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He plunks himself down in his faded leather chair. The arms are so worn that the leather has split and the foam padding peeks through. “I think I remember you from when you used to come visit Bee in the summers. Or was that your brother?”
“My brother never really came—maybe only for a few weeks when we were younger.” He would have spent the entire summer lounging by the pool at our house in Chicago if that had been an option, but it wasn’t. Bradley has always been driven by the almighty dollar, and he couldn’t stand the clutter at Grammy Bee’s, or her eccentricities. He also isn’t a fan of bugs. Or manual labor. There was a lot of both when we visited. Grammy Bee never let me sit on my ass and do nothing all summer.
“Ah, yes. Now I remember. You stayed the whole summer up until college. Right?”
“That’s right.”
“Well, I hope you’ve changed your mind and decided not to sell the property. When you’re able, anyway. Besides, getting town approval on subdividing isn’t likely to happen.”
I frown. I have to wonder if Dillion said something to him. “I’m not planning to sell, or subdivide. Can I ask where you heard that?”
His bushy brows pull together. “Um, from you? We spoke on the phone once, right after Bee’s death.”
“No, we didn’t.” Is there something in the water in this town?
Bernie looks confused but pushes on. “Sometimes people get forgetful after someone passes away. It’s not uncommon. You asked me how much land there was and what the value was. You also wanted to know whether you could parcel off the land to sell, or if it would be worth more to put a single-family dwelling up.”
“I would definitely remember that conversation. Which we didn’t have. And I’m not planning to sell.” I could never do that to Grammy.
He folds his hands on his desk and smiles patiently. “Hmm. Well, is it possible someone else might have called on your behalf? Maybe your family lawyer?”
“Maybe?” It’s possible my dad’s lawyer called. Another thought I don’t like. Especially with everything else that’s going on right now.
“Ah, well, it’s good to hear you’re staying. Let’s review everything, shall we?”
We go through the details of the will, which are straightforward. My sister and brother both received checks for $50,000 each, the value of one-third of the standing cottage. At least at the time the will was written. Things have changed in the past couple of decades, with all the renovated mansion-style cottages on the other side of the lake. Regardless, I’ve inherited everything else, which consists of the property and all its contents. A small amount is left in the bank, but most of it was cleared out by the checks to my brother and sister. By the end of the meeting, I’ve signed everything I need to get it all transferred into my name.
On my way back through town, I decide to stop at the bar. I miss socializing and friends. So far the only people I’ve spoken much to are cashiers and Dillion. Although Frankie and Chip have both reached out, it’s not the same as hitting the bar or the golf course. I’m not even particularly good at golf. I just play because my friends do.
I scan the bar, take one of the empty seats near the end of the row, and order a glass of their best whiskey—which is pretty cheap shit. It tastes like lighter fluid and smells about the same.
Two women who are most definitely locals take the seats to the right of me. I know they’re local because they’re fresh faced and natural looking, not overpolished like most of the women in Chicago. Like they’ve already added the Snapchat filter so they’re always social media–post ready. These ladies look low maintenance.
Also, they order beer.
Usually the women at the bars Frankie and I used to frequent would drink martinis or wine.
I raise my glass. “Evening, ladies.”
They arch their eyebrows in sync and look around the bar. It’s full of townies. “You should probably head next door if you’re looking for a good time, buddy,” the one closest to me says.
“My good time is right here.” I tap my glass.
The two women start talking to each other, mostly ignoring me but giving me the occasional side-eye. The TV above the bar is set to a dirt bike competition, so I focus on that while I eavesdrop.
“Tommy said he took the mailbox right out, and you know that was a steel post anchored in, like, six feet of concrete,” Woman One says.
“Do you think that’s why Darlin’ came back? Because of the accident?” Woman Two asks.
“Who knows? But Sue is fair well losin’ her damn mind over it, thinking she’s gonna try ’n’ steal her man.”
Woman Two rolls her eyes. “That man can’t keep his pants zipped to save his life. I heard Sue’s only staying with him because of the baby, and she doesn’t want to have to move back in with her parents or get government assistance.”
