Lock, Stock, and Over a Barrel Page 5

  Chapter 5

  After he hung up, Jake apologized for the interruption but offered no explanation for who Jenna was. And really, why should he? And why should she care?

  “Do you want to finish up our condensed version of your grandmother’s will?”

  “If you have time.” She glanced at her watch to see that it was getting close to six. “Maybe you need to be home for dinner.”

  “I think we can wrap this up in about five minutes. There are only two other conditions.” He held up two fingers. “Which brings us to the second one. Fortunately, it’s fairly straightforward. Dee wanted you to live in her house and take care of Lucy and Ethel for the rest of their natural lives. After that, you are free to sell the house if you want.”

  “That’s not too much to ask.”

  “Really?” He looked surprised. “You don’t mind moving back to Appleton? I thought you adored living in New York. That’s what Dee told me.”

  “I used to . . . but I actually think I’m ready for a change. Just being here these past few days has made me appreciate Appleton in a brand new way.” She sighed. “You know, I think I was secretly wishing for this.”

  He released a relieved smile. “This is going better than I expected.”

  “So, is that it? Anymore strings?”

  “Just one more.” He seemed to grimace. “However, this one might be problematic.”

  “What?”

  “And believe me, I really tried to talk Dee out of this one. We went around and around for quite some time because I thought it unreasonable. But that iron will of hers had kicked in and she wouldn’t back down.”

  “What?”

  “I honestly hate to tell you.”

  “What is it?” Daphne pressed. “Just get it over with—like ripping off a bandage.”

  He nodded grimly. “Dee stipulated that within one year of signing the agreement to inherit her entire estate, you must get married. Or else you will lose her house and her column and—”

  “What?” Daphne felt angry now. “Is that even legal?”

  He sighed. “It was her estate, Daphne. She could do with it as she pleased. This was what she wanted.”

  “But why?” Daphne hit the table. “Why would she do something like that? It seems heartless. And mean.”

  “More than anything Dee wanted you to be happy. She hoped you would fall in love and get married, within her lifetime.”

  “Oh . . .” Daphne remembered the conversations she’d had with Aunt Dee about Ryan . . . back when Daphne was still oblivious and in love. Aunt Dee had been so thrilled for her. She’d even talked about hosting a wedding in her house, saying how lovely the roses would look in June.

  Daphne had never told her the truth, that Ryan was married. In fact, she’d never really told her about the breakup. She didn’t want to disappoint her. But over the years, she simply assumed that Aunt Dee would figure things out. After all, Daphne never mentioned Ryan’s name anymore. She never brought him home for a holiday. Wouldn’t it have been obvious?

  “For some reason Dee was convinced that you would be happiest if you were married. I suppose this was just her way of helping you.”

  “So that’s it? What I have to do to remain in her house?” Daphne bit her lip. This was so ridiculous. Why was she even having this conversation? It was impossible. “Well, I’m sorry, but that’s asking too much. Way too much.”

  “I know.” He nodded. “I agree.”

  “How can I promise such a thing? It would be disingenuous on my part.” She twisted the napkin between her fingers. “And how could she even ask it of me?”

  “I’m sure it’s because she regretted never marrying. She confided to me it was the one thing about her life she never fully resolved herself to. She said she had pretended to be content in her singlehood, but if she could’ve done it again differently, she would have. And she was afraid you were going to make the same mistakes that she made.”

  “But she seemed truly happy to me. She was in control of her life. She lived it on her own terms.”

  “Part of her act, I’m sure. And as she got older . . . and she saw you getting older—not that you’re old.” He smiled. “But Dee worried that she’d set you a bad example. Just last Christmas, she confided to me that she always wished she’d married her college love—the father of her child.”

  “Oh . . .” Daphne sighed.

  He straightened the stack of papers on the table. “Dee was the most eccentric client I ever had. And I’m sure going to miss her. But I promised to do all I could to ensure that you inherit her estate, Daphne. That’s what she wanted.”

  “Well, as much as I’d love to live in her house . . . and to care for the cats . . . and even write the advice column, it feels impossible. Seriously, how can she expect me to get married within a year? I don’t even have a boyfriend.”

  “You don’t?”

  “No. I don’t.” She narrowed her eyes.

  “Dee seemed to think you did. She thought you’d been involved with the same man for quite some time. She hoped this would encourage you to tie the knot.”

  “Well, she was wrong. I haven’t been in a serious relationship for years. I might not have told her about the breakup, but it was only because I didn’t want to worry her.”

  “Maybe if she’d known about your current dating status, you know before she died, maybe she would’ve left that part out.” He shrugged. “Or maybe not. As I said, her mind seemed to be made up. Regardless, it doesn’t change anything.”

  “So when did she actually make this will?”

  His brow creased. “Originally? Oh, about seven years ago, as I recall. We made a few revisions here and there. Don’t worry, it’s all still very official.”

  “And if I don’t marry?” Daphne set the twisted napkin down. “It all goes to the Cat House?”

  He nodded.

  “Oh, those lucky kitties.”

  “But you have a whole year, Daphne. You can live in her house and write her column . . . and who knows what might happen a year from now?” He smiled. “You’re an attractive, intelligent woman. What guy wouldn’t be happy to snag you?”

