Hidden Riches (17 page)

“Your passion?” The question came from Delcine.

“Come on in the house. Mama will be pleased to have company, and I can tell you all about it.”

“Mama?” Delcine asked.

Jeremy nodded and then turned to secure something on his workbench.

“Is he Howard?” JoJo mouthed to her siblings.

Both Clayton and Delcine shrugged.

“Mama, we've got company,” Jeremy called as he escorted the Futrells into the house.

“Back here, honey.”

Jeremy led them down a wide foyer and into a spacious great room.

“Holy cow!” JoJo said.

A back wall of windows opened to an unexpected oasis, a large in ground infinity pool surrounded by lush greenery and a waterfall.

“Wow,” breathed Delcine, who was not easily impressed. “You can't tell from the front of the house that all of this is here.”

Jeremy grinned. “Cool, isn't it? I figured out how to use rainwater for the waterfall. It looks like it's flowing into the pool, but it isn't. The water is actually irrigating the fields.”

“The fields?” Delcine asked, walking, uninvited, deeper into the room, which was decorated in an eclectic mix of French country and traditional furnishings.

“Well, not really fields like a farm, but we do grow our own vegetables. Tomatoes, cucumbers, three varieties of lettuce, beans, and corn. Plus sunflowers. Those are just for fun.”

“Jeremy, I doubt our guests want to hear about your crop experiments.”

The woman who entered the room came in soundlessly, which was surprising since she was in a motorized wheelchair.

Seeing at least JoJo's expression, she laughed.

“No sound, I know. Freaks out some folks. But I love sneaking up on people,” she said. “Hi, there, I'm Nell Fisher.”

Clayton and JoJo shook her hand. Delcine waved from the window.

The familial resemblance between Jeremy and his mother couldn't be mistaken. While her wispy blond hair and pale blue eyes made her seem fragile at first glance, there was a strength in Nell that Jeremy also exhibited. In her mid-fifties to maybe early sixties, she had a twinkle in her eyes that put them all at ease with her disability.

“Welcome to our home,” Nell said. “I'm so sorry for your loss. Ana Mae spent many hours here talking about you all.”

She turned the chair to her son. “Jeremy, where are your manners? Invite our guests to sit down.”

Nell shook her head. “Kids. It doesn't matter how old they are.” She steered toward a seating area with two large sofas, a chaise lounge, and big comfy chairs.

“Thank you, Mrs. Fisher,” Clayton said. He waited until she slid into a spot clearly designed to let her engage with guests in the space.

“Oh, it's just Miss. I never married. But call me Nell.”

“I like that,” JoJo said.

“That my name is Nell?”

Seeing the laughter in her hostess's eyes, JoJo grinned as she settled on a cushion. “That you're an independent woman.”

“Mano will be bringing us some tea in a moment.”

“He's one of my best creations,” Jeremy said.

And sure enough, a few moments later, a robot about the size of a third-grader pushed a cart into the room. A pitcher of iced tea and a plate of cookies were displayed on the cart's tray. Underneath in an open storage area were glasses and napkins.

After Jeremy and Mano served everyone, the humans munched for a few minutes, talking about the weather and other banal pleasantries.

“Well, I know you all probably have some business to discuss,” Nell said, “and I have some tomatoes that need harvesting. It's been lovely meeting all of you. I'm just sorry it took this sad occasion for us to get together.”

With Mano the robot following behind her, Nell left her son and the Futrells in the great room.

“That little man is so cool,” JoJo said.

“Miss Ana Mae liked it too,” Jeremy said. “We've been testing out a new model, one that would help her . . .” His voice trailed off, and he blanched. “I'm sorry. I still can't quite wrap my head around the fact that she's really gone. She was like my big sister and other mother and best friend and confidante all rolled into one.”

Jeremy laughed then. “We made quite a pair. The gospel-singing black cleaning lady and the long-haired geeky vegan white boy. ‘Here they come,' ” he said in a spot-on imitation of Eddie Spencer. “ ‘Ana Mae and that Fisher boy.' ”

Shaking his head, Jeremy added, “You know, I don't think many people in this town except Ana Mae and my mama even know my first name. They all call me That Fisher Boy.”

“That's how we found you,” JoJo said.

