Cheri on Top (8 page)

Why hadn’t I been able to get along with Tanyalee? Mama and Daddy would still be alive …

Cherise dropped her hand from the curtain, turned away from the sink, and pushed the pain aside. She had no time for this crap—she needed to wrap up her little excursion down memory lane and get back to the newsroom, where fifteen year-end finance reports were waiting for her to wade through. She had a month to decide if and how the paper could ever be profitable again. Once she’d accomplished that, she’d take her earnings and go.

Cherise walked quickly, making a cursory check on the rest of the house. The two bedrooms needed painting. The old iron beds were fine but the mattresses and box springs would have to be pitched. The bathroom needed scrubbing from ceiling to floor and the whole thing needed regrouting.

Cherise stepped into the hallway and gasped at what awaited her. The squirrel!

“Ohmigod! Shoo! Get out! How did you get in here?”

The thing wouldn’t move. Cherise stomped her boot and waved her hands. “Go! Git the hell out! I know how destructive you little shits can be.”

“Is that how y’all greet each other down in Tampa?”

Tanyalee
.

Cherise looked up. Her sister stood in the open front door. She wore a buttery linen suit and spike heels. A large metallic bag hung from her shoulder. Her reddish-blond hair was twisted back in a tidy chignon, held in place by beautiful mother-of-pearl hair combs that looked like expensive antiques. She had pearls at her ears, a smirk on her face, and hands curled into fists at her sides. She looked like she belonged at a Junior League meeting.

Cherise had never seen Tanyalee look so chic—or chilly. “Hi!” she blurted out. “What a nice surprise!”

“Aunt Viv told me I might find you here.” Tanyalee let her eyes roam up and down Cherise while she produced a smile that did not spread to her eyes. “And, of course, Wim told me yesterday that you were back in town.”

“Wim?” Cherise nearly stepped on the damn squirrel as she moved toward her sister. “Wim Wimbley?”

Tanyalee laughed. “Of course. How many men do you know named Wim?” Just then, Tanyalee raised her left hand to smooth an unseen stray hair, making certain the huge solitaire diamond caught the light to its best advantage. “We’re engaged. I manage his real estate office.”

Cherise opened her lips to comment on her sister’s happy news, but her mouth simply hung open, lifeless and silent. Her brain, however, shifted into overdrive.
Wim Wimbley? Candy’s one-time sleazeball boyfriend? And Tanyalee? When the hell had this happened? I hope Wimbley keeps the cash register padlocked.

“You can’t possibly be serious about living in this dump,” Tanyalee said. “Why don’t you rent a loft downtown? Wim has some units more suited to your lifestyle. Unless you have a newfound love for…”—Tanyalee looked around again—“camping.”

“Well, I—”

“No one said how long y’all plan on playing publisher, but I’m sure Wim would be willing to do a month to month. As a favor to me, of course.”

With that, Tanyalee reached in her metallic bag and pulled out a brochure for Wimbley Real Estate. She held it in front of her body with a straight arm, as if she were offering a treat to a stray cat she couldn’t trust.

Cherise blinked. She closed her mouth. She took the five steps necessary to reach her sister, walked right into the brochure, and extended her arms to hug her.

Tanyalee remained as stiff as a corpse. She patted Cherise on the back awkwardly, then pushed her away.

“Here,” she said, shoving the brochure in Cherise’s hand.

Cherise looked from the five-color glossy booklet to Tanyalee and cocked her head, unsure how to handle her sister. “Are you free? Can we go for a cup of coffee and chat? Catch up? We haven’t talked in years.”

Tanyalee produced a quick little laugh. “Five years. And unfortunately, no. I’ll have to take a rain check. I just wanted to stop by and welcome y’all back.” Again, she examined Cherise from head to toe. “You look good. What are you, a size four? I bet you could almost fit into my clothes now.”

Cherise smiled pleasantly, though her body hummed inside with a low-level warning.
What the hell is up with Tanyalee? No, we’ve never slobbered over each other with affection and there’s still an undercurrent of jealousy here, but when did my baby sister turn into a freakin’ ice queen?

“I hear that J.J. has already moved in for the kill. That sure didn’t take long.”

Cherise shook her head, truly not understanding. “What are you talking about, Tanyalee?”

