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Authors: Mariah Stewart
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were just chiming ten o’clock as Abby opened the door to the law offices of Tillman, Dodd, and Readinger. Mr. Tillman was waiting for her, the perky young receptionist drawled as she summoned the attorney’s secretary. The latter, a buxom blonde whose heavily perfumed self and swaying hips seemed out of place in the dignified suite o f offices, beckoned Abby down a hushed hallway that dead- ended at a large oak door which stood open.
The sole occupant of the room sprang forth in a flurry of goodwill to greet them.
“Well, then, Abigail McKenna, no doubt.” Horace D. Tillman, Esquire, friendly as a spaniel, extended a pudgy hand. “Come right in here and sit yourself down. Cerise”— he turned to his secretary—“please bring a pot of coffee and two cups in for Miz McKenna and me.”
“Yes, Uncle Horace.” The young woman cast a curiously intent glance in Abby’s direction, returning Abby’s smile with one that lacked warmth and revealed nothing behind cool gray eyes.
“The wife’s niece.” The attorney shrugged an explanation as he turned his attention to Abby. “You had a good trip, I trust?”
“Just fine, thank you.” Abby took the chair to the right of the desk as the lawyer had indicated.
“How’s it feel to be back in Primrose after all these years?” Leila’s lawyer—short, round, balding, and sixty- five if he was a day—smiled as he seated himself behind the desk, rustling through a stack of papers with his left hand. His glasses perched on the end of his nose as if pausing before taking flight, like an oversized moth.
“Odd.” Abby nodded slowly. “Without Aunt Leila. But I’ve always loved being here. I only wish the circumstances were other than what they are.”
“Perfectly understandable, my dear.” Tillman’s glasses seemed to slide a notch farther down his nose. “Leila Cassidy was as fine a woman as ever lived in Primrose. It’s been my honor and privilege to have served as her attorney for the past twenty-five years, as my father served her for more years than I can tally up.”
“Then you knew her well.” Abby smiled.
“Oh, indeed I did. And Thomas, too, of course. He went to school with my father, so many years back. Bit of a legend around these parts, Tom Cassidy was.”
“I’m sorry I never met him. He must have been quite a character, from what Belle tells me.”
“Belle Matthews would certainly know. Her late husband, Granger, and Tom were kids together. Lifelong friends.” He leaned back in his chair to allow his secretary to place a tray in front of him. He poured a cup of steaming black coffee into a porcelain cup and passed it to Abby, along with the creamer and sugar bowl. “Tom took off to find adventure the day after high school graduation. Granger went off to college up north someplace. Came back to run his daddy’s bank—that’s long gone, of course—and marry his childhood sweetheart.”
“Belle must have been a child bride, if Granger went to school with Thomas,” Abby murmured, stirring cream into her coffee. “Belle and Leila were pretty close in age, and Thomas was much older than Leila.”
“Belle was Granger’s second wife. His first wife, Annie, took off on him after about two years or so.”
“Oh.” Abby’s eyebrows rose halfway to her hairline. “I had no idea.”
“Well, it’s a long-forgotten story.” He sipped at his coffee. “But yes, Annie took off with their child. Story was that she left with some traveling salesman or some such.” He frowned, trying to recall the details. “Hadn’t thought about it in years. It was a big scandal, of course, small town like Primrose. ’Course, there were those who weren’t surprised, Annie Fields coming from the sort of no-account background she did, and Granger being a Matthews, son of the founding fathers, that sort of thing. My daddy handled Granger’s divorce.”
“Then Granger married Belle,” Abby noted.
“Some year or so after.” Horace shook his
The sole occupant of the room sprang forth in a flurry of goodwill to greet them.
“Well, then, Abigail McKenna, no doubt.” Horace D. Tillman, Esquire, friendly as a spaniel, extended a pudgy hand. “Come right in here and sit yourself down. Cerise”— he turned to his secretary—“please bring a pot of coffee and two cups in for Miz McKenna and me.”
“Yes, Uncle Horace.” The young woman cast a curiously intent glance in Abby’s direction, returning Abby’s smile with one that lacked warmth and revealed nothing behind cool gray eyes.
“The wife’s niece.” The attorney shrugged an explanation as he turned his attention to Abby. “You had a good trip, I trust?”
“Just fine, thank you.” Abby took the chair to the right of the desk as the lawyer had indicated.
“How’s it feel to be back in Primrose after all these years?” Leila’s lawyer—short, round, balding, and sixty- five if he was a day—smiled as he seated himself behind the desk, rustling through a stack of papers with his left hand. His glasses perched on the end of his nose as if pausing before taking flight, like an oversized moth.
“Odd.” Abby nodded slowly. “Without Aunt Leila. But I’ve always loved being here. I only wish the circumstances were other than what they are.”
“Perfectly understandable, my dear.” Tillman’s glasses seemed to slide a notch farther down his nose. “Leila Cassidy was as fine a woman as ever lived in Primrose. It’s been my honor and privilege to have served as her attorney for the past twenty-five years, as my father served her for more years than I can tally up.”
“Then you knew her well.” Abby smiled.
“Oh, indeed I did. And Thomas, too, of course. He went to school with my father, so many years back. Bit of a legend around these parts, Tom Cassidy was.”
“I’m sorry I never met him. He must have been quite a character, from what Belle tells me.”
“Belle Matthews would certainly know. Her late husband, Granger, and Tom were kids together. Lifelong friends.” He leaned back in his chair to allow his secretary to place a tray in front of him. He poured a cup of steaming black coffee into a porcelain cup and passed it to Abby, along with the creamer and sugar bowl. “Tom took off to find adventure the day after high school graduation. Granger went off to college up north someplace. Came back to run his daddy’s bank—that’s long gone, of course—and marry his childhood sweetheart.”
“Belle must have been a child bride, if Granger went to school with Thomas,” Abby murmured, stirring cream into her coffee. “Belle and Leila were pretty close in age, and Thomas was much older than Leila.”
“Belle was Granger’s second wife. His first wife, Annie, took off on him after about two years or so.”
“Oh.” Abby’s eyebrows rose halfway to her hairline. “I had no idea.”
“Well, it’s a long-forgotten story.” He sipped at his coffee. “But yes, Annie took off with their child. Story was that she left with some traveling salesman or some such.” He frowned, trying to recall the details. “Hadn’t thought about it in years. It was a big scandal, of course, small town like Primrose. ’Course, there were those who weren’t surprised, Annie Fields coming from the sort of no-account background she did, and Granger being a Matthews, son of the founding fathers, that sort of thing. My daddy handled Granger’s divorce.”
“Then Granger married Belle,” Abby noted.
“Some year or so after.” Horace shook his
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