“So you knew Alan Lancaster,” Scooter said.
“I did.”
“Alan belonged to Quaker Hill Country Club with me.” He flashed his teeth again. “Never was much of a golfer, but he was charitable. I always meant to attend one of his fundraisers, but I never did make it. A real shame.”
Wendell wasn’t sure if Scooter meant the deaths of Alan and Anne, or the fact that Scooter had missed the opportunity to visit White Pines until now. He sincerely doubted the man had ever been invited. “It’s all a shame,” Wendell replied. He nodded to the group of engineers. Scooter had asked him enough; now it was his turn. “Are you planning to bid on the estate?”
Scooter chuckled. “I keep my cards close.” Then, “We’ll see. There are nicer properties I’ve got my eye on. In fact, I’m going to see one now, an old farm by Quaker Lake.”
Wendell knew the property. A childhood friend had grown up on that farm; his elderly parents still lived there. “I didn’t know that place was for sale.”
Scooter Dunham lowered his sunglasses. “Everything is for sale.”
Wendell had heard enough. “Excuse me,” he said. He flicked the button, and the trimmer buzzed to life. Wendell swung the machine in a clean arc over the top of the boxwoods, shearing off the top layer in one sharp swoop. Scooter hopped to the side as a jet of shorn twig and leaf sprayed the air between them. When Wendell was young, listening to his father talk about the working of town politics, about governing boards and committees, regulations and rules, it all sounded so honorable. But as Wendellgrew up, he learned the truth. No matter the might of the rules or regulations, or the value of the things they stood to protect, what Scooter Dunham said was not wrong: for the right price, almost everything was for sale.
The day turned unbearably humid, and by the time he finished work, he was filthy and fatigued. All he wanted was a shower and a cold beer. But both would have to wait.
He saw them the moment he pulled into his driveway: up at the barn, a group of kids. Julia turned and waved. Wendell waited in the truck as she jogged to his window. “Hey,” she said, a huge smile on her face.
He was irritable and tired, his conversation with Candace fresh on his mind. “I’m not sure your being here is a good idea right now. After the other night. And now with the hearing coming up. I have a job to keep.”
Julia ignored this. “Oh, good! You got the hearing notice.”
Wendell pushed the truck door open impatiently. “I still don’t understand why I was summoned. We’ve already been over the guardianship thing. The person you need is not me.”
“I know, which is why I’m still looking for someone else,” she said. “The judge just wants to talk to everyone involved.”
“Involved. Exactly what I was trying not to be.”
Julia switched the subject. “So, I brought some friends to help today.” She turned and pointed as if he had not already seen the two teens loitering outside his barn.
Wendell followed her gaze. “Help with what?”
“The barn,” she said. “The paddock came out so well, I figured we could help you build a better stall for Raddy. He needs a real door. I saw some plywood in the corner, and Sam brought a set of hinges he found in his garage. I looked online to figure it out. See?” She held up a sketch.
Wendell glanced at it but kept walking. “Too hot today,” he said.
“But they’re free today. And we biked all the way over.”
Wendell spun around. “Julia. I said not today.”
“But—”
“But nothing! That’s hard work, and it requires all kinds of supervision. They’re just a bunch of kids. And I’m not a babysitter.”
“There’s just two of them, Sam and Chloe. She’s my best friend I’m always telling you about. Anyway, Sam is really strong, and they’re both hard workers. We can do it all, if you’re tired, and you can just watch from the patio or wherever. Or not at all.”
“Dammit, Julia. I said no.”
Her face fell. Instantly, he regretted it. But he could not give in. All around him, the things he’d built to ensure his work, secure his house in this town, and protect his peace of mind were coming down. What he really needed was to be alone. “Now, please, tell your friends I’m too busy, and take them home.”
He left her standing there and stalked up the walkway and up the porch steps. As he sat to unlace his work boots, he could feel her staring at him. Too bad she hadn’t been at the house when Scooter Dunham was standing in her front yard; even he couldn’t have withstood the withering look of a teenage girl. “You’re a real grump, you know that?”
Wendell tugged off his boots. He just wanted to get in the house. Turn up the air-conditioning.
“Fine,” she said finally, hands on her hips. “I’ll tell them you’re ungrateful and they should go home. But I’m building a stall.”
“Build whatever you want,” he said, rising and pulling the screen door ajar. “Just leave me out of it.”
