Deep Dixie Page 7

  “I thought I’d taught you better.” Lettie cocked her head, the hair crowning her old head looking more like the worn- away nap of an ancient plush animal than the thick, silver plaits it had been in Dixie’s childhood. “Now, I do love your folks like I’d love my own kin, lamb. I loved your mama and her brother Young Bobby next to as much as I loved my own dear child, Helen Betty and you know the truth of what I’m saying.”

  Actually, Dixie could not recall ever having met Miss Lettie’s daughter, and her memories of her mother and uncle had faded considerably since the accident that took their lives so many years ago. She did know that Lettie carried her share of grief and regret over that accident, and that it had caused a rift in Lettie’s own family that had never been repaired.

  “I love Miss Sis and the Judge.” Lettie never called Dixie’s grandfather by his most common family nickname, Smilin’ Bob. “Miss Sis and the Judge and me, we share us a bond that no one else can fathom. But that don’t mean I want to see you go on and try to be like them.”

  “No, ma’am.”

  “I truly believed you want to be good and honest and fair. I believed you want to be like your mama, and like your great-grandfather, and like your daddy could be when he set his heart on it.”

  Strong praise coming from someone who had seen this family’s foibles and failings as close as any human ever could. Yet Miss Lettie remained, for all intents and purposes, an outsider. That she thought so highly of Dixie after all she had seen and undoubtedly kept secret, touched Dixie deeply.

  Dixie dropped her gaze to the page she’d written. She loved those words. She loved the way she had crafted and carefully formed them. She loved the image they presented of the South, a place inextricably intertwined with this house, her family, and Miss Lettie herself.

  The slanting shafts of light around them caught specks of dust and made them sparkle. God alone knew what made up those tiny flecks, bits of human skin and animal dander and things far too disgusting to dwell on overlong. Yet in the right light they glistened like diamonds. Dixie traced the perfect script in the open book with her fingertips. The crisp paper fought back at first then came tearing free of the binding with a glorious, low ripping sound that actually made Dixie gasp aloud in satisfaction.

  As the page slid quietly to the floor, she picked up her pen and began again, reading aloud as she did to make sure she got it right. ‘“Since I first came to Fulton’s Dominion, Mississippi, over seventy years ago, I can’t recall a day when I didn’t sweat.’“

  “Yes, I do believe you have it in you yet.” Lettie hummed a few bars of some faraway lullaby, one eye narrowed on Dixie for what seemed an eternity. “Yes, ma’am, I believe it almost enough to trust you with the stone truth of my life’s story. Almost.”

  Chapter Six

  “A partner? As in equal ownership?” Riley rubbed the palm of his hand down his nearly new, neatly pressed jeans. He shifted his shoulders, constrained now in his best sport coat. He hooked his finger inside the collar of his stiff, white shirt, straightened his tie. “You cannot possibly be telling me you want me to become a full partner in the Fulton family operation.”

  Howard Greenhow, sitting behind a desk larger than some

  Southern voting precincts, smiled in a way so patronizing that when he opened his mouth to speak, Riley immediately cut him off. He had no intention of sitting through whatever sales pitch, flattery, or outright runaround would accompany such a look.

  “I don’t have the kind of money it takes to become an equal partner in the Fulton’s businesses.” Riley went straight for the one point he knew would grab this smarmy lawyer’s attention. “When I spoke to Mr. Fulton-Leigh, he only wanted to sell 25 percent tops. And he was only doing that so he could set his daughter up with a broader-based support system for the distant future.”

  That was a bond the two men had shared, a single- minded drive and gut-level sense of obligation to do the right thing for their daughters.

  “I completely understand.” Without taking his eyes off Riley, Greenhow tapped at the corner of a silver picture frame as if to show his total agreement with that fatherly sentiment.

  Riley cocked his head and blinked. Either this lawyer had one of the hairiest children in the world or the man had entirely failed to notice that of all the photos of smiling kids and posed family portraits scattered on his expansive desk, he’d just patted one of a golden retriever with its tongue hanging out.

