fraud. She was sure it wouldn’t come to that,
but the threat alone would destroy what they’d had. She must get her business over before he or his grandfather or Amos should
happen to wander in.

The middle-aged woman in a summer dress behind the counter observed her with curiosity as she approached, clearly struggling
to place her gaunt face and figure. “May I help you?” she inquired, checking her left hand as she placed it on the worn pine
surface.

“I’m sure you can,” Rachel said. “I’d like to see the record of a warranty deed transferred to Percy Warwick from Mary Toliver
DuMont in 1935. The date would be around July eighth.”

The clerk’s eyes brightened in recognition. She patted Rachel’s hand. “Miss Toliver, on behalf of Howbutker, please accept
our deepest condolences for
all
your losses,” she said, the stressed
all
plainly including her expectation of inheriting Somerset.

“Thank you. You are very kind,” Rachel replied in the monotone she’d adopted to discourage further commiserations.

“Just a moment, and I’ll check the grantor/grantee index for that period.” In a short while, during which Rachel kept checking
the entrance, she returned with a heavy-bound volume. “
Page 306
,” she said. “If you need any help…”

“Thank you, I can manage.
Page 306
.”

She took the volume to a table away from the clerk’s prying eyes and found the answer to her search immediately.
Page 306
revealed that on July 14, 1935, Mary Toliver DuMont had transferred by deed a section of land to Percy Matthew Warwick. The
legal description designating the location of the land corresponded with that from Vernon Toliver’s will. The attached plat
map defined the layout of the section along the Sabine. It abutted the boundary of a property that Rachel recognized as Somerset.

She looked up from the book, a sour taste in her mouth, possessed by a rage that shook her in her seat. Percy… and Aunt Mary,
robbers and deceivers… staying silent while the lie ate up her mother, wrecked the family peace, made it impossible for her
ever to go home again. How different it all could have been if only her father had known the truth. Her parents and little
brother might still be alive….

She took the open volume back to the counter and pointed to the map. “Is there a record that would show what, if anything,
is built on this parcel of land?”

The clerk lifted her glasses a fraction to scrutinize the plat map through her bifocals. “The tax records would reflect that
information, but I don’t have to check. That’s the site of a pulp mill and paper-processing plant belonging to Warwick Industries.”

“You’re sure?”

“I’m sure. Our house is… about there.” With her finger, the clerk pointed to a spot on the map. “It’s in a housing development
Warwick Industries built for the workers. My husband’s a foreman out there.”

“Really?”

Rachel’s tone provoked a sharp look. The woman withdrew her finger, clearly wondering why she was interested in her husband’s
place of employment with its job security, benefits, and pension plan. Was she about to tinker with all that because she no
longer had a place here? “May I ask why you’re interested?”

“I may have a vested interest in the place,” Rachel answered, her voice sounding like ice cracking. “Would you please pull
the most recent tax records on this property, and while you’re at it, check the record of the date Mary Toliver DuMont became
the guardian of William Toliver? She’d have applied in 1935.”

“That will be in the basement, in the archives, and it will take a while.”

“I’ll wait.”

The county clerk pulled away from the counter with a perplexed, uneasy look and disappeared behind a door. Rachel felt a spear
of alarm. Just her luck that her husband would be Matt’s foreman. Suppose the woman, already suspicious, relayed her inquiries
to him and he notified Matt? If he was at the plant, it would take at least a half hour to drive into town. She’d give the
woman twenty minutes before she hotfooted it to the Suburban.

She was on the point of leaving when the clerk reappeared. “Here’s a copy of the 1984 tax statement,” she said, slapping it
on the counter, “and one of a court order granting your aunt’s application for guardianship. Anything else?” She flicked a
pointed glance at the clock over the water fountain. “It’s past my break time.”

Rachel cast a quick look at the date her father officially became Aunt Mary’s ward: August 7, 1935. “I’m afraid I have one
more request,” she said. “I’d like a copy of
page 306
as well as one of the plat map.”

The clerk pressed her lips together. “There will be a charge,” she said.

Rachel unzipped her purse. “Name it.”

A tense few minutes later, the photocopies stowed safely in her purse, she made her escape, but at the exit, she glanced back.
As she’d expected, the clerk had the phone receiver pressed to her ear and was reading to her listener from the deed record.

M
ATT, THIS IS
C
URT
. I don’t know if this is important or not, but my wife just called from the courthouse. She said that Rachel Toliver was
in there a few minutes ago.”

The receiver to his ear, Matt swung his chair around from the window through which he’d been staring listlessly for the better
part of an hour. “What? Rachel Toliver is in town?”

“That’s right. Marie said she was asking about a warranty deed.”

“Is she still there?”

“Just left, according to Marie.”

“Did she say where she was going?”

“No, Chief.” Curt’s sigh made it clear that he wondered why he’d bothered to call if Matt was interested only in Rachel Toliver.
“Marie didn’t find her particularly friendly. I thought you’d like to know what she was poking about in.”

Matt pushed the speaker button on the phone and hung up the receiver as he rose. “I do, Curt. What was it?” He threw open
a closet door and whipped his sports jacket off a hanger.

“She was in the courthouse asking about a land deed her great-aunt transferred to your grandfather way back in July of 1935,”
Curt said. “Seems Miss Mary sold Mister Percy a section of land around then.”

Matt paused, one sleeve hanging empty. His grandfather had never mentioned buying a section from Mary. And why would that
interest Rachel? “Are you sure Marie got her facts right?”

“Sure as I’m sittin’ down to meatloaf tonight. It’s Monday, ain’t it? Marie says the girl don’t look so good. Awful thin.
We saw her at Miss Mary’s funeral, you know. A real knockout. Marie says she don’t look like the same girl.”

“So I’ve heard,” Matt said, finishing jerking on his jacket. “Did Marie say what land she was checking out?”

“Yes, she did. It’s the land right here where I’m standin.’ ”

Matt stared unseeing out the window. “The plant site?”

“That’s it. Marie was disturbed by her inquiries. Said the girl seemed… angry.”

“Yes… I’m sure she is,” Matt said. Good, he thought. Anger could keep you afloat. Grief would sink you—but anger against whom?

“And here’s the kicker, Chief. When Marie asked why she was interested in the plant land, she said that she may have a
vested
interest in it. Now what in hell could she mean by that?”

Matt recalled Bertie Walton’s terms:
inner force… objective
. And Rachel’s statement to Amos:
You’ll know soon enough
. “I don’t know, Curt, but I’m on my way to find out.”

“One other thing, Matt,” Curt said. “The Toliver girl had Marie check the date the court appointed Miss Mary guardian of her
dad, William Toliver. Now doesn’t all that sniffing around sound ominous to you?”