“But it was more than twenty years between the soil study and his death.” He reached for the report and checked the date. “Could he have come back for more money?”
“Maybe. A lot of it doesn’t make sense to me.” As frustration and shame melded with exhaustion, she lowered her head. “I still can’t believe that it was all just a land scheme for oil.”
“Not oil.Money. Isn’t that what everything comes down to?”
“Apparently, it did for Stan,” she groused, then rubbed her eyes.
“And all his friends, who were probably listed on the originals of those documents before some clever copying.” He indicated the large amount of white space at the bottom of one.
“So it’s clear why Riley’s emails never included the biblical quote about love of money being the root of all evil,” she said with a smirk.
“That would’ve been off-brand.” He brushed his chin, with a full weekend of stubble between his thumb and forefinger. “Mount Isabel is nice and all, but can you imagine how great it would have been if the village had owned the property, instead of Bilton, when oil was discovered?”
Rachel’s neck warmed. Mick hadn’t mentioned Stan’s name, but that didn’t change the truth that her father and his likely co-conspirators had stolen all those possibilities from every village citizen and even those from neighboring cities who could have benefited from those buildings or services.
“All those grants from the Bilton Foundation that everyone drooled over for nearly forty years were really just consolation prizes,” she said. “The people in that assisted-living center could have enjoyed their senior years with dignity for free.”
“But if the village purchased the land and built on it instead of choosing an alternate site for that center, oil wouldn’t have been discovered at all, and there would have been no gifts.”
Rachel rolled her eyes at him. “It’s a little late for finding silver linings. Ben Morrison also wouldn’t have been dead.”
“There is that.”
“I remember Stan saying he used to serve on the village council before my parents were married. Wonder who convinced them to seek an alternate location.” She lifted a hand to stop him from offering an obvious guess. “And even if land outside the city was dirt cheap in the ’80s, how did he come up with the money to buy it in the first place?”
“With a little help from his friends, I suspect. The same ones who have ensured that only your dad’s name is on everything.”
“Good friends.” She sat straighter as she realized that, like Mick, she still wanted to defend Stan. Even with all the documents showing that she shouldn’t cling to her belief in him.
“Speaking of money, what do you think your dad did with it? His place is nice, at least what I’ve seen of it, but it isn’t a palace.”
“That’s what I’ve been trying to figure out” She pointed to the soil study that they’d moved to a stack all on its own. “We weren’t rich. Riley would tell you the same thing.”
“At least you didn’t live like it.”
Her jaw tightened, and she crossed her arms, but then she dropped her hands to her lap and lowered her chin to her chest. “I guess that’s what I meant. We always had everything we needed, but not necessarily everything we wanted.”
“Did you have a few special things? Nice but not too nice? Paid for with cash?”
She closed her eyes, mining her memories for images. When she opened them again, her gaze landed on the emerald ring on her right hand.
“Oh no.” Her stomach roiling, she covered her mouth with both hands and ran for the kitchen sink. No way would she make it to the half bath past the back door.
Though she managed to avoid decorating the sink with secondhand coffee and bile, she was still leaning over it, her face covered with sweat, when Mick approached and rested a comforting hand on her shoulder. Her throat filled, and her eyes burned. He probably thought she would shake off his touch when what she wanted to do was throw herself into his arms and sob.
Without asking where to locate anything, he moved to her cabinet and pulled out a glass. He’d been in her kitchen before, though suddenly it seemed like a lifetime ago. After twisting the faucet to the side of the sink, away from her, and filling the glass with water, he held it out to her.
“Here. Drink this if you think you can keep it down.”
She lifted her head and waited for another wave of nausea to pour over her. Once she believed she could trust her stomach, she straightened and took it from him, touching it first to her warm cheek before taking a sip. After a few more seconds, she took another.
“Thanks.”
“You okay?” he asked though they both knew she wasn’t.
He reached for her hand and guided her back to the table. Only after he’d pushed her chair in did he return to his.
With her fingers splayed, she stared down at the ring, letting her memory of joy swell first and then burst like a popped balloon. Another lie. She ripped it off her finger and whipped it across the table. Mick caught it before it could roll to the floor.
