The assistant Georgie had spoken to earlier walked in, carrying a legal box with a lid. She set it down on the console table behind Mr. Manning.
“Before we begin,” the attorney said, “can I get anyone anything to drink? Water? Coffee?”
“Will you just read the damn will already?” Prescott demanded.
To his credit, Mr. Manning ignored him and turned to the people at the opposite end of the table.
“Water sounds like a good idea,” Dottie said, getting to her feet. “Everyone needs water.”
“We don’t need water,” Prescott said, tugging at his tie. “We need to find out what the old man said, and then get out of here so I can start making arrangements to sell off the brewery.”
Dottie’s smile momentarily froze, then got bigger. “Nonsense. You’ve all had a very long day, what with your mourning at the funeral and all. Water’s just what you need.”
The mourning comment was a not-so-carefully concealed jab. Georgie had been the most upset, but to be fair, none of her siblings had really known the man. Their father had made sure of that.
For some reason, her gaze shot to the handsome man in the ill-fitting suit. His jaw had a firm set, and all vestiges of humor had fled from his face. Their eyes met for a moment, and Georgie shifted her gaze, unnerved by the judgment she saw there.
Dottie turned to face the attorney. “Henry, I’ll just go fetch some glasses.”
Henry, Georgie thought. Interesting. She clearly knew him as more than a passing acquaintance. Either that, or she was at an age where she didn’t stand on ceremony. Georgie suspected it was some combination of the two.
“We don’t need water!” Prescott shouted, his face turning red.
“Just let the woman get some water,” Lee groaned, pushing his chair back from the table.
Dottie headed for the door but stopped and pinched Prescott’s cheek. “Patience, my boy. You never really understood the concept, but you’re not too old to learn it now.”
She walked out of the room as every member of the Buchanan family stared at her in shock. She’d dared to touch the Prescott Buchanan.
Georgie couldn’t remember the last time she’d physically touched her father, and she struggled to hide a grin at the woman’s outrageousness.
“This is ridiculous,” Prescott sneered. “No one needs water!”
“I need water,” Adalia said, tilting her head and giving her father a mischievous look.
“I could use some water,” the Hispanic woman said in a small voice.
“Who are you again?” Georgie’s father demanded.
“You’ll find out soon enough,” Mr. Manning said, a fine sheen of perspiration covering his forehead. He pulled out a handkerchief and dabbed at the sweat, then stuffed it back into his pocket. Another second ticked by, and he lifted his arm to look at his watch even though there was a clock on the wall next to him.
Georgie’s father glared at everyone while Lee was visibly annoyed, and Adalia looked like a cat who’d not only eaten the canary but a couple of chickens too. Victoria appeared bored, but she arguably always looked that way. Georgie just wanted this over with. Her family was definitely showing the rest of the room how they put the fun in dysfunction.
Dottie returned a couple of minutes later carrying a pitcher of water, while a woman trailed behind her with a tray full of glasses.
“Now, give everyone a glass,” Dottie instructed. “Everyone, whether they say they want one or not.”
The woman began to set them in front of people, starting with Georgie, then Adalia, and moving around the table. Dottie followed her, pouring water into each glass. She’d gotten halfway around the table and was just about to run out when a man walked in with another pitcher.
“If you had to insist on water,” Prescott sneered, “couldn’t you at least have gotten water bottles?”
“Water bottles?” Dottie asked with a chortle. “Well, aren’t you the funny man?”
Georgie burst into laughter, drawing shocked looks from both of her siblings. But she couldn’t help it—she’d never once heard anyone refer to her father as funny.
“See?” Dottie said, taking the pitcher and continuing to pour. “Even Georgie knows how silly that was.”
Georgie continued to laugh. The idea of someone calling Prescott Buchanan both funny and silly was too preposterous to bear.
Or maybe the stress of it all was getting to her.
“Georgie,” Adalia said in a concerned tone as she rested her hand on Georgie’s forearm. “Are you okay?”
She nodded as she wiped tears from her face.
“Look what you’ve done, Prescott. Now the poor girl’s crying.” Dottie tsked, continuing to move around the table. “She’s grieving over the damage those bottles do to the earth.” She stopped and shot Prescott a glare. “Plastic is the devil’s mischief. Don’t you forget it.” Then she gave Georgie a knowing look. “Georgie girl gets it.”
“Georgie girl?” Lee asked. “Just what were you doing down here to earn a nickname, Georgie?”
“You were down here?” Adalia asked. “In Asheville?”
Georgie cringed. “Grandpa Beau asked me to come visit.”
“When?” Adalia demanded.
“A few weeks ago.”
The hurt look on Adalia’s face said she was upset Lee had known and she hadn’t. Not that she ever picked up any of Georgie’s calls.
“Now, now,” Dottie said, pouring water into Lee’s glass. “All this squabbling isn’t healthy.” She set the pitcher down on the table, then reached into her pocket and pulled out a crystal. Setting it on the table, she began to wave her hand over it, as if wafting its essence toward Prescott. “Let’s get rid of some of that negative energy.”
“What the hell are you doing?” Prescott demanded, rolling his chair back so hard it hit the wall. The clock overhead fell off and landed in his lap.
Dottie pursed her lips and shook her head as she eyed him with a worried look. “That’s a bad omen. I told you that you should learn more patience.”
Then she walked back to the end of the table and resumed her seat, leaving the pitcher on the edge of the table between Prescott and Lee.
Prescott picked up the wall clock and stared at it as though intimidating it to give him an explanation for daring to jump off the wall and into his lap. Pushing out a breath of frustration, he put the clock on the conference table. “Can we please get this going?”
Mr. Manning’s entire face was red and covered in sweat, but he nodded to his assistant.
She opened the lid and handed the attorney several pages stapled together.
“Beau had a trust,” he said, loosening his tie, “but he thought it might be easier for some of you to digest the terms if they were delivered in his own words.”
That suggested the will might not be as straightforward as her father expected. Georgie wasn’t sure whether to be thrilled or horrified. Her father’s narrowed eyes suggested he wasn’t expecting good news. The excitement in Dottie’s suggested she was fully aware of what was about to happen.
Oh mercy. Had her grandfather gone and given everything to his employees?