“The Day-Ree Mart?” Jeremy guessed.

“Yep.”

“We understand Ana Mae invested in your company,” Delcine said in an effort to end the chitchat and get to the point of their visit.

Jeremy grinned. “Absolutely. I have, well, had five investors, including Mama. But Miss Ana Mae was far and away the biggest shareholder in the company. We had quite a run together, the two of us.”

“What, exactly, is it that you do?” Delcine asked.

That question apparently was all the encouragement Jeremy Fisher needed. He launched into a detailed description of his company that had them wishing for an executive summary.

“I started tinkering with things when I was a little kid. I was always trying to come up with something that would make Mama's life easier.

“She has MS,” he explained. “When I was young, well, younger,” he amended, looking at the three of them, “I was always coming up with things that would make it easier for her to get around the house and do things in the kitchen. I just never stopped tinkering,” he added with a self-effacing shrug.

“How did you meet Ana Mae?” JoJo asked.

“When I went away to college,” Jeremy said. “I did two years here at Roanoke-Chowan Community College so I could stay at home to help Mama. But when I transferred to Chapel Hill to finish up the undergrad degree, Miss Ana Mae came over a couple of days a week to check on Mama and do any heavy cleaning that needed to be done. There usually wasn't any since Mama insisted on being independent. You sure got that right, Miss JoJo,” he said, shaking his head in mild disgust.

“One time I came home on break and Miss Ana Mae asked me about some of the things around the house that I'd done for Mama. She asked me if I could come up with a better approach to a mop and bucket. It took me a while, but after graduation from Chapel Hill, I did.”

“So you're a preacher too?” JoJo asked.

The question earned her a blank look from Jeremy and an inelegant “Huh?” from Delcine.

“At chapel school. That's where you learned how to be a minister, right?”

“Oh, for God's sake,” Delcine muttered.

“I don't understand,” Jeremy said at the same time.

Clayton, who did understand, took the diplomatic approach. “He means the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill,” he told JoJo. “Chapel Hill is the name of the town. It's about, what two or three hours from here?”

Jeremy nodded. “Almost three.”

“You were telling us about Ana Mae,” Delcine prompted.

Jeremy nodded. “She tested it out and loved it. The next thing you know, she's telling her friends and they all want one. I was working on the first generation of Mano then, so the cleaning solutions stuff was a sort of side thing. But before you know it, that was taking all of my time. The mop and buckets were selling well. I needed capital to expand Fisher Innovative Solutions. By that time, Miss Ana Mae had tested out some of my other inventions, and when she won the lottery money, she invested in the company. Well,” he added with a shrug, “she really invested in me. She believed in me when everyone else called me that crazy Fisher boy.”

For a moment, Jeremy looked as if he might cry. Then, his voice unsteady, he told them, “Even after all this time, it seems a little odd to call it the company, like it was some big thing. There were really just three of us—me, Mama, and Miss Ana Mae.”

Delcine's eyes scrunched up as if she were trying to figure out a missing element. “And the assorted projects and products you created? You took them to market?”

Jeremy nodded and gave them a big smile. “Yep. And the rest, as they say, is history. When the Day-Ree Mart and the hardware store downtown started carrying the cleaning caddy and some of my other stuff, the
Times & Review
did a big story.”

Delcine rolled her eyes, a reaction Jeremy missed because he'd hopped up to go to a console behind the large sofa. He returned with a scrapbook and opened it to a page featuring a clipping from the
Drapersville Times & Review:

A photo of Jeremy outside the front of the Day-Ree Mart and another of him in front of a display of his mop and bucket caddy inside the Jefferson Brothers Hardware Store went along with the article.

“I'm sure you were very proud,” Delcine said.

If he caught the flat note of sarcasm in her voice, Jeremy didn't let on.

“Yes. Mama and Miss Ana Mae were right there with me. They're both quoted in the story. If it hadn't been for them—especially Miss Ana Mae believing in me and supplying that initial capital—I wouldn't be where I am today.”

The Futrells thanked him for his time, and they all got up to head for the door.

“Jeremy!” Nell called. “Wait. I have something.”

A moment later, she appeared with a basket on her lap. It brimmed with tomatoes, peppers, and corn. “Fresh grown,” she said. “Please, enjoy the harvest. Ana Mae always did. And she made the most wonderful sauces with vegetables grown right out back.”

