Chapter 9
“More beans, Cheri?”
Cherise straightened her posture in the hope the adjustment would help her breathe. She’d already consumed one of Aunt Viv’s breaded pork chops, two pieces of corn bread with butter, a baked apple, two helpings of green beans with bacon, and a glass of milk. She hadn’t eaten with such abandon since high school. The waist of her skirt had cut into her flesh.
“No, thanks,” she moaned, falling back against the dining room chair. “I’m about to pop as it is.”
Granddaddy snickered. “Nonsense. We’re having red velvet cake for dessert.”
“I know how y’all love red velvet cake,” Aunt Viv said, emptying the serving spoon of green beans onto Cherise’s plate as if she’d requested them. “Remember how I made it for your graduation party, with a nice cream cheese frosting?”
Cherise nodded, placing her hands on her pooched-out stomach. “Of course I do. It was delicious.”
“Now, I would have been happy to make a red velvet wedding cake for Taffy and J.J., but she insisted on a carrot cake. But who in their right mind wants carrot cake for their wedding?” Aunt Viv cut another square of corn bread and put it on Cherise’s plate, then provided her with another pat of butter. “If you ask me, any marriage that starts out with carrot cake is bound to—”
Granddaddy’s knife crashed down against the edge of his supper plate, drowning out the end of Viv’s sentence. “So, Cheri, did Purnell gather up all those reports you’d asked for? Do you have everything you need?”
Aunt Viv sniffed and raised her chin at her brother’s interruption. She began gathering the dirty dishes with passive-aggressive fervor.
“Let me clean up tonight,” Cherise said, starting to rise from her chair.
“I wouldn’t even consider it,” Aunt Viv said, her voice overly chirpy. “Now you’uns just sit and discuss your business while I go and get us some cake and coffee.”
Granddaddy slowly raised his eyes toward Cherise and shook his head.
“If it’s all right with you, of course,” Viv added, mimicking her brother with an eyebrow raise of her own. Then she used one of her pink-laced tennis shoes to kick open the swinging door to the kitchen.
Cherise stared at the clattering door until it fell silent, then she turned to Granddaddy. In her mind’s eye she pictured Lady Justice with her scales, one side holding a single pack of ramen noodles and a cutoff notice from Tampa Electric, while the other was weighed down with the newspaper business, her family of crazy people, J.J., the crumbling lake house, a rabid squirrel, and a huge red velvet cake.
She let out a weak squeal of alarm.
“Don’t mind your aunt Viv. Her dark cloud will blow over as soon as she has a nip of her slush.”
Cherise blinked a few times to regain her focus. “What were you saying?”
“The financials. Has Purnell given you everything you need?”
Cherise laughed uncomfortably, supposing there was no right time to ask the questions that had stacked up since that afternoon, when Gladys Harbison delivered some of the five years’ worth of accounting and bookkeeping reports to her office. A quick perusal was enough for Cherise to see that the Bugle hadn’t just lost ad revenue and circulation over the years, it was a study in financial mismanagement. She’d tried to track down Purnell to talk with him, but he’d been out of the office the whole afternoon.
“The Bugle hasn’t been audited in at least fifteen years, Granddaddy,” she said matter-of-factly. “Were you aware of this?”
He brushed corn bread crumbs off the tablecloth. “Oh, it’s been a lot longer than that, but there’s no need for it, Cheri. We’re a privately owned family business where every employee is part of the family. It’s always been our way.”
She fought not to roll her eyes. Her grandfather was clueless! “Even privately held corporations need auditing, Granddaddy. Audits reveal how reliable your reporting methods are and identify the changing trends in your business. They help you manage risk, and keep you on track toward accomplishing your goals.”
He said nothing, but avoided eye contact.
“Granddaddy, I can’t even figure out where some of your numbers are coming from, and I used to make my living doing this!”
His lip twitched.
“How involved have you been with the business end of the paper?”
He shrugged. “Involved enough.”
“It’s pretty unusual to have just one person who operates as both head of sales and chief financial officer, isn’t it?”
He shrugged again.
“In fact,” she continued, “this arrangement is borderline illegal, Granddaddy. Separating revenue creation from accounting is standard operating procedure and important for fraud prevention.”
He laughed. “Not if you’re the Bugle, Cheri. We’ve always done it that way. There are three arms of the company—finance, circulation, and editorial. The finance arm includes all our ad sales and it’s all under Purnell. Editorial was mine. Since Chester Wollard passed, I’ve been handling circulation, too. It’s always worked well for us.”
Cherise shook her head. “I have to disagree.”
“What are you saying?” His watery eyes blinked several times.
“I mean I’ve never seen such sloppy accounting in my life! The paper is hemorrhaging money, and I haven’t yet been able to figure where all the bleeding is coming from. You’ve got serious problems.”
He frowned, and when he shook his head, his jowls jiggled. “I’m sure if you just sat down with Purnell, he’d clear everything up.”