  Riley leaned back in a vain attempt to make himself more comfortable in his straight-backed chair. “My point is that Mr. Fulton-Leigh clearly stated that he, and I can only assume his daughter after his death, would always maintain controlling interest. What you’re saying to me now—”

  Greenhow held up his hands. “Let me stop you right there.”

  The lawyer’s hands were soft and pudgy. Clearly the man had never done a hard day of blistering manual labor in his life. Riley stuffed his own rough, calloused fingers into his jeans pockets.

  “First, let me clear up a little, Mr. Walker. The Fulton family descendants basically own three businesses, each separately held.” Greenhow flashed three sausage-like fingers, as he stood and plopped three file folders down, announcing the name clearly printed on each one as it landed on the side of the desk nearest Riley. “Fulton’s Fine Furniture Manufacturing. Fulton’s Fine Furniture Outlet Store. Fulton’s Cartage, Delivery, and Transport.”

  “This is all very interesting, but—”

  “That’s the gem, there.” Greenhow stabbed one finger at the last folder. “Fulton’s Cartage. Lucky for you, this is the one I can promise to get you controlling interest in. It’s the one you want. The true seat of power in the Fulton empire.”

  Riley chuckled and raised a questioning eyebrow. “Empire?”

  Greenhow chuckled, too. “That’s how John Frederick ran his businesses, my friend, and pretty much this little town. Like they made up his own private kingdom. He saw himself as the benevolent, but indisputable, ruler.”

  Riley leaned forward.

  Greenhow took that as a sign to continue. “Wasn’t anything new in that, as you can probably guess from the town’s name. One family has dominated our history, social pecking order, and economy for the better part of the last century.”

  “Nothing wrong with that, I guess.” Riley tried to read the lawyer’s eyes but couldn’t get a fix on the man’s point. “It’s not the only small town in Mississippi where things worked out that way.”

  “No, indeed it’s not. And as long as things are...working out, as you say, I suppose there’s no reason to monkey with success. However, if things begin to go astray, then it’s up to those who can to step in and take whatever measures deemed necessary to get things back on the…” he paused to make quotation marks in the air, “…right track.”

  Riley had wasted his time even coming here today. He suspected as much when Greenhow’s first suggestions had gone so far afield of the things Riley had discussed with John Frederick before his death. Partnerships? Empire? Those who can...taking whatever measures necessary...back on the “right track”? This man was on a power trip or something equally nonproductive or potentially disastrous. Riley wanted no part of that.

  With his credibility and judgment about to come under intense scrutiny in Wendy’s adoption case, he could not afford to get involved with anything messy or circumspect. Not that he would in any case, but right now so much as the hint of duplicity had him on edge, ready to cut bait and run.

  “Do you get what I’m saying, Mr. Walker?”

  “Sure. You’re saying you don’t agree with the way John Frederick’s heirs are running things.” He shifted his classic black cowboy boots over the thick carpet. “You obviously expected to have more input in things when you told me the deal was a no go, but you got edged out of the power position somehow.”

  Greenhow shifted his gaze away, saying nothing.

  Riley snorted a chuckle at that nonverbal confirmation. “So you just thought you’d
try to stir things up, bring in an outsider who might have a better chance of doing things to your liking. Or who, because you helped him buy into a very lucrative business opportunity, would be in your debt, feel obliged to use your law firm, or short of that, throw some other business or favors your way somewhere along the line. Is that about right, Mr. Greenhow?”

  “What is about right, Mr. Walker, is that a big ol’ chunk of this town’s economy depends on the success of these three concerns.” He spread his hand over the file folders. “And Dixie Fulton-Leigh cannot manage them all by herself. Her own father knew that. He knew that when the time came she’d need someone like you to be ready to help her. You just said yourself that’s what he told you when he first contacted you about making some kind of deal.”

