Seduced

EIGHTEEN

The gate to the Salt Creek Gun Club was open. I turned left on the dirt lane to Reggie’s house but stopped when I saw emergency vehicles in the distance. I’d hoped Lonnie had told an outrageous lie to manipulate me, but it was true. I didn’t want to see the chauffeur’s body, or answer more questions from the police, yet I couldn’t believe he had actually taken his own life.

I put my vehicle in park and stared at the flashing lights. It had been a little more than two hours since I’d spoken to Reggie on the phone. A man contemplating suicide might polish a cherished car as a farewell gesture, but he wouldn’t encourage visitors, and he certainly wouldn’t have said he preferred barbecue to homemade sandwiches for lunch. Unless…

In a sack on the floor was a slab of pork ribs and containers of coleslaw and baked beans. The smoky fragrance, otherwise pleasant, became a queasy reminder that there was another explanation. Reggie might have been in the process of taking his own life when I’d called. Perhaps, in his mind, by accepting my offer to bring lunch, he could die with the comforting assurance that a friend, a woman he trusted, would be the first to find his body.

It was a painful possibility to consider, worse to imagine happening. That poor, distraught, lonely little man…

I spun my car around but could not escape the despair that descended. It would have stuck with me had I not seen a familiar truck as I approached the gate. I slowed and watched the truck enter from the main road, then accelerate toward the log cabin and river. The driver remained oblivious to me, and the dirt lane that led to Reggie’s place.

It was a white Chevy Silverado.

My despair made a welcome transition into anger.

I sat and waited several minutes. If Kermit Bigalow was willing to trespass on a late Sunday afternoon, there had to be a reason. Rather than listen to more lies, I wanted to find out for myself what he was doing.

Beyond the horse stalls and the equipment shed, a path led to a dilapidated greenhouse walled with Plexiglas. Kermit’s white Silverado was parked among trees to the side of the building and out of sight.

I approached on foot. He wasn’t in the truck, so I went to the greenhouse door and peeked in. Kermit, wearing jeans and work gloves, was busy loading a wheelbarrow with planting pots, some containing fledgling trees, others just soil. When the door closed behind me, he jumped, as if shot, and spun around. Relief registered on his face. “Geezus… thank god, it’s you. What are you doing here?” He busied himself brushing dirt from his pants and gloves.

“I might ask you the same thing,” I said from the doorway.

“What’s it look like I’m doing? I’m stealing plants I grew and giving them enough dirt to keep them alive. Someone needs to look after them.” He indicated the wheelbarrow. “Do I really have to explain?”

“It’s sort of funny,” I said. “Until this afternoon, I dreaded having to tell you. Now I feel just fine about it. Mr. Chatham left this property to my mother and me in his will. And Reggie. You’re the trespasser, Kermit, not me. When’s the last time you saw him?”

The man resumed selecting gallon-sized pots from a row. “Guilty as charged, Your Honor. He left you the citrus groves, too? That’s great news.”

“Half the grove. Did you hear what I said?”

“I’m happy for you-yeah, I really am. Anything’s better than Lonnie inheriting a place she doesn’t give a damn about. What are you going to do with it? I could see you living in the cabin; have a little boat on the river, maybe a dog or two. If I’d known, trusted Reggie enough, I would’ve stopped and asked to take these-plants I grew from seedlings. I’m glad you’re here. We have to talk.”

“Do we?”

He looked up for a moment. “Let me guess. You’re not mad about me trespassing. You’ve been talking to Lonnie. I warned you she’d make up some sort of lie about why she fired me. What did she say? I bet it was a good one.”

“What about Reggie?” I asked again.

“I haven’t seen him in… I don’t know… a couple of days, I guess. What’s he have to do with it?” The man’s expression transitioned to concerned. “Hey… what’s wrong? You’re really upset about something. What did that crazy woman say?”

“It was more of a show-and-tell conversation,” I replied. “When she brought out your notebooks, I accused her of being the thief. Has that ever happened to you, Kermit? Defended someone you wanted to trust, then it turns out they were making a fool of you?”

“So that’s it.” He stood and sighed in the tolerant way of a man who’d been wronged but was willing to talk things through. “What else did she say? You couldn’t have gone through my notes very carefully. If you had, you wouldn’t be mad, you’d be helping me. I’m doing this for both of us, Hannah.”

