CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
“But, Mr. Crawford, I have a few more touches to add to your apartment.” No mistaking the New Jersey accent of the high-pitched voice.
Those touches worried Daniel. “Please, you have done enough. I’m quite happy with the interior as it is. Will you please send me your final invoice?”
“Are you quite sure? The bedroom could use some more color.”
“Positive. It is perfect.”
Another call beeped through. Morgan. “Thank you. I do need to go.” He switched over to the new call.
“Daniel, why did you fly out to Indiana yesterday? Couldn’t you have called?” The exasperation in his lawyer’s voice filled the room.
“I thought I would get there before the protest started. I didn’t think a news van would come to blink-and-you-miss-it Indiana to record fifty people protesting. They had no way of knowing I was there before I announced myself.” He knew that wasn’t the truth. He’d wanted to see Amanda and thought he would have the opportunity after shutting down Candace’s rally before it started.
“Well, one thing good came of this. That mock-up your girl did of the refinery has gotten attention. People don’t want it. And as far as other news, the clerk over in the courthouse in the county to the north managed to dig up the missing document. Apparently there is an agreement going back to your great-grandfather at the end of the Great War. The bottom line is that the Fowler property can be passed from generation to generation of Fowlers but not sold to anyone but the Crawford heir, and the sections of land not used must remain in their natural state. In the sixties, there was some question about the deed, a second sale of the land occurred for one dollar to register the deed properly. How the documents ended up in the wrong courthouse is anyone’s guess.”
“So George Fowler had no right to sell it?”
“Correct. The other thing is, we are relatively confident the signatures that allowed the property to leave the trust were forged. But we need to talk to Miss Fowler to be certain.”
The new couch was as comfortable as the toilet-paper one. “What does this mean for the Fowler property now?”
“Well, we can contest the sale, and I think we will win. I have no idea what the current owner will do, but they will probably go back to Fowler and demand their money back. But we need to have Mandy listed as one of the plaintiffs since the last legal transaction was to the trust in her name.”
“You know she isn’t talking to me?”
Morgan’s dry laugh came over the phone. “I heard. Good luck.”
According to his watch, he needed to leave for court for the opening statements in half an hour. So far the media had not picked up on the fact he was testifying on behalf of the hotel, not the Vandemarks. The gossip rags had been too busy following his social life to focus on the reason he was in the Big Apple in the first place. The next three days should be interesting.
While he waited for the car service, he opened the scan of the original Fowler sales contract and began to read.
Another phone message from Daniel. At least he had come up with a new angle, but using Grandma Mae was low. Mandy deleted the message like she had two others since last night. He should know the meaning of good-bye.
It was best if they stayed out of each other’s lives. Of course, it was difficult to forget him when Mr. Alexander stood in the doorway of her classroom, arms folded over his chest. Mandy waited for him to say something or leave.
“You really can go. My room looks fine.”
Mr. Alexander gave a mock salute. “I’ll be around.”
Mandy wondered if he had a first name, but it wouldn’t matter. Hopefully by tomorrow he would be gone.
Nothing out of the ordinary happened during her first three classes. During her prep hour, she completed the cleaned-up version of the mansion from a different angle, adding different landscaping and painting the wood trim a warm gray. She glanced at her clock. If she hurried, she had time to collect her mail before lunch. She still had the untouched blueberry bagel from breakfast in her desk. The room tilted as she stood. Skipping breakfast had been a bad idea.
Drat! Coach Robb was the only person in the room. At least she only needed to get her mail. Reaching into her cubby, she suddenly felt his breath on her neck. “So, I see you are in the market for a real man. Mr. Money Bags doesn’t seem to want you.”
Mandy cringed. Should she hit her panic button? She turned, keeping her handful of papers up as a shield. “Back off.”
“Darlin’, don’t go all frigid on me.” He put his giant hand on her shoulder, pulling her shirt forward in the process, his eyes dropping to her chest.
“Please move.” She pulled the papers back to cover her gaping blouse and tried to step to the side.
His hand moved to the side of her neck. “Baby, I—owwww!”
Suddenly he disappeared.
No, he was bent over a table, one arm twisted around his back. Where Mandy expected to see Mr. Alexander, a tall, athletic brunette stood. “Perhaps my boss wasn’t very clear last week. Leave Miss Fowler alone.” The woman stepped back.
The coach’s face burned red—from anger or embarrassment, Mandy couldn’t tell. He took a menacing step toward the new woman. “Well, well. What do we have here? A woman with beauty and brawn. Perhaps you—”
“Would like to file a sexual harassment complaint?” she said to Mandy.
Coach took another step and raised his hand to the newcomer’s shoulder. In a flash, he was face down on the table again.
“Or I can give some self-defense lessons to the teachers at this school. You are easier to take down than you look.”