  “That deal was just a small slice of a big pie.” Riley’s voice rose but he maintained a controlled quality that suited the surroundings of the plush lawyer’s office. One thing he could not afford was to be thrown out of this place for appearing threatening and have it come back to haunt him in Wendy’s adoption. “The deal I discussed with your late client never involved partnerships, seats of power, or controlling interests in the gem of the empire. And it certainly did not include rescuing any incompetent maidens in distress.”

  “Things have changed.”

  “And not for the better.” Riley stood to leave. “Why on earth would I sink my hard-earned money into a company you’re leading me to believe is on a slippery downward slope?”

  “Because you have to.”

  Riley couldn’t decide if the man was that desperate, that sure of his plan, or just completely out of his cotton-picking mind. Or could it be that he knew something about Riley’s personal predicament? That thought blindsided him with such force that he dropped back into his seat.

  “I’m listening. Why do you think I have to invest in Fulton’s Cartage?” Riley made a show of checking his watch. “And make it short. I don’t want to impose on your secretary to watch my daughter too much longer.”

  “My secretary doesn’t mind, I assure you.” He patted his fingertips together. “I suspect that right about now they’ve finished their walk around the square and are settling in at the drugstore lunch counter for a soda.”

  “Just hit the high points, bring me up to speed, then get to the part where I have to make this investment and why.”

  “Fair enough.” He nodded. “In 1965 my father did the legal work that set Fulton’s Manufacturing up in business.”

  “Too far back.” Riley shook his head and shuffled his feet like he was getting ready to go.

  “A few years later—” Greenhow spoke more quickly as if he hoped his speed could make up for the length of his backstroke. “A few years later, it became clear that using independent trucking companies to deliver the manufactured goods was not cost-effective. John Frederick’s money was tied up, so he could not fund a new venture. But his in-laws could.”

  Riley sat back in his chair and kicked his leg up so that one boot rested atop his knee. “I see.”

  “So George R. Cunningham and his wife, Samantha Fulton Cunningham, opened the trucking company to service the needs of the furniture manufacturer. Years later, their son pitched in a part of his inheritance to open the outlet store. Three separate businesses, three separate but cooperative owners, one man in charge of them all.”

  “You mean one woman in charge, don’t you?”

  “Not if I can help it.”

  “Beg your pardon?” Suddenly without even knowing this Dixie woman, Riley felt like standing up for her. Maybe it was because he had heard the raw power of fatherly love in John Frederick’s tone when he’d spoken of his concern for his only child. Maybe it was because Riley had formed an earnest admiration for the late Mr. Fulton-Leigh in their brief but intense conversations. Or maybe he just wanted to send a message to Howard Greenhow that he wasn’t impressed or influenced by the lawyer’s snide superiority.

  “If you have something to say, Mr. Greenhow...” Riley drew himself up, knowing that years of working at his own sawmill had given him an intimidating build. He’d long ago perfected a look so hard it could make burly men with chainsaws in their hands step back. “I suggest you say it outright and plain.”

  “I can’t say it any plainer than I already have. Dixie cannot run all three operations.” He spun his chair around and thumped his fist repeatedly on the desk pad. “She lacks the training, the intuitive skills, the willingness to give 200 percent and then some to make it all work.”

  “Excuse me for seeming dense here, but why does she have to? Why can’t the people who actually own the companies run them? Or why can’t someone be hired to run the businesses for them, if they either can’t or don’t want to do it themselves?”

  “Ahh, yes! I knew you were a man with a good head on his shoulders, a man of action—”

  “A man who is running out of patience.” Riley put his hand to the arm of the chair as if ready to push himself up and hit the door.

  Greenhow leapt to his feet. “Someone can be brought in to run the trucking division, Mr. Walker.” The lawyer’s breathing grew quick and shallow and his eyes glittered like a predator moving in for the kill. He rounded the desk and planted himself between Riley and the only exit in the office. “The money is available for that kind of thing, and even more could be found by someone with the wisdom to use his resources creatively and the courage to make hardline decisions.”

