Sparked (16 page)

But there was something specific he was working on today, something that he’d thought of after their conversation last night. He ventured downstairs from his office to get a file he needed. The filing cabinet was behind the teller counter, and he thought he might be able to say hello to June while he was down there. It was only her first day, but from what he could tell, she’d been settling in nicely. She was a fast learner, and friendly. The customers loved her.

As he rounded the corner, he found that she was already deep in conversation. June’s mother, Annette Powell, stood at her station, drowning in jewelry and wearing the gaudiest pink day dress he’d ever seen. From the looks of it, Annette wasn’t happy at all.

“Mother, please. I’m working.” By contrast, June looked so elegant in her nautical-inspired skirt suit that it was hard to believe they belonged in the same family at all.

“I don’t see why they can’t spare you,” Annette said, fluffing her platinum hairdo and pulling a cigarette out of her purse. “It would just be an hour or two.”

June looked more flustered than he’d ever seen her. Clayton was glad that their head teller, Edith Applebaum, was on her lunch and not present to witness the scene. Edith would call for June to be dismissed immediately. Edith was good at her job, but often a hard person to deal with.

“Oh, look,” Annette said, drawing the cigarette away from her tangerine lips. “There’s Clayton. Clayton? You can spare June for a while, can’t you? I’m afraid I need her desperately.”

“Oh?” Clayton asked.

“You see, I’m throwing a garden party. It’s inspired by your mother, actually. As a thank you for the wonderful dinner party she invited June to the other night. You had such a lovely time, didn’t you, darling?”

“Yes,” June said, her face so flushed he thought she might actually faint. “It was very nice. Thank you.”

“It’s only polite to return the invitation, of course,” Annette continued. “You’ll tell your mother about it, won’t you? Ask her to come?”

Clayton was sure that his mother would rather be almost anywhere other than one of Annette Powell’s notorious parties. The woman had no limit to what she was willing to suspend inside a wobbling tower of jello: shrimp, bananas, shrimp
and
bananas. It was a miracle June had come out as such a tasteful person. Come to think of it, it was a miracle she survived the dinner table every night.

“I’ll let my mother know,” Clayton said.

“Oh, thank you. And of course you’re welcome to attend as well. I know you have a
very special friendship
with June.” On the words “very special friendship,” Annette actually winked at him.
Winked.
Now he was certain June might pass out.

“That’s very kind of you.”

“So you understand why it’s so important that I steal her away for a bit? You won’t even miss her.”

June’s gaze met his. She raised her brows and widened her eyes, seeming to beg him to put a stop to all this. He almost wanted to let Mrs. Powell have her way, just to mess with June, but he didn’t.

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Powell, but I’m afraid we can’t do without her.” He put a hand on June’s shoulder. “We’ve already become quite dependent on your daughter.”

“Oh, yes. Yes, I see.” Mrs. Powell said, the corner of her mouth twitching in delight. “You stay put, June. Make sure you do everything you can to help the young Mr. Briggs here. I’ll manage on my own.”

And with that, Annette Powell bustled out into the street.

“I’m so sorry, Clay. I promise it won’t happen again. I’ll talk to her tonight, I swear.”

“It’s fine, June. Really.”

“It’s not fine. She doesn’t understand at all.” June’s eyes looked suddenly full. She dotted her eyes with a handkerchief. “I’m sorry.”

June was usually such a cheerful person that the sight of her in tears made Clayton genuinely worried. And then he had a thought—could June be so upset because she was hiding something? Something like he and Cora were hiding? She had gotten sick in the fog too.

“It’s fine. Why don’t you take a little break?” 

He led her toward a nearby chair. The bank was empty, and he knew his way around the teller counter if anyone came in.

“What’s the matter, June? This isn’t like you.” He hoped that if she were hiding some secret ability, she would trust him enough to share it. What else could be bothering her so much?

“I know. I’m sorry. You must think me a perfect idiot.”

“Not at all. Why don’t you tell me what’s going on?”

She started to tear up again. “It’s a terrible secret.”

Clayton nearly jittered with anticipation. Could it be true? Could she be different too?

