Taming McGruff(25)

Griffin’s admiration for the late Mr. King rose another notch.

“Family first, he’d say. And those were his kids; he adopted them. Once he took back control of the second Mrs. King and this place, it was a real treat to come into work every day.”

Frowning, Griff said, “But it all changed.”

“He got sick. Real quick. Before you knew it, he was gone.” Bruno stopped, choking up. “One of the worst days of my life.” He cleared his throat. “She swooped down like a buzzard. I can’t tell you how many fights I heard, how many people up and quit, and how many she ended up firing.”

“My father,” the words were hard to get out, “suffered at her hands.”

“And how. I think he got it worse than anybody else. You know why? I’ll tell you. He exposed her, to the rotten core. She fought back, bad-mouthing him.”

“Lying,” Griff corrected.

“Don’t you know it, too. But you yell long enough and loud enough, other people start thinking there’s something to it. I think because she was the widow, the press sympathized with her.”

“And against him.” Griffin recalled the agony of those days. They waited outside the house morning to night; flashbulbs went off any time his father or he would leave; the way they hurled accusation after accusation against him. “He wasn’t a thief.”

“I know that. Didn’t have it in him. But that bottle,” he murmured, “took his credibility away.”

“Hard to hide the drinking problem, wasn’t it?” He tried. How many mornings had Griff found him splayed out on a chair, passed out? How many days had Griff begun brewing coffee, splashing water on his father’s face to wake him up, help him as he staggered to the table once Griff had scrambled some eggs?

“Mr. K. got him straightened out years before, kept him together by believing in him. But once Mr. K. passed, well, he took it up again. She found his weakness—fed it, too.”

“Years before?” Griff asked, zeroing in on that phrase. “I just assumed her relentless attacks were the cause.”

“I wish I could blame her for everything. Nah, he wasn’t as bad, mind you, but it was there.”

Griffin swallowed hard. At the serious look on the other man’s face, he couldn’t doubt the truth. She hadn’t caused it. Shock rushed through his veins.

“Executive offices, clear,” the male voice came over the radio.

“Roger, that,” Bruno responded into his radio. “We got ten, maybe fifteen minutes, tops.”

Time was running out. He cut to the chase. “Bruno, I have to ask you something. Did you ever hear about another will, the original will?” He held his breath for the answer; everything hinged on this. Was it just the rambling of a drunken, defeated man? Or did Agnes King really forge a second, more lucrative will to gain control of King’s and all the money that went along with it?





Chapter 10





Priscilla flipped through another design magazine, tapping her foot. Where in the world was Griff? She had all these questions she needed to ask him and discover what he wanted his home to look like. They only had a short time to get this together before the campaign launched next week. She had to get the questions up on the website, too. However, she’d keep his answers to herself until the big reveal.

How many messages could she leave with Peg, anyway? Priscilla didn’t dare call him on his cell phone, especially during work hours. But really, he could just have Peg set up a meeting with her. Or was he dodging her?

“Miss, you want this packed up?” one of the construction workers called to her, pointing to the stack of paint samples and brochures a few feet away.

Jumping up from her seat at the reception desk, Priscilla joined him. “If you could just lift them in the box, I’ll seal it and write on the side.”

“No problem.” A few days ago, his smile and hooded look would have registered on the interest meter. However, since meeting Griff, she couldn’t care less.

“Thanks.”

“Hey, some of my friends and I are getting together later. Just throwing back a few and playing darts. Nothing fancy. If you want, you can join us.”

Pulling back, she looked at the goofy grin and swagger of the blond-haired guy.

“Interrupting?” Griff asked, coming in unexpectedly.

She jerked around. Priscilla knew packing the bell over the door already had been a mistake, but with the crews coming and going, the constant ringing had gotten annoying fast. “Oh, Griff, Mr. James, I didn’t know you were here.” Why did she feel guilty at his raised eyebrow? She hadn’t done anything wrong. “No, we’re just deciding what gets packed and stored during the remodel.”