She emptied the night stand, pulling out bottle after bottle of pills for a heart ailment she didn’t know Queenie had until after she died.
The dresser drawers were last. There wasn’t much there except presents Laura had given her for birthdays or Christmas. Scarves she never wore. An unopened box of scented powder. A string of beads that had been mended with thread. And a photo album filled with pictures of Queenie as a child. There were also pictures of the motel and café, which had belonged to Queenie’s parents at one time. Laura put the photo album aside to look at later.
In the bottom drawer, she found an old afghan crocheted of pale apricot and cream yarn. It must have been beautiful at one time, but now it was stained and torn. Laura threw it on top of the last box of trash and heaved the box over the rim of the dumpster.
When she finished, the bottom drawer of the dresser wouldn’t go back in. She pulled it all the way out and found an old cassette tape stuck to the back. It had been taped on, but the tape, old and yellowed, had come loose, leaving the cassette hanging off to the side. Laura pulled the cassette off, pushed the drawer back in, and examined the cassette. Elvis Presley. Her hands stuck to the tape residue. Why would Queenie tape this to the back of the drawer? She started to throw it away, then changed her mind and put it on top of the dresser with the photo album and a couple of nice scarves, the only things worth keeping.
After scrubbing the bathroom and cleaning the bedroom, Laura draped the bedspread over the stripped mattress and carried the single thin blanket and sheets to the laundry room to wash.
When she walked back to the room, Queenie’s old cat, Sleepy, stood in the doorway. She looked a little confused.
Laura crooned soft words of comfort to Sleepy, filled her food and water dishes, and left them on the bathroom floor. Sleepy jumped on the bed, humped her back and raised her tail, curling it at the end. She must be lonesome with Queenie gone. Laura scratched her head as she purred. Queenie had always loved her cats. She’d had several over the years, naming them after the seven dwarfs. Sleepy and Doc were the last, only Laura hadn’t seen Doc since she’d been back. Maybe he knew Queenie was gone and went to find another home.
“Find anything worth keeping?” Dad asked when she went back to their apartment.
“Not much. What are you taking with you?”
“That place is furnished, so we won’t need much.”
“Where’s Florence?”
“She went back to her place in Cocoa to pick up the last of her things. She’ll be back tonight.” He sorted through his things while he talked, deciding what to take along and what to leave behind.
Laura sat on the bed and watched him. She didn’t want him moving so far away, but she wouldn’t ask him to stay. He wouldn’t anyway. Once Dad made up his mind about something, there was no changing it.
“When Queenie and I were first married, she wanted kids. The doctor told her it could kill her. Her mother had just died and her father was sick. They both had diabetes and heart problems. No one in her mother’s family lived beyond the age of fifty, and everyone in her father’s family was heavy. Very heavy.
“Queenie had a bad heart, too, but I didn’t know that until after we were married. After the doctor told her not to have kids, she said she wanted to adopt, but I didn’t think it was a good idea. We hadn’t been married long, but I knew it wouldn’t last. We shouldn’t have gotten married in the first place.”
“Did you love her?”
“I thought I did, but we hadn’t known each other long. We met in Fort Lauderdale. She was such a cute little thing, always smiling.”
“Queenie?” That didn’t sound like the Queenie she knew. Laura remembered her sour disposition, and little didn’t fit Queenie at all.
“Then her mother died and she had to come home and run the café. She asked me to come along, so I took some time off work and came with her. Her father offered us the businesses and before I knew what happened, we were married and Queenie was talking about having a family.”
“You didn’t want a family?”
He threw a stack of T-shirts in a box. “Hell no. Not with her.” The way he said it, Laura wondered if he’d ever wanted her.
“An adoption agency wouldn’t have approved you anyway, not if she had a bad heart.”
“She denied there was anything wrong with her, and she really wanted kids. I couldn’t leave because her father was sick, and then he died. Queenie was overwhelmed, so I agreed to stay a year to run the motel, but only if she moved out of the apartment.”
Laura understood what he was saying, but why didn’t he leave when the year was up? “I still don’t understand why you stayed with her so long. Did something else happen?”
He hesitated several seconds before saying, “She’s dead now. It no longer matters.”
What was he hiding?
<>
Friday morning, Laura went with her father to Queenie’s attorney’s office in Melbourne to sign the papers that would put the property and both businesses into her hands. Dad was right about one thing. She knew how to run a business. She’d been helping him at the motel nearly all her life.
Saturday morning, Laura’s parents left for Ocala. Laura tried not to cry, but she couldn’t help herself. She loved her father more than anyone else in this world. “If it doesn’t work out there, you can always come back.”
“It’s yours now, Laura. If you need anything, call me.”
Florence held her arms out for a hug. “My little girl,” she murmured. “I love you, honey.”
Laura couldn’t say the words Florence wanted to hear. “Thanks for your help with the café. I wish we had more time to get to know each other.”
“So do I, honey, but I’ll be back to visit ever’ now and then. If you need anything, be sure to call us now, you hear?”
“I will. And if I ever get some time off, I’ll come see your new fishing camp.”
Laura watched them drive away and wiped the tears off her face. The lump in her throat had settled into a sadness deep in her chest. She knew she wouldn’t see either of them for a long time. When you ran your own business, it was hard to get away. She couldn’t remember Dad ever taking a vacation.