Accepting the gift, Clayton thanked them for it, their time, and their friendship with Ana Mae.

Back in the car, Clayton hefted one of the tomatoes. “This will be great in a salad,” he said.

“Hmmph,” Delcine grunted. “That was more than an hour of wasted time.”

“No, it wasn't,” JoJo said. “We have another quilt clue solved, and we met some nice people who knew Ana Mae. It's kind of fun to find out about this Ana Mae we didn't know.”

Delcine took her gaze off the road long enough to roll her eyes at her sister.

“It was a waste of time if you ask me,” Delcine said. “I still don't get where she got almost four million dollars. That Fisher boy didn't sell that many of those bucket things at the Day-Ree Mart.”

“Well,” Clayton said, taking a bite of the tomato and chewing it, “look at it this way: we have seven more quilt blocks to figure it out.”

W
hen Clayton, Delcine, and JoJo got back to Ana Mae's house after their quilt-clue hunting, it was to find Ana Mae's car at the curb instead of in the small driveway adjacent to the house. They pulled into the drive only to spy Lester, in jeans, sneakers, and a sweat-stained white T-shirt, digging up the yard.

Mounds of dirt like abandoned molehills clumped and cluttered the side yard. Soil, unceremoniously dumped, strangled the flower beds that Ana Mae had carefully tended. The jonquils and daylilies, the tea rose bushes, and all of the brightly colored annuals she put in every summer—marigolds in a riot of yellows, golds, and oranges—all of them buried or bent under the dirt.

On the bottom step of the side porch, a metal bucket filled with ice and bottles of Budweiser beer sweated about as much as Lester did.

“What the hell are you doing?” Delcine shrieked.

Lester looked up and grinned. With the back of one hand he wiped his brow. The other hand gripped the shovel he'd clearly used to dig a giant hole in the ground. He was working on the second hole when they interrupted his labor.

“Took you all long enough to get back. I started without you. Haven't found anything yet, though. But I know it's here.”

“What the hell are you doing?”

This time the demand came from Clayton.

JoJo went to one of the flower beds. She tried to squat in her tight jeans, thought better of that notion, and used her foot to try to knock some of the dirt off the flowers. “Oh, Lord, Lester. Look what you did to Ana Mae's pretty flowers.”

“What do you care about a bunch of flowers? He might care,” Lester said nodding toward Clayton, “but I'm looking for the money.”

“What the hell did you say?” Clayton demanded.

“You have no right to . . .”

Delcine, so indignant she actually sputtered, advanced on her brother-in-law and snatched the shovel from his hands and reared back. “You ignorant son of a bitch.”

“Lester,” JoJo said, cutting off her sister and grabbing her husband by the arm. She yanked him a few steps away from Delcine and the shovel, and from Clayton, who looked like he was ready to go twelve rounds with Lester.

“Who the hell does he think he is?” Clayton said.

Delcine tossed the shovel to the ground. Then, her hands on her hips, she just looked around in disbelief at the destruction wrought on the pin-neat little yard in just a few short hours.

“I'm calling the police,” she said, stomping up the side steps.

The screen door creaked and then slammed behind her.

Her cussing matched Lester's as JoJo lit into him.

“Have you lost your ever-loving mind, Lester? This isn't a treasure hunt where X marks the spot.”

“How do you know? That fancy lawyer-undertaker sure wasn't offering much insight into how to go about looking for the money.”

“It's not your money to find, Lester,” Clayton said.

“Now see here, you little . . .”

JoJo cut him off. “Clay's right, Lester. You are way out of line here.”

“Out of line? I don't think so. That Bible verse clearly said the money was buried in the earth. That,” he said pointing to the ground, “is the earth. And I'm digging it up to get at that money Annie Mae buried.”

“Ana Mae!” JoJo and Clayton practically yelled.

Lester shrugged. “Yeah, whatever.”

“What's going on over there?”

The new voice had them all turning toward the driveway entrance. Ana Mae's next-door neighbor was hanging out her back door, but someone they all knew was coming across the lawn.

“Oh, great. It's Reverend Holy Ghost,” Lester said.

