The Secret Daughter. Roz Fox Denny
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it, swirling ice in a tumbler of amber liquid. The minute Jackson noticed Noelani, he came to greet her. “Casey. Nick. Shelburne. This is Noelani Hana.”
Nick Devlin unfolded his rangy body from a chair to extend a hand.
Flustered by the hurt expression on her half sister’s face, Noelani almost didn’t shake Nick’s hand. She did in the end, although she clamped her teeth tight to keep her chin from quaking.
“Shall we get on with this?” Casey abruptly demanded in a husky, scratchy voice. “Some of us get up at dawn to earn our keep.”
Jackson frowned a bit. Nick sat quickly and slipped a bracing arm around his wife’s narrow shoulders.
“Noelani, there’s a vacant seat next to Aunt Esme,” Jackson said.
Actually there wasn’t. Toodles had claimed the brocade cushion. But Esme scooped the dog into her lap, allowing Noelani space to sit.
“Shelburne promised this won’t take long.” Jackson crossed the room again.
“It won’t,” the lawyer reiterated. “I already told Jackson that Duke and Angelique’s property disbursement is fairly straightforward.” Prescott pushed aside a stack of papers. Opening his briefcase, he removed a set of stapled documents.
“Cassandra and Jackson, Angelique made a list of her jewelry for insurance purposes. With the exception of her wedding set, which was previously earmarked for the woman Jackson will one day marry, she split the items equally between you. As she did the cash in her personal account. I must say, since she financed their recent trip abroad, it’s a modest sum. Thirty thousand, give or take a few hundred.”
Casey leaned forward, tension stiffening her slender back. “Why would Maman finance their trip? Duke said he planned it as an anniversary gift—or more of a second honeymoon,” she said, telegraphing Noelani a smug “so there” message.
“I’ll get to that. Let me finish. Duke has allotted a yearly stipend for his sister, Esme. While technically the house passes to Jackson, a codicil gives Esme the right to live out her days at Bellefontaine. Wisteria Cottage, which belonged to Duke’s mother, and its five acres, is in a separate trust for the use of current or future Fontaine heirs. I understand, Casey, that you and Nick are currently living in the cottage.”
“Yes. Temporarily. What about the mill and the cane fields?” Casey asked, sliding to the edge of her straight-backed chair.
Shel again scolded her with a glance over his half glasses. Nick ran a hand up Casey’s back and lightly massaged her neck. She automatically slumped sideways, curving into the hollow below his arm.
“The cane fields, outbuildings, mill, all warehouses and the refinery Duke purchased a few weeks before his death are to be divided equally among Jackson Fontaine, Cassandra Fontaine Devlin and Noelani Hana. I’ve prepared an inventory of all assets, liabilities and cash connected to the aforementioned properties. The bank has provided this independent audit, which Jackson requested.” Getting up, Shelburne handed each of the three siblings a packet.
Noelani watched Jackson, Casey and Nick pore over the pages. She folded hers in half and cleared her throat. “Jackson, I…ah…don’t know if you’re aware that I knew nothing of this prior to Mr. Prescott’s letter. It was never my intention to intrude on your lives. I feel the best thing for everyone would be if you and your sister cashed out my part and let me be on my way.”
Casey sat up in a rush. “Finally, something that makes sense. I’m agreeable. Aren’t you, Jackson?”
Jackson emerged from a stupor. “Casey, have you checked the bottom line? Except for the funds Maman left, which if we’re lucky will cover this month’s operating expenses, we’re property rich but cash poor.”
Casey flipped to the last page of the report. “How can that be?” She glared at Shelburne, while she repeated the question.
He set his tumbler aside. “Obviously Duke didn’t expect to die on this trip, Casey. Both his banker and I advised against buying the refinery from Roland Dewalt. Duke wanted it. Thank God, he didn’t second-mortgage the house to get it.”
“No,” Jackson snapped. “But he speculated on raw-sugar prices last season, banking prices would go up. They fell several cents a pound instead. We took a major loss. I had no idea until I saw the bank audit.”
“Even so,” Casey said stubbornly, “the last five years our yield has been up. Way up.”
Noelani’s head whipped back and forth as she tried to follow their talk. Among other things, Duke Fontaine had apparently been a worse businessman than he was a father. Well, to her, anyway.
Prescott held up a hand. “Duke always walked a financial tightrope. He gave you all free rein with spending. Angelique went overboard on clothes and cars for herself and you kids. She entertained lavishly—the Fontaines did everything first class. The upkeep alone on Bellefontaine is horrendous. Casey, you asked Duke to update the fleet of trucks and cane trailers. He bought everything new. You wanted the most expensive harvester. He bought it. Then you figure in college for three. To say nothing of the years he’s subsidized Anela Hana and her child.”
“Wait, a darned minute!” Noelani sprang up. “I went to Hawaii State on a full scholarship. My mother kept books for Bruce Shiller’s company for her money. We took nothing from Duke Fontaine.”
Prescott’s eyes darkened sympathetically. “Duke allowed you to think that. He insisted on providing for Anela and you. He said she was a proud woman, and you were filled with anger. Through Bruce Shiller, Duke arranged to pay your mother’s salary, including periodic raises. After she died, he continued the practice for you. He funded your scholarship, Noelani. Read the audit. It’s all there in black and white.”
Eyes suddenly awash in tears, she couldn’t have seen the figures if she’d looked right at them. Shaking her head vigorously in denial, Noelani ran headlong from the room. She’d phone Bruce. They were lying! They had to be. This was all a trick to make her feel bad so she’d say they didn’t owe her anything.
She’d seen a phone at the base of the stairs. She found it, figured out the time difference in her head, then dialed Hawaii. Bruce would still be in his office. “Hi, Midori, it’s Noelani. Let me speak to Bruce. It’s urgent.” She tapped a toe impatiently until he came on the line. “Bruce, the Fontaines are trying to imply Duke paid Mama’s salary. And mine. They claim he…he funded my scholarship.”
There was a silence.
“Bruce? Did you hear me?” Noelani’s hand tightened as the man at the other end sighed, then began talking fast.
“How could you?” she said in a hushed tone. “Guilt money, Bruce? You helped Duke Fontaine ease his guilty conscience. You let him trade money for Mama’s broken heart. How could you?”
Shiller talked faster. Noelani chewed her lower lip to keep the tears at bay. And she cast her eyes toward the high ceiling. “I know the cost of shipping sugar from the islands has risen twentyfold in as many years. I’ve seen other growers sell out.”
Noelani slumped against the wall. She was tempted to cut her losses and wash her hands of the Fontaines. But if she did, she could kiss her plan for Shiller’s goodbye. “You said yourself this inheritance is mine by right of birth. I’m not leaving Louisiana until I have what’s due me. I only wish you’d told me the truth before I had to hear it from Duke’s legitimate kids.” She couldn’t stay angry with Bruce, the man who’d been more of a father to her than her own. Her voice softened. “Bye, Bruce. I’ll keep you posted.”
She set the receiver down gently, dried her eyes and lifted her head in time to see Jackson Fontaine hovering half in, half out of his office.
“Are you okay?” He stepped out of the room and she steeled herself to meet him.
“Your figures are apparently correct. I swear I had no idea my mother or I took one cent from your father. I’m sorry for my outburst.”