Chapter 8
EIGHT
CALDER
I work at my dad’s old desk, sifting through the chaos on the outdated laptop. I groan when the fan starts to whir like a jet ready for liftoff. I can’t get the Wi-Fi to work, but I find three hard drives and two USB ports in a desk drawer.
The damn thing starts to lag worse than before, and I take a few minutes to respond to the emails piling into my inbox.
I’ve been gone for a day, and news is getting around.
I told my assistants to inform clients I’m on bereavement leave to prevent any panic over my sudden disappearance.
I don’t like sharing personal information, but it’s the price I pay for hardly taking a day off otherwise.
After I advise against a long-time client putting his fourth wife on all his investments when they’ve only been married for two months, I turn my attention to the laptop.
Finally, the drive I wanted has opened. Risking my work computer, I transfer several files over.
There are random spreadsheets with numbers that seem to refer to years, and scans of old ledgers from before the brewery grew too big to hand-jam everything.
I find inventory sheets, order forms, recipe cards, and receipts. So many damn receipts.
Some files won’t open. I stare at the password protected ones. Why the need for that level of protection when everything is open? I’ll search for the codes later, in the password book, and any I can’t access I’ll turn over to Bowen.
Finally, I’m ready to dig into the accounting software.
Is there any way to bring it into the twenty-first century? Soon?
I spend the next hour on the phone, trying to determine if I can transfer the desktop version of the bookkeeping software to an online format. Once I have a plan for that, I table the task for another day. It’s getting late.
I’ve been working for hours, and the solitude was bliss.
Now it’s not. I impatiently tap my fingers on the desk and tune out the whirring of the fan.
If it weren’t for that, the quiet might have burrowed under my skin and festered.
Meredith hasn’t ventured upstairs at all.
I can hear her talking to Molly downstairs.
When a third voice is added, I hover by the doorway. Bea is here.
Pacing for several minutes, I wait until Bea has had time to settle in her office. Then I go in search of her.
As I take the stairs down, my gaze is drawn to Meredith.
She’s standing on a metal stool over the opening of a mash tank, using a pressure washer to give it a hot rinse.
Her face is lined with determination, but a few extra strands of hair have slipped out of her braid since this morning.
Does she work this hard all the time, or is she putting on a show for me?
Meredith doesn’t strike me as the performative type, and I hate that I can’t place all the blame on her.
Molly’s leaning over the bar, thumbing through her phone. She doesn’t even notice me.
Is there legitimately an entire afternoon of stocking to do?
I walk down the hallway, passing the bathrooms with nonfunctional barn doors framing the actual doors, and find Bea in the small storage room, sitting at a short desk, with a much newer laptop in front of her.
I lean against the doorframe. “You need an office with a window.”
She snaps her head up, slides her kitten-framed glasses down her nose to hang on a chain around her neck, and grins. “I heard trouble was back in town.” She stands and opens her arms.
I go right to her. She envelops me in a hug so full of cloying perfume I won’t be able to smell anything else for a week.
“My brothers aren’t home yet,” I say as she pulls away to hold me at arm’s length and examine me. “So I’m not sure what trouble you’re talking about.”
She clicks her tongue and lets me go, waving me to the folding chair across from her desk. I sit down, feeling as if I’ve taken a preschooler’s chair.
“You know exactly what I mean,” she says as she takes a seat. She thumps the lid of her laptop closed and gives me a knowing look. “The ladies at bingo are all aflutter about the separate funerals.”
My happiness at seeing her dims. “It’s for the best.”
“For you boys.”
“Yes,” I admit.
“That’s what matters.” When she notices my surprise, she shrugs and pushes her glasses to the top of her head, nestling them in her gray curls.
“I know I’m supposed to say ‘that poor girl,’ right?
And I understand. Meredith is one of my favorite people, but I also have three other favorites, and I haven’t seen them in a long time because of what Ram did. ”
A knot inside me loosens. I didn’t expect to come home and find people understanding.
