I called Grandpa and canceled our evening in order to explore my own inquiry. I created a computer file and labeled it MONEY TRAIL. Why were three years of church financial books in Grandpa’s possession? Could this be a second set? Mary might know. If Grandpa served as treasurer, he should have transferred the ledgers to the succeeding officer. I started at the beginning. Engrossed in checking each credit and debit, I jumped when the phone rang. Logan’s name popped up, and I swiped to answer.
“Logan, how are things in Boston?” My neck and shoulders ached from hunching over financial books, so I massaged my tight muscles with one hand while listening to Logan’s report about Sharp’s memorial service.
“Will and I are staying in Boston another week.”
“And missing the fun activities in Sea Side? Pumpkin carving is scheduled this weekend, with prizes by age category.”
“If I don’t enter, then some other adults will have a chance,” Logan said.
I pictured his teasing expression. “Competition scare you? I carve a mean jack-o’-lantern.”
“I make friendly ones.” He paused. “Ladessa …”
“What can I do?” If he wanted a favor, he could’ve called Jane. When I saw either Jane or Logan, a mental image of their flirting ballooned in my head.
His tone became all business. “Will expected to be Sharp’s beneficiary, but he’s not.”
“Oh no. He needs funds to keep his dream afloat.”
Logan sighed. “The project fails without start-up money, and his parents and grandparents refuse to back his venture.”
“Do you think they should?” I waited for his answer, knowing his response would color my opinion of his character.
“No. In profile stories I’ve researched, people who have to fight and struggle to attain their dreams are happier and more successful.”
I remembered the Bible verse about the love of money being the root of all evil. I grabbed a pen and jotted Will’s name with “Fortune expectation,” followed by a question mark. “Did Mr. Sharp change his will recently?”
“The third week in September, and he died on October 2. The lawyers, yes plural, are tracking down designees. The prior document named Will as recipient. If Sharp’s death had occurred two weeks earlier, Will would be wealthy.”
Not sure how to respond, I changed the subject. “Since your return will be delayed, should I water your plants, feed the cat?” I teased.
“Don’t have either, but I could use your help. Also, if you need to get in the house, the key is under the decorative urn next to the porch swing.”
“Happy to help.” I muffled my excitement, thrilled to have Logan’s blessing to enter Grandpa’s house. Maybe I’d find more financial records connecting Grandpa and the Sea Side church.
“I’ve unearthed new leads for my blockbuster story about a scheme called ‘lifetime investment living’ complexes. I may need your help following a money trail.”
“What?” I inhaled too quickly and suffered a coughing fit. “What money?” I finally squeaked.
“I don’t want to get it wrong, because most retirement homes serve older people with love and care. Unfortunately, I’ve discovered some strange statistics for seniors who select an assisted living complex with a lifetime investment model. Their life span is less than average, and their investment is greater than average. My fear is that older citizens may be in mortal danger in these facilities because of the greedy owners. I can’t print anything until I have a larger sampling to support my premise of money obtained unethically by this scheme. Will you help?”
“Sure,” I agreed. “I have a nose for numbers.”
His money investigation had nothing to do with the church financial irregularities, so I breathed easier. The conversation waned. I praised the glorious leaf colors, a visual treat for me since I’d lived in Dallas for the past eight years. Logan reminded me to enjoy lobster rolls, baked beans, and clam chowder. He didn’t ask about the investigation into Sharp’s death, and I didn’t bring it up.
My spirits soared after a weekend of zaniness in Sea Side. The town selected a pumpkin princess, opened the pumpkin maze, and fielded a contest for Sea Side’s original pumpkin song. I loved Maine in autumn. Fall is the best time in a fiscal year for a CPA to take a vacation, and this respite proved delightful—except for discovering a dead man.
Grandpa and I developed a sweet rapport as I recorded his memories. We visited the Happy Days physician, who assured me Grandpa was fine, but his officious words didn’t convince me.
Not content with that doctor’s evaluation, I sought out Noelle the following Monday at work.
“Will your mom be at yoga tonight? I’d like to ask her opinion about my grandfather’s mental health—and mine.”
Noelle lifted her hand. “I can help you on the second item. You’re crazy, lady.”
“I’d prefer a kinder, gentler consultation.”
“She’ll be there.” Noelle pointed to the dough she was mixing and motioned for me to leave. “Go sell crumpets, Ladessa.”
When yoga class ended, I fidgeted while waiting for my one-on-one visit with Mary. I was mentally planning my speech when Jane’s comment to someone else snagged my interest.
“Those DNA kits are a popular item for Christmas. I received one for my birthday, but I’m wary of delving into the past.”
“I’d do it in a minute,” I said. “I know my parents and grandparents, but I’d like to find a dashing pirate or a member of some royal court in my family line.”
Jane turned. “What about children who find out they are adopted, or twins who were separated? I think there’s more sadness than joy in chasing down DNA roots.”
“So you’re not going to do it?” I asked. “You said your dad left before you were born. Would you want to meet him? You might have another family.”
“My mom loved and cared for me every day. Trying to find a dad who abandoned me would be disloyal to her memory. Why open Pandora’s Box?” Jane tucked her rolled yoga mat under her arm and headed for the exit.
I knew that if I were in Jane’s shoes, I’d search for my biological father. I’d confront him about leaving. I’d want him to see me as a healthy, happy, successful adult and to regret abandoning me. Those thoughts circled back to my own reluctance to repair the damage with my sister, a consideration I discarded when Mary signaled me.
“I’m looking for wisdom,” I told her.
“Ladessa, your heart often knows the answers you seek.” Mary patted a metal folding chair.
“It’s about my grandfather. The Happy Days doctor says he’s fine, but what do you think? You see him every day. Should I encourage him to get a second opinion?”
“What are you looking for, Doctor Ladessa?”
I interlocked my fingers and thought. “Well, some days he’s forgetful. I worry that he has dementia or the beginning of Alzheimer’s.”
“He’s been through a lot.”
“Mary, you said the same thing when I arrived. Help me understand.”
“Perhaps his mind is on past events that can’t be changed.” Mary had a faraway look in her eyes as if she meant the statement for herself, not me.
“Maybe it’s my accounting background, but I like concrete explanations.”
Mary took my hand. “Even if the facts can’t be erased or altered?”
“I want to help him.”
“You are, Ladessa. Your grandpa looks forward to those sessions when he shares stories about the items in the boxes. All grandparents should be granted time with a grandchild. He’s pleased you came. I’d love for Noelle to marry and give me a couple of grandkids to spoil.”
I debated about bringing up topic two but barreled ahead. “Mary, among Grandpa John’s boxes, I discovered three church ledgers. Why would he have them?”
Mary dabbed at her eyes with the hem of her yoga top. “Your grandfather is an honorable and loving man, just as my late husband was. The two tried to salvage an unfortunate situation and couldn’t.”
“Could you explain it to me?”
Mary’s eyes suddenly gleamed with anger, and she erupted with vehemence. “Trent Sharp killed my husband. He might as well have plunged a knife into that sweet man’s heart. Sharp presented a ‘foolproof’ investment for church funds, which failed. In addition, he blamed my husband, who was dismissed in disgrace from the pastorate he’d served eighteen years. Don’t go there, Ladessa. Nothing good can come of it.”
Despite Mary’s wise words, I knew I wouldn’t leave the mystery alone.