“It is not just one of those things,” Mason said. “We’ve been working with Farnham-Capheart for years. They’ve done a good job for us. More importantly, this Jax thing you keep harping about is not a done deal. You know damned well we don’t have any idea of how Dad’s trust arrangement is going to shake out. For all we know, he may have left Quixie to the Humane Society.”

Davis’s eyes shifted nervously. “The old man wouldn’t have done anything like that. Anyway, we’ll know by next week. I’m just trying to make sure we’ve got all our ducks in a row once we do know how it shakes out.”

“I am not going to let this company be sold, Davis,” Mason said quietly. “Not without a fight. I know we’ve had some philosophical differences in the past, and we’ve managed to work things out, but this time, I’m not backing down. Our great-grandfather started this business. He and Granddad and Dad managed to keep it afloat during the Depression and the war years. They fought off Coke and Pepsi and half a dozen other companies that tried to put us out of business. But if Kelso and his bunch get their hands on Quixie, you know as well as I do that they won’t leave us alone. I’ve seen how they operate. They don’t want us—not the physical us. They just want our brand and our market share. Oh yeah, they’ll make promises about keeping things just the way they are, but that’s a bunch of bullshit. They’ll write us a big check and then show us the door. They’ll shut the plant down, ship the equipment somewhere else, and throw everybody in town out of work. Everybody but the Baylesses.”

“You got something against making money?” Davis asked. “Or do you just enjoy the idea of being the last noble Bayless to run Quixie—right into the ground? Because that’s where it’s headed, big brother. Get your head out of your ass! Take a look at what’s happening in the business.”

“We can turn it around,” Mason said stubbornly. “The new flavors, the focus groups loved ’em. And we need some fresh ideas, but we’ve got a good product…”

“I’m telling you it’s too late,” Davis said, half-shouting. “The brand extensions you’re talking about will cost millions. We’d have to retool the plant, add extra capacity, and God knows what all. And I’m tired of flushing good money after bad. If you don’t believe me, talk to Celia! She’ll tell you the truth. The smart money is on Jax. We make the deal, get ’em to sign an iron-clad agreement not to move the company—at least for four or five years. Maybe milk the state for some tax incentives to stick around…”

The muscle in Mason’s jaw twitched as though it had been touched with a live wire. “We are not going to hold this state ransom and hang around for a government handout just to turn around and double-cross them. That’s not how Baylesses do business.”

“The hell you say.” Davis was leaning back in his leather chair. He clicked his mouse and his computer screen was again filled with color photographs of real estate listings. He swiveled the monitor so Mason could get a look.

“You see this? That’s a four-bedroom house on Figure Eight Island.” He tapped the screen with his forefinger. “The lot alone cost a million, three, and I know the owner spent another million and a half building the damned thing. Then he lost his ass in the speculative real estate market. Guy is hurtin’ big-time. Now, he’s begging me to buy it—fully furnished—including a thirty-five-foot Grady-White. I just put an option on it. Eight hundred thousand. You believe that?”

Mason felt his stomach churn. His brother relished the idea of feasting on another man’s disaster. “You could buy that house and boat right now, without taking a dime out of Quixie,” he pointed out. “You’ve got the money. Nothin’s stopping you.”

Davis leaned across his desk. Beneath the tan, a network of fine red veins threaded across his high cheekbones. “Quixie is stopping me,” he said. “Floggin’ this dead horse takes up all my time and energy. But now I’m done.”

He laid his palms flat down on the desktop. “And before you start in on lecturing me about family duty and all that bullshit, you need to know that I am not the only one in favor of this sale. I know Pokey’s dead-set against it, but hell, Pete’s got plenty of money, and anyway, our baby sister don’t know squat about cherry soda.”

He glanced over at a glamorous silver-framed photo of Sallie that rested at the edge of his desk. She’d had the portrait done only a year ago, not long after she’d made a trip to Florida that had been billed as a winter vacation, but which they all knew was for a skillfully done face-lift.

“I wasn’t gonna get into this right now, but you need to know that Mama is ready for this deal to happen. She’s not getting any younger. She wants to get out and enjoy her life while she still can. And if you let this company go to hell, out of your own stubborn pride, that’s on you, buddy.”

He pointed at the monitor with the photo of the beach house. “This summer, when you’re messin’ around out at that broken-down old boathouse and cottage out at Hideaway—that’s where I’m gonna be spending my time. Ocean views on one side, views of the sound on the other.”

Mason shook his head. “I went to see Mama this morning. You’ve been telling her all kind of lies about what’ll happen to the company if we don’t sell, haven’t you, Davis? Scaring her, making her think she’ll be a penniless widow?”

His younger brother gave a nonchalant shrug. “Mama’s a grown woman with plenty of business sense, Mason. She can see the handwriting on the wall without a flashlight.”

“I’m done here,” Mason said tersely as he stood to go. “Anyway, I didn’t come in here to debate the merits of Jax Snax. What I did come in here to talk about is Quixie. Here and now. Today. I’ve tried to stay out of your side of the business, but I can’t do it this time. I called Joe Farnham after I got his e-mail this morning. He told me losing the account meant he couldn’t hire Annajane. Was that your intention? Making sure she wouldn’t have a job? What the hell has she ever done to you?”

“Nothing,” Davis said. “I’m okay with Annajane. How was I supposed to know he’d let her go? I’m not privy to their internal workings.”

“You need to fix this, Davis,” Mason said, glaring at his younger brother. “Nobody knows the company history as well as Annajane or understands our market like she does. Rehire her, or I will. Firing Capheart is one of the stupidest damned moves you’ve ever made. And you’ve made some pretty stupid decisions in your life.”

“You’re calling me stupid?” Davis leaned forward. “Take a look at yourself, big brother. I’m not the one lettin’ my gorgeous fiancée sleep at Mama’s house while I’m out fuckin’ my ex-wife in a cornfield.”

Mason felt the blood rushing to his head. He stood very still. He jammed his hands into his pockets to keep from slugging his brother.

“I’ll call Annajane and let her know she’s been rehired,” he told Davis. “In the meantime, we need to concentrate on running Quixie, the best way we know how.” He turned and stalked out of the room.

27

NOW ENTERING PASSCOE, N.C. HOME OF QUIXIE BEVERAGE COMPANY SINCE 1922. Annajane slowed the car as she passed the city limits sign.

Funny, she’d never really noticed the tasteful green and red billboard before. If Jax Snax managed to gobble up Quixie in the proposed merger, would the town fathers leave the sign standing? The real question, of course, was whether there would be anything left of the town if Quixie got sold.

She’d seen too many other small towns around the state decimated after the departure of textile mills, furniture manufacturers, and yes, even the much-maligned big tobacco. The sight of those abandoned buildings, with their weed-strewn properties; ghostly, boarded-up windows; and forlorn FOR SALE signs never failed to send a shiver up her spine.