Gone South (33 page)

She remembered looking over her shoulder after he’d dropped her off at the vacant bank building. A crazy thought had hit her hard:
What if I never see him again?
For one little second, she’d loved him for being the big, grown-up brother who whooped and cheered for her at the kindergarten talent show and cried when the cop brought her home after she’d run away.

But then she saw the dealership license plate on the back of the big silver gas hog, and she remembered he was part of Dunc Hamilton’s business. That made Stu the enemy, almost.

She wouldn’t cry for him anymore either. She was done.

Walking into the warmth of the kitchen after a chilly half hour in the garage, Tish smiled. She’d been cold, but she’d enjoyed having George all to herself for a while. No Calv. No Mel, although her troubles had come up in the conversation. Just Daisy, who didn’t matter … and George, who was beginning to matter a lot.

She had to call Mom soon. She would want to know all about George, like Tish had wanted to know all about Charles. The mother-daughter bond had grown stronger through their losses—first Stephen, then Dad—and sometimes Tish thought they were more like sisters than mom and daughter.

She turned in a circle, inspecting the kitchen. Mel had done a great job of leaving it spick-and-span, as usual. Tish headed toward the guest room to express her appreciation. The poor kid probably didn’t get enough pats on the back, especially if George’s new theory held any water. An undiagnosed learning disability could explain a lot of Mel’s issues.

Reaching the bedroom doorway, Tish stopped, picking up bad vibes from Mel’s furtive body language. Unaware of her visitor, Mel tiptoed to the dresser and opened the top drawer, being awfully quiet about it. She pulled a white sock from the back of the drawer and squeezed the toe of it, then glanced over her shoulder. Seeing Tish, she jumped, dropping the sock, and slammed the drawer.

“What are you hiding, Mel?”

“Nothing.” But she stood squarely in front of the dresser, her face as white as the day she’d thought her sleeping bag had gone in the wash.

Hugely disappointed, Tish shook her head. “Wasn’t honesty one of the things we talked about when I laid down my house rules?”

Mel’s eyes narrowed. “I can be honest without telling you absolutely everything.”

“What are you hiding?”

“What do you
think
I’m hiding?”

“I don’t know. If it’s something harmless, you shouldn’t be afraid to show me.”

“It’s none of your business.”

“If it’s under my roof, it’s my business.”

Mel’s cheeks turned red. “Fine. You want to see my horrible, awful, illegal secret? I’ll show you.” She yanked the drawer open, picked up the sock, and pulled something out of it. She opened her hand, revealing an old-fashioned gold pocket watch. “It was Grandpa John’s. He gave it to me.”

Tish drew in her breath. “Well! Farris was right when he decided not to hire me because of you.”

“He what?”

“Farris refused to give me a job because he heard I was harboring a criminal. I stuck up for you, Mel, but I shouldn’t have. You’re a thief, all right, and you cost me that job.”

“Grandpa John promised me the watch. Why don’t you believe me? Why don’t you trust me?”

“You don’t seem to be trustworthy. The evidence is piling up, and it’s all going against you.”

“Like the evidence against the McCombs is piling up?” Mel spat out. “It doesn’t feel good to have your reputation in the Dumpster, does it? But you’re doing the same thing to me.” Mel stalked across the room, almost invading Tish’s personal space. “I am not a thief.”

Tish glanced down at Mel’s hand clenched around the watch. “You stole the watch. You need to give it back.”

Mel opened her fist. With her other hand, she ran a fingertip over a monogram engraved on the smooth golden case. “It’s mine.”

Tish hated to act like Mel’s mother again, but somebody had to. “It’s not legally yours. I won’t have stolen property in my house, Melanie. If you won’t give it back to your father, move out of my house. Today.”

“Grandpa John told me he was going to give me the watch someday, but for a long time, I didn’t know what he meant.” Mel’s voice shook. “When I figured it out, I said I didn’t want it if he had to die to give it to me. He said that was exactly why he wanted me to have it.” She let out a little sob and shoved the watch into Tish’s hand. “Go ahead, give it back, but I’m never talking to Dunc again.”

“Mel—”

But Mel pushed her way past Tish and ran down the hall. The front door slammed.

Weak in the knees, Tish wobbled over to the bed and sat on the edge. Opening her hand, she studied the watch case. The monogram read
JMH
, presumably for John M. Hoff. Mel’s initials were
MJH
, the same letters in different order. Remembering her conversation with George, Tish wondered what it would be like to live in a world where letters and numbers shuffled their order when you weren’t looking.

She opened the case. The watch ticked quietly in her hand, keeping perfect time. It had survived two years in Mel’s possession without a scratch, and she’d never intended to sell it.

Now Dunc’s demand wasn’t impossible. He might let Mel rejoin the family, especially if he understood why she’d taken the watch. He might even let her keep it.

Bright with banners and balloons, Duncan Hamilton’s dealership stood near the interstate on the outskirts of Muldro, not far from the outlet mall. His main building included a two-story tower of steel and glass topped with a gigantic American flag. Dunc’s office, according to Mel, was on the second floor, where he enjoyed an unobstructed view of Muldro and the green hills beyond.

