Bad Reputation, A (4 page)

It was my growing indecisiveness about children. For years I'd been completely against having a baby, and I'd told everyone there was no way I was going to change my mind. Now I wasn't so sure. A little boy would be all right, but my mother would snatch up a little girl and try to turn her into a pageant princess, just as she'd done to me. No, Jerry and I wouldn't let that happen. Our little girl could be an artist, or a musician, or even a private investigator.

Wait. What was I saying? I was not going to have a baby! My wonderful, orderly life, remember? Investigate, paint, sit on the porch, repeat as necessary. That's what I liked. Having a baby would change all that.

But you could handle it, my little inner voice said in a wheedling tone. You're a strong woman who can handle anything, as your husband pointed out, and you could definitely keep your child out of your mother's clutches.

“Be quiet,” I told the little voice. “No baby. Not now.”

Just as Jerry announced supper was ready, and I came down the stairs, Austin Terrell and a little blonde girl rode up the pathway through the field and parked their bikes under one of the large oak trees in our front yard. Austin's hair was in its usual colorful spikes, but he didn't come galloping into the house in his usual rodeo style. He waited for the girl and knocked politely on the screen door.

I let them in. “Hello, Austin.”

“Hi, Madeline.” He turned to the girl beside him. “This is my friend, Kennedy Marshall.”

“Hello, Kennedy,” I said. “Nice to meet you.”

She shook my hand. She was indeed a beautiful little girl with a sweet smile. She was dressed all in pink, her blond hair held back with a pink headband.

“Nice to meet you, too, Mrs. Fairweather.”

“You can call her Madeline,” Austin said. “She doesn't mind. Is Jerry here?”

“He's in the kitchen.”

I followed them to the kitchen where Austin made his introductions, and Jerry asked Kennedy if she'd like to stay for supper.

“No, thank you,” she said. “As soon as my mom picks up my sisters from piano practice, we're all going to Deely's.”

“Kennedy has three sisters,” Austin said. “Madison, Tyler, and Reagan.”

“Are your parents interested in politics?” Jerry asked.

“Yeah,” she said. “How did you know?”

Austin obviously had a plan. “I wanted Kennedy to meet you, Jerry, ‘cause I knew you'd be interested in seeing the Wow System in action, so maybe we could bring it over sometime.”

“Sure,” he said.

Austin grinned at Kennedy. “See? I told you he'd say yes. Well, we gotta go. See you later.”

There didn't seem to be anything romantic about Austin's behavior, but I had to find out. At the door, I said, “Austin, hang on a second. I have some more paper for you.”

Austin had shown a talent for sketching and liked the type of drawing paper I had. I went upstairs and grabbed a handful. As I'd hoped, Kennedy went on out to her bike while Austin waited on the porch.

“I see you have a girlfriend, Austin.”

He looked scornful. “She's not my girlfriend.”

I didn't think so. “She's awfully pretty.”

“She's got the only Wow in town. That's the only reason I hang out with her. Thanks for the paper.”

“Well,” I told Jerry when I returned to the kitchen, “that's the easiest case I ever solved.”

“So Denisha has nothing to worry about?”

“Austin said the only reason he hangs out with Kennedy is because she's got the only Wow in town.”

Jerry grinned and gave me a kiss. “Oh, I wouldn't say that.”

I returned the favor. “Thank you. What's for supper?”

“Chicken and rice.”

I helped myself to a large portion and brought my plate to the table. There was a stack of envelopes next to the butter dish. “Is this today's mail? I hope there aren't any bills.”

“I didn't see any.”

There was one envelope addressed to both of us. The return address was a post office box in Parkland. “Any idea what this might be?”

He brought his plate over and sat down. “Nope. I thought I'd wait till you got home to open it.”

“Looks serious.” I opened the envelope, took out the letter, and read it. “Oh, my lord.” It was serious. “What's this? Jerry, you're being sued!”