She took a deep breath to continue, and then it all seemed to spill out of her. “We’re practically bankrupt. I heard them talking last week. After … after the sickness. It’s all my mother’s spending. And my father, he just can’t seem to say no to her. I had no idea. That’s why I had to ask you for a job. If I didn’t do something to help, I really don’t know what would have happened.”

Clayton’s hopes fell. She didn’t have powers. If she had, something like this would pale in comparison. For a moment, he was so disappointed he couldn’t speak. Then he realized she was waiting to hear his reaction, probably worried he’d judge her.

“Do you need money, June? I could—”

“No. Please. You’ve already been so kind. And my father. He’d just die if he thought anyone knew about this. And now she wants to throw this ridiculous party and spend even more money on God knows what. I just … I honestly don’t know what I’m going to do.”

“Just say the word and I’ll do whatever I can to help.”

“No. I’m sorry,” she said, drying her eyes. “I shouldn’t even be burdening you with all this. Can you imagine what my mother would say if she heard me airing our dirty laundry to you?”

“Even the Briggs aren’t without their secrets.” And he didn’t just have one big secret. He had two.

“I bet,” she laughed. “What deep, dark mystery are you hiding, Clay? Have you accidentally mismatched your socks this morning? The
horror
.”

Clayton’s expression clouded, wondering what she’d do if she’d seen him kill that poor, defenseless animal. And what would she say if she knew what he’d been doing—who he’d been with—last night?

June tilted her head, stared at him. “You sneak. You
do
have a secret.”

“No. It’s nothing.”

“Oh, it’s something all right. Look at you. Your eyes are practically screaming it.”

“Am I really that transparent?”

“Spill,” she commanded.

Clayton hesitated. He trusted June more than most people. But telling her about Cora? That might be too much for even her to accept.

“Come on, Clay. It’s only fair. I just told you the most humiliating possible details about my life.”

“I can’t. I’m sorry.”

June glared at him, then studied him, then her eyes grew wide. “Tell me it’s not true.”

“What?”

June’s voice dropped to a whisper. “Cora Murphy? Everyone’s been talking about it but I’ve been saying it couldn’t be true. I’ve been sticking up for you.”

“June—”

“It
is
true, isn’t it? Goodness, Clay. You couldn’t be—you’re not still seeing her, are you?”

“You can’t tell anyone.”

“I’m not. I mean I won’t, but … do you really think that’s a good idea?”

Clayton grinned. “It’s maybe the worst idea I’ve ever had.”

June shook her head. “And here I had my money on you and Violet getting back together.”

“Oh, come on. That was over years ago.”

“I don’t think she sees it that way.”

“We’re just friends.”

“Maybe that
was
true. But something’s different since you’ve been home. Haven’t you noticed all the attention she’s been paying you?”

“Vi’s always been a shameless flirt.”

“Don’t fool yourself. That girl’s got her heart set on you.”

“She told you this?”

“Not in so many words. Just … just promise you’ll be careful around Violet, okay? If you’re really not interested, then let her down easy?”

“I can’t let her down if we’re not even dating.”

“I know. Just be kind, will you?”

“I will.”

“Good. Now tell me what it is about that Murphy girl that’s got you so smitten? Because sometime between now and the last time I checked, you seem to have gone absolutely crazy, and I’d like to know why.”

Clayton smiled. “I wouldn’t even know where to begin. She’s, well … different. Like no one I’ve ever met.”

“I’ll say,” June said.

Footsteps thudded down the stairs and they both went quiet. June dashed to her teller window and Clayton opened the file cabinet, trying to remember what it was he’d come down there for in the first place.

“Clayton, there you are,” his father boomed. “Could I speak with you in my office for a moment?”

“I’m glad you have a moment to talk, Pop,” Clayton said as he shut the door to his father’s lavish office. He was carrying a stack of files that he’d stopped in his own office to pick up on the way. “There’s something I want to discuss with you.”