Tish parked in the customer parking lot, climbed out, then reached into her purse to make sure the watch was still there. According to George, it was worth much more than she’d guessed. They hadn’t told Mel how much, and maybe they never would. She’d returned at midnight, afraid she’d be locked out and find herself on the street again. She’d fallen apart when Tish offered a hug instead of a lecture.

She took a deep breath and started walking across the lot. Returning the watch was the responsible and proper thing to do, so she would do it. Arriving without an appointment with the head honcho on a busy Saturday, she could only hope he was available, but she wanted to take him by surprise.

In the showroom, she encountered a pair of hungry-looking salesmen in matching polo shirts.

“I’m here to see Dunc,” she said before they could pounce. “Upstairs, yes?”

The salesmen pointed her toward an elevator, and she took it to the second floor. The view was beautiful if she looked beyond the outlet mall
and restaurant row. Turning from the window, she proceeded along a broad hallway lined with offices open to view behind glass. Telephones rang, printers hummed, and employees laughed. It seemed like a pleasant enough place to work.

Farther down the hallway, it was quieter. A door with a brass nameplate caught her eye. She moved close enough to read it. Dunc Hamilton.

Until she’d shared her plan with George and absorbed some of his pessimism, she’d thought it sounded easy enough. Just walk into Dunc Hamilton’s office and return the watch. Now she wasn’t so sure.

The door was ajar by a couple of inches. Hoping he wouldn’t be there, she knocked gently on the door frame. “Mr. Hamilton?”

“Come on in, whoever you are.” He sounded genial enough.

Cautiously, she pushed the door open. A muscular figure stood silhouetted against a sunny window. She couldn’t make out his features, but his stance was like that of a high school football coach on the sidelines of a game: legs apart, hands on his hips. In polo shirt and khakis, he only needed a coach’s whistle around his neck to complete the stereotype. That impression was confirmed by photos of sports teams on display all around the office: Little League, soccer, youth football.

As he stepped away from the window, his features became visible. She saw Mel in his smile and his warm brown eyes.

“Hello,” he said. “I’m Dunc Hamilton.”

“Hello,” she said. “My name is Tish McComb.”

The warmth drained from his expression. “I’ve heard about you.”

“I’ve heard about you too. I’m one of Mel’s friends.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. She’s a troublemaker.”

“She’s your daughter, Mr. Hamilton. Please don’t talk about her that way.”

“It’s the truth.”

“People can change. She’s a sweet girl, really. Give her a chance.”

Dunc sighed. “I’ll be happy to work with you if you ever want to buy a vehicle, but if you show up again to preach at me, I’ll have security throw you out. Is that clear?”

Tish’s hopes deflated. “It’s a little too clear, actually.”

“Good day to you, then.”

“Wait. I—I wanted to tell you …” She blinked, trying to remember the carefully crafted lines she’d rehearsed on the drive over to Muldro. They’d all fled her mind.

“Yes?” he prompted.

She reached into her purse for the watch but kept it hidden in her hand. “Mel still believes this was meant to be hers, but she’s returning it to you. To make things right.” Tish opened her hand, displaying the watch on her palm.

He let out a delighted laugh. “I thought she sold that thing.” He was an imposing figure as he moved closer.

She hid the watch behind her back. “She could have sold it, but she didn’t. She hung on to it even when she was flat broke and homeless, because it was her only memento of her Grandpa John.”

“Give it here.”

“You don’t need it, do you? And it means so much to Mel.”

“I guess that’s why she stole it.” He held out his hand. “Give it to me.”

“If I give it back, will you stop shutting her out of the family?”

“
If
you give it to me? It’s my property. My wife’s, actually, and she’d planned to give it to our son. If Mel ever has the courage to face me in person, maybe we’ll talk about letting her back in the family.”

Tish laughed in disbelief. “What if your father-in-law really meant to give it to her?”

“Then he should have given it to her before he kicked the bucket, or he should have made a will. The law is the law.”

Tish backed toward the door. He followed, his hand still extended.

“Give me the watch before I call security.”

“What would you do if you lost her suddenly? Wouldn’t you wish you’d treated her better? She’s your daughter.”

He shook his head slowly. “She says she’s not my daughter anymore.”

“I’m starting to understand why.”

She took another step backward, calculating her chances, but she knew he would sic his security goons on her. She, the woman who’d never had a parking ticket, would be charged with grand larceny. Her name would be mud.

So what? The McComb name was already mud. It was like her dad’s joke that he drove a dented old vehicle so he would win parking-space battles. People in nice vehicles could see he had nothing to lose.

She had something to lose, though. Her conscience. Her self-respect.

“Hand it over,” Dunc said with a smug smile.

Tish dropped the watch in his outstretched palm and left him to gloat over his victory.

Waiting for the elevator, she stood by a wall of glass and surveyed row after row after row of glittering new vehicles awaiting their new owners. Dunc Hamilton had everything he needed, but Mel, more than ever, had nothing.