  Riley felt like he should be humming some patriotic anthem to accompany Greenhow’s impassioned speech.

  “In fact, that very thing should have happened years ago, but one thing stopped it.”

  The lawyer paused, as if he actually expected Riley to play into his melodramatic presentation by asking “what?” When Riley simply sat and scowled, Greenhow leaned in close and whispered, “Pride.”

  Riley gave no reaction.

  The ruddy-faced man straightened and whirled around, pacing as he surged on. “Despite the potential harm to their own net worth, the economy of this town, and the quality of life for their friends and neighbors, this one family has always been just too proud to let anyone else come in and help.” He stopped, pivoted, and pointed right at Riley. “Until you.”

  “Me?”

  “You are the first outsider John Frederick ever so much as considered bringing on board. It’s his vote of confidence that makes you the only option I can set before the Judge as a potential partner in Fulton’s Cartage.”

  “Judge?” Riley sat up. “A judge has to rule on this business deal?”

  Greenhow blustered out a laugh. “No, no. The Judge is George R. Cunningham, the man who would become the minor partner in Fulton’s Cartage once you bought at least 51 percent.”

  A judge? With this transaction Riley could suddenly become senior shareholder in the established and respected business of a revered old Mississippi family, partnered with nothing less than a judge. It did not get any sweeter than that for showing the world he was the best person to provide and care for the little girl he hoped to adopt as his own. “And he’d do it? Sell, that is?”

  “To John Frederick’s handpicked predecessor he would, and I can guarantee you that. And I hold his power of attorney, due to his...advanced age. So you and I can make this deal right here, right now.”

  It took everything Riley had not to stick out his hand and agree to it on the spot. He had come with an open mind to talk about something he’d already concluded he would go ahead with before Mr. Fulton-Leigh died. The stakes had gone up a bit since then, but then his personal stakes had risen decidedly, too. Listening to Howard Greenhow—and taking into account his circumstances regarding Wendy’s adoption—Riley felt he’d be a fool not to forge ahead with buying the offered stocks.

  Or was he a fool to listen to Howard Greenhow? He cleared his throat. “Mr. Fulton-Leigh quoted me a price per share when we spoke about this.”

  “That won’t have changed, I assure you.”

  Riley grinned and sh
ook his head. “Then it’s a no go, Mr. Greenhow, because the circumstances surrounding the company and the deal have changed—and as we’ve established, not for the better.”

  The round-faced lawyer broke out in what Riley couldn’t help thinking was his first genuine expression of emotion all during the whole meeting—he laughed. “I knew you were the man for this job. Shrewd, fearless, and unwilling to throw good money after bad. I like that. Like it a lot, Walker. I can see why John Frederick picked you.”

  Riley snorted. He was under no pretenses that he and Howard Greenhow would ever form a mutual admiration society.

  “What if I say we can take John Frederick’s price down by 20 percent?”

  “What if we say twenty-five? I am, after all, going to have to invest more time in this now than I was going to before. My time is worth money.”

  “Does this mean you’re seriously interested? With the reduced rate?”

  “I’d want to tour the place.”

  “Of course.”

  “And I want to meet the family.”

  “Ahh, the family” The lawyer’s smile stretched outward, but not up—he looked positively pained.

  “Is there a problem with me meeting the family?” His mother’s warning about the Fulton descendant’s reputation for being interesting rang like a tin bell in his head.

  “No. No problem except that...” Greenhow reached into his jacket pocket and yanked free a handkerchief, which he dabbed back and forth over his forehead. “Before we take that step, let me ask you this, Mr. Walker: When you spoke to John Frederick did he strike you as a man who had his family’s best interest at heart?”

  “Yes.”

  “The kind of man you could personally trust?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “He felt the same way about you, I’m sure. He would never have sought you out otherwise. It’s important for you to understand that fact before you ever meet this family, before you make up your mind about them and the deal.”