Slow Heat in Heaven (45 page)

Schyler walked into the dining room at Belle Terre. Without a word, she slapped a manila folder on the table in front of Ken. "What's that?" he asked.

"Enough incriminating evidence to send you to jail."

Across the table, Tricia's fork halted midway between her plate and her mouth. Ken played innocent and smiled sickly. "What the hell are you talking about, Schyler?"

"I don't want to talk about anything in here where we might be overheard by Mrs. Dunne and Gayla. I'll meet you in the parlor."

Minutes later she was seated in a wing chair. Her bearing was indomitable, but she felt more like the feathery ball of a dandelion blossom on the verge of disintegration. She was ready to fly apart.

As Ken and Tricia entered the room, she said, "Please slide the doors closed."

"My, we're being so dramatic tonight." Tricia snuggled into a chair across from Schyler and draped her legs over the arm of it. She plucked several white grapes off the stalk she had brought in with her and popped them into her mouth. "I adore all this intrigue, but why is it necessary?"

"I'll let Ken tell you." Schyler, ignoring Tricia's irritating insolence, looked at her former fiancé. Comparisons were unfair, but she couldn't help measuring his failure against Cash's success. Ken had had all the advantages. He'd come from a good family, had a private school education, had money. He had squandered all those advantages. Cash had begun with nothing, not even legitimacy, and had built a successful life for himself. He still didn't have many material possessions, therefore his success couldn't be measured in dollars and cents. But he had earned more respect than ridicule.

She had loved both men. Both were liars and cheats. That was a worse reflection on her than on them. Obviously she had a tendency toward choosing the wrong men to love.

Ken tapped the edge of the folder against his palm. "Look, Schyler, I don't know what you think this file proves, but—"

"It proves that you've been embezzling money from Crandall Logging almost since my father put you on the payroll."

Tricia sat up straight and swung her feet to the floor.
"What?"

"I don't know what the hell you're talking about," Ken sputtered.

"The figures are there in black and white, Ken," Schyler said evenly. "I've seen Father's forged signature on canceled checks."

Ken nervously wet his lips. "I don't know who put this
. . .
this outlandish idea into your head,
but. . .
It was Boudreaux, wasn't it? That son of a bitch," he spat. "He'll stop at nothing to cause disruption. Don't you see what he's doing? He's trying to turn you against me."

Schyler bowed her head and massaged her drumming temples. "Ken, stop it. Please. I've known for weeks, ever since I went to Endicott's, that there were discrepancies in the bookkeeping. I couldn't figure out why Daddy had ignored them until the company was on the brink of bankruptcy."

"I'll tell you."

All heads turned toward the sound of Cotton's voice. He hadn't parted the wide sliding doors that separated the parlors, but stood in the doorway that led into the hall. He was thinner than before his illness, but when he stood at his full height, as now, he could still be intimidating and seemingly invincible.

He came into the room. "I ignored it because I didn
't
want to admit that there was a thief living under my own roof."

"Now just a—"

"Shut up," Cotton commanded his son-in-law. "You're a goddamn thief. And a liar. You're a gambler, which I could forgive if you were any good at it. But you don't gamble any better than you do anything else. I know all about the heavies you owe money to."

Ken had started to sweat. At his sides his fists opened and closed reflexively.

"What's he talking about, Ken?" Tricia asked.

It was Cotton, however, who answered her. "He's in debt up to his ass with a loan shark."

"Is that why you asked me for money?" Schyler wanted to know.

Ken foundered for an answer. Cotton frowned at him disparagingly. "I was kinda hoping they'd get rough and scare some sense into you. But you're too stupid to take their warnings seriously. Then I started hoping they would go ahead and kill you. This family would have been shed of you and we could pass it off as robbery and murder."

"You better stop right there, old man," Ken warned.

Cotton paid no attention to him. "I never could stomach you, Howell. You might have hoodwinked both my daughters, but I had your number the day you let that little bitch," he said, pointing at Tricia, "get by with that lie about carrying your kid. You're a weakling, a sorry excuse for a man, and I can't stand the sight or the smell of you. You stink of failure."

Schyler left her chair. "Daddy, sit down." Cotton's face was florid. He was gasping for breath. She took his arm and led him to the nearest chair, easing him into it.

Her ministrations annoyed him. "You all seem to think that when my heart went on the blink, my brain did, too. You've been pussyfooting around this house, not wanting the old man to get drift of what was going on. But I know, all right. I know everything. And I can't say I like much of it."

"All the trouble started when Schyler came home," Tricia said peevishly. "Things were rocking along fine until then. She just moved in and took over."

"What did she take from you?" Cotton asked.

"My husband," Tricia replied venomously.

"That's a lie!" Schyler cried.

Cotton gave Schyler a baleful look. "Do you still want him?"

"No."

He looked back at Tricia. "She doesn't want him. I'd think she was crazy if she did. What else have you got to bellyache about?"

"She took over the management of this house. She fired the housekeeper."

"Thank Jesus, Mary and Joseph," Cotton said. "That Graves woman was a shriveled-up, dried-
up
old shrew who couldn't cook worth a damn. I say good riddance."

"What about that black person who's living with us?"

"Veda's girl? What about her?"

"Thanks to Schyler she's got the run of the place. God only knows what kind of diseases she brought with her."

"That's a dreadful thing to say," Schyler exclaimed furiously.

Tricia glared up at her. "You'd turn this house into a refuge for every color of riffraff if we'd let you. Mama would roll over in her grave."

"Your mother never had a kind thought for anybody," Cotton said
to
Tricia. "And neither have you.
At
least Schyler doesn't have your prejudices."