“What?” He came around for a better look. As he read, his eyes got wide. “What the hell?”

“This claims you cheated some woman named Denby Forest out of her life's savings. You said you weren't going to do this anymore! You promised.”

“Mac, I swear on my life I had nothing to do with this. I never met a Denby Forest. I never cheated anyone out of their life's savings.”

I was so angry and upset, I was shaking. Last month, someone Jerry had scammed recognized him and sent her very large boyfriend to collect what Jerry owed her. Fortunately, I had enough money to pay off this man before Jerry became part of the pavement. “How many of these past mistakes are we going to have to deal with?”

He reread the letter. “I'm telling you I didn't do this—here, wait a minute. Look. It isn't something from my past. Check out the date.”

The paper stated that Jeremyn Nicholas Fairweather had performed a séance in Millersberg on August 15, whereby he allegedly spoke to her dead uncle and had convinced Denby Forest the uncle wanted her to invest all her money in Double Delite Doughnuts. She did. Double Delite Doughnuts immediately went under, taking her savings with it. She was suing us for a million dollars.

“Think about it,” Jerry said. “August 15. Where was I? Here with you trying to fix up my house. When did I ever go to Millersberg? I don't even know where that is.”

I was trying to be calm. “Okay, maybe it's a case of mistaken identity. Maybe there's another con man with the same name.” Which was highly unlikely.

“Mac, I never use my real name, especially not my full name. This is somebody who knows me.”

“That's even worse.”

The letter had been typed on high quality paper. At the top was the name “Hadley Boyles, Attorney At Law,” the post office box address, and a phone number.

“We'd better clear this up right away.” I took out my cell phone and called the number. A recorded voice said, “Thank you for calling the law offices of Hadley Boyles. Our office hours are nine to five, Monday through Friday. If you'd like to leave a message, please do so after the beep. Thank you.” The recording beeped, but I didn't leave a message. “They're closed for today, and I'd rather speak to a real person.”

Jerry had his own cell phone in hand. “If there is one. I'm calling around.”

“You think this is some sort of scam? Why would this woman try to con us out of a million dollars when it's obvious we don't have that kind of money?”`

“I know this is some sort of scam.”

I thought of something else. “Wasn't Nell working here on the fifteenth? She could provide you with an alibi.”

“I'm not going to need an alibi.”

“Jerry, what if this is real?”

He had started to punch in a number. He paused. “Mac, believe me, I'm speaking from experience. Somebody's trying to scare us.”

“Do you have any idea who might be using your name?”

“I'm checking with Del right now.”

Del was one of Jerry's friends in Parkland. He owned a pawn shop and seemed like a reasonable fellow. “You don't think he did it, do you?”

“No, but he'll know who's in town.”

I listened as Jerry held a terse conversation with Del. “Just let me know, okay?” Jerry said. “This had to be sometime this summer. Is Frankie out yet? How about Allan?” He listened for a while. “Could she be holding a grudge?” He laughed. “You're kidding! Okay. Thanks.” He closed his phone. “Del says it sounds like something Honor Perkins would do. He's going to ask around.”

This was getting even more absurd. “Wait a minute. Honor Perkins? There's a con woman named Honor?”

“Nice, huh?”

“Will you please tell me exactly what is going on?”

“I'm not sure, but Honor may still be mad at me for a little incident that happened a while ago. This may be her way of trying to get back. This letter doesn't look like a real summons. It's nothing for you to worry about. I'll take care of it.”

I gave him a long hard stare. He looked so innocent and unconcerned I could see why fooling people came easily to him. After a while, I took a deep breath. “I'm sorry I accused you so quickly, but honestly, your reputation doesn't make things easy.”

“My former reputation, Mac. I have a new one now, remember? Camp Counselor Jerry Fairweather?”

“Yes, I'm sorry. I just hate for things like this to keep happening.”

“Like I said, I'll take care of it.”

