Page 9 of Fake-Off with Fate (Love in Maple Falls #1)
ASHLYN
I have no idea what to do about the call I just received from Alexander MacDonald’s lawyer. If I talk to Phillip, he’ll demand to speak with my dad—which is impossible. I can’t really talk to anyone without them wanting to consult the mayor directly.
Opening my dad’s desk, I pull out the list of phone numbers he left for me.
The fourth name down is a woman named Marcy Fontaine.
She’s the town’s accountant. While I’m not sure exactly how an accountant can help me, she seems far enough removed from the mayor’s office that I might get some information out of her without her feeling the need to go directly to my father.
Picking up the phone on the desk, I punch in the number. It rings twice before she answers. “Marcy Fontaine Accounting, this is Marcy. How can I help you?”
“Marcy,” I start slowly as I try to formulate exactly what to say to her. I finally end up with, “This is Ashlyn Thompkins, mayor Thompkins’ daughter?”
“Hi, Ms. Thompkins,” she says. “What can I do for you?”
“I’m helping my dad out this week and I’ve come across a confidential situation that I need some help understanding.”
“An accounting problem?” She sounds confused and quickly adds, “I assure you, I keep meticulous records. I can supply evidentiary documentation should you require it.”
“This isn’t something you did,” I tell her. “But before I explain further, I’m going to need your word that you won’t share any details of what I’m about to tell you.”
“Of course,” she says. “I’ll sign a confidentiality agreement if you want.”
Her offer makes it clear she’s not from Maple Falls.
People in small towns usually just take each other’s word.
Having said that, I know a lot about confidentiality agreements.
I’m required to sign one before I start most of my jobs so that I’m legally bound to stay quiet about what I see in my client’s homes.
They don’t want me to call TMZ and talk about their secret cache of whips or evening gowns.
The last was the case with a governor I worked for. The dresses were his, not his wife’s.
“No need to sign anything,” I tell her. “But is it possible to meet for coffee somewhere outside Town Hall so we can talk in person?” Away from snoops like Phillip Bane.
“I don’t even work at Town Hall, I’m independent,” she announces. “I could meet you at Maple Grounds on Main Street in twenty minutes.”
I quickly look at the clock. I have to meet the captain of the Ice Breakers across the street at Shirley May’s, so it’s a convenient location. “See you there.”
After hanging up the phone, I quickly pull a compact out of my purse and open it before touching up my lipstick. I’m not currently dressed in business attire, so I figure the least I can do is look as presentable as possible.
I walk out of my dad’s office without a backward glance.
It takes fewer than two minutes to drive to my destination.
After parking my car in front of the bakery, I stop to admire the decorations starting to pop up.
One of the things I love about this little town is that everyone celebrates the seasons, especially autumn.
There are already scarecrows appearing on the streetlamps on Main Street.
In conjunction with Maple Fest, the town holds a contest for the best scarecrow.
They decorate the downtown area with them until the time of judging and it’s really a cool sight.
I go inside and order two hot ciders, then I sit down at a table to wait for Marcy.
I forgot to ask what she looks like but even so I know who she is the minute she walks into Maple Grounds.
A tallish young woman, about my age, appears.
She’s wearing a sleek pencil skirt and twinset.
Her hair is pulled back in a no-nonsense bun.
I wonder if she knows she has a pencil tucked behind her ear.
Raising my hand, I stand up and call out, “Marcy. Over here.”
She turns and immediately approaches. “How did you know it was me?”
“Lucky guess,” I tell her, indicating that she should sit down. Then I push over the extra cup and say, “I hope you like cider.”
She smiles. “I love it. Now, what can I do for you, Ms. Thompkins?”
“I’m not sure you can do anything, but you might know who could,” I tell her. “Do you know anything about the history of Maple Falls?”
She cocks an eyebrow. “I work with your dad, remember?”
After releasing a loud laugh, I announce, “So, you know everything there is to know.” She nods her head. “Pretty much.”
“Victor MacDonald’s supposed heir has been found, and he wants to claim his inheritance,” I tell her.
Marcy nearly chokes on her cider. “How can he do that? Isn’t there a statute of limitations or something?”
Shrugging, I answer, “I don’t know. All I know is that we need some legal advice and we need it fast.”
“What does your father say?”
“My dad is … um … well.” Based on nothing more than instinct, I decide to trust her. “My dad is out of town with my mom. I told him I’d cover for him. He doesn’t want anyone to know he’s gone. ”
“Why?”