The room was practically as large as the bank lobby, and decorated even more opulently. A broad desk dominated the space, complemented by overstuffed leather chairs and ornate side tables. Like the lobby, it was paneled in dark cherry with rich red drapes and carpeting accented with green and gold. Unlike the lobby, there were mementos from his father’s travels scattered throughout—an intricately carved teak cabinet from India, a snuff box originally made by the House of Fabergé in Russia, a marble bust from Greece, a boar’s head from Africa, a Georges Braque painting from Paris. It was like his version of the scrapbook Clayton’s mother kept of the same adventures. They’d had an exciting life before settling down in Independence Falls.

“Oh? What is it that you’d like to discuss?” his father asked.

“I’ve had something of an inspiration,” he said. “A business idea.” It had come to him last night when he’d been driving home, thinking about Cora. About everything she’d said to him.

His father’s face turned from static to wary. “Let’s have it, then.”

“I think we should start a new department.”

“What kind of department?”

“One that pursued … a more robust sort of investment strategy. High risk, high yield.”

“That’s never been the focus of our business.”

“It’s how our business began. The first Lowell Briggs was an adventurer. He staked his claim here without knowing if the mines would produce anything. But they did.”

“It was a different time. And the mines were a considered risk.”

“These investments would be too.” Clayton handed a thick binder to his father. “Look. Here’s the research I did on just one company before choosing to invest.”

His father leafed through the binder, his eyebrows raised. 

“And this here,” Clayton said, removing a smaller folder, “is a part of my senior thesis. We had to select investments at the beginning of the year, pretending we had a hundred thousand to invest, and track them to see how well they performed. Even my least successful choice out-performed the market by nearly fifteen percent.”

“This is very impressive, son. Truly. But I guess I just don’t see the point. We’re stable now. And it’s taken some time to get here after the Depression years. Why rock the boat?”

“Because of what we could do with it.”

Clayton’s father tilted his head. “Oh? And what is that?”

“Set up a larger fund for community investing.”

“What do you mean?”

“Local businesses. Mom and pop shops. Right here in Independence Falls. We could look for local opportunities and help support them.”

“As a charitable endeavor?”

“No. At least not at first. We’d still expect a fair return on our investment. Fair but reasonable.”

“Then how would this differ from the business loan service we already offer?”

“It would provide a larger pool to draw from, which would mean we could assist more people. Right now, only those who have proven themselves in the business world have the resources to get a loan approved. I’m suggesting we take on bolder investments—investments in people with potential. Seek them out, even, for the benefit of the town as a whole.”

His father furrowed his brow, yet his face seemed more open than it had moments ago.

Clayton continued. “Take one of our tenants. Miss Lavigne at the beauty parlor, for instance. In Chicago, ladies go to the beauty parlor for more than just getting their hair done. They paint their nails, pluck their eyebrows, do skin treatments. You know, the average torture chamber.” Clayton shared a grin with his father, but pressed on before the older man could comment. “And they
pay
for all those services. If we were to suggest an expansion, Miss Lavigne could hire more employees. Maybe even expand into the larger shop space next door and pay us higher rent. It’s a win-win for the town and for us.”

“Your mother would bleed me dry for something like that,” his father chuckled.

“Exactly. And so would many of the other ladies in town. It throws more money into circulation at the local level, which leads people right back to our doors.”

“Interesting.”

Clayton watched as his father stared above his head, calculating, considering.

“Tell me, what inspired this idea?”

Cora
, Clayton wanted to say. But he censored himself just in time.

“Let’s call it my contribution to our fresh start.”

“I like it,” his father said, beaming. 

He liked it? Clayton almost laughed. The first idea his father had approved of in years, and it was practically handed to him by Cora Murphy. What would he say if he knew that?

“I’m not sure it has the kind of stability I’d be comfortable with, but I’m willing to consider it. As long as we’re lending to the right kind of people, of course. We don’t want to risk the reputation of this establishment by doing business with those who don’t deserve the favor.”

Clayton hesitated. He knew exactly what his father meant—he meant not lending to a Murphy.

“The loans wouldn’t be given to anyone without merit,” Clayton said, though he was certain that his definition of merit and his father’s might differ greatly.