“Granddaddy, that’s what I’m trying to tell you—Purnell is a big part of the problem.”
He laughed. “Sugar, I’ve known Purnell Lawson my entire life. He’s a good man and the only remaining friend-of-my-heart from my childhood. Now, I will admit that he’s had some health issues recently, and his drinking sure doesn’t help the situation, but—”
“At best, he’s incompetent. At worst—”
The swinging door burst open, and Aunt Viv swept in with a coffee tray and two dessert plates. She served Granddaddy first. His slice of cake was so thin it couldn’t support its own weight and had fallen into a tiny mound of red velvet dust. Cherise received a piece as big as her head.
“Cheri, dear, would you like sugar and cream?” Viv asked this as she began adding both to the coffee cup.
Granddaddy rolled his eyes.
Aunt Viv plopped down into her chair and sighed, her work done. She reached for her tumbler.
“No cake?” Cherise asked, knowing full well what her aunt’s response would be.
“All I need is my risky slush,” she said with a wink. The smell of vodka and strawberry daiquiri mix was strong enough to bring tears to Cherise’s eyes. She sighed.
“Did Taffy come by to see you today?” Viv savored a long swig of her alcoholic confection. “Did you two have a nice, long talk? I sure hope you took some time to get reacquainted.”
Cherise’s attention wandered to the cake. As if on autopilot, she stuck her fork in the spongy perfection and brought it to her mouth, reeling from the sweet shock. She opened her eyes with a start, put down her fork, and pushed her plate away. If she didn’t get out of this house soon, she’d end up bat-shit crazy. Three hundred pounds worth of bat-shit crazy.
Granddaddy reached across the table to pat the top of her hand. “I’ll have a chat with Purnell. Don’t worry about any of that mess. Now, I understand from Tater Wayne that the lake house needs some fixin’ up. Don’t you mind any of that, either. I’ve already called a few boys and they’ll start work tomorrow.”
“Good,” Cherise heard herself say. “Because I want to move in right away.”
“What?” Viv’s eyes went wide.
Cherise was just as surprised by her decision as Aunt Viv. But what alternative did she have?
“I’ll have to borrow some cookware and dishes and stuff—and I’ll need to round up a decent box spring and mattress, linens, curtains, maybe a secondhand couch.” Cherise saw her aunt frown. “Everything in there is covered in mold and mildew, Aunt Viv. It has to be pitched.”
Viv sighed deeply. “Some of those things are family heirlooms, Cheri. You can’t just roll into town and start throwing things out willy-nilly, though I know you never were the sentimental type. Not like Taffy, God bless her heart.”
“Vivienne.” Granddaddy smacked his hand on the table.
“Well, I have a right to know why Cheri doesn’t want to stay here! Is there something wrong with this house? She only picked at her cake! Is there something wrong with the cake, too? And why is it so hard for Cheri to give her own flesh-and-blood sister the time of day?” Aunt Viv turned her pursed lips in Cherise’s direction. “Well?”
Cherise felt her face go hot. She counted to five as she placed her napkin on the table and gathered her untouched coffee and barely disturbed dessert plate. “I’m used to being on my own, Aunt Viv. I would feel more comfortable having my own place.” She stood, took a step toward the swinging door, then turned around. “And yes, Tanyalee did stop by today. We spoke for about three minutes, which was more than enough time for us to get reacquainted. There was even time for her to try to rent me one of Wim’s condos and then blame me for her divorce and her miscarriage. So yeah—it was a really nice talk.”
“Now, Cheri—”
She didn’t wait to hear what Granddaddy had to say. She kicked the swinging door with her high-heeled boot, dumped her dishes in the sink, and ran up the back staircase to her old room.
I must have been insane to come back here.
She slammed the door behind her and threw herself on the bed.
Was there any conceivable reason for J.J. to lie to Tanyalee about those phone calls? Was he trying to cover for his own bad behavior in some way? And why would Tanyalee believe him—a man she said treated her so badly—without even checking with her own sister?
Or was this all about Tanyalee and her ability to twist and turn at a lie until it had a whiff of truth to it?
This is why Cherise had left Bigler and never wanted to return. Shit! She’d almost wolfed down that big-ass piece of red velvet cake when she was already too stuffed to breathe! And why? Because this town made her second-guess herself. Suddenly, she didn’t trust her own eyes, her own ears, or her finely tuned gut instinct. And she wasn’t going to allow it. She wasn’t going to let herself get sucked in that way.
Cherise was on the verge of screaming. She wanted to beat her fists into the bed and howl.
But she didn’t. Cherise raised her head from the coverlet. She patted the bed, suddenly aware that she hadn’t bounced all over creation on contact with the mattress. This was not the mattress and box spring she’d had in high school. This bed was new. Firm. Plush.
Tomorrow, she’d be strapping this sucker to the roof of the pimpmobile and moving out.