“Max, you are unreal. Who puts all their eggs in one basket? I bet the woman that owns Desrosiers has a slush fund in the Cayman’s, all ready to bail when it gets tough. They all do, you know that, right?”
“Naw, Quinn, not Princess Genevieve. Sorry, she’s the real thing, she will do anything to keep the company going. This is a glitch.”
“Some glitch. We haven’t had product for two months. Customers are fickle. If they don’t get what they want, they find someone else…trust me there is always someone else.” Quinn grinned. “Princess Genevieve really? She definitely has a Cayman account.”
“Oh, but she—”
“Leave it, Maxine,” Alice quietly said.
“Oh, Maxine is it? Now I know I’m in trouble. I need the little girl’s room, excuse me.”
Quinn shrugged as Max left and smiled at Alice. “Sorry.”
“Desrosiers is important to Grady, to us all. After Henderson Logging left the area five years ago, half of the male population left.”
“Hey, that’s not a problem surely.” Quinn grinned. The stony look she received had her reaching for her beer.
“As much as we…you, me, and Max, might prefer a woman-dominated society, men are important…for procreation at least.”
“Good point.” Quinn lifted her drink and grinned.
“This isn’t fun, Quinn. If Desrosiers closes, Grady is dead. Best case, we have fleeting traffic for a food and gas stop.”
“Won’t hurt your business then.” Quinn stared at the people in the bar—there was a reasonable number of customers. Not, of course, what she expected in a NY bar but not bad. Better than her hometown on a Tuesday evening.
“That’s harsh. You have no idea. Tell Max I will see her at home.” Alice stood and left the area before Quinn could apologize.
What the hell happened there? Quinn frowned. Things change all the time, in life and business. What’s her deal? She drank heavily from her glass.
“Alice gone for another round? Great girl.” Max sat down on the bench.
“Not exactly. She left and told me to tell you that she’d see you at home.”
“But it’s quiz night, she never leaves.” Max pursed her lips. “Did you say something to make her leave?”
“I was just analyzing my appreciation of what was happening at Desrosiers, but it obviously didn’t sit well. Sorry.” The accusation hit a nerve; one Quinn hadn’t felt for a long time.
“This town has been through enough. If Desrosiers fails so does Grady. Alice’s family was one of the first to settle here. It goes deeper than losing a job for her. That was like a red flag to a bull.”
“Hey, Max, how would I know that?”
“You wouldn’t.” Max shook her head. “I need to go. Hope you work out your problems with Desrosiers.” Max rushed toward the exit.
Quinn watched Max leave and frowned. This town is weird, just like back home. Lambert County had its troubles but managed to survive. Why can’t this place?
“You entering the quiz?” A gritty male voice asked.
“I guess not, at least not unless a team needs me.” The man with a salt and pepper full beard and craggy features narrowed his eyes.
“Charlie should be in soon, he’s always alone for the quiz, but doesn’t mind company. Take the sheets and when he gets in, I’ll send him over.”
She took the paperwork watching as he slouched to the next table. What the hell, I have time to kill.
†
Desrosiers House, originally called The Manor, was built in the early 1800s, a white, two-story wood building with an imposing front porch surrounded by beautifully landscaped gardens, including roses, fruit trees, and pride of the entrance, a huge magnolia. As Gene walked up the five steps to the porch the security lights switched on and flooded the area. She walked over to the rocker, took a seat, and wrapped the quilt on the back of the chair around her. It wasn’t cold as such, but the chill of the evening was beginning to bite.
She scanned the garden and took in the apple tree that had always fruited since the first time she could remember taking one from the tree at five years old. Recalling her mother admonishing her that it was close to supper time, her father had arrived at that moment and winked at her and taken one himself. She had always been happy here. Even the years in France with her grand-mère had never quite removed the appeal of home—her home—Desrosiers House. This was the place she was born, where her mother had died, and where she expected to end her own life. Her head dropped and tears she hadn’t realized were forming trickled down her cheeks.
“I can’t lose you or the company, there must be a way to save things. I’ve done right by everyone in Grady. Or have I? What did Christine do that made her leave so abruptly? Is she the reason I’m in this trouble or is it a coincidence?” Wiping the back of her hand over her face, she dropped the quilt and stood.
