“You’re right. I’m in, whatever you want to do,” a woman further down the table spoke up. “Marva was one of my best friends. I’ll never—ever—forget the lies that man spun to get her property.”
“And let’s remember what he did to the families over in Mantoloking,” Nancy pressed as her cheeks flushed. “We can get a bit of justice for them too, while we’re at it. I still have the petitions; they’re still valid. We can show him—” She drew breath and her voice broke. “We’ll show him…”
Another woman rose from her place and went to Nancy. She circled her arm around Nancy’s shoulders and led her from the table. Though Nancy no longer held everyone’s attention, her announcement had changed the energy of the room. As Jill listened to the table’s hissed conversation, she felt their outrage grow and fill the room and decided she couldn’t stay. She pushed her chair back from the table.
“I need to get going,” she lied to Brenda, then stood. “Ryan’s waiting for the gallery pictures.” Her impulse was to run from the room, but she held back because she didn’t want to attract attention. Before this moment she hadn’t understood the depth of rage this town held for Marc and what he’d done. What did Nancy mean when she said he’d stolen the land? And had he really destroyed a man’s career?
Outside, the crisp air touched her skin and cooled her burning face. Jill paused at the bottom of the stairs, drawing in deep breaths to steady her pounding heart. If she were completely honest—and there seemed no better time to be—she should admit, at least to herself, that Marc’s business dealings were not always above board. One time a subcontractor had come to their house, trying to collect for a job he’d finished, payment he insisted was overdue. He’d brought receipts for materials he’d bought himself and a paper to show his work had passed inspection. He’d said money was tight and that he had a family to feed, but instead of working things out, Marc had threatened to call the police and the man had left. When she questioned Marc later, he’d insisted the man had been paid but it didn’t look that way to Jill. That man had been desperate.
If Marc had treated this town the way he’d treated that subcontractor, it would explain why they loathed him so. If there was something dishonest here, Jill couldn’t be a part of it. She needed the truth and there was one person in town who would know it. One person who understood business and the ways her husband might have twisted things to his advantage.
Jill steeled herself and headed back to the Bennett house; she was going to see Chase.
Twenty-One
Jill found her way back to the Bennett house and followed the path from the sidewalk to the front door. She lifted the brass knocker and let it go, listening to the sound reverberate in the quiet street. Jill realized she was probably the last person Chase wanted to see but she had questions that only he could answer. Nervously, she flicked a bit of sand from her jeans and waited for him to answer the door. She told herself that because she’d had no part in whatever Marc did, she wasn’t culpable now, and she almost made herself believe it.
Through a side window, Jill spied Chase moving toward her, though he didn’t see her. Her heart thumped as he twisted the knob and opened the wooden door. At first his expression was benign and vaguely welcoming, as if he’d expected a neighbor dropping by, but the moment he recognized her, his expression hardened.
They spoke through the screen door. “If you’re looking for Kaye, she’s still at the Yacht Club, setting up the art gallery.” He hesitated for just a moment, and when he spoke again his tone was cool. “But you already knew that, didn’t you? So why are you here?”
“I know that you know who I am, Mr. Bennett, and by now you’ve guessed that I’ve come to Dewberry to sell the house.” His expression hardened and she rushed to finish. “But I have questions—”
He cut her off. “I’m not interested.”
So Jill tried again. “I divorced Marc because he’s not a good man.”
“So you said.”
Jill straightened; she didn’t know how much time she had before he shut the door and her chance was gone. “I found out that Marc stole from me,” she said. “A woman pretended to be me, signed documents for a mortgage, and left with a fat check. I never saw a dime of it. I took the house because Marc refused to pay the loan. I have no interest in it, beyond selling it.”
Chase’s expression was unchanged. “If all you want is to sell that house, I can’t help you.”
“That’s not all I want,” Jill blurted, stretching out her hand to prevent Chase from closing the door. “I don’t know what Marc did to this town, but I have a feeling it was terrible. If it’s in my power to fix it, I will.”
“Let the girl in, Chase.” Mrs. Ivey suddenly appeared in the background, surprising Jill. “At least let’s hear what she has to say. No harm in that.”
Chase hesitated but finally pushed the screen door open and allowed Jill to enter. “We’ll go to my office.”
Jill followed them down the hall to a small room that overlooked the front garden. As they settled in, she couldn’t help but compare Chase’s office to Marc’s. Both were intended for work, but that’s where the similarities ended. Marc’s office was massive, with shelves of reference books bought and forgotten, and glossy pictures of his newest projects lining the walls. It was cold and sterile, designed to gain the upper hand in business. By contrast,
