Randy White - Deceived

I was reading between the lines. “Did he beat Mrs. Helms often?”

Chatham replied, “The rule for any woman should be Once is your last stop on the way to jail . But those were different times. People tended to look the other way. Women tolerated unhappiness for the sake of their children. Even when a better man come along.”

I said, “It sounds like Mrs. Helms was in love with someone. If it wasn’t you, who was it?”

“You’d have to ask Miz Helms,” Chatham replied, an irony that closed the subject. He then pointed at something he could see through the rear window. “The Devil squirt his seed in that place, too. You ever seen an uglier pile of concrete in your life?”

He had to be talking about the Candor house. I craned around to look while he added, “Rance says you already guessed who’s trying to squeeze your mamma and her friends out of Sulfur Wells. Only took you a couple of days. He was impressed.”

“I didn’t guess,” I replied, which was true, but it was also a warning. I’d become vulnerable, I realized, charmed by the man’s words and openness, but I wasn’t going to be manipulated. “If you knew about it, why did Joel bother hiring me?”

“I try to help that boy when I can, but I don’t tell him everything I know. Gotta let him sort things out on his own. One thing’s for sure, young lady, you two would make sparks ’cause Rance has got a temper on him, too. That’s another reason I seldom nose into his business.”

I asked, “What about Delmont Chatham? You two have to be related. Is he your buffer?”

The man made a snorting noise of disgust but didn’t answer, so I pressed him. “You and Joel don’t get along, that’s obvious. If there isn’t a go-between, it means you didn’t tell Joel you’re his father until recently. He wouldn’t have moved back to Florida. How long has Joel known?”

“Smart girl,” Chatham said but again didn’t answer my question. Instead, he removed his glasses to look out the window again at the concrete house. “You got all the information you need on Alice Candor, do you?”

It was maddening the way the man controlled the conversation. But I wanted to hear what he had to say, so I replied, “Tell me what you know.”

“She and her husband have dodged some bullets, but their luck’s about to run out. A couple’a doctors in Ohio-that’s where the Candors come from-they tried to get her license pulled ’cause she’s got a screw loose in her head. Not in those words, of course. And she’s a drunk.”

“I’ve met her,” I said, meaning I’d yet to hear anything new.

“Don’t underestimate your enemies, young lady. That pair’s got a lot of money invested. What they want to do is tear down them little cottages and build a high-end drug rehab. Waterfront, rooms with a view. And something else-the woman knows you’ve been investigating her. Knows Mica told you his lies about income tax evasion, too. That’s what they’re using for leverage-you’re right about that. Your testimony could help put them in jail. Keep it in mind.”

Rather than asking who had told Alice Candor about me, I took a guess, saying, “You don’t like Delmont, do you? What is he, your cousin? Your brother? He pretended it was just good luck when he chartered my boat.”

The man was looking at me, interested, so I continued, “One thing I do know is, he collects antique fishing tackle, and my family is missing a Vom Hofe reel owned by Teddy Roosevelt. This isn’t the first time it’s crossed my mind.”

“Good lord, a Vom Hofe ?” Chatham said, impressed or feigning innocence, I couldn’t be sure. That’s how smooth he was. Then he made it harder, asking, “Poor Loretta donated it, I assume?”

“Joel took me off the case, but I want that reel back,” I replied. “And there’s a book President Roosevelt wrote, too. And some other things. You might pass that along to Delmont because I’ll see the man arrested if we don’t get our property back. I don’t care if he is a Chatham or how he’s related to you and Joel.”

Mr. Chatham was studying me now, his face old but his eyes young enough to admire what he was seeing-possibly to even undress me-so I pulled my skirt farther below my knees. It seemed to snap him out of it because he gave a shake and said, “Delmont’s a second cousin, which is the only reason he has a job. He got hooked on morphine in Vietnam and that’s why he relies on Alice Candor. But don’t worry, that woman has made two serious mistakes.”

He left the statement hanging there until I finally said, “I have to ask?”

Chatham was already savoring what came next and answered in an old He-Coon sort of way. “’Member when I asked if you’d ever met a pot hauler rich and smart enough to hide a bundle of money away? Until it was safe, I mean-safe enough to blow trash out of the water and never leave a trace.” He waited a moment, then smiled to inform me I’m that man .

“I knew it!” I said, but then backtracked, still on guard. “Why risk telling me this? Now you’ve got a hold on me and Loretta.”

“Hannah, I’m eighty-six years old. If someone I trust comes along, I’m willing to show my cards just to speed up the game. Being rich is nice,” he continued, “but having cash money that can’t be tracked, well, honey… that’s power . Your mother was never involved, though. And if she was, well”-he shrugged-“I would never admit it.”

Now Chatham was feigning innocence, but it was okay. I was starting to enjoy our sparring, holding my own with a man who had lived a big life and who didn’t waste his time on women not his equal-or so he had claimed-and I wanted to believe him.

“I’m surprised you weren’t governor,” I said, then remembered to ask, “What was Alice Candor’s second mistake?”

Before answering, Chatham tapped the seat to his right-another invitation to join him.

This time, I did.

TWO HOURS LATER,I was still replaying Mr. Chatham’s response in my head, smiling every time and sometimes laughing, because his tone had added a richer meaning and so allowed me to take liberties with his wording.

Me asking, “What was Dr. Candor’s second mistake?” The former lieutenant governor replying, “What that silly bitch did was threaten your mamma’s vegetable garden. Now her walls are going to come tumbling down. Lorrie would be lost without turnips to hoe. Where would she drink her coffee in the morning?”

He hadn’t said bitch , of course-the man was too much of a gentleman-but profanity was the invisible wrapping on his response. And he had said Loretta , not Lorrie , but the endearment added intimacy and a caring touch that was communicated by his concern. Then Chatham had asked me about the garden, saying, “Did you show Loretta the cease and desist notice?” When I replied, “Didn’t have the heart,” the man had patted my knee, but in a fatherly way, and said, “The acorn doesn’t fall far from the tree.”

I was enjoying myself as I reviewed my encounter, sitting behind the wheel of my SUV on my way to Sanibel to take delivery of Marion Ford’s dog and to spend a few nights. I had returned to check on Loretta, then showered, changed, and packed a small bag. Now it was 7:30 p.m., nearly sunset. Tim McGraw was on the radio but turned low so I could think while I drove, Tim-the handsomest man I’ve never seen-singing “Two Lanes of Freedom,” which added a sweetness to the new freedom I felt. The lyrics also caused me to check my driver’s-side mirror, which was cracked, and my thoughts soon shifted to the vehicle I was driving and the shimmy in my old SUV’s steering wheel.