Chapter Five

On top of everything else, there was Jerry's séance to get through. We arrived at Deely's to find a small crowd had gathered to watch the spectacle. This didn't bother Jerry in the least. I'm sure he was hoping to drum up business.

Deely didn't stay for the séance, saying he didn't hold with that kind of thing and reminding Annie to make sure everything was locked up when we were through. He had set up a card table and folding chairs in the back room of the restaurant, which was really a storage room filled with boxes of paper plates and napkins and cleaning supplies. Jerry had brought along his own candle. He lit the candle and set it in the center of the table.

“Okay, Annie, you sit here by me. Who's this with you?”

“Two of my best friends and my Aunt Louise, Aunt Gloria's sister. She's really hoping Gloria comes through.”

Aunt Louise was a grim-faced woman whose tiny eyes narrowed to mere slits. “Got a few things to discuss with her.”

Jerry gave me a wry grin. Let's see you handle this one, I thought.

The women sat down, and everyone held hands. “Mac, if you'd get the lights, please.”

I turned off the lights. The faces around the table looked ghostly in the candlelight.

“This may take a few minutes,” Jerry said. “Don't be disappointed if nothing happens. The spirit world has its own rules.”

Jerry Fairweather rules. I was always amazed that anyone could take this nonsense seriously.

Annie timidly raised her hand. “Will we be able to speak to her directly?”

“Yes, if your aunt comes through, you can ask her your questions.” He closed his eyes and took a few deep breaths. “I call to the spirit world. I request your guidance. We wish to speak to Annie's Aunt Gloria. Come to me. Show me the way.” There was a pause, and then he spoke in a distant voice. “Annie? Is that you?”

Annie leaned forward. “Aunt Gloria?”

“Yes, child.”

Her friends giggled, and Aunt Louise frowned. Annie spoke in a timid voice. “Aunt Gloria, I need your advice. Robbie Wilcox is getting serious, but so is Tim Farris. I don't know what to do.”

“Trust your feelings, my dear. Do you love one of them?”

“I think I love Robbie. I'm not sure.”

“Tell both young men you need time to sort out your emotions. If the one you love truly loves you, he'll be willing to wait.”

Annie looked pleased. Then Aunt Louise broke in. “Gloria, where is my money?”

“What money, dear sister?”

“You know very well what money. The money that was supposed to come to me. I know you were angry with Papa for favoring me, and you took it and hid it, so you'd better tell me right now where it is, or so help me, I'll leap over to the other side and make certain you're twice dead!”

Jerry made some strangled noises in his throat and let go of their hands. He blinked and made a great show of coming back to earth. “Sorry. There was a disruption, and all the spirits disappeared. Did Gloria come through?”

Aunt Louise gave a snort. “Came through and ran off, like she always did when faced with a hard decision!”

“I was real happy with what she told me,” Annie said. “Thanks, Jerry.”

Aunt Louise smacked the table. “Well, I'm not happy! Turn those lights back on. I want to talk to this young man.”

I turned on the lights.

Aunt Louise's face was pinched in tight. “I thought for sure you'd be able to reach her long enough for me to find out where my money is.”

Jerry tried to stall. “What money is that?”

“You don't know? You was right there with her, wasn't you? The ten thousand dollars our daddy left us, only half was to come to me, and Gloria ran off with all of it.”

Annie gaped at her. “You never told me that.”

“That's 'cause you thought so much of your Aunt Gloria, I didn't want to say nothing, but I'm fed up with it now. You see anything in that spirit world that looked like my money, Fairweather? If she told you where it was, you'd better tell me, or I'm going right to the police.”

“I promise you she did not say anything to me.”

“Huh! Better not be fooling me, young man. In fact, you go into that trance again and get her back here.”

“I'm sorry, ma'am, but this was my very last séance.”

“I don't believe you. You get her back right now.”

“It doesn't work that way. The spirits have to cooperate.”

“Are you trying to put one over on me, boy?”