Her sister chuckled and raised an eyebrow. “Wim saw the whole thing. Told me you’d barely gotten out of your damn car before he started manhandling you in front of half the damn town—while a dead girl was being pulled from a lake, no less. Talk about
tacky
.”

Cherise froze. Had everyone seen that? But it was nothing! J.J. said so! And why was there such bitterness in Tanyalee’s voice? “I don’t under—”

“Water under the bridge, my dear sister,” she said with a quick wave of her hand. “I forgave you a long, long time ago.”

Cherise felt her belly tie itself into a sick knot. “Forgave me for
what
?”

Tanyalee let go with a full-bodied laugh before she patted her sister’s shoulder. “You’ve always been so above it all, haven’t you, Cheri? Always pretending you don’t know what effect you had on him or how you managed to ruin my marriage from three states away.”

Cherise stopped breathing. “What?”

“Come on now, big sis. I was praying you’d be more mature about all this by now, even though I waited and waited for you to come to me with the truth and you never did.” Tanyalee withdrew her hand from Cherise and pulled her lips tight, then shrugged. “I know everything, Cheri. I know how J.J. never stopped loving you. I know how you were calling him from Florida and telling him to leave me. He confessed everything once the divorce was final. And the weird thing is that I think I knew all along—a wife’s intuition and all that—and looking back, I’m pretty sure it was the stress of the betrayal that made me lose the baby in the first place.”

Cherise’s knees felt wobbly from shock. What Tanyalee was saying was so horrific that she could barely follow along.
I’m responsible for Tanyalee’s miscarriage? I was calling J.J. from Florida? And J.J. had never stopped loving me?

“I don’t have any idea what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, Lord-ee.” Tanyalee repositioned the bag on her shoulder and sighed, as if it took a great deal of patience to deal with her dim-witted sister. “Anyway, I’m sure we’ll have time to revisit this before you leave town.” Tanyalee frowned. “So how long are you here for, anyhow? A couple months? Three? And do you truly have any idea what a mess you’ve stepped in over at the
Bugle
? Wim says there’s no way it’ll ever bounce back, that it’s as good as dead.”

Cherise closed her eyes and gave herself a moment to distance herself from the whacko world of Tanyalee Marie Newberry. How would she respond? Where to start? It was all a cesspool of twisted lies. She’d never spoken to J.J. on the phone—not once since she left Bigler! So why would he lie to Tanyalee about something like that? Or was it Tanyalee who was lying to her now?

When Cherise opened her eyes, Tater Wayne stood behind Tanyalee in the doorway. He held up a greenish, rotted piece of wood that might have once been a window sash. “The
sitch-ee-a-ashun’
s more fucked up than I thought,” he said.

Cherise did her best to smile, noting that Tater Wayne was becoming downright prophetic.

Chapter 9

“More beans, Cheri?”

Cherise straightened her posture in the hope the adjustment would help her breathe. She’d already consumed one of Aunt Viv’s breaded pork chops, two pieces of corn bread with butter, a baked apple, two helpings of green beans with bacon, and a glass of milk. She hadn’t eaten with such abandon since high school. The waist of her skirt had cut into her flesh.

“No, thanks,” she moaned, falling back against the dining room chair. “I’m about to pop as it is.”

Granddaddy snickered. “Nonsense. We’re having red velvet cake for dessert.”

“I know how y’all love red velvet cake,” Aunt Viv said, emptying the serving spoon of green beans onto Cherise’s plate as if she’d requested them. “Remember how I made it for your graduation party, with a nice cream cheese frosting?”

Cherise nodded, placing her hands on her pooched-out stomach. “Of course I do. It was delicious.”

“Now, I would have been happy to make a red velvet wedding cake for Taffy and J.J., but she insisted on a carrot cake. But who in their right mind wants carrot cake for their wedding?” Aunt Viv cut another square of corn bread and put it on Cherise’s plate, then provided her with another pat of butter. “If you ask me, any marriage that starts out with carrot cake is bound to—”

Granddaddy’s knife crashed down against the edge of his supper plate, drowning out the end of Viv’s sentence. “So, Cheri, did Purnell gather up all those reports you’d asked for? Do you have everything you need?”