She’d lost one mother and found another, and now they were both gone. So was Dad. She didn’t have anyone to rely on but herself.
If she screwed up and lost it all, it would be her own fault.
<>
Monday morning, Laura sat in her car in front of the Kingston Bank & Trust, waiting for it to open. She’d never applied for a loan before, so she didn’t know what to expect. Without money, she could do nothing. The balance in her checking account hovered around $40.00. She had no savings, no assets except an ancient Pontiac and the motel and café. Queenie’s old car sat in the parking lot in front of the café with a FOR SALE sign in the window. It wasn’t worth much.
She’d made a detailed list of what she needed – money for taxes, utility bills, stocking the kitchen, and operating expenses for the first two months. She probably should ask for enough to fix the place up the way she wanted, but she hated owing people money. She’d borrow only what she had to have to get started and take care of the rest as she could afford it.
When the bank opened, she was shown in to see Frank Fosdick, owner and manager. Frank, a portly man in his fifties, had the phoniest smile she’d ever seen. As long-time mayor of Kingston, Frank wielded a lot of power in these parts.
“Well, Laura. I heard Queenie died. So now you own the café?”
“And motel. They’re free and clear, but they need work. I thought I’d start with the café, but I need a loan to get started.”
Frank sat back and pressed his fingers together in a steeple. “I heard the Health Department shut that place down.”
“Yes, sir, but I’ve done everything they’ve asked. They’ll inspect it again in a few days, but I don’t anticipate any problems.”
“You do know that property is worth more than both businesses, don’t you?”
“Yes, sir.”
He dropped his hands to his desk and leaned forward. “Why don’t you sell the property, find yourself some nice young man, get married, and have a bunch of kids? Young girl like you can’t run a business like that all by herself.”
“I’m not afraid of hard work, Mr. Fosdick.” He’d never suggest such a thing to a man. If she had any sense, she’d walk out of here right now, but it didn’t pay to make an enemy of a man like Frank Fosdick.
That phony smile was back again. “I know someone looking for property like that. He might be interested in your place. Get you a good price, too.”
“I didn’t come here to talk about selling. I came here to talk about a business loan. Will you help me or not?”
His smile disappeared and his eyes grew cold. “Queenie’s is beyond help and that old motel’s an eyesore. Just be throwin’ my money away.”
Laura stood, shaking with anger. Did he think she’d just back down and sell because he wanted her to? “Then I’ll take my business elsewhere.”
He flipped his hand in the air, dismissing her. “Nobody’s gonna give you money to open that dump.”
Laura walked to the door, trying to hold her temper.
She opened the door and he called, “Let me know when you’re ready to sell.”
“Not in this lifetime,” she muttered to herself on the way out. If she decided to sell, it wouldn’t be to him.
Frank and his wife, Vivian, controlled this town. He wasn’t just the town banker and the mayor, he had his nose buried so deep in county and state politics, he thought he could play God with people’s lives. Like when he took the Barnett family’s home. Frank could have given Sam Barnett an extension when he lost his job, like he’d done for others, but instead, he forced them out, then turned right around and sold their property to a grocery chain. He probably made a tidy profit on that deal.
He didn’t even ask Laura how much she needed to borrow or what she intended to do. He didn’t care.
He just wanted her property.
<>
Tuesday morning, Laura drove to Melbourne and filled out loan applications at two banks. Unlike Frank Fosdick, they didn’t turn her down before they’d seen her loan application. If they wouldn’t loan her the money, she’d go to Vero Beach. She’d get it somewhere. She didn’t need Frank Fosdick or his money.
When she pulled into the parking lot at the motel, she saw a fancy pickup with tinted windows parked beside a big white Cadillac. The car belonged to Frank Fosdick. She had no idea who owned the truck.
Frank opened her car door, that phony smile on his face again. “Ah, Laura. Glad you’re here. This is Luke Windsor. He’d like to take a look at the motel and café.”
“Why?”
“He’s the buyer I told you about.”
She glanced at the young man standing beside the banker and wondered why he’d want to buy a worn out motel and café. Did he represent some big company who wanted the land?
It didn’t matter why he was interested in the property. She wouldn’t sell anything through Frank Fosdick. Not after the way he’d treated her when she applied for the loan.
“It’s not for sale,” she said, dismissing them with a wave of her hand. She went inside the motel office, but Frank followed.
“Laura, think about it. You can’t run all this by yourself, and hell, it’s falling down around you.”
“It may be a dump, but it’s
my
dump. Take your friend and go. You’re not welcome here.”
His eyes narrowed. “You ungrateful little—”
“Out!” she yelled, pointing at the door.
The young man poked his head in the door. “Sorry to interrupt, but I don’t have much time. I have another appointment in Vero Beach in an hour.”
“The motel is not for sale,” Laura said firmly.
“I’m more interested in the café, but if it’s not for sale, that’s fine. I’ll look elsewhere. Sorry to bother you.”
“It’s for sale,” said Frank. “She just doesn’t know it yet.”
Laura rummaged in the drawer under the counter. “Lookin’ for somethin’?” Frank asked.
“My father’s gun.”
Frank’s face paled, but the other man laughed. “Thanks for your time, Miss Whitfield. If you change your mind about selling, give me a call.” He handed her a business card. Frank looked stricken. If she sold it directly to this man, Frank wouldn’t get a cut. Served him right for trying to force her to sell.