  She rolled her eyes. “You sound like my dad now. Trying to get me married off.”

  “Thanks. I’ll take that as a compliment.”

  The wheels were turning in her brain. Or maybe it was the caffeine making her mind spin. “So, let me play devil’s advocate. Say I found someone . . . someone I could pretend to love, someone who I could pay to pretend to love me . . . and what if I married this person just to inherit the estate—then divorced him afterward?” Even as she said this, she knew it went against everything she believed. She couldn’t do it to Aunt Dee or to herself.

  “Well, as you read the will in its entirety, which I encourage you to do as soon as possible, you’ll see everything is clearly stated. You must legitimately fall in love and marry. And she made me promise to hold you to it. And even though I feel it’s a bit unfair to you, I will honor my promise to her.”

  She let out a long sigh. “Are there any other strings?”

  “As a matter of fact, there is a little something you should know about. Not exactly a string. Just a rather interesting ingredient of Dee’s rather interesting estate.”

  “What?” She braced herself.

  “Have you ever heard of Penelope Poindexter?”

  She frowned, trying to remember why the name was familiar. “It rings a bell, but I have no idea why.”

  “Penelope Poindexter is a certain romance writer who became popular during the sixties and remained popular into the midnineties. She wrote about a couple dozen books.”

  “Now that you mention it, I do recall that name. I’m sure I’ve seen her books in grocery stores. And probably even in Aunt Dee’s house. As I recal
l, she liked reading those pulpy bodice-ripper sorts of paperbacks. I suppose it was how she took a break from all that technical writing she did.”

  “Did you ever read any Poindexter books?”

  Daphne wrinkled her nose. “No, of course not, never. As a child I preferred the classics. Now I prefer mysteries. Penelope Poindexter was definitely not my cup of tea.”

  “Well, Penelope Poindexter was a pseudonym.”

  “Yes, it rather sounds like a pen name.”

  “A pen name for Dee Ballinger.”

  Daphne’s jaw dropped, but she was too stunned to speak.

  He just nodded. “Yep, you heard me right.”

  “Seriously? You’re saying Aunt Dee wrote steamy romance books?”

  He chuckled. “Yep.”

  “Those sleazy-looking books with bare-chested pirates and busty maidens in distress, those were written by my aunt—I mean my grandmother?”

  “That’s right.”

  “But I don’t understand.” Her voice grew weak, almost like a little girl. “I thought she wrote textbooks or instruction manuals or something respectable . . . and boring.”

  “Everyone thought that.”

  “So she wrote Dear Daphne but kept that a secret . . . and she wrote romance novels and kept them secret . . . she was really my grandmother, but she kept that secret.” Daphne put a hand to her forehead—this was all starting to make her head throb.

  “Dee concealed her identity at the recommendation of the newspaper back in the forties. This is a small town and the editor wanted local folks to feel comfortable writing to an anonymous Daphne. And she did a fabulous job of keeping it all under wraps. No one has ever guessed she was Daphne Delacorte of Dear Daphne. Then when Dee contracted her first romance novel back in the sixties, she was concerned about how friends and family would react if this became commonly known. Again, it was the small town concern. And to be fair, consider your own reaction just now. Multiply that times the population of Appleton.”

  “I suppose that makes sense.”

  “And as you can imagine, it was important to Dee that you continue to protect her anonymity. As well as your own.”

  “I don’t think that will be a problem.” Daphne couldn’t imagine wanting to tell anyone about the smutty Poindexter books. “Although there’s my dad . . . it seems a little unfair to leave him in the dark. Do you really think I should continue keeping all this from him too?”

  “I guess that’s up to you. I’m sure you wouldn’t do anything to disrespect Dee’s memory. She felt certain you would know how to handle all this.”

  “I wish I had as much confidence . . .”

  “And there’s one more thing.”

  A rush of panic blazed through her. What more could he possibly dump on her? Perhaps Aunt Dee had been a double agent working for the CIA.

  “You should know that Dee’s estate consists of more than just her house and her cats and the advice column.” He laid a bulky manila envelope in front of her now. “It’s all summarized in here, statements and bank records. You see, Dee still gets royalties on some of her books and they’ve actually been picking up with the recent e-book craze.”

  “Oh . . .” Daphne was relieved that Aunt Dee hadn’t been involved in international espionage. She slid the other papers into the envelope. She would have lots of reading to do tonight.

  “Your grandmother left you a fairly hefty inheritance.”

  Daphne sighed. “You mean if I should marry? Otherwise the Cat House will be building some very deluxe kitty suites. Or maybe they can outfit their cats in diamond-studded collars. Perhaps install an indoor pool, although most cats don’t go in much for swimming.”

  He looked slightly amused as he held his palms up in a helpless gesture. “I’m sorry there’s nothing I can do to change that. I suppose, as they say, therein lies the rub.”

  Daphne picked up the thick envelope, still trying to absorb all the information Jake had disclosed. Aunt Dee was not her aunt but her grandmother, as well as Daphne Delacorte, and she wrote steamy romance books? It felt crazy. Certifiably nuts. But the wildest part of all of this was the expectation that Daphne could fall in love and get married within a year’s time. Only a crazed romance writer could possibly conjure up such a twisted plot.

