Right Brother (5 page)

“Now,” Jennifer was saying, “if you have no questions about the projections…”
Please get the hell out of my house.

No, she didn't say that. But then again, this wasn't anything like the house his parents had waxed eloquent about Eric building with all possible gadgets and indulgences, fit for a prince and his princess.

“No, no more questions now,” he said. “I'll study the projections tonight, and see you in the morning.”

 

Trent read every bit of information she'd given him, then he researched on the Internet and sent an e-mail to Linc, who handled his investments, asking for more information before he went to bed.

He examined the ceiling in a lot more detail than it deserved before he willed himself to sleep.

First thing this morning, he called Jerry Brookenheimer, who'd been his football coach at Drago High and still held that position, even though he was past official retirement age, “Because no one else wants the job,” as Coach had said.

After setting a time to meet for lunch, Trent had come out and asked Coach what he'd tiptoed around with everyone else. “Is Eric providing for his daughter, is he helping out his ex-wife at all?”

Coach hadn't known details—apparently Jennifer had been so closemouthed that the town's gossip factory hadn't had much to work with—but he confirmed a few things Trent had surmised.

Trent had breakfast at the café, without asking any questions.

Then he drove by the house Jennifer had sold, contemplating the aggressive angles and outsize proportions. Ugly as sin, to his mind, but still considerably more comfortable than that apartment.

He found the cornfields where Zeke-Tech would be built. Then drove to the riverside bluff that gave a view of Drago's layout. Stenner Autos was a block to the west of dead center.
He went by the high school, memories surging. But what he remembered as open fields between it and the middle school now held sport fields and parking lots for a unified complex.

He arrived at Stenner Autos ten minutes early. Jennifer was there. He saw the same ramshackle car by trees that separated visitors' parking from the car wash next door that his father had added. He drove past.

Maybe it was a sense of fair play. After all, he'd already caught her at a disadvantage. Twice. Once at the dealership, again at her apartment.

He wound through downtown, daylight revealing some boarded-up windows, out-of-business posters and a general air of disrepair.

Then—to his own surprise—he ducked off Main Street long enough to go past his old family home. It sat back from the street, adding to its prominence. It was dark brick, with a peaked roof over the front door. The trim had been painted dark brown when he was growing up. Now it was a rich cream, with the door a deep blue. Sure made it more cheerful looking.

He slowed the car to a crawl. Two bicycles leaned against the front steps, as if their users had hopped off and rushed into the house. The garage door was open, a volleyball net stood in the backyard and sometime in the past decade and a half the flower beds had gone from precise right angles to flowing curves.

He returned to the dealership at the top of the hour.

Jennifer emerged from the general manager's office. He wondered if she'd done it deliberately, to replace yesterday's impression.

“Good morning. I have a lot to show you. Shall we get started?”

He nodded. Before yesterday, if he'd given any thought to seeing her again, this was the Jennifer Truesdale he might have expected to encounter.

She wore a dark blue suit, a pale blue blouse and low-heeled shoes that just missed being boringly conservative because the sides swooped down. She had her light hair pulled back at either side of her face, then flowing down her back. Hammered gold earrings and a watch were her only jewelry. Less flashy than he might have expected, but in the ballpark.

And yet, different. Different from what he remembered. Different from what he would have expected if he'd ever considered what to expect.

Something had changed in her face, he decided an hour later as she concluded a tour of the fenced compound nearly empty of cars. She was less a pretty girl and more a striking woman. But that wasn't quite it, either.

Maybe some of it had to do with her being tired. Even more tired than when he'd left her at her apartment.

Considering how much better the showroom looked this morning than it had yesterday afternoon, he'd bet she hadn't just ignored his telling her to quit cleaning before dinner, but had also come back after dinner.

“…and you'll have no trouble hiring people,” she said, continuing to extol the virtues of Stenner Autos. Her voice wasn't pitched as low as yesterday, but still had that husky quality to it. “There's an eager employee pool in Drago, including several with excellent experience here at the dealership. I have compiled their names and positions.”

He noticed she was talking as if he'd agreed to the deal, but he didn't object. A little trick like that wasn't going to sway him.

They'd already toured the showroom, the offices, the reception area, the break room, the service bays, the storage facilities, even a shed with the snow-removal equipment. Not a lot seemed to have changed.

“What's in that building?”

She'd clearly been prepared to skip the World War II vintage metal building at the back corner. That was one reason he'd asked. Another was he wanted to see Stenner Autos as people had come to know it recently, and that meant examining an area that her cleanup frenzy had not reached.