“He couldn’t forgive us for a long time.”
“Pssh. He knew he had nothing to forgive. He ran you off thinking you all would come slinking back. What he didn’t realize is that each of you are as stubborn and bullheaded as him, but with the business savvy of Jules.”
“I didn’t think we’d make it for a while. I knew where every homeless shelter was.”
“But you made that money,” she says proudly. “Did you help Bowen with that fancy computer company of his?”
I nod. “He worked for a few years after college. We had to help Landry through school, but then he started getting modeling gigs.”
“And started his own company. All three of you, entrepreneurial like your mama.” Sadness slips through her gaze before she aims a knowing look my way. “Yet so much like Ram too. He could’ve waited a year or two to get married. Horny bastard.”
I shudder, hoping that phrase doesn’t take up permanent residence in my head when I think of my dad.
She tilts her head. “You said your brothers were coming back?”
“Bowen’ll be here next week. Landry is…” I shrug.
“The most like his father,” she grumbles. “If I don’t get to see him before I die, I’m going to haunt him, and it won’t be pretty.”
“I can pass that on for you, but I can’t promise he’ll read the message.”
“Do that.” She sniffs, then she lifts her chin. “What are you going to do about this place?”
The sudden change of subject is so fast I might hire Bea to run my meetings.
“My brothers and I are discussing that,” I hedge.
I intend to shamelessly do what needs to be done, yet the news of our decision to sell gets wedged in my throat.
Tension courses through my bones as if I’m in the midst of a stalemate.
“I left a message with Johnson, Hassan, and Associates about the will and trust, but… we want to sell.”
Her inhale’s sharp. “Damn. That’s disappointing to hear. You kids have been gone for twenty years, but your blood, sweat, and tears runs through these taps and the dirt of Crossroads Ranch.”
My collar grows too tight under her scrutinizing gaze. Bea understands what she’s implying. I press my fingertips together until my skin turns pale.
“If that were true, only thistle would grow in the ditches.”
“Do the city folk know you’re a smart-ass?”
I smirk, but my stomach dips. No. I work, and sometimes I fuck.
If I socialize, it’s somehow for my career.
I’m accustomed to being surrounded by concrete after being raised among rolling hills and buttes my brothers and I would climb.
Doesn’t mean I’ve found a damn thing I want to do on all that pavement.
The pretty brunette spraying down the mash tanks flashes in my head, along with the tight way she held herself while spraying it down. A guy could come right up behind her on that stool and—
Fuck, I need to get laid.
“How’s business?” I ask to change the subject just as fast as she did and get my mind off Meredith and the way her hips wiggled while she worked.
“Good,” she croons. “Meredith knows what she’s doing, and people like her.”
“What aren’t you saying?” I know how Dad was. I’m gonna need to know the bottom line.
“I’m saying, Ransom took over the books when I reduced my hours a few years ago,” she says with a sigh. “I handle the ordering and write up distribution deals.”
“Meredith?”
She shakes her head. “She offered to do it when she moved back from Williston, but Ransom would grumble, and nothing would change.” Lines fan out from the corners of Bea’s eyes.
“I don’t know if it’s good, Calder. I really don’t.
I knew your dad for a long time, and I could tell when he was stressed. Something worried him.”
“Meredith doesn’t do any of the books?” Would she know the financial state the brewery is in? Would she tell me, or is that why she wants to stay on?
“She didn’t just offer. She insisted.” Bea shakes her head like she’s stressing Dad’s answer was no, and that it was a shame.
Voices filter in from the taproom. It sounds like customers are being greeted.
Delight shines in Bea’s pale blue eyes. “It’s five o’clock somewhere, and that somewhere is here. Should we have a drink and catch up?”
I’ve flown under the radar since I arrived in town, stopping only here, at the house, and the funeral home. I went to Williston earlier, but my anonymity remained intact. My arrival is getting around, and the taproom will attract the most talkative folks in and around Scandal.
It’s not ripping the bandage off, but it feels like it. “I’m buying.”