Annie was appalled. “Aunt Louise, it's time to go home.” She took her aunt by the arm to steer her out. “Sorry, Jerry. She's been in the root beer again. It makes her crazy.”

“I'm not crazy! My sister's crazy if she thinks she's getting away with this!”

Aunt Louise complained and whined as Annie pulled her along. Annie's friends followed, still giggling.

I gave Jerry a long look. “Do I really have to say anything?”

He blew out the candle. “Well, I have to say I'm glad this was my last séance. It's hard to put a spin on little surprises like Aunt Louise.”

***

I hardly slept at all that night—sorry that I'd lost my temper with Jerry and even sorrier we were still being haunted by his past shady career. What if he was wrong, and this was a real lawsuit, and we couldn't prove it was a case of mistaken identity? His last con had cost us thousands of dollars. At the time, I'd thought this was a huge sum, but it didn't compare with the million dollars Denby Forest wanted. And if Denby Forest was this Honor Perkins, what did she really want besides playing a stupid prank?

Honestly, these friends of his.

***

In the morning, I stopped by my office before heading over to Flair For Fashion. I sincerely hoped there wasn't more mail. I couldn't take any more surprise letters. There wasn't any mail, but I had a visitor. Wendall Clarke tapped on the door.

“Hope I'm not interrupting anything.”

I motioned for him to enter. “Not at all. Please come in.”

He came in, followed by Flora, who glanced at me shyly and smiled. “I wanted to talk to you some more about helping with the gallery,” Wendall said.

“As I said, I'll be glad to think about it, but my work here keeps me busy.” And cleaning up after my husband, I wanted to add.

“Seems to me I recall you winning Miss Parkland a few years ago. Am I right?”

“Yes.”

“I thought so. Your mother still lives there, doesn't she? I've run into her at several charitable functions. And you know Chance Baseford, don't you?”

I certainly did. It had taken me a long time to get over Base-ford's harsh criticisms of my first art show. “Yes, I do.”

“He practically dared me to set up a gallery here, said the peasants wouldn't appreciate it or care. I'm going to prove him wrong, and if you've had similar experiences with the man, my guess is you'd like to prove him wrong, too.”

He was right about that.

Wendall leaned forward. “Here's what I have in mind, Ms. Maclin. I'm going to invite the very best artists from this area to show their work in the gallery. I'll get a respected critic and some reputable journalists to come cover the opening, and this will send a loud message to Baseford and others like him that art isn't just for a few snobs in Parkland. What do you think?”

“That's a great idea.”

“I'd like to feature your work, of course. Do you know any other artists who should be included?”

“Pamela Finch mentioned that she paints, and there's a local artists' club that meets at the library every month.”

“A good place to start. Can I count on your help?”

I really had no excuse not to help, and down deep, a vengeful little part of me wanted to best Chance Baseford. “I'll do what I can.”

“Excellent! The workers have already started on the remodeling. I expect to have the gallery ready in a couple of days.”

“A couple of days?”

“Oh, yes. I have offered substantial bonuses to the contractors. When I want something done, it gets done.” He smiled down at his wife. “Baby, didn't you have something you wanted to say?”

She tugged nervously at a curl of her blond hair. “If you don't mind, Ms. Maclin.”

“Please call me Madeline.”

“Madeline, I just wanted to thank you for being so kind to me at the party yesterday. You might have noticed that most people there gave me the cold shoulder.”

“I did, and I'm very sorry.”

“I really hope we can be friends.”

I felt a stab of sympathy for this worried little woman. “Certainly. Where are you staying in town?”

“We've rented a house in River Ridge,” Wendall said, “just until the gallery is open and running. I'm in discussions with several curators about the position.” He handed me his card. “Please call any time. I'm sure Baby would love for you to visit.”

River Ridge was Celosia's country club area. I wondered if the neighbors had been as friendly and welcoming as the reception crowd.

“Thank you, I will.”

Flora looked at me hopefully. “Come for lunch today if you're not too busy.”

I agreed to this, and they both left smiling.

