Folk Around and Find Out (Good Folk: Modern Folktales #2)(38)

If memory served, her kids currently attended the same school where Charlotte worked as a teacher’s aide, a medium-sized charter school that had preschool through eighth grade. It was possible that the kids could go to Belmont for high school, but based on my reading of the settlement, it didn’t seem likely Charlotte would go in that direction.

Obviously, Charlotte wanted total control over day-to-day decisions. It appeared that she’d traded both the stipend and the offer of a generous, irrevocable, lifelong monthly alimony payment for this one demand.

I’d told her once that she wasn’t stupid. I’d been wrong. She was an idiot.

That said, if she was an idiot, then so was I. This payroll mistake Charlotte had found made me question all over again why I kept The Pink Pony. It wasn’t my main or even tertiary source of income, and now it looked like it would be costing me more than it earned this fiscal year.

You should sell it.

Batting away that thought, I turned my attention back to marinating in Charlotte’s poor business decisions rather than mine. Not only had Kevin’s family been in a rush to get the divorce settled, the alimony payment would’ve guaranteed a life of leisure for her. She could’ve delayed signing the settlement for years until she got everything. But she’d traded the money for immediate control over her kids’ visits with their dad, dad’s family, and schooling choice? That made no sense.

My lawyer had also preemptively requested access to the visitation documents. Kevin had been given two weekends of court supervised visitation each month that he’d never used—not once. He hadn’t seen his kids since skipping town, at least not according to the court records. But his mother had.

The former Mrs. William Anton Buckley III—the first wife—visited with her grandkids once a month. Each of those visits had been supervised and took place at a park in downtown Green Valley near Charlotte’s house. I vaguely remembered the woman from my days at Belmont. She seemed exactly like every other society matron I’d ever encountered, which is to say similar to my mother. Also, all her kids were assholes.

“Hey, Hank. Do you want another beer?”

I glanced up. Patty Lee stood at the edge of my booth, frowning at the spread of papers in front of me. I immediately started stacking them, not wanting her to see Charlotte’s name. I still didn’t believe I was doing anything untoward looking through Charlotte’s court filings, but my definition of untoward often didn’t align with that of the rest of society. Better to be safe than sorry. Patty and I were good friends, but so were she and Charlotte.

Charlotte and Patty are good friends.

I rubbed my bottom lip, turning this interesting fact over in my mind. “No more beer. I have work later.”

She leaned her hip against the side of the booth. “Okay. Can I get you anything else?”

Yes. Information.

Something about Patty I sincerely appreciated was, unlike Beau, she never worried about being nice. She was kind but never focused on niceties. Like me, she spoke the truth and expected other folks to be adult enough to handle it. I could trust what she said. Plus, she was book-smart. If I ever joined a trivia team, I’d want Patty on my side.

Therefore, Patty being smart, and honest, and knowing both me and Charlotte real well meant her insight and advice would be especially valuable at present.

I surveyed the bar; it was the post-lunch lull; I was one of three customers in the big place. “Can I talk to you about something?”

“Sure.” She also glanced around the bar. “Do you mind if I sit? I pulled a double yesterday and my feet are tired.”

“Fine by me.” I gestured to the bench across from me, then tucked the papers back into the large folder, out of sight.

Patty scooched into the bench and tucked her short, black hair behind her ears. Her chest rose and fell with a tired breath. “What’s up?”

While studying this woman I’d spent years trying to figure out, wanting her to give me a chance but not wanting to be pushy about it, I wondered why it had taken me a mere two days to get over her. I’d been sore about the reason we broke up but hadn’t felt particularly upset that it had ended. She’d called things off after our third date and we hung out as friends a week later.

Patty had always been beautiful. But I considered lots of women beautiful and knew lots of beautiful women. It had never been the physical with Patty that captured my attention. She had an intangible grace and confidence. She was cool under pressure. She knew she was smart but never felt like she was finished learning. And she was exceptionally talented at reading people.

My leg began to bounce. I forced it to stop. “Tell me, how long have you and Charlotte Mitchell been friends?”

“Why are you asking about Charlotte Mitchell?” Her expression didn’t change, but her tone sounded suspicious.

I debated how best to answer without misdirection and settled on, “She works for me.”

“I know.” Patty gave me a once-over. “I admit, I was surprised when I heard. But she’s always been good with numbers, and you needed a bookkeeper.”

“Patty . . .” I sighed, tired of this discontent in the center of my chest. It had been growing steadily since Charlotte and I had shouted at each other outside the Winston house and I’d offered her the bookkeeping job. I didn’t like the feeling, I didn’t want it, and I thought I finally understood the source.