M.J. Rodgers - Heart Vs. Humbug

Brett was only here because of Nancy’s call for help. If it hadn’t been for Nancy and her little girl, he’d be long gone on his postponed climb. Seeing how her husband and stepson treated her, Brett was surprised that the full-spirited Nancy he once knew wasn’t long gone, too. What was keeping her here?

Love, he supposed. Brett stabbed his pancake and shoved it into his mouth, knowing it did no good to wonder how anyone could love Dole Scroogen.

Love was an incredibly imbecilic malady that struck even the sanest of souls and overnight turned clear reasoning power into gooey rubber cement. He remembered the affliction well.

He also remembered what it felt like to wake up the next morning only to realize he’d fallen for a fantasy.

Thank God that nonsense was all behind him.

“I don’t suppose you came over this morning just for pancakes, Merlin,” Dole said in his usual sour tone. “What’s on your mind?”

Brett swallowed and took another sip of coffee, trying not to let his uncle’s naturally abrasive manner get to him.

“What you said last night on the telephone disturbed me. It also disturbed me that you hung up afterward when I asked you to wait while I let in room service with my dinner.”

“I’m not a man accustomed to waiting, Merlin. And I meant what I said about that Osborne woman.”

“Look, Dole, we’ve already gone over all the reasons for handling this matter my way. Mab Osborne is popular. Insisting on a head-to-head confrontation would just generate more sympathy for her cause. Getting people to laugh at her instead of listen to her is the proper approach.”

“The Community Development Department is uneasy about all the mail and telephone calls they’ve received,” Dole said. “I’m getting heat from the chamber of commerce, too.”

“They are reacting to the public opinion Mab Osborne has stirred up. But the chamber can’t stop you, and I’m not letting Community Development withdraw your building permits. They were legally filed and approved and I’m making sure they abide by them.”

“But it’s getting worse every day. I even received a threatening letter from the old fools.”

“I wish you didn’t have to force the seniors out of their center, dear,” Nancy interjected.

Dole turned to his wife, his sour puss and whiny voice in full evidence. “Whose side are you on?” he demanded.

“Yours, of course, dear,” Nancy said, sounding immediately conciliatory. “I just wish there was another way.”

“Was the threatening letter signed?” Brett asked.

“No. But I’m certain it’s on Silver Power League stationery and Mab Osborne sent it.”

“Hand it over to the police. Let them investigate.”

“I’ve already done that. They say it could be weeks before they know,” Scroogen grumbled.

“All these irritations are temporary,” Brett assured him. “Once Mab Osborne has been defused, so will that public opinion.”

“What if your plan doesn’t work? What if she continues to whip up public sentiment against me?”

“After the initial article in this Sunday’s paper, I have three follow-up articles scheduled to be released over the next week with selected excerpts from her ‘Senior-Sex-Talk’ programs.”

“What good will that do?”

“Mab Osborne likes to say shocking things to get her listeners’ attention. Each excerpt I’ve selected is taken out of context and is more sensational than the last. She’ll be so busy defending herself, she’ll have no time to whip up anything. Be patient. These things take time to work, but they do work.”

“And if they don’t?”

“Then I will take the next appropriate step. Mab Osborne is like a fly on your wall, Dole. Its buzzing may be annoying, but we don’t need a shotgun blast to get rid of it. A flyswatter should do the trick.”

“It had better, Merlin.”

Brett didn’t take that kind of sour tone and threatening language from his paying clients, much less from a man he was only representing for the sake of his aunt. Enough was enough. He put down his fork.

“Dole, if you don’t like what I’m doing, then you can go—”

“No!” Nancy interrupted, obviously reading the look on Brett’s face and eager to stop what he would say. She leaned across the table to rest her hand on his.

“No, Brett,” she said in a calmer tone. “Dole is grateful, as I am, for all your help. He’s worked so hard to make this condominium complex happen. It’s the dream of a lifetime. We need you to stand by us to see this dream come true. Isn’t that right, dear?”

Dole deigned to look up from his breakfast.

“Yeah. You do your thing, Merlin, so I can do mine. I need more coffee here, Nancy.”

For once Nancy didn’t obediently jump up. Her hand remained on Brett’s arm, her pleading eyes on his face, waiting for his response. “Brett?”

Brett exhaled a frustrated breath as he nodded.

“The coffee?” Dole’s irritated voice reminded.

Nancy smiled as she rose to her feet. “Coming, dear.”

Brett shook his head as he witnessed the domestic scene. Whoever said someone could become a slave to love knew what he was talking about.

“The city water and sewer lines were connected a day ago,” Scroogen said, sounding pleased for once. “The land should be completely dug out for the underground garage in the next few days. In a week or so, the concrete guys can come in and start on the foundation. Tami, my secretary, is arranging for a ribbon-cutting ceremony. The mayor, the city council, the chamber—everyone who is anyone is being invited.”

“Can I cut the ribbon?” Ronald asked his father, the eagerness and excitement clear in his voice.

“Don’t talk nonsense,” Scroogen said. “Someone important, like the mayor, has to cut the ribbon.”

Brett saw what might have been anger or disappointment or both flare through Ronald’s eyes as he rose to his feet and stalked silently away from the breakfast table.

Dole didn’t even look up from his refilled coffee cup. Although not a fan of Dole’s son, Brett felt sorry for him at that moment. No doubt about it, Scroogen could be pretty damn insensitive.

“So, did you ever find out who the redhead was with those old fogys?” Scroogen asked.

The lady’s stunning face and figure flashed through Brett’s mind and with it a very annoying automatic tightening of the muscles down his back.

“She’s Octavia Osborne,” he said, concentrating his eyes on the swirling coffee in his cup. “Mab’s granddaughter.”

“How did you find out?”

“She came to see me last night just before you called.”

“ Why did she come to see you?”

Brett looked up at the suspicious tone that had entered Dole’s voice. Did this guy trust anybody?

“To try to warn me away,” Brett answered. “Her threats were dramatic, but empty. Neither Mab Osborne nor her granddaughter can stop progress, no matter how much they might want to.”

“So you’re sure this granddaughter can’t cause any trouble?”

“I’m sure,” Brett said, his words replete with confidence. “Octavia Osborne is no one to worry about. The law is on your side, and I’m here to see it’s enforced.”

The telephone blared at the instant Brett had finished giving his client that positive and unwavering assurance. Nancy got up to answer it and brought the cordless receiver to the table to hand to her husband.

“It’s the foreman at the construction site, dear.”

Dole took the phone. “Yeah?”

Brett watched his uncle’s greenish-tinged face turn positively purple. Finally, Dole threw his napkin onto the floor and flew to his feet.

“What?” he yelled into the mouthpiece.