Tricia's breasts heaved with indignation. "Of course. Sure. Certainly. Take up for Schyler. No matter what she does, it's okay with you, isn't it?" Her blue eyes flashed. "Well, did you know she's sleeping with Cash Boudreaux?
Cash
Boudreaux!.
I mean, my God, that's scraping the bottom of the barrel, isn't it? What do you think about your precious Schyler now, Daddy?"

"I didn't come in here to discuss Schyler's love life."

"No," Tricia shouted. "Of course not. Schyler's perfect even if she's bedding down with lowlife."

"That's enough!"

"Daddy, calm down."

"Tricia, just shut up," Ken yelled.

"I won't," Tricia screamed at her husband. "Daddy's right. You are a weakling to just stand there and not even defend yourself. Why don't you defend me?" She jabbed her index finger into her breast. She was bristling with rage. Spittle had collected in the corners of her lips. "I stayed here in this tacky, rundown old house for years while Schyler was living the high life in London. I stayed and took care of you," she said, turning to Cotton, "when Schyler deserted you. And this is the thanks I get. You still throw her up to me as an example to live by."

Cotton's gaze penetrated Tricia to the core of her being. "You stayed here with me so Schyler couldn't come home. That's the only reason. It wasn't out of affection."

She collected herself and drew in several deep breaths. In a small voice she said, "Why that's simply not true, Daddy."

Cotton's white head nodded. "Oh, yes it is. You didn't want Ken. You just knew that Schyler did. And you didn't want to live at Belle Terre. You knew that it killed Schyler's soul to leave it." Staring at her, he shook his head sadly. "You've never had a single unselfish thought, Tricia. If you ever had a drop of charitable blood in your veins, Macy polluted it with her autocratic philosophy. You're a self-indulgent, spiteful, lying bitch, Tricia. Much as it grieves me to say so."

Tricia shuddered under his verbal attack. "Whatever I am, it's your fault. You knew Mama didn't love us. You made up for it with Schyler. But not with me. You ignored me. You couldn't see me through Schyler's golden aura."

"I tried to love you. You won't let anybody love you. You're too busy being defensive about not coming out of Macy's womb. It never mattered to me that I didn't spawn you, but it sure as hell mattered to you."

Tricia came out of her chair slowly. Her eyes glowed with evil fire. "I'm glad I'm not your real daughter," she hissed. "You're coarse and crude, just like Mama always said you were. No wonder she wouldn't let you darken the door of her bedroom. You strut around like God almighty,
but you're little better than white trash. That's exactly what you'd be if you hadn't married a Laurent."

She turned to Schyler. "And I'm glad I'm not your blood sister. You weren't content to come back and upset the household that I'd kept together even though I despise this place. You made my husband look like a fool for not seizing control of the business. Now you're accusing him of being a thief."

"He is a thief," Cotton barked.

It was easy for Schyler to disregard Tricia's vindictiveness. She was concerned for Cotton. This stress was what he needed least. "Daddy, we can talk about all this later."

"We'll talk about it now," he shouted, banging the arm of his chair. At the risk of upsetting him more, Schyler held her peace. Cotton focused his attention on Ken again. "You've bled my business for years. I should have put a stop to it when I first figured it out. I guess I hoped you'd grow some balls and stop before someone caught you at it."

"I wouldn't have had to dip into the company till if you'd paid me a decent salary."

"A decent salary?" Cotton repeated in a raised voice. "Goddamn you. What I pay you is more than three times what an average logger gets. And he sweats and strains and ruins his back and risks his life for every friggin' dollar." Cotton leaned forward in his chair. "What did you ever do to earn your handsome salary? I'll tell you. Play golf three afternoons a week and keep your butt folded over a padded pink leather stool at the country club bar."

"I've given six good years to Crandall Logging."

"With nothing to show for it," Cotton yelled back. "Nothing, that is, except a criminal record."

"If you had treated me like a man—"

"You never acted like a man."

"If you had given me more responsibility like you did Boudreaux, I'd've—"

"You'd've fucked up even worse," Cotton finished curtly.

That was like the final blast of steam out of a factory whistle. It was followed by a profound silence. Schyler spoke first. "We're all tired and short-tempered tonight. Maybe airing our differences has been good for us." She glanced down at her father. It hadn't been good for Cotton. He was leaning against the back of his chair, looking utterly exhausted. "Let's not talk anymore tonight. I think once this Endicott order is filled, we'll all feel a lot better."

"Is that all you ever think about?" Tricia asked.

"Right now that's all there is," Schyler replied shortly. "If we don't get the last shipment there in time, we don't get paid. If we don't get paid—"

"Belle Terre will be foreclosed upon. Well that would suit me just fine." Tricia's statement roused Cotton from his brief respite. He raised his head and looked at her as though he hadn't heard correctly. "In fact I hope that's exactly what happens."

"Tricia, shut up."

"Daddy may just as well know now how Ken and I feel, Schyler."

"Not now."

"Why not? We might not get another chance at a family discussion like this." She looked at Cotton. "Ken and I want to sell Belle Terre. We want our portion of the money and then we want to leave here and never come back."

Schyler knelt down in front of her father's chair. She grasped his hands. "Don't worry about it, Daddy. It'll never happen. I swear that to you."

"Careful, Schyler," Tricia taunted. "With all the things that have been going wrong, I'm not so sure you can get that order filled in time."

Schyler surged to her feet and confronted Tricia. "I can and I will. We've got several more days before the note at the bank comes due."

"Not much time."

"But enough."