“Inventory. Parts.”

“We saw the parts storage room by the service bays.”

“This provides long-term storage.”

“Let's see.” He kept the words mild, but cocked one eyebrow and looked right at her, making his challenge clear.

To her credit, she didn't try to wriggle out of it, or to explain. She turned on a sensible heel and marched up the decaying wooden ramp that led to double doors, pushing aside accumulated dead leaves with one toe.

“I can…” he volunteered, extending his hand for the keys.

“I'll do it.” She fiddled with keys until one fit the padlock that gripped the ends of a dirt-coated chain threaded through the door handles.

She pulled the heavy chain free, but before she reached for the handle, he stepped in. No telling what could come flying out of a building locked tight so long. Kind of like his return to Drago.

He yanked the door open, sucking out a wave of air stale with time, dust and uselessness. He blinked against that hot draft and against the gloom inside that gave nothing away. Behind him, Jennifer sneezed. Once delicately, then a second time, wholeheartedly.

For some reason that made him smile.

He cleaved a spiderweb with his hand and stepped inside, beating back the anonymity of darkness. From floor to ceiling, rows of tall metal shelving rose, divided by narrow aisles. He edged down the middle aisle, where daylight cautiously slanted in. Each shelf held ranks of boxes faded to muddles
of colors and indistinguishable writing. He swiped his thumb at what appeared to be a label.

“Power cylinder for the power steering of a 1963 Ford Falcon.”

“What's a power cylinder?” Jennifer asked.

“Hell if I know. I'm reading the label. Better question might be—What's a Ford Falcon?” He peered at rows of boxes stretching into dense shadow. “This place must be filled with parts from my father's time, maybe before.”

He swore under his breath. He knew the man never let go of ideas and beliefs, but he hadn't known it extended to parts for long-dead cars.

“There's a flashlight in the office. I can—”

His hand shot out and hooked around her elbow. “Don't bother.”

“But to see what's in here—”

“You said it before, it's parts inventory.”

“But that's all I knew. I asked a former employee. But I didn't have a chance to get to this.” Sure as hell she'd have tried to clean it single-handedly if she had, he thought. “We'll need a flashlight to see wha—”

“I don't want to see any more.”

He was aware of her gaze. He didn't meet it, instead using his hold on her to guide her out. Stepping over the threshold, her arm came out of his loose hand, severing the connection.

He pulled the chains into place and held them while she threaded the padlock through and clicked it. He swiped his hands against each other to dislodge dust and dirt. She did the same, and he had a fleeting wish he was one of those men who carried a handkerchief so he could offer it to her.

They crossed the back lot's broken surface, passed through the sparse ranks of remaining cars. When they neared the
main building, she clicked back into real estate–salesperson mode, listing each supposed highlight.

“And as you've seen,” she said, wrapping up her spiel from the side doorway, “you could have a ready-to-operate service area—”

“Without the newest equipment.”

“And a salesroom ready to go, as well as—”

“Run-down.”

“A secured lot in place.”

“Without inventory to secure.”

Annoyance flashed across her eyes, stark and unmistakable. She had it controlled almost as fast as it had arrived. “I've shown you the pertinent areas. Is there anything I've missed that you would be interested in seeing?”

The whisper of a devil's voice he didn't know he had in him mentioned a thing or two it would be interested in seeing. He pushed it back down where it belonged, under whatever covered the floor of his subconscious.

“I'm sending these projections to several other investors,” she said. “You shouldn't wait until this develops into a bidding war.”

He snorted.

“Other investors will look at it strictly for its business potential,” she added coolly, “without personal associations clouding their assessment.”

“Then why not give these other investors first crack? Wouldn't it be easier to sell to them than to somebody who spent half his life trying to get away from Stenner Autos and the rest thanking the fates he'd succeeded?”

“It only seems fair to give a Stenner first crack at it. You have a name that has meant a lot in this community for a long time. It would be a real asset to you in running this business.”

“If the name's such a business asset, why didn't you keep it?”

She gave him a level, would-be-cool-eyed stare. But un
derneath, he saw emotions churning, including pain. He felt like an ass for stirring that.

“All right, all right. None of my business. I get it. I over-stepped. Sorry.” But he wasn't a patsy, either. “But come on—other potential buyers?”

He let her see he didn't for a second believe in these other potential buyers. She looked back, defiant.

He almost smiled. “You're good, Jennifer. You're really good.”

“Thank you.”

“Uh-huh. My family ties both explain my reluctance to buy this white elephant,
and
excuse you from producing rival buyers. That's what I call making the most of what little you have to work with.”

