Chapter One
“Thank God for e-readers.” Gloria used the stylus to flip through the epilogue of this week’s read.
How time had gotten away from her was laughable.
Aside from some volunteer work and freelance articles, she really didn’t work.
She didn’t have a husband or children to look after.
True, her home did require extensive upkeep.
.. but her friends had always been willing to help.
“Glooo-ria!”
“I have all the cookies and sandwiches.”
“Put it on my tab!”
“No, you always host, the least the rest of the girls can do is shell out for the food. Besides,” Georgia’s blue eyes sparkled under her curly mop of blonde hair, “staff discount.”
Gloria’s blue eyes twinkled back as she patted a lock of her own black, wavy hair back into place—not that it was ever out of place. It sat in a smooth bob that hugged her pale face.
“What does the boss man say about that?” she laughed. “Is Georgie going to sulk at me during the Christmas party because of your insistence on catering book club? You know these ladies can eat!”
“I don’t think so. He’s a little preoccupied right now. My ‘sister senses’ are tingling—I think Mr. Green and Grumpy has got a lady friend in the wings.”
“No!” Gloria gasped, powder-white hand fluttering to rest on her powder-white cheek. “Finally! If it weren’t for Wednesdays, I would know what was going on in the world!”
“You have the internet. You just wouldn’t know what was going on in Pine Ridge.”
Gloria and Georgia giggled as they set out the food on a table set in the wide, opulent library.
“I brought pumpkins and mums! Let’s get this place ready for autumn!” Gray-haired Madge was the next to arrive, thin arms full of bright yellow flowers and mini orange pumpkins.
“You doll! Thanks, Madge!”
“Chloe’s parking the car. She has some gooseneck gourds and some blue salvia from the garden.”
“J.J.! No running in Miss White’s house!
” Sophie Smith, almost as pale and raven-haired as her hostess, barrelled into the library after her two-year-old tornado.
“Jesse and Mr. Minegold had a committee meeting about the Halloween Parade. Jesse’s mother is helping plan a choir fundraiser.
I had to bring J.J., but he’s overtired.
I think he’ll take his sippy and go right to sleep.
Gloria, can I put him down on the sofa in the old study? ”
“Daddy’d flip his wig to find a ‘sticky child’ in his sacred sanctum, but the old coot is long gone and I don’t mind.
He can watch cartoons on my tablet while he falls asleep.
” Gloria blew a kiss to the toddler who had halted in front of her, cheeks puffed up around part of a banana by the looks of it.
“My gosh, you’re an angel.” Sophie scooped up her son and pushed her way into the study as the entryway of White Pines began to fill.
Gloria floated over to meet her guests, a semi-transparent body in a beautiful white evening gown with blue accents trailing eerily behind feet that only skimmed the floor. “Angel? Nope. But I’m the soul of hospitality!”
Gloria’s friends laughed and started piling plates high with pastries and sandwiches.
She smiled. People who thought ghosts were miserable, lonely, evil beings had never been to Pine Ridge.
“PINE RIDGE. PINE RIDGE... You’re sure it’s in New York?” Wesley Creighton squinted at his laptop, trying to ignore the flashing on his wrist.
“I’m sure. It’s close to the Pennsylvania border, at the beginning of the Catskills and the tail end of the Endless Mountains. Ha. Guess they end someplace!”
Creighton had no patience for fools and people who made puns. Puns were jokes for people too lazy to think of punchlines. “I see it now. Is it some hick town? Banjos and plaid? Am I going to have to buy a satellite just to check my email?”
Not that I’m supposed to spend my remaining years shackled to a desk...
“I don’t think so. There’s a branch of New York University there.
The Chamber of Commerce website makes it look pretty idyllic.
Looks like they have a big fall festival, some kind of ongoing street fair, a Halloween Parade, a Christmas Bazaar, and some little shops on a cute main street.
They’ve kept the big box stores and supermarkets out of town.
I wouldn’t call it a one-horse town, but it has a Norman Rockwell vibe. ”
“A who?”
“A Twentieth Century American painter known for his depictions of small-town life in America.”
Wesley rubbed his temples. He had a headache, but he didn’t want to take anything that would raise his hair-trigger blood pressure.
“Thank you, Mr. Art Professor. Is the estate in my price range this time? Does it have everything I want?” His realtor had shown him everything from broken-down fixer-uppers to the mini-palaces Middle Eastern royals were letting go in favor of buying an island.
“Yes, it’s definitely in your price range—even on the lower end.
It’s secluded, there’s access to nature, minimal landscaping required, an indoor pool, a study, and a library that has an impressive collection.
There’s an ensuite bathroom in the master bedroom, a conservatory, a ballroom, plenty of bedrooms for entertaining houseguests, a beautiful dining room with—”
“Whoa. That’s enough.” Wesley chewed the inside of his lower lip in a scowl before replying.
He didn’t need a garden or greenhouse...
although his doctor had been after him to get a “stress-reducing” hobby.
But the ballroom and extra bedrooms... “Business conferences,” he murmured to himself and then winced.
No. No more business anything. Not if I want this heart to last for a couple more years.
This whole house is a bad investment. What’s the point of throwing money away on something I’ll barely get to use?
Anger and stubbornness at the ugly fate he’d created for himself welled up. His wrist monitor flashed red and beeped. “Buy it. Make the offer.”
“Ah. Well, see, there’s one catch.”