Moments later she entered the house. The inner hallway wasn’t as large as you might expect from the outside. A narrow passage led to a circular central hall with the staircase off to the left and three doors filling the rest of the circumference. She slipped off her shoes and padded toward the door to her immediate right, which led to the kitchen. A note propped up on the table caught her attention, and she smiled as she read the contents.
Dinner would be in the dog if you had one. You could call, I know you have a phone, though you probably left it at home. Ham and pickle sandwiches in the refrigerator and you need to look at your mail. Sheppy’s home tonight so I won’t be back until Monday. I’ve made a pot roast in the slow cooker, all you need to do is switch it on before you leave for work tomorrow and you will have a hot evening meal. If you need me, call. Sally xx
Gene sighed and scrunched up the note, throwing it in the waste bin. She took out the sandwiches, placed them on the table and left the room, returning a few minutes later with a stack of mail. What does Sally want me to read? If she mentioned the mail it must be something interesting. She flicked through several advertising flyers and then she saw it. A manila envelope with a foreign stamp, though it wasn’t that foreign to her. France was after all her second home. She took it, glancing at the return address: Lefèvre and Lambert, Paris. Her hand shook. There could only be one reason, maybe two, that she would receive a communication like this. Neither would be positive. Her finger traced the top of the paper. Rip it open, or… She dropped the envelope and took up one of the sandwiches and bit into it. As with everything in her life at the moment, it gave her no comfort. She placed the half-eaten food on the plate and left the kitchen, glancing at the time from the grandmother clock in the hall—seven fifteen.
The only thing going through her mind was something her father said to her when things got tough. Do what you can do, what you are good at, what people can’t take away from you, and at some stage things will have clarity. She picked up her shoes and headed out of the house.
†
“Okay, folks, the last question of the evening. Let me tell you that Team Charlie and Team Drover are neck and neck. If the President and the Vice President die at the same time who becomes President?”
There were groans around the room and several curses.
“What do you think, Quinn?” Charlie asked.
“Not sure, Secretary of State I’d guess at.”
“Good option but…”
“Yeah, Charlie?”
“Logically it’s the Speaker of the House of Representatives, that would be my answer.”
“Damn, Charlie, what do we do, flip a coin?”
“A one question shoot-out. What a challenge.” Charlie grinned. “To be honest, normally it’s another team who are the contenders, but they aren’t here tonight. I think we have a chance.”
“All or nothing. Let’s go with your answer.”
Charlie scribbled the answer down and handed in their answer.
“It’s been full on since I arrived late. Exactly what do you do, Quinn, and why are you staying in Grady?”
“Not sure I dare say anything. Every time I do, I put my foot in my mouth and screw things up here.” Quinn shook her head.
Charlie laughed. “Got to tell you Quinn, that’s the norm in life generally. So, spill. Believe me, tonight I’m on a roll, in helping people, at least trying to help them…not sure I can.”
“This other team you mentioned wouldn’t happen to be Max and Alice would it?”
“Why sure it would…you didn’t upset Max, did you? She’s got a mean temper when riled, usually only if you disparage Alice, otherwise she has a heart of gold and the temperament to go with it. I’ll get the next round.” Charlie collected the glasses and headed off to the bar.
Quinn watched him. I’d have figured Alice was the volatile one, but she wasn’t mean just upset. Maybe this town means more to people than mine did to me.
Five minutes later Charlie arrived back at the table with two drinks and a wide grin.
“Did we win?” Quinn threw him a narrowed glance and smiled as he nodded.
“Damn straight we did, Quinn, beat The Drover’s fair and square.”
At that moment the winners were announced and asked to come forward. Quinn pushed Charlie toward the bar. “Go get ’em, champ.”
“I’m having a hellava day, I hope it doesn’t stop.” Charlie chuckled, walked back to the bar, and collected a weird looking object and a certificate.