JoJo hit him in the stomach with the back of her hand. “Hush. You've already caused enough trouble.”

“Is everything all right?” Reverend Toussaint asked. “I was passing by and heard some commotion.”

“Hi, Reverend,” Clayton said.

A moment later, a siren heralding a Hertford County sheriff's vehicle could be heard racing down the street.

JoJo hit Lester again. “Now look what you've done.”

“I didn't do it. That sister of yours called the cops.”

The deputy pulled partially into the driveway. He turned the siren off but left the lights flashing.

“Lord, have mercy,” the next-door neighbor hollered. Her hair was in pink curlers and she had on a housedress, but that didn't stop her from coming closer. “Has something else happened?”

“Howdy, folks,” the deputy said. “We got a call about some trespassing and destruction of property.”

“I called,” Delcine said, coming out the side door. “Arrest that man,” she said pointing at Lester.

“Wait just one minute,” Lester declared. “I didn't do anything.”

“Ana Mae may have been country, Lester, but she sure wasn't crazy,” Delcine said. “Even you have to know she wouldn't be fool enough to bury almost four million dollars.”

The deputy's eyes bulged. “Did you say four million dollars? In cash?”

“No!”

The emphatic answer came from all of the would-be heirs.

“Ana Mae buried four million dollars?” the neighbor asked.

“No!”

Eyeing each one of the suspects, the law officer reached for his radio. “I think I better call Sheriff Daughtry.”

“That won't be necessary, Deputy Howard,” said Everett Rollings, undertaker-cum-lawyer, striding toward them.

Dressed in a black suit, black shirt, black tie, and black shoes, he looked more like a Mafia don than a funeral director or attorney-at-law.

And that's when the Futrells, Reverend Toussaint, and the sheriff's deputy all noticed the crowd of neighbors and onlookers who had gathered in front of Ana Mae's house. Word spread quickly, with the police car at the house and probably aided by the next-door neighbor's speed dial. The profanity, the police, and the prospect of money buried in Ana Mae's yard brought them all to the scene to see what would happen.

At the same time that that fact registered, so did Rollings's greeting. Delcine was the first to make the leap.

“Did you say ‘Officer Howard'?”

The young deputy, who couldn't have been more than twenty-five years old, gave her an odd look. “Yes, that's my name, ma'am.”

“Howard,” Clayton said.

Reverend Toussaint, closest to the deputy, peered into his face. “Howard?”

The deputy, cautious and suspicious, put a hand on his service revolver and took a step back. “Mr. Rollings, what's going on here?”

“Everything is okay, son,” Rollings said. “I think I can clear this up quickly enough.”

He motioned for everyone to gather around, including all of the curious onlookers. Archer, who'd pulled up behind Delcine's car at the curb, excused himself, and a path opened for him. All the onlookers knew he belonged to Ana Mae's bunch. He made his way to the group of heirs.

“What's going on?” he whispered to JoJo, who just shook her head.

“Let me be perfectly clear,” Rollings said. “Ana Mae Futrell did not, I repeat,
did not
bury any money or any other valuables in her yard or anywhere else. All of her financial assets are in secure bank accounts, just as they should be.

“So if anyone has any ideas about coming over here in the middle of the night and digging up the rest of the yard,” he said with a pointed look first at Lester and the shovel and then at a few of the folks in the crowd most likely to launch a late-night expedition, “let me spare you both the trouble and the trespassing charges.”

“Yeah, that's what you say,” Lester muttered.

“It is the truth,” Rollings said, lowering his voice so just the heirs and the deputy heard him. “If I had, for even a moment, thought that someone would come to that conclusion, I would have told you during our meeting. This is not a buried treasure.”

“Who thought that?” Reverend Toussaint asked.

All eyes turned toward Lester, who maintained a belligerent stance.

As usual, he didn't look at all convinced that the fancy-schmantzy undertaker was being straight up with them.

“I just stopped because I heard a commotion when I passed by Sister Futrell's house,” Reverend Toussaint said. “If you'll excuse me, I'm late for an appointment down the street.”

He scurried through the gathering of neighbors.

“Go home, people,” Rollings told the onlookers. “There is nothing more to see here.”

“Get out of my way!” a woman said.