“Quit worrying if I'm trying to play you, Trent,” she said. “Pretend the name Stenner isn't attached and look at the numbers. It's a good opportunity. A great opportunity. Perhaps I'm foolish in giving you first crack, but you'd be more than foolish to turn it down because of the name.”

“What if I say yes?”

“Uh, we'll write up the offer,” she said tentatively, as if she'd so focused on getting him to say yes that she hadn't considered what came next. “Judge Dixon has to approve, but I'm sure that won't be a problem.”

He was sure it wouldn't be a problem, either. Not if she smiled at the old judge the way she was smiling at him.

“We can go to the office and write up the offer now,” she proposed.

“Not now. I'm meeting Coach Brookenheimer for lunch.”

She deflated instantly.

“I'll meet you at your office after lunch,” he heard himself saying.

“Okay.” But he saw that she didn't believe it.

“I'm not making any other promises, but I will be there.”

He held her gaze. Even when he saw she wanted to look away. Even when he saw he was making her uncomfortable.

“Okay,” she said again, and this time she did believe him.

Why he'd needed her to acknowledge his promise, he had no idea. And now that she had, he couldn't wait to leave.

“Don't expect me before two or three. Coach and I have a lot of catching up to do. But this afternoon, at your office we'll talk more.”

“Okay. Have a nice lunch.”

He had the main door open when her voice came. “One thing, Trent.”

He looked over his shoulder. She hadn't moved. “Yeah?”

“You shouldn't thank the fates for getting away from Stenner Auto.”

Ah, here it came. The sentimental pitch that this was as good as a family heirloom. Or he should feel Drago's version of noblesse oblige to keep Stenner Auto going so citizens had a place to buy cars and get them fixed.

“Yeah? Why not?”

“Because the fates didn't get you away. You did that. You worked hard to get away from Stenner Autos and you succeeded.”

W
hy on earth had she opened her big mouth?

Did she
want
to scare him off from buying the place?

No, absolutely not. Even if he did make her uncomfortable, with that direct, penetrating stare, accompanied by a faint air of disapproval.

She just hated hearing him pass off his success as fate. God knows his brother and father were willing to do that. It seemed wrong that Trent did, too.

…somebody who spent half his life trying to get away from Stenner Autos and the rest of it thanking the fates he's succeeded.

There'd been something in the way he'd said it, something in the way he'd narrowed his eyes until only slits of the pale color showed between the thick, dark lines of his upper and lower lashes, that had made her feel she understood. That she knew his feelings.

She'd thought when she and Eric went to college in Iowa that it meant they would start a new life, away from Drago. The school had been selected based on the best football program to showcase Eric. There'd been no question that Jennifer would follow wherever he chose to go.

She hadn't minded. She hadn't considered studying anything in particular, just wanted to get a degree.

She'd figured she'd adapt, and she had. She did okay in her classes, better, actually, than in high school. She'd made friends, especially at the beginning. She would have enjoyed staying on campus, but nearly every weekend Eric hadn't had a game or practice he'd wanted to return to Drago. “To see what the hicks are doing,” he used to say. So she'd come with him. The friends she'd made on campus found other people to do things with who wouldn't be gone most weekends.

Trent had returned to Drago considerably less often. She thought back, trying to remember. He'd graduated from high school when she and Eric got married. The next summer, she knew he was back, because that was right after Eric's injury. At least one Christmas after that, too, she thought. When Ashley was about two.

That must be the last time she'd seen him.

 

Pretty.

The word went so far back in her memory that Jennifer thought it had always been there. It was something people said of her. Something nice. Not like Mark calling her Jenny-Poo-With-Poo-In-Her-Pants.

Pretty
was good. That much she knew.

Then she'd learned its power.

What a pretty girl!

Her father had been holding her hand, trying to find a seat with a good view for one of Mark's Little League games. He
hadn't been happy about having to take her, but Mom had a doctor's appointment. He walked a lot faster than she did, and he tugged her hand when she got behind.

“Already started,” he'd muttered, blocked by other people climbing the bleachers.

Then a lady in the front row smiled at Jennifer, and said loudly, “What a pretty girl!”

Daddy had looked around. First at the woman, then at her.

For a second she'd been almost afraid, because Daddy's eyes had that blank look, as though he didn't even see her.

But then he did, and slowly, a smile arrived. “Yes, she is. She's a very pretty girl.”

 

“Are you nuts?” Linc demanded.