I decided it was safe to walk toward the wheelbarrow, a dozen or so fledging plants, and potting soil containers in neat rows. “You filed for a provisional patent on an idea that wasn’t mine to begin with. And it sure as heck wasn’t yours. You stole those seeds from my mother’s property. Where’s the tree you took? I should’ve asked that three weeks ago. Don’t deny it. Loretta saw it in the back of your truck. I was a fool not to believe her.”

Kermit, with his copper hair and cowboy tan lines, stood patiently, open to any accusation I wanted to make. “Get it off your chest,” he said. “When you’re done, I want to show you something.” After a glance at the door, he added, “Don’t take too long-unless this property’s already deeded over to you. She’d put me in jail.”

“Maybe that’s where you belong.”

“You don’t believe that. You really think I’d risk hurting Sarah? Or you?”

“Leave your family out of this. And stop talking as if there’s something between us, Kermit. There never was. It was just a stupid kiss, that’s all.”

“Bullshit,” he said. “I remember that night a little differently.”

“Bullshit yourself,” I hollered.

We argued like that for a while. My accusations were delivered in anger. He responded calmly to each one. Only when he showed me the citrus tree he’d taken from our grove did I begin to soften. But I didn’t soften much.

“How do I know that’s really it?” I asked.

“Do you see any others around? I can’t force you to believe me, Hannah. I admit I took the damn thing. Isn’t that enough?”

The tree was a fledgling, barely knee-high, far too small to be grown from a seed my uncle had planted six years ago. Kermit claimed it was one of many seedlings on our property. This was true, but I refused to acknowledge it.

“I didn’t think you’d mind,” he said. “You did give me permission to take oranges from your oldest trees. But you’re right, I did it in a sneaky way.”

“Yes, you did,” I said. “But not as sneaky as filing for a patent on an idea that doesn’t belong to you.”

“A provisional patent,” he said, “that I never actually filed. What Lonnie took from my office was only a rough draft, but even in that draft-”

“I don’t care, Kermit! I don’t want to hear any more of your excuses. I won’t tolerate someone who treats me or my family in a two-faced, lying way.”

The man’s tolerant manner vanished. “Lying? Is that what you really think of me?”

“You could’ve told me about filing for a patent,” I said. “You didn’t even bother to ask. There’s no difference between an intentional omission and a lie, as far as I’m concerned.”

He put his hands in his pockets and looked at the ground, but only long enough to control his temper. “How could I ask you? You told me not to contact you for at least a month. I called anyway, the same night. Remember? You didn’t answer. For weeks, do you have any idea how many times my phone rang and I hoped it was you calling back? Then, this morning, you hung up on me before I could say a damn word.”

Now it was me who stared at the ground. I evaded the hurt look on his face by saying our relationship was all wrong to begin with. Then added something suitably inane, which was, “Everything happens for a reason, I suppose.”

“Depends on what you’re willing to settle for,” he replied. “I think I’ve apologized enough for one day. Wait here.” He went past me, out the door, then reconsidered. “Come on, it’s hot in here and we both need to cool down. I’ve got something in my truck that might change your mind.”

What he wanted me to see was inside a weathered khaki bag. He handed me a sheath of papers. The cover sheet was headed with the logo of the U.S. Patent and Trademark Office, blue with white lettering, Washington D.C.

“Keep it,” he said. “I have other copies. When you get home, take your time, go through it. I have no idea what Lonnie showed you, but you either didn’t read it or she gave you something she printed herself. She called this morning, screaming at me, then asked for your address, but I didn’t tell her. That woman’s either crazy or desperate, I’m not sure which.”

I opened the document, saying, “Kermit, just point me to the right page.”

He found a section titled “Declaration for Utility and Design.” There, at the bottom, on lines provided for the signatures of applicants, was my full name-Hannah Summerlin Smith. It had been typed above the name of a second applicant, Kermit L. Bigalow.

I stared and swallowed. News of Reggie’s death had pushed me near an emotional edge, yet I was reluctant to let go of my anger. All I could manage to say was, “Sometimes I’m too quick to judge. If I’m wrong, I’m sorry.”

“I’d prefer a smile to an apology. Come on, you’ll like this.” He reached, almost put his hand on my shoulder, then decided against it.

Back into the greenhouse we went.

It gave me time to recover what little poise I had left.