“He says he doesn’t want anyone to feel abandoned by him, but it’s my guess he doesn’t want to face questions regarding why he’s gone away.
” Marcy looks puzzled, so I explain, “He’s been ignoring my mom since he became mayor and he’s trying to convince her not to leave him.
” I hope I don’t regret not asking her to sign that nondisclosure agreement.
“This is why I like numbers so much,” she announces.
Before I can ask what she means, she explains, “People are complicated. Numbers aren’t.
Take your parents’ relationship. Your father thinks he’s doing the right thing for the town, but he’s not there for your mother.
Numbers aren’t so nuanced. They just are what they are. ”
Marcy and I spend the next few minutes making small talk, when a familiar face walks into the bakery.
It’s my neighbor and old friend, Clara Johnson.
We were inseparable in grade school, but we kind of drifted apart in high school.
Then we went to different colleges, and we rarely saw each other after that.
“Hang on a second,” I tell Marcy. I stand up and call out, “Clara!” She turns in my direction and meets me halfway. “How are you?” I ask. “It’s been ages since I’ve seen you.”
Even though she appears a bit harried, she seems happy to see me. “Ashlyn, hi. I’m okay. Actually, I’m good. How are you?”
Tipping my head from side-to-side, I answer, “Life is busy, you know?”
“Tell me about it. I have two kids, so I know something about busy.” Clara got pregnant in college, which means her oldest must be around eleven now. It’s strange to think of someone as young as us with a baby, let alone a middle schooler.
“My mom says you’re still next door. I’m sorry about your divorce.”
“Don’t be sorry about Dwayne. I’m much better off without him.” She rolls her eyes. “How about you? Any lucky man in your life?”
“Only Ben and Jerry and neither of them wants to settle down,” I joke. “Listen, I’m in a meeting, but I’d love to get together some night while I’m in town.”
“How long are you here?” she asks. “I’ve been busy getting the social media set up for the new Ice Breakers team and I’m crazy busy.”
“I’ll be here for a week,” I tell her. “But I’m right next door so just stop by some night for a glass of wine or something.”
“I’ll try to do that,” she says. “I’m really glad to run into you, Ashlyn. Every time I look out of the kitchen window and into the backyard, I remember all the fun sleepovers we used to have out there.”
“Our childhoods were charmed.” I give her a quick hug and go back to Marcy who’s looking at her phone.
As soon as I sit down, she tells me, “I did a little Google search. It turns out that in the state of Washington there’s no statute of limitations for claiming an inheritance. If Alexander MacDonald’s heir is for real, he rightly owns the land that belonged to his ancestor.”
My jaw unhinges for a moment and hangs open before I manage to say, “Marcy, that’s half the town.”
She nods her head slowly. “I know it, but I’m going to investigate whether there might not be laws governing the preservation of the town from a fiscal angle.
Barring that, the only thing I can think of is trying to come up with a respectable sum of money so the town can offer to buy the land from him. ”
“How much does an acre of land cost around here?” I ask.
She shrugs. “It depends where the land is located. If it’s in town, it’ll be worth more because it can be used for businesses. If it’s remote, then less.” She thinks for a beat before saying, “I’d guess on average it’s around five thousand dollars an acre.”
My gasp is audible. “Alexander MacDonald left five hundred acres. That would be two point five million dollars! How in the world would we ever be able to raise that much?”
“Even if we could raise it,” she says, “He’d be under no obligation to accept it. ”
“But if we make a big enough offer,” I tell her, “then he could invest in a town where he could make more money than he could ever make in Maple Falls.”
“How much time do you think we have before this guy shows up in person?” Marcy wants to know.
I take a sip of my cider before answering, “His lawyer expects everything to be turned over ASAP.”
“Let me see what I can find out. But you might need to make the offer before we have the actual money. Either way though, you’re going to have to tell the town about this soon,” Marcy says.
“You’re right,” I tell her. “If you can’t find a solution, we’re going to need the support of everyone. I can’t solve this on my own.”
“You can count on me, Ms. Thompkins.” She leans forward and offers an exaggerated wink. I have the sense Marcy spends more time with spreadsheets than people. “I’ll stop by Town Hall later to collect the necessary documents.”
Looking at my phone, I realize I’m late for my next appointment, so I stand up and tell her, “Thanks for meeting me, Marcy, and good luck. I’ll be in touch soon.”
Then I turn and walk out of the bakery and make my way across the street to the diner. I have the captain of a hockey team waiting for me.