Quinn was proud of their achievement. By the thumping of tables and whistles and hand clapping Charlie was a popular winner. She took a swig of her beer and settled back in her chair and wondered what she’d do about Desrosiers if they didn’t come up with the goods. Nothing in life is straightforward. Hell, I was expecting the normal boring hours and going home in time to settle on the sofa with a TV dinner and a beer. Got to say this is so much more fun.
“Hey, Charlie to Quinn, have you gone back to NY?”
Quinn looked at Charlie. If anyone this morning had said she’d be spending her evening in a small town at the local bar quiz with an older man, she would have said they were crazy. Yet here I am and…I’m loving every minute of it.
“You really are missing NY?” He placed the weird object on the table.
“I’m sorry, Charlie. I apologize for my inattention. I guess I was thinking about home, and other stuff. What the hell is this anyway?”
“Well, my dear Ms. Quinn, it’s the town mascot and rightly so because without this we wouldn’t be a town anymore, in fact we would be a ghost town.”
Quinn frowned. “Okay, but…it looks like a squashed cabbage.”
“Better than what most first timers say when they see it. It’s an abstract rose ready to bloom. Peter Desrosiers commissioned it about twenty years ago and trust me it’s an honor to win it.”
A guy with a straggly gray beard that touched his chest arrived at the table and gave them a cool look before beaming a smile.
“Well, Charlie, can’t say the Drovers are happy you won but you’ve waited long enough for the accolade. Wish Francine were here to celebrate with you, she was a mean quizzer. Still you have a new woman now. Our treat, what you both drinking?”
Quinn knew her eyebrows had hit the stratosphere at the “new woman” comment, but she kept silent.
“Thanks, Jeb, we’ll have the same again, Ray knows what it is.” He pointed to the glasses on the table.
“Next month, Charlie, we’ll be out to take it back. Well deserved though, have a great night.” He went half way to the bar and then shouted loud enough to break the glasses, “Whatever Charlie and his lady are having is on us.”
Quinn rubbed the side of her head. “Damn at this rate I won’t be able to negotiate for my company. Got to say I’ve loved every minute. Thanks, Charlie, for taking a chance on me.”
“Hey, after tonight if it all goes pear shaped, it will all be okay.”
Quinn frowned, not understanding the comment, then smiled as their celebratory drinks arrived.
†
Gene surveyed the Grand Victorian glasshouse her father had added to the formal garden area out in the back of the house. It had been his dream to produce the perfectly scented rose for a trademark perfume that would be a lasting tribute to the family name and business. He hadn’t managed it. He died from a heart attack when she was eighteen. Ah yes twenty-five years ago next month. Damn, it still hurts almost as much as it did when I found him. Shaking away the sad thoughts, she slowly walked down the left side, flanked by an eight-foot-wide table the length of the glasshouse. Occasionally she’d stop to inspect the plants that she had nurtured over time. As she came to the end of the pathway, she opened a small internal doorway that held what she hoped would finally be her father’s legacy.
Gene shut the door behind her, ensuring that the conditions she’d experimented with over the years were as perfect as possible for her babies. Patience was the great granddaughter of Matriarch. Her fingers trailed the wooden edge of the large garden bed sunk into the floor.
“Patience, my you are a beauty and your sisters are looking equally as beautiful.” Gene looked over the three other roses in their respective beds. Cleo was a pale pink with a delicate scent, Sara a vibrant red with a strong aroma, and Dee a gorgeous peach strain with a subtle perfume that could be worn at any time. Then there was Patience, a subtle lavender color with the most glorious scent that immediately had Gene salivating at the prospects that she might finally fulfil her father’s dream.
“Matriarch would be proud of you all. Sleep well, my babies.”
Gene retreated to the main part of the building and walked down the right-hand side and half way down, she stopped and stared at the black pot and grinned. Reaching out she snagged a strawberry and revelled in the sweet juice that burst on her tongue. One of the advantages of having the glasshouse was that out-of-season fruit could be grown, especially her all-time favorite strawberries. In fact, it was the first plant she had ever grown to maturity and reaped the benefits. Chuckling, she snagged another and left the building, ensuring that the door locked behind her. Right now, as much as her life was on a downward drag, she felt comforted. Losing Desrosiers House was simply not happening no matter what she had to do.