Aunt Viv sniffed and raised her chin at her brother’s interruption. She began gathering the dirty dishes with passive-aggressive fervor.

“Let me clean up tonight,” Cherise said, starting to rise from her chair.

“I wouldn’t even consider it,” Aunt Viv said, her voice overly chirpy. “Now you’uns just sit and discuss your business while I go and get us some cake and coffee.”

Granddaddy slowly raised his eyes toward Cherise and shook his head.

“If it’s all right with
you,
of course,” Viv added, mimicking her brother with an eyebrow raise of her own. Then she used one of her pink-laced tennis shoes to kick open the swinging door to the kitchen.

Cherise stared at the clattering door until it fell silent, then she turned to Granddaddy. In her mind’s eye she pictured Lady Justice with her scales, one side holding a single pack of ramen noodles and a cutoff notice from Tampa Electric, while the other was weighed down with the newspaper business, her family of crazy people, J.J., the crumbling lake house, a rabid squirrel, and a huge red velvet cake.

She let out a weak squeal of alarm.

“Don’t mind your aunt Viv. Her dark cloud will blow over as soon as she has a nip of her slush.”

Cherise blinked a few times to regain her focus. “What were you saying?”

“The financials. Has Purnell given you everything you need?”

Cherise laughed uncomfortably, supposing there was no right time to ask the questions that had stacked up since that afternoon, when Gladys Harbison delivered some of the five years’ worth of accounting and bookkeeping reports to her office. A quick perusal was enough for Cherise to see that the
Bugle
hadn’t just lost ad revenue and circulation over the years, it was a study in financial mismanagement. She’d tried to track down Purnell to talk with him, but he’d been out of the office the whole afternoon.

“The
Bugle
hasn’t been audited in at least fifteen years, Granddaddy,” she said matter-of-factly. “Were you aware of this?”

He brushed corn bread crumbs off the tablecloth. “Oh, it’s been a lot longer than that, but there’s no need for it, Cheri. We’re a privately owned family business where every employee is part of the family. It’s always been our way.”

She fought not to roll her eyes. Her grandfather was clueless! “Even privately held corporations need auditing, Granddaddy. Audits reveal how reliable your reporting methods are and identify the changing trends in your business. They help you manage risk, and keep you on track toward accomplishing your goals.”

He said nothing, but avoided eye contact.

“Granddaddy, I can’t even figure out where some of your numbers are coming from, and I used to make my living doing this!”

His lip twitched.

“How involved have you been with the business end of the paper?”

He shrugged. “Involved enough.”

“It’s pretty unusual to have just one person who operates as both head of sales and chief financial officer, isn’t it?”

He shrugged again.

“In fact,” she continued, “this arrangement is borderline illegal, Granddaddy. Separating revenue creation from accounting is standard operating procedure and important for fraud prevention.”

He laughed. “Not if you’re the
Bugle
, Cheri. We’ve always done it that way. There are three arms of the company—finance, circulation, and editorial. The finance arm includes all our ad sales and it’s all under Purnell. Editorial was mine. Since Chester Wollard passed, I’ve been handling circulation, too. It’s always worked well for us.”

Cherise shook her head. “I have to disagree.”

“What are you saying?” His watery eyes blinked several times.

“I mean I’ve never seen such sloppy accounting in my life! The paper is hemorrhaging money, and I haven’t yet been able to figure where all the bleeding is coming from. You’ve got serious problems.”

He frowned, and when he shook his head, his jowls jiggled. “I’m sure if you just sat down with Purnell, he’d clear everything up.”

“Granddaddy, that’s what I’m trying to tell you—Purnell is a big part of the problem.”

He laughed. “Sugar, I’ve known Purnell Lawson my entire life. He’s a good man and the only remaining friend-of-my-heart from my childhood. Now, I will admit that he’s had some health issues recently, and his drinking sure doesn’t help the situation, but—”

“At best, he’s incompetent. At worst—”

The swinging door burst open, and Aunt Viv swept in with a coffee tray and two dessert plates. She served Granddaddy first. His slice of cake was so thin it couldn’t support its own weight and had fallen into a tiny mound of red velvet dust. Cherise received a piece as big as her head.