  Jake’s brow creased as he looked at his watch.

  “I’m sorry to keep you so long.” Daphne stood. “I know you’ve got something you need to do this evening.”

  “It’s all right.” He closed his briefcase and stood. Smiling, he straightened his tie. “I knew this was going to take some time. It’s a lot to take in.”

  “Well, I appreciate you taking the time to explain things.” She forced a stiff smile. “And I appreciate that you were a friend to Aunt Dee . . . I mean, my grandmother.” She started for the door, still feeling a bit like she’d just gone through the looking glass.

  “And if you have any questions about anything in that packet, feel free to call,” he told her as they went outside. “My business card is in there. After you’ve had a chance to read everything, I have some papers for you to sign.”

  She thanked him, but as he opened the car door for her, she waved her hand. “No, thanks. I can walk home. You go do whatever it is you need to do.”

  “You’re sure?”

  She nodded. “A walk might help clear my head.”

  His face broke into a relieved smile. “Great. Jenna will appreciate that.”

  She waved and said good-bye, and with the oversized envelope under her arm, she continued on down Main Street. She knew it was none of her business, but she was mildly curious as to who Jenna was—wife, girlfriend, fiancée? But more than that she was curious as to how she would present this strange news to her father. Because he had a right to know. He would want to know. And besides, she needed someone to talk to.

  She was ready to call him and ask if he’d like to have dinner with her, but realized that in her haste to exit Aunt Dee’s house, before her relatives strung up a rope to lynch the unexpected heiress, she hadn’t thought to grab her purse.

  She walked past several businesses that were closed for the day. But when she came to Midge’s Diner and delicious smells wafted her way, she realized that she’d barely eaten today. So caught up in getting things ready and playing hostess, she hardly touched the food.

  If she had her purse, she’d be tempted to go into Midge’s Diner and order takeout, but that seemed extravagant in light of the fridge full of food at home. Of course, the irony of her being concerned about extravagance in light of Aunt Dee’s generosity—at least for the year anyway—did not escape her. Perhaps her best way to get even with an eccentric aunt (a.k.a. grandmother) would be to live it up for the next twelve months. She could travel the world, buy a new wardrobe, get herself a Porsche, dine on caviar and champagne for breakfast, rent a yacht. . . . However, she knew herself well enough to know she wouldn’t do any of these things.

  Aunt Dee had her pegged. She must’ve known that Daphne’s careful, conservative nature would play right into her diabolical plan. Daphne would not waste a penny of Aunt Dee’s money. She would take excellent care of her cats. She would do her best to continue the advice column.

  As for marriage . . . well she had 365 days to figure that out. And perhaps it was true that miracles still happened. God was capable of doing anything—but would he want to help her find a husband in order to keep a house? She wasn’t sure.

  The only thing she felt certain about was that it would take a miracle to satisfy the conditions of Aunt Dee’s will.

  Chapter 6

  Daphne was relieved to see Dad’s sedan was still parked in Aunt Dee’s driveway but dismayed to see that a shiny yellow Mustang convertible, with its top down, was now parked behind it. Hopefully it didn’t belong to one of her irate relatives, lingering on t
o give her a piece of their mind. It wouldn’t surprise her if Martin owned a showy car like that.

  “Hello?” she called as she entered the house. “Dad, are you still here?”

  “Back here.” He stuck his head out of the kitchen. “I didn’t see a car drive up. Didn’t Jake drive you home?”

  “No, he had to meet someone named Jenna.”

  “Oh, that’s his daughter. She’s a real sweetheart.” Dad stepped aside as she came into the kitchen. “And Jake’s a devoted dad.”

  Daphne looked around to see that the countertops and stove and even the deep white sink was sparkling. “You finished cleaning up for me?”

  “Last load’s in there.” Dad pointed at the dishwasher.

  “But I could’ve done it.”

  “It’s okay. Karen helped me.”

  Karen joined them. “This is such a fabulous kitchen,” she told Daphne. “Especially considering the age of this house. Your aunt put a lot of money into top-of-the-line appliances and finishes. It’s all just stellar. And yet she never compromised the integrity of the house.” She patted the Wolf gas stove. “This baby alone will fetch you top dollar if you decide to list.”

  “Karen says the timing is good to sell a house like this. There aren’t many on the market right now,” Dad told her. “I let her look around and she was impressed with how well Dee maintained the place.”

  “Yes,” Karen said eagerly. “It wouldn’t take much to get this place ready for an open house. Just thinning out some personal things. And I have a gal who could do that for you. But right now the yard and flower beds look fabulous. And summer buyers are just starting to shop.”

  “I told Karen you planned to head back to New York on Wednesday,” Dad said. “That’s when your flight’s booked, right?”

  Daphne set the big envelope down on the pine kitchen table, then sat on one of the wooden chairs, letting out a long, weary sigh. “It seems my plans have changed.”

  “Really?” Dad hung up the dish towel, then came over to peer curiously at her. “Are you okay, honey? You look tired.”