Trent sat on the concrete steps that led to old shop fronts on Main Street. It looked like one—Zeekowsky Shoe Repair, if his memory was right—was being renovated. But the workers were either off today or taking a lunch break elsewhere.

From here he could see the café and spot Coach's arrival. In the meantime he'd have privacy for this phone conversation.

“You
are
nuts,” Linc amended before Trent could respond.

Trent grinned. Imagining his friend and business manager's face, incredulity adding a ruddier tinge to his coffee-colored skin. They'd met eight years ago at the wedding of Trent's teammate to Linc's sister, started talking investments and hit it off.

There wasn't anyone Trent trusted more. There wasn't anyone who knew the ins and outs of his finances better. There wasn't anyone whose chain was easier to jerk: just edge an inch toward being a fool with money.

“You're always the one saying don't invest money you can't afford to lose,” he said.

He could hear Linc's keyboard going, and knew his friend
was already researching car dealerships in general and Stenner Autos in particular.

“That's a hell of a lot different from investing money you expect to lose.”

“I didn't say I expect to lose it. I asked how long it would take me to recover financially if I lost all the money it'll cost to buy Stenner Autos.”

Linc snorted. “From what you said, you
should
be expecting to lose it. Small town, selling a couple kinds of cars instead of specializing—I didn't think manufacturers even let dealers do that. Thought you couldn't sell competing new cars.”

“Stenner Autos is grandfathered in. Started doing it so far back they didn't have rules like that. But if the dealership officially goes bankrupt, it loses that exemption, and that's one of its most valuable assets.”

“Hmph. This place has assets? Besides, if it's in the hands of a judge, how can you pull it back from the brink? Why would he let you try?”

“You don't know Drago. The Dixons and the Stenners go way back.”

“Still doesn't make this a good investment. Why couldn't you start a Lexus dealership? Or Mercedes-Benz.”

Trent laughed. “In Drago? Linc, we need to pry you away from that California wasteland and get you out here into the heart of the country. Status isn't a cash crop the way it is in L.A.”

Linc grunted. “You said it's been losing money forever.”

“Not forever. It used to support the Stenners very well.”

“Times change.”

“Yeah, they do.” Sometimes. And sometimes, even when times changed, people didn't. “But change can be good. Turns out Zeke-Tech's bringing a division of his company here.”

He'd seen signs of decline in town, but also a subtle kind
of perking up. Like the drooping flowers in a concrete planter by the café that Loris was tending with a watering can. It must have been an optical illusion, because he imagined he could see the purple flowers reviving from here.

“That's
your
town?” Trent could practically see Linc sitting up, intent with interest. “I heard about that move. Hmm, maybe this could work.”

“Yeah? Well, don't count on it,” Trent said, switching roles. “It will take a year, probably more, for enough folks to move here to really make a difference. And they'll come with cars. So it could take even more years before they need a new one. So your concern's well-founded.”

“Yeah? When you start admitting I'm right, I know you're in sorry shape. This isn't all about the money, you know. You sure you want to climb back into that pit?”

“No. But…” He gazed down the street.

“But what?”

“As far as I can tell, my brother left his wife—ex-wife—and daughter without any financial support.”

Linc growled. He was not a fan of men who didn't take care of their families. But he didn't give up the fight. “And this is your problem how?”

“Because I'm here,” Trent answered honestly. “I can't say I ever would have thought to wonder how Jennifer and Ashley were provided for if I hadn't stumbled onto the knowledge. But I can't unstumble now.”

“All right, all right. But how would your sinking money into Stenner Autos help your niece and her mama?”

“Jennifer is handling the listing. She'd get the commission.”

“So you're going to buy this damn dealership so your niece's mama gets a commission, Mr. Bleeding Heart? You sure that's all it is? We both know you buying that place would make your daddy as happy as that man can get. You sure it's not something
to do with your daddy and that brother of yours? Which makes no sense. On the other hand, for your mama—”

“Linc.”

That stopped the flow of words. But after a moment broken only by the continued tap of computer keys, Linc exhaled loudly. “Well, it wouldn't be pretty if it goes belly-up, but you could recover. Eventually. Might have to come work for me.”

Trent groaned. It was the direst of dire threats. “I'd rather flip burgers or join the French Foreign Legion.”

“You don't get the luxury of choice when you spend your money on other luxuries. Like the luxury of playing Sir Galahad.”

“This has nothing to do with—”

“Save it. With the commission going to your sister-in-law—”

“Ex-sister-in-law.”

