Savannah Secrets. Fiona Hood-Stewart
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“Thank you. From all I’ve gathered over the past few days, that’s us.” She pointed a red-lacquered finger at her voluptuous breast.
“Actually, it’s Dallas. Joanna, you’re not suggesting—”
“I’m not suggesting anything,” she replied airily, waving the strawberry-blond mane from her face. “I’m merely trying to get a grasp on the situation.”
“I see.” Charles sat for a moment, elbows placed thoughtfully on his thighs. Joanna was a bloodthirsty sort, but at least she was being honest. Not like himself, he thought angrily, forced to pretend Rowena’s will hadn’t been a devastating blow. For three and a half years he’d been secretly nurturing a dream that would finally allow him to control his life and no longer depend on his marriage to Marcia for his status in society. He’d hoped to be able to afford an expensive yet discreet divorce, then marry his beloved Charlotte. Now, a few words from Meredith Hunter and all his hopes and expectations had flown summarily out the window.
It was a hard pill to swallow.
“Joanna, let’s stick with what’s real and not conjecture,” he said, letting out a tight sigh. “The fact is both Gallagher and Dallas are very much alive. We might as well get used to it.”
He felt suddenly old. The spring had gone out of his step. He’d told Charlotte the news yesterday. She’d taken it badly. The future struck him as incredibly gloomy.
“Don’t be such a party pooper, Charles,” Joanna countered with a moue. “Life is full of surprises. Tell me, have you seen Patricia? She looked as if she didn’t care a damn about Ward and Mary Chris being cut out of the will. But I wonder…” She took a speculative sip of her cocktail and frowned.
“Oh, she’s acting like a persecuted Christian, the usual pious dictums. God’s will and all that jazz. Ward doesn’t care. Rowena’s money wouldn’t make any difference to him. He has all the fishing rods he can use. As for Mary Chris, she probably would have given her share to the church, anyway. I wouldn’t be surprised if one of Rowena’s reasons for taking these measures was because of them,” he added bitterly.
“Bullshit.” Joanna set her cocktail down on the bar counter and came to sit next to her cousin on the sofa. “She did it to hurt us, to prove she could manipulate us from beyond the grave. The bitch. But don’t get down, Charlie boy. Things may still take a turn.”
“It’s hardly likely. I doubt Gallagher’s the kind of man to refuse a windfall.”
“Well, I don’t know. Sometimes the unexpected can occur. “Joanna patted his hand with a cryptic smile and thought about the appointment she’d finally managed to arrange with Miss Mabella. “Remember that voodoo priestess Rowena was as thick as thieves with?”
Charles shrugged. “Don’t tell me you’re messing about with that lot?”
“Why not? Rowena seemed to think the world of her.”
“I dare say.” Charles shrugged, unconvinced. “Truth is there’s nothing that can be done. And the sooner we get used to it, the better.”
“Perhaps. Perhaps not,” she replied with a Mona Lisa smile gracing her lips. “Only time will tell. I’ll bet once Miss Mabella gets her spells moving along we may see some serious action. I’m going to visit her,” she added, her voice laced with expectation.
Charles rolled his eyes and let out a sigh.
“I prefer to deal in the real world,” he muttered caustically.
“I daresay you do,” she answered smugly, “but a little nudge from the other side can’t hurt. Not when you’re in it up to your neck like we are.”
After another week passed without a reply from Grant Gallagher, Meredith wasn’t inclined to make any more excuses for the man. Surely someone who’d just been informed he’d inherited a sizable estate would at least respond to the news. This wasn’t something to be ignored, she fumed.
“‘Morning, Trace. How was the date?” she asked, grinning.
“It sucked. He turned out to be a total male chauvinist who thinks career women should be abolished from our society, period.”
“I didn’t know guys like that still existed,” Meredith said with an expressive grimace, “but I’m beginning to think Gallagher may just be one of them. I’ve sent two letters via courier to his address at—” she squinted at her legal pad “—Strathcairn Castle. According to the detective, that’s a place Gallagher bought up in Scotland a few years back. It’s supposed to be a weekend home, but he spends a fair amount of time there. We know he received our correspondence because the housekeeper signed for it, but Gallagher hasn’t shown any sign of life.”
“Maybe he’s away,” Tracy murmured, scribbling.
“I guess.” Meredith glanced at her notes. “The detective mentioned that Gallagher moves around a lot. Comes and goes from London and Paris and New York. He’s not going to be easy to pin down.”
And pinning Gallagher down was becoming more important with each passing day. Time was of the essence if Dallas was going to rescue her property. And Lord only knew what sort of plans Joanna and the other relatives were fomenting during this frustrating delay.
“Maybe he’s left on a trip,” Tracy pointed out reasonably. “I have Mrs. Fairbairn coming in at ten so we’d better be quick,” she added. “I need Ali to print out those memos,” she added absently, glancing at the run forming in her panty hose. “Shit, I knew that would happen.”
“What?” Meredith glanced absently at the offending nylon, still absorbed in the report. “You know, according to the detective agency’s latest report, he was seen in Strathcairn village last week. Surely they’d know if he’d gone somewhere. Oh, Lord.” She eyed Tracy woefully, a new and horrifying possibility looming. “I’m sure he’s received the information. Any normal person would have contacted us right away, knowing it’s in his best interests to bring closure to everything. So is he trying to screw things up?”
“Maybe he thinks it’s a hoax. There’s no evidence to suggest he’s ever heard of Rowena Carstairs. Men like him probably get all sorts of weird mail, fan mail, hate mail, you name it. He’s somewhat of a swashbuckling figure in the corporate world.” She tucked her tongue in her cheek and waited for Meredith’s inevitable reaction.
“Swashbuck—are you nuts, Trace? The man’s a heartless piece of—”
“Hey, don’t go off at the deep end, girl. I was just reading some articles covering the Bronstern case. You know, if you analyze it from the shareholders’ standpoint, he was probably right to do what he did.” She twiddled her pen in her long, manicured fingers, a picture of sleek legal savvy.
“That doesn’t justify the fact that he left a number of hardworking American families unemployed,” Meredith dismissed her. “Now,” she said, sitting down at her desk and removing her gray tweed jacket, “we have to get the ball rolling on this.”
“We?” Tracy shook her head firmly.
“Okay, me.” Meredith rolled her eyes reluctantly and let out a huff.
“Good. At least we’ve established that correctly. Now, why do you think he hasn’t answered? Maybe he thinks we’re not legit.”
“But surely he could tell we’re a legitimate law firm? I wrote on our letterhead, I forwarded one of several personal letters from Rowena, which I imagine told him at least part of the story. She must have given him some explanation for the inheritance. And although I didn’t get into specifics, I made it clear I needed to communicate with him ASAP.”
“But the fact remains he’s chosen to ignore your correspondence.” Tracy looked across the desk at her thoughtfully, then hummed. “I think someone is going to have to take a trip.”
“Oh, no.” Meredith