“I don’t have time for catches,” Wesley growled through gritted teeth.
“White Pines is held in trust to the White family, but there are no surviving members. The bank is considered the trust’s manager, and for some reason, they’ve—”
“What bank?”
“Silverman First Fiduciary.”
“Small and privately traded?”
“Uh...”
Wesley rolled his eyes, happy his realtor couldn’t see him.
The man was good at property acquisition, but he had definite deficits in other areas.
“Never mind. I’ll buy the bank and its assets if I have to.
What else am I going to do with the money?
Save it for a rainy day?” He snorted. “I’m moving to White Pines by next week.
I have to get out of Manhattan. Doctor’s orders.
” He hung up the phone with a mumbled curse.
His office would have to be packed... but what would he take?
“Wesley! You’re not supposed to be in the building!”
Wesley looked down the considerable expanse of carpeting until his eyes rested on the door. Josh Price was standing in it, two printer boxes full of photos, potted plants, and who knew what else cradled in his arms.
“Josh. Hey.” Wesley didn’t hate his vice president and former CFO. Right now, he just couldn’t bear to look at him.
“Wes, I’m serious. I can handle the company. I’ll do everything just like you taught me, I swear.” Josh put the boxes on the edge of the desk and pulled up a chair. “You have to let someone else handle the day-to-day right now.”
“I know. I know. Um. This is hard.” Wesley stood up and looked around the office.
“You keep the putting green. I hate golf. I only did it for the sake of signing deals on the links. I’ll take the laptop, that’s mine.
Hm. The Scotch... Damn. I love a good Scotch.
You’re not supposed to drink when you’re on this much heart medicine. ”
Wesley froze, hand absently fondling the keys to his desk and the liquor cabinet.
What was left to live for? At thirty-five, he was in his prime.
His business was booming. His millions were close to turning into billions.
Business was his life. His hobbies included building the business, writing about business, giving occasional lectures at Columbia (his Alma Mater) about business, and excellent, expensive Scotch.
No wife. No kids. No pets. No genuine hobbies.
He’d been on the cover of Fortune five times in ten years.
What did he have to show for it? A massive heart attack at thirty-five and permanent heart damage. His heart couldn’t take any strain. His cardiologist warned him that the next “cardiac event” would be “The One.”
“You know what you said, Josh? That you’ll run it just like I would?
” Wesley dropped the keys into Josh’s palm, dark blue-black eyes meeting surprised hazel ones staring out of a fair, peachy face.
“Don’t. It’s bad for business if we have to change CEOs every couple of years.
In the words of my doctor, ‘Find life-work balance. Eat the Mediterranean Diet. Spend precious time with your family.’” Wesley snorted as he stood, surprised at how weak he seemed these days.
A month ago, he could walk the trading floor for hours without anything more than a dozen cups of coffee.
Price had kids. Two pretty little girls. “Spend time with those kids on the weekends.”
What was he going to do? Who was Mr. Big Bucks Creighton going to spend time with?
“Wes, can I help you to the elevator? Should you be walking? Did you phone for a car?” Josh followed him out of the office, anxiously trotting at his side even though Wesley wasn’t running. Eager types like Price always seemed to trot.
“Just keep it afloat. I’m not going to take a salary anymore. Just my retirement package, 401 Ks and IRAs. I’m living on dividends, buddy.”
That was partially a lie. He hadn’t taken vacations, only business trips.
He didn’t drive fast cars, he’d always driven one of the company’s.
He had plenty left to live on, especially since the doctor told him patients with his type of heart attack usually only lived until their next cardiac event.
With his terrible temper and his penchant for obsessively worrying and working on his business, the critical moments should be in about. .. a week?
“The girl at the front will call a car. I’m having my P.A. handle the move.”
“The move?”
“I’m going into hibernation to try to squeeze a couple more months out of the old ticker,” Wesley sneered as said the phrases that should be reserved for old men.
“I’m leaving the city. Heading to the sticks.
I’ll learn meditation and start an herb garden.
Maybe I’ll grow a beard. No one will even recognize me at my own funeral. ”
Josh blinked rapidly, mouth in a stunned “O.” “Don’t say that, Wesley.”
“I never bullshit you before. I won’t do it now.”
“I—I’ll come and visit.” Josh offered as the elevator doors opened.
Wesley put a single finger on Price’s shoulder and made him step back, out of the glassy box with its rows of gleaming buttons.
“Don’t bother. I don’t want company. People only had one purpose to me before, and you know that.
You have to have people to have customers.
You have to have customers to have a business.
I don’t have a business anymore. Not one that I can have a hand in.
So, no offense, but I don’t need your visits.
Stay here and make Creighton and Co. look good, okay? ”
Price gave him a brave smile. “Okay.”
“Okay.” Wesley pushed the button that would close the doors, shutting out Josh’s surprised face.
Wesley leaned his head back against the wall and closed his eyes so he couldn’t see his reflection in the steel ceiling. His skin was gray, and his under eyes were permanently bruised from lack of sleep and blood thinners.
He had to admit that Price wasn’t the only one who was surprised.
Why was he moving to the country and buying a big, rambling vacant place that was too large for one man? Why try to prolong a life he wouldn’t even enjoy?
Because out of retirement and death, retirement was slightly more familiar. If he knew for sure that death would be more entertaining, he might have opted to stay in Manhattan.