House of Strangers. Carolyn McSparren
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make a dime farming, isn’t that right, Aunt Sarah?” Trey turned to Paul. “You ever hear the one about the farmer who won the ten-million-dollar lottery? When they asked him what he was going to do with it, he said, ‘I guess I’ll just keep farming till it’s gone.’” He laughed. A little too loud, a little too long.
Paul smiled back.
“Well, y’all, I got to get my nose back to the grindstone.” Trey waved over his shoulder and walked past them out the restaurant toward the square.
Bills paid, the three others went out to where Dante waited patiently with his leash looped around the rail. Paul realized he hadn’t asked about the bear in front of Trey’s office. He’d make it a point to find out when he spoke to Trey about the people who’d bought the antiques at Miss Addy’s house sale.
“Gotta get back to work,” Buddy said. “Ann, you coming?”
“In a minute. Dante needs a walk.”
“Okay.”
She unhooked Dante’s leash and walked off toward the little park beside the railroad track. Dante glanced over his immense shoulder as if to say to Paul, “You coming?”
Paul ambled after the pair.
“I promise I’m not sloughing off,” Ann said. “You’ll get your money’s worth out of me, Mr. Bouvet. I’m planning to work late tonight—unless my being in the house will bother you, assuming you decide to stay there.”
“I’m going to give it my best shot. I’m off to stock up on things like an inflatable mattress and some kind of chest of drawers to stow my stuff in. Never did get used to sleeping on a cot even in flight school.”
“Flight school? You were in the military?”
“Air Force. Went to the academy, then served out my time before I left to fly transports for a private company.”
“So you flew F-15s or whatever number they’re up to now?”
“I usually flew C-150s—low and slow. The perfect training to fly civilian package transport.”
“Why’d you quit? Uh…retire?”
He grimaced. “Couldn’t pass the transport-flight physical any longer. I got hurt in a work-related accident. Left me with a bum shoulder.” Technically, the near-crash had been work-related, which was why the payoff had been so large. He was embarrassed that he hadn’t prevented the whole incident. His wound and scars embarrassed him further. He talked about the details as seldom as possible.
She must have heard something in his voice, because she dropped the subject. “I think Dante’s ready to go back to work. See you tonight, Mr. Bouvet.”
“Isn’t it about time you dropped the Mr. Bouvet stuff? I’ve been calling you Ann all morning.”
“Sure. Paul. Do you have a middle name?”
“I have one, but unlike the Delaneys, no one ever uses it. Actually, my middle name is Antoine. My mother was French.”
“You don’t look like an Antoine. You need a nickname. How about Top Gun?”
“I was never that. How about One Wing? More appropriate.”
They had reached the sidewalk in front of the mansion. She waved goodbye and ran up the walk and the stairs. Her ponytail bounced as the bright red scarf she’d tied around it flew in the breeze. Those jean-clad hips had a great sway to them when she ran.
No way. It wasn’t that he was some kind of saint when it came to romancing women, but even he drew the line at seducing a woman merely to gain information. Besides, she was some sort of cousin.
He’d thought he would do anything to find out what happened to his mother. Since meeting Ann and Sarah and Buddy, he knew he had limits. As far as Trey Delaney was concerned, the jury was still out. He seemed pleasant enough, if a little arrogant. No, actually, a lot arrogant. Even Ann picked up on that self-made man crap. Big frog, small pond.
Wonder how Trey would feel if suddenly he was faced with losing it all?
Wills were a matter of record. All he had to do was go to the local county seat and request a copy of Paul Delaney’s will from probate court files. He knew that his parents had been married at the time of his birth so no matter how the will was written, he, as the oldest legitimate son, would be entitled to a portion of it. He hoped, however, that he’d find that the oldest son was heir to everything. He could cut Trey out of everything he owned. Not that Paul intended to keep it, of course. What the hell did he know about farming or cows or cotton or soybeans?
But to be able to take it all, if even for a moment, then graciously give it back would be sweet.
Of course, the people in Rossiter would not take kindly to him if he did that. He’d have to sell the house and move away whether he wanted to or not.
But wasn’t that what he’d intended from the first? Why should he suddenly feel conflicted?
He looked up at the house from the sidewalk. Not so much an old harridan as a sad, gracious lady fallen on hard times. His gracious lady. She needed him.
The only thing on earth who did. He felt the stab of loneliness that always came when he thought of how isolated he’d allowed himself to become since Tracy had left him. She’d kept the friends they’d made together. He hadn’t bothered to make new ones.
After he made his run to the discount store and shoved his air mattress and pump into the back of his car, he decided to drive the thirty-five miles to the county seat. He arrived at three twenty-five, only to find that the clerk’s office closed at three.
On his way out of Somerville, he passed by a rose-brick building with a small sign that said Library in front of it.
Might be as good a time as any to get started on his research.
The man Paul now felt certain had fathered him had died in 1977. He’d discovered that much on an Internet search. Should be some sort of obituary in the country newspaper.
Actually, there were two weeklies. The librarian told him proudly that both had been in operation since Reconstruction. He asked for the microfiche for the time around when his father died and began to reel through.
Maybe he remembered the date incorrectly. There seemed to be nothing in the obituaries about his father. He scrolled back through to rewind the microfiche when suddenly a banner headline on the front page caught his eye.
His father’s death had been reported not on the obituary page, but on the front page.
Leading Citizen Killed in Tragic Riding Accident.
Killed? Nobody said he’d been killed. Paul had assumed his father’s liver or heart had given out.
Paul Francis Delaney, one of Fayette’s leading citizens, was tragically killed in a freak riding accident Sunday morning. Mr. Delaney served as master of foxhounds for the local Cotton Creek hunt. During a chase last Sunday morning at his farm, Mr. Delaney was thrown when his horse fell while jumping a fence. He died before emergency services could reach him. An autopsy revealed that Mr. Delaney’s neck was broken in the fall.
One of Fayette County’s largest landowners, Mr. Delaney was also known for his charming and sometimes caustic caricatures. Many local citizens frame these quick sketches and display them prominently. The local fairs, bake and Christmas bazaars, and church fetes will sorely miss his talents, as he has over the course of the years raised considerable amounts of money both with his artistic skills and his personal philanthropy.
Mr. Delaney leaves his wife, Karen Bingham Delaney, his young son Paul Delaney III and his mother, Mrs. Maribelle Delaney, widow of the late Paul Delaney, Sr. A scholarship fund to send a talented high-school student to the Art Institute each year for the summer program has been established in Mr. Delaney’s name. The family asks that in lieu of flowers memorials be sent to this fund. Time and place of services