Linc made an explosive sound that combined a laugh, a groan and a healthy dose of
I told you so
. “Tell you what, Mr. Stenner. I've got some ideas we can talk about in a minute—unless you want to stay there and run it yourself.”

“No way. I'll put money into it, but I'm not staying here.”

“Okay then, I'll keep researching this business venture of yours. But I can tell you right now what the bottom line is.”

He made Trent ask. “What's the bottom line, Linc?”

“If you want to have any luxuries besides choice, you'd better make sure that dealership becomes a success.”

 

“I hope you had a pleasant lunch with Coach Brookenheimer,” Jennifer said, professionally cordial, when Trent walked into the shoe box she called an office at Roscoe Real Estate at two forty-five.

“Very nice. Thanks. I'm making an offer on Stenner Autos.”

Her mouth opened. Those parades of reactions streamed
across her eyes again. Hope, fear, relief, more fear, uncertainty, triumph quickly reined in and another dose of fear—this one clearly centered around whether she'd heard him correctly. Or whether he was kidding.

“No,” he said. “I'm not kidding. Nuts, maybe, but not kidding. I'm putting in an offer on Stenner Autos.”

“What—” She ran her tongue over her bottom lip. “What's your offer?”

“The asking price.”

“But—” She stopped that sentence by clamping down on her bottom lip, clearly deciding that encouraging a buyer who was willing to pay full price to negotiate was not a wise move.

“So, what's next?” Trent asked.

“We… We talk to the judge.”

 

White-haired Hector Dixon looked across his impressive desk at them.

First at Jennifer, then longer at him. It made Trent feel as if he'd overlooked something. Something more than that he'd gone crazy.

“These terms satisfy the conditions set with the creditors. Are you satisfied with the monetary amount of this offer, Jennifer?”

“I am, Judge.”

“Have you received any further word from that woman—what was her name? Duran? Doring? The one who—”

“Your Honor, that's a separate matter from this,” Jennifer said quickly.

He leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers. “That's your opinion is it?”

“Yes.”

The older man continued looking at her from under his lids for a moment, then turned that look on Trent.

What was going on? He hadn't had much time to do
detailed research, but he was confident Linc had given him the pertinent information in their second phone call after lunch. He knew about the deal brokered by the judge with the creditors—an unorthodox effort to avoid bankruptcy because that would end Stenner Autos' deals with the auto manufacturers and most of its value would go down the drain, gaining the creditors nothing.

He didn't recall anything about a woman named Duran or Doring. So, what was this about?

“Here's what we're going to do,” Hector Dixon said, then abruptly straightened. “I'm confident the creditors will go along. Trent's going to buy Stenner Autos, and you'll get your commission—” Beside him, Trent thought he heard an exhalation of pent-up breath from Jennifer. “That'll all be straightforward as long as you and Trent agree to two conditions.”

“What?” Jennifer looked puzzled.

“It's Stenner Autos, and Ashley's a Stenner. So the first condition is you have an agreement drawn up, Trent, to assign a portion of the dealership to a trust for Ashley, to be administered by Jennifer.”

“What portion?” Trent asked.

“Ten percent,” Judge Dixon said.

“Twenty,” Jennifer countered immediately.

“Fifteen,” the judge said in an
and that's final
voice.

Trent bit back a dry smile. Interesting to have terms of his acquisition negotiated without any input himself. Linc would go nuts.

The smile became harder to repress.

But a fund for Ashley was a good idea. Having it come from the Stenners made it more right.

“Twenty-five percent of the fund goes to a college account,” he said.

Judge Dixon and Jennifer both turned to him, as if they'd
forgotten he was there. In the judge's face he saw approval, in Jennifer's surprise.

“Done,” the judge said.

But Trent hadn't forgotten how Dixon had introduced this topic. There was another shoe to drop. And no matter how much fun it was to ruffle Linc's feathers, he wasn't going to buy Stenner Autos at any cost.

“What's the second condition?”

The judge met his gaze, and Trent let him see that he had limits. He definitely had limits.

And then the old man went and pushed those limits.

“You agree to hire Jennifer here, for one year as a manager, and you, Jennifer, agree to take the job.”

“What?” Trent demanded, the implications of hiring her as a manager playing out in his head.

Linc had said large dealerships had a general manger, an operations manager, a sales manager, in addition to the head of the service department. Stenner Autos couldn't support anywhere near that staff, but would still need those duties fulfilled.

So they'd worked out a plan on the fly to hire the best general manager they could find, so Trent could dump the whole mess in his lap. It was already going to be tight to pull together the money fast to get a general manager with as broad a background as they needed.