“Cheri, dear, would you like sugar and cream?” Viv asked this as she began adding both to the coffee cup.

Granddaddy rolled his eyes.

Aunt Viv plopped down into her chair and sighed, her work done. She reached for her tumbler.

“No cake?” Cherise asked, knowing full well what her aunt’s response would be.

“All I need is my risky slush,” she said with a wink. The smell of vodka and strawberry daiquiri mix was strong enough to bring tears to Cherise’s eyes. She sighed.

“Did Taffy come by to see you today?” Viv savored a long swig of her alcoholic confection. “Did you two have a nice, long talk? I sure hope you took some time to get reacquainted.”

Cherise’s attention wandered to the cake. As if on autopilot, she stuck her fork in the spongy perfection and brought it to her mouth, reeling from the sweet shock. She opened her eyes with a start, put down her fork, and pushed her plate away. If she didn’t get out of this house soon, she’d end up bat-shit crazy. Three hundred pounds worth of bat-shit crazy.

Granddaddy reached across the table to pat the top of her hand. “I’ll have a chat with Purnell. Don’t worry about any of that mess. Now, I understand from Tater Wayne that the lake house needs some fixin’ up. Don’t you mind any of that, either. I’ve already called a few boys and they’ll start work tomorrow.”

“Good,” Cherise heard herself say. “Because I want to move in right away.”

“What?” Viv’s eyes went wide.

Cherise was just as surprised by her decision as Aunt Viv. But what alternative did she have?

“I’ll have to borrow some cookware and dishes and stuff—and I’ll need to round up a decent box spring and mattress, linens, curtains, maybe a secondhand couch.” Cherise saw her aunt frown. “Everything in there is covered in mold and mildew, Aunt Viv. It has to be pitched.”

Viv sighed deeply. “Some of those things are family heirlooms, Cheri. You can’t just roll into town and start throwing things out willy-nilly, though I know you never were the sentimental type. Not like Taffy, God bless her heart.”

“Vivienne.”
Granddaddy smacked his hand on the table.

“Well, I have a right to know why Cheri doesn’t want to stay here! Is there something wrong with this house? She only picked at her cake! Is there something wrong with the cake, too? And why is it so hard for Cheri to give her own flesh-and-blood sister the time of day?” Aunt Viv turned her pursed lips in Cherise’s direction. “Well?”

Cherise felt her face go hot. She counted to five as she placed her napkin on the table and gathered her untouched coffee and barely disturbed dessert plate. “I’m used to being on my own, Aunt Viv. I would feel more comfortable having my own place.” She stood, took a step toward the swinging door, then turned around. “And yes, Tanyalee did stop by today. We spoke for about three minutes, which was more than enough time for us to get reacquainted. There was even time for her to try to rent me one of Wim’s condos and then blame me for her divorce
and
her miscarriage. So yeah—it was a really
nice talk
.”

“Now, Cheri—”

She didn’t wait to hear what Granddaddy had to say. She kicked the swinging door with her high-heeled boot, dumped her dishes in the sink, and ran up the back staircase to her old room.

I must have been insane to come back here
.

She slammed the door behind her and threw herself on the bed.

Was there any conceivable reason for J.J. to lie to Tanyalee about those phone calls? Was he trying to cover for his own bad behavior in some way? And why would Tanyalee believe him—a man she said treated her so badly—without even checking with her own sister?

Or was this all about Tanyalee and her ability to twist and turn at a lie until it had a whiff of truth to it?

This
is why Cherise had left Bigler and never wanted to return. Shit! She’d almost wolfed down that big-ass piece of red velvet cake when she was already too stuffed to breathe! And why? Because this town made her second-guess herself. Suddenly, she didn’t trust her own eyes, her own ears, or her finely tuned gut instinct. And she wasn’t going to allow it. She wasn’t going to let herself get sucked in that way.

Cherise was on the verge of screaming. She wanted to beat her fists into the bed and howl.

But she didn’t. Cherise raised her head from the coverlet. She patted the bed, suddenly aware that she hadn’t bounced all over creation on contact with the mattress. This was not the mattress and box spring she’d had in high school. This bed was new. Firm. Plush.

Tomorrow, she’d be strapping this sucker to the roof of the pimpmobile and moving out.