Free Faithful to Laura by Kathleen Fuller Page B

Kenneth took off his glasses and set them on his lap. “I wish you would reconsider your final wishes, Mrs. Easely. I would hate to see everything you and your late husband worked for fall into the wrong hands.”
    “He’s my grandson. This is his birthright.” Cora glanced out the window as her driver weaved through early morning New York traffic. “I would not have my sizable fortune end up in some trust for strangers to siphon out until it was empty.”
    “We can make sure that won’t happen.”
    “Don’t worry, Kenneth. You’ll get your usual fee. And you will still be on retainer. I have no intention of firing you.”
    He tugged at his collar. “The thought never crossed my mind.”
    “Perhaps you’re more concerned about my grandson firing you?”
    Kenneth touched a well-groomed, silvery sideburn. “If he’s of the same fine character as his grandmother, then my concern would certainly be invalid.”
    Cora turned to her attorney. “I’m not on my deathbed yet.
    And I’m fully confident that Sawyer will return with me. I’ll make sure he’s trained in how to run our business concerns.”
    The same business his mother had turned her back on when she married that useless husband of hers. But Cora had made a mistake with Kerry. One she didn’t intend to repeat with Sawyer.
    “Well then.” Kenneth put his glasses in his suit jacket pocket and gathered the papers. “I suppose there’s nothing left to say except good luck. I hope you find everything in Middlefield agreeable to you.”
    Including your grandson .
    Kenneth didn’t have to say the words out loud. The silent thought hung in the air between them as they continued on to the airport.
    Her child had been such a disappointment to her. But her grandson wouldn’t be. Cora felt that deep inside, a truth she couldn’t deny. Still, the thought did not help steady her nerves.

    Cora wasn’t used to slow taxis. She wasn’t used to taxis at all, to be perfectly honest. She was used to a finely appointed limo with an experienced driver who knew how to negotiate the crowded streets of New York, weaving in and out of avenues and boulevards jammed with traffic.
    There were few cars on this road in Middlefield, yet the driver was poking along as if caught in five o’clock gridlock.
    If they were doing ten miles an hour, she was the queen of England.
    She should have paid the extra money, brought her chauffer, and rented a car. Luxury model, of course. But she didn’t want to invite questioning, and this didn’t seem to be the kind of town that would ignore an entourage. She wanted to slip in, retrieve her grandson, and fly back to New York without spending a moment longer in this backwater than absolutely necessary.
    With any luck, she’d be in first class with a glass of champagne, and her grandson beside her, before the sun went down.
    If this infernal driver would get a move on, that is.
    “Can’t you hurry up?” When the driver didn’t respond, she forced out the one word she rarely used. “Please.”
    The taxi driver talked over his shoulder. “We’re in Amish country. No need to hurry.”
    “I’ll be the judge of that.”
    From Cleveland to Middlefield was, Kenneth had told her, about forty-five miles. Yet they’d been driving for over an hour with no sign of arriving anywhere. The taxi fare from the airport was already exorbitant, but it was clear this driver needed more incentive. “I’ll double your rate if you get me to my destination quickly.”
    “I’ll do my best.” He tilted back his baseball cap. A little cartoon Indian was embroidered on the front. “All depends on how many buggies we get behind.”
    Buggies. Cora fell back against her seat and scowled. She knew precious little about these people, except that they were incredibly backward, and deliberately so. One of her friends had once invited her on a tour of Amish country in Pennsylvania.
    “You’ll love it,” Isabel had said. “Everything is so peaceful. We