***

No one was smiling at Flair For Fashion. I arrived to find a group of women, including Bea Ricter, bunched up at the back of the store, arguing fiercely about whose work was suitable for the new gallery. When Pamela saw me, she gestured me over to one side.

“Emergency meeting of the Art Guild. There's been some confusion about who'll be in charge of acquisitions at the new gallery.”

“Won't Wendall be in charge?”

“After the reception yesterday, he mentioned he's talking to several people about the curator's job.”

He'd mentioned this to me, too. “So what's all the fuss about?”

“We should be the ones to run the gallery. We can't imagine Wendall staying in town to oversee everything. If he's opening an art gallery for Celosia, then Celosians ought to be in charge. If he chooses an outsider, there's a very good chance some of us will never get to show our work.”

“Have you talked to him about your concerns?”

“I tried to talk to him yesterday, but he just laughed and said not to worry. He'd take care of everything.”

This sounded harmless, but apparently the Art Guild had heard his statement as a threat. “I've just had a conversation with him, and he plans to show local artists' work.” At this, all the women turned to look at me. Some of their looks were concerned, but most were unfriendly. This didn't bother me. I'd been the object of hostile stares before—try backstage at Miss Parkland—and these ladies couldn't compete.

“Why was he talking to you?” Bea asked. “You're not even a member of the Art Guild.”

“But Madeline's an artist,” Pamela said. “Didn't you have something at the Weyland, Madeline?”

At the mention of Parkland's prestigious gallery, I got a few more dagger glares.

“Wendall Clarke and I have both had run-ins with Chance Baseford, an art critic in Parkland. We agreed we'd like to show him that Celosia can have a great art gallery, too.”

Pamela addressed the group. “We agree with that, too, don't we? What else did he say, Madeline?”

“What I've just told you. He wants to include local art.” I didn't add,
good
local art.

This set the members of the Guild into another tizzy.

“But who's going to decide?”

“And who goes first?”

“How long will someone's exhibit be up? Is it a monthly schedule, or weeks, or what?”

One woman called for quiet. She had red hair and freckles and looked very annoyed. “We're getting nowhere with this. If one member of the Guild has a showing, then every member of the Guild should have a showing. That's the only fair way to do things.”

“No,” Bea Ricter said, “it should only be the best.”

The red-haired woman turned to her. “Good lord, Bea, who are you to say what's best? You make things out of dead wood!”

The group went off again. I'd lived in Celosia just a few months, but I recognized most of the women, including Samantha Terrell, Austin's mother, by face if not by name, having seen them in Deely's or Georgia's Books or at the community theater. They'd always seemed to be pleasant, reasonable people, but the gallery had them all stirred up.

This was exactly like a group of pageant contestants arguing over who got to be in front during the opening number. “Ladies, I know I'm not a member of the Art Guild, but could I make a suggestion? Why don't you sit down with Wendall Clarke and get things straightened out? Pamela made a good point when she said this is a gallery for Celosia, so you should have some say in it.”

“I think Pamela should run the gallery,” Samantha said, and several others nodded.

I could see Pamela was pleased by this. “Oh, my, no. I wouldn't know where to begin.”

“Don't be so modest,” Samantha said. She was a small attractive woman with Austin's smile and his tenacity. “You're the only one of us with any experience running a business.”

“How hard could it be?” another woman said.

“But what about my store?” Pamela asked.

Samantha had a solution. “Hire an extra salesclerk to watch the store when you're not here. You're never very busy, are you?” Pamela looked at her askance. “That didn't come out the way I meant it, sorry. But you have to admit you have a select clientele.”

“Well, that's true,” Pamela said. “I still don't think I could run the gallery.”

“You could try,” another woman said. “We need one of our own in charge.”

Pamela appealed to me. “Madeline, did Wendall tell you who was going to run the gallery? Did he ask you to do it?”

“No, and I wouldn't want the job. My main occupation in town is private investigation.”