Page 52 of Mending Fences
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
“But, Mr. Crawford, I have a few more touches to add to your apartment.” No mistaking the New Jersey accent of the high-pitched voice.
Those touches worried Daniel. “Please, you have done enough. I’m quite happy with the interior as it is. Will you please send me your final invoice?”
“Are you quite sure? The bedroom could use some more color.”
“Positive. It is perfect.”
Another call beeped through. Morgan. “Thank you. I do need to go.” He switched over to the new call.
“Daniel, why did you fly out to Indiana yesterday? Couldn’t you have called?” The exasperation in his lawyer’s voice filled the room.
“I thought I would get there before the protest started. I didn’t think a news van would come to blink-and-you-miss-it Indiana to record fifty people protesting. They had no way of knowing I was there before I announced myself.” He knew that wasn’t the truth. He’d wanted to see Amanda and thought he would have the opportunity after shutting down Candace’s rally before it started.
“Well, one thing good came of this. That mock-up your girl did of the refinery has gotten attention. People don’t want it. And as far as other news, the clerk over in the courthouse in the county to the north managed to dig up the missing document. Apparently there is an agreement going back to your great-grandfather at the end of the Great War. The bottom line is that the Fowler property can be passed from generation to generation of Fowlers but not sold to anyone but the Crawford heir, and the sections of land not used must remain in their natural state. In the sixties, there was some question about the deed, a second sale of the land occurred for one dollar to register the deed properly. How the documents ended up in the wrong courthouse is anyone’s guess.”
“So George Fowler had no right to sell it?”
“Correct. The other thing is, we are relatively confident the signatures that allowed the property to leave the trust were forged. But we need to talk to Miss Fowler to be certain.”
The new couch was as comfortable as the toilet-paper one. “What does this mean for the Fowler property now?”
“Well, we can contest the sale, and I think we will win. I have no idea what the current owner will do, but they will probably go back to Fowler and demand their money back. But we need to have Mandy listed as one of the plaintiffs since the last legal transaction was to the trust in her name.”
“You know she isn’t talking to me?”
Morgan’s dry laugh came over the phone. “I heard. Good luck.”
According to his watch, he needed to leave for court for the opening statements in half an hour. So far the media had not picked up on the fact he was testifying on behalf of the hotel, not the Vandemarks. The gossip rags had been too busy following his social life to focus on the reason he was in the Big Apple in the first place. The next three days should be interesting.
While he waited for the car service, he opened the scan of the original Fowler sales contract and began to read.
Another phone message from Daniel. At least he had come up with a new angle, but using Grandma Mae was low. Mandy deleted the message like she had two others since last night. He should know the meaning of good-bye.
It was best if they stayed out of each other’s lives. Of course, it was difficult to forget him when Mr. Alexander stood in the doorway of her classroom, arms folded over his chest. Mandy waited for him to say something or leave.
“You really can go. My room looks fine.”
Mr. Alexander gave a mock salute. “I’ll be around.”
Mandy wondered if he had a first name, but it wouldn’t matter. Hopefully by tomorrow he would be gone.
Nothing out of the ordinary happened during her first three classes. During her prep hour, she completed the cleaned-up version of the mansion from a different angle, adding different landscaping and painting the wood trim a warm gray. She glanced at her clock. If she hurried, she had time to collect her mail before lunch. She still had the untouched blueberry bagel from breakfast in her desk. The room tilted as she stood. Skipping breakfast had been a bad idea.
Drat! Coach Robb was the only person in the room. At least she only needed to get her mail. Reaching into her cubby, she suddenly felt his breath on her neck. “So, I see you are in the market for a real man. Mr. Money Bags doesn’t seem to want you.”
Mandy cringed. Should she hit her panic button? She turned, keeping her handful of papers up as a shield. “Back off.”
“Darlin’, don’t go all frigid on me.” He put his giant hand on her shoulder, pulling her shirt forward in the process, his eyes dropping to her chest.
“Please move.” She pulled the papers back to cover her gaping blouse and tried to step to the side.
His hand moved to the side of her neck. “Baby, I—owwww!”
Suddenly he disappeared.
No, he was bent over a table, one arm twisted around his back. Where Mandy expected to see Mr. Alexander, a tall, athletic brunette stood. “Perhaps my boss wasn’t very clear last week. Leave Miss Fowler alone.” The woman stepped back.