The door opened, and three teachers walked in, their laughter fading as they took in the spectacle. The shortest female started laughing again. “I’ve wanted to do that to him forever!”
The science teacher adjusted his tie. “Do you need any help?”
“Would you kindly go get your school officer? I believe your coach needs to be arrested on assault charges.”
The coach let out a string of profanities.
When the resource officer and the principal appeared, the brunette stepped back, keeping the coach restrained.
“Just what is going on here?” Mr. Lee walked to the coach’s side.
The coach opened his mouth, but the woman spoke first. “I witnessed this man sexually assaulting Miss Fowler. I would like you to arrest him.”
The principal stepped away from the coach. “Arrest?”
“Yes, I believe in this state, the charge is sexual battery.” The brunette looked to the short teacher. “Possibly multiple counts.”
“Miss Fowler, do you agree?” The officer pulled out his cuffs.
“She doesn’t have to. I witnessed it, I can bring the charges.”
“And who exactly are you?” asked the principal.
“Abbie Hastings, of Hastings Security.”
Mandy felt like she might faint.
And she did.
Two trips to the ER in the space of a month. At this rate she should get a frequent-patient pass. The doctor had recognized her, but the boot may have helped.
“There you go,” he said as he set the half-empty glue tube on the tray. “Unlike stitches, with glue, there should be no visible scarring on your cheek. Let’s peek at those X-rays. Good. No fracture to the cheekbone, and your foot is healing nicely. Another two weeks and you can take that boot off.”
Not exactly good. A week longer than she planned. She would still be wearing the boot for her MFA show.
“I’ll have someone come in with your paperwork, and you can leave.”
Mandy sat up and faced Abbie. “Thanks for your help. Did you really have him arrested, or did I imagine everything?”
“We did. Between what Alex witnessed last week and what I did today, there is a case there. The short teacher also filed charges. I won’t be surprised if other women step up to add more counts.”
Wincing, Mandy stopped mid-nod. “Yes, I know at least ten who have filed harassment complaints with the district.”
“Alex guessed as much.”
“Alex?”
“My brother. He goes by Mr. Alexander on the job. I’m part of his team. You didn’t think he was the only one watching out for you?”
“I hadn’t thought about it.”
A woman in scrubs entered with a clipboard full of papers.
Mandy signed the necessary forms and followed Abbie out.
“Oh, just so you know, I’ll be living with you and your roommate until the Vandemark trial is over.”
The automatic doors opened with a whoosh. “Why?”
Abbie pointed the way to her car. “Mr. Morgan, Daniel’s lawyer, is worried about repercussions. The Vandemarks don’t like to be crossed. And Daniel’s testimony could go either way.”
“But how does that involve me?”
“Because hurting you hurts Daniel.” Abbie opened her car door.
“But we are not dating or anything. I am just an old friend.”
“Keep telling yourself that and maybe someone will believe it. I’ve spent the last three years around Mr. Crawford, and, believe me, he doesn’t want you hurt.”
If he didn’t want me hurt, then he should have never kissed me. Mandy looked at her foot. “Really?”
“Yup. Oh, I need to take your photo.”
“Why?”
“Miss Fowler, if you need an explanation, a thirty-year-old single female bodyguard is the wrong one to ask.” Abbie Hastings snapped the photo. “It is for Daniel. He needs proof.”
The doctor had to be wrong. She must have a concussion and was hallucinating the conversation.
Daniel hadn’t been called to testify today, so he couldn’t break his date tonight. His being in the public eye kept Summerset from blogging that they were having private trysts—an added benefit to the defense team’s strategy. He hoped they were correct in their assumptions of the Vandemark legal team’s plan, or else all these dates were for nothing. Considering the number of times Summerset had tried to ambush him the last ten days, being seen with many different women was a good idea, even if he was beginning to detest every minute of it. He scrolled through his calendar to figure out the who, what, and when of his evening. It could be worse. At least he wanted to see the Broadway revival of the show. If he ate enough garlic for dinner, the smell might keep his date at bay. Doubtful. After her seminude performance at the music awards last year, she had been sleeping her way through the A-list. It would take a silver stake to keep her limited to the one-kiss clause of the contract.
In the cab, he checked his phone. The second he got into the elevator he called Mandy. Voicemail. “How are you? What did the doctor say? Please, please call me, Amanda.” If only the trial were over and he could explain all the dates and public kisses. He begged Morgan for an exception to explain to Mandy, but the lawyer was too concerned too many people knew the truth about the dates, and he was nervous, even with the nondisclosures that had been signed.
His next call was to Hastings. No answer.
His third was to Bonnie. Voicemail. “Please, I need help. This can’t get any more messed up!”
It could, and most likely would. His date was in an hour and a half.
She’d licked him.
Cameras had flashed.
The world had shuddered.