The group of about thirty people crowding the front yard parted like Moses at the Red Sea to make way for Rosalee Jenkins. She took one look at the yard, grabbed her head, and let out a wail.

“Look what you did to Ana Mae's garden!”

“Here we go again,” Lester said.

Delcine and JoJo quickly went to Rosalee to comfort the woman, who was actually shedding tears over the destruction of the yard.

Lester pursed his lips and set the shovel up against the side of the house. “For real, Mr. Rollings? There's no money buried?”

“No, Mr. Coston. There is no buried treasure or anything else buried here in this yard. Do I make myself clear?”

“Well, damn,” Lester said, pounding a hand on his jeans. “I thought for sure that that was the clue.”

He plucked a beer from his makeshift cooler and with a twist screwed off the top to take a long slug.

“Mr. Rollings?” the deputy said.

“Howard!” the Futrell siblings all exclaimed at the same time.

This time the deputy took two steps backward. “Why do they keep saying my name like that?”

“Who's your mother, deputy?” JoJo asked.

“And what year were you born?” Delcine added.

The young lawman's eyes darted from one to the other and then to the one person he actually knew. “Mr. Rollings?”

“Just answer their questions, son.”

“My mom is Lucy Howard, and my father is Kenneth. Why?”

Rosalee glanced around and then let out a bark of laughter.

“You all can stop scaring the man,” she said. “He's not that Howard. His last name is Howard. And I remember when he was born. I was working at the county hospital then and remember his mama in labor.”

“What Howard?” the deputy asked. “And my name is Tyrone. Deputy Tyrone Howard.”

“Just a case of mistaken identity,” Rollings assured him.

The deputy pulled out a small black notepad and jotted down a few things.

“Do you want to press charges?” the deputy asked Delcine, who appeared to be in charge.

“Yes,” Delcine declared.

“No,” JoJo and Lester said.

“I believe the differences have been resolved,” Archer said. He stood off a bit and to the side, leaving Clayton room to maneuver physically and emotionally.

This was not San Francisco, and there was enough stress and drama already without being overt about their relationship in front of all of the more-than-curious neighbors.

“And who are you?” the deputy asked.

“He's with me,” Clayton said.

The two shared a fleeting look, and then, almost blushing, Clayton glanced away, a small smile at his mouth.

“All righty, then,” said the deputy. “About the charges?”

“Everything is fine, son,” Rollings said.

“This yard isn't fine,” Delcine said. “Somebody is going to put it to rights, and that somebody is the imbecile who tore it up in the first place.”

“You tell him!” someone from the yard yelled.

“Yea,” another neighbor hollered. “Disrespecting Miss Ana Mae that way ain't right.”

“Well, under the circumstances,” the deputy began.

“He'll be doing the repairs,” JoJo said, nudging her husband. “Right?”

Lester didn't look too happy about it, but he acquiesced. “Yeah, I'll fix it back to the way it was.”

“And I have pictures to make sure you do it right,” Rosalee said, still visibly upset over the upturned earth and destroyed flower beds.

The young deputy dispersed the reluctant-to-leave crowd while Everett Rollings turned to his client's would-be heirs and ushered them toward the side door of the house. He waited as they all filed inside, Clayton and Archer followed by Rosalee, JoJo, and Lester, with Delcine bringing up the rear.

“Thank you for handling that, Mr. Rollings,” she said.

“Anytime, Marguerite,” he replied.

“It's Delcine here,” she said.

He gave a slight bow in an “as you wish” gesture reminiscent of English butlers. Then, pulling something from the pocket of his trousers, the lawyer-undertaker stepped around Lester's bucket of beer bottles and closed the screen door behind him.

No one but Rosalee had ventured beyond the kitchen, where JoJo was pulling trays and foil pans out of the refrigerator.

“There's still a ton of food from the neighbors and Ana Mae's church folks, so y'all all need to make a plate and eat,” she said, placing the ham on the table.

But with one glance at Clayton and Delcine, the three siblings started laughing.

“What's so funny?” Lester groused.

“It's nothing, Lester,” Delcine told her brother-in-law. “Just something we were talking about earlier in the car.”

“You too, Mr. Rollings,” JoJo said. “It's about lunchtime, so you need to get yourself a plate as well.”

Rollings was still near the door, though, frowning and looking around at the floor.