by Leigh Duncan
Glen slipped into his usual role of the devil’s advocate. “Have you thought this through? Figured out how far back it’ll push the timetable for Connections House?”
Dan went back to passing the pen from hand to hand. “Actually, we might open sooner rather than later.”
He explained about the meeting at On The Fly. “Would you have a problem if there were a lot more people involved?”
Dan held his breath and braced for objections.
Glen leaned back in the chair nearest the desk and crossed his booted feet. “Truthfully, I never felt it should be a one-man show,” he announced.
At the droll statement Dan missed the pen. It clattered to the floor.
“Really,” he said, trying not to sound as insulted as he felt.
“Don’t get your shorts in a bind,” Glen said, his wrinkles curving up. “No one is more eager than I am to help these kids get on their feet. But for a project like this to succeed, it needs community support, community financing. I went along with your plans because I know you. Once you get your mind made up about something, there isn’t any stopping you. But this— You can’t do it all yourself. I wondered when you’d figure it out.”
As usual, Glen had his best interests at heart. Since he’d never envisioned the project as the Dan Hamilton house, his demeanor softened. After a short review of the details, the conversation turned to life in Glen and Maddy’s household and dinner on Sunday.
On his way out a few minutes later, the retired foster dad stopped to rest his hand on the door frame. “I figure it took someone mighty special to change your mind about The Aegean project. My money’s on that fly fishing guide you’ve been spending time with. She must care about you an awful lot to go to this much trouble.” Glen’s words slowed. “Doesn’t she have a kid? Have you given any thought to him?”
“His name’s Adam.” Dan nodded, not at all surprised that Glen knew all about Jess and her son. By now, his foster parents had probably discussed which college the boy would attend. “We’re taking things slow.”
The pace they’d set was practically glacial. But was there any other choice?
“Sounds like you don’t need my advice.” The older man paused, then added, “You’re gonna get it anyway. You probably don’t want to let someone like that get away. Hang on to her, son.”
“I’ll give it my best,” he whispered to the vacant doorway.
Chapter Twelve
Friday afternoon, Jess rose to greet Estelle Phelps as the woman strode into the best restaurant in Brevard County. Henry had always said his niece deserved an F in “shares well with others.” Jess intended to turn that grade into an A when it came to Phelps Cove. But if Estelle’s thinly pursed lips were any indication, she had a tough job ahead of her.
“Estelle, thank you for meeting me. I know this can’t be an easy day for you, what with the service and all. It was a lovely memorial.” Even though, judging from the mistakes he’d made in the eulogy, the minister hadn’t known Henry any better than his niece had.
Estelle gave her proffered hand a limp shake. “So nice to finally meet you. I missed you in the receiving line.”
“I couldn’t stay,” Jess murmured. If she’d been stronger, she might have stuck around. But one look at the heavy oak pew where she’d sat during Tom’s funeral, one whiff of the same cloying floral scent, and it had been all she could do to hold herself together through the benediction.
“Too bad,” Estelle said with a sigh. “We could have talked there and avoided—” she swept a scathing glare over rosebud wallpaper and tasseled draperies “—all this.”
The remark dimmed Jess’s hopes of establishing some kind of rapport with Henry’s niece. She watched Estelle stretch a languid hand over her glass just as the waiter began to pour.
“I prefer bottled water,” the woman informed him without so much as a glance in his direction. “From a mountain spring. You do carry premium brands, don’t you?” She tossed a doubtful look his way.
“Yes, madam,” assured the formally attired man while Estelle leaned back to let another of the staff spread a linen napkin across her lap. “Of course.”
Seconds later, Jess drank deeply from a glass of perfectly fine tap water while the waiter presented a cobalt-blue bottle as if it were fine wine. He poured. Estelle tasted. She nodded, though a marginal lift of one starched eyebrow made it clear the selection—and the menu choices—fell below her usual standard. After grilling him at length on sauces and specials, she ordered an ordinary Caesar salad.
“The duck,” Jess said, opting for the restaurant’s signature dish. She smiled her thanks to their waiter as she handed him the leather-bound menu.
Once they were alone, she launched into a speech so well practiced she could recite it while balancing her checkbook. “POE would like to name the Phelps Cove Visitor Center in your honor. Think of it. Every person who comes—” She faltered when Estelle waved her hand.
“And in exchange?”
Jess muffled a sigh. “In exchange, you’d give us an extension on Henry’s contract. We’re asking for a couple of months, tops. On the other hand, your name on the center would last forever.”
Estelle laughed. “Nice try, but no. As I told you the last time we spoke, I’m not interested in posterity. Money talks.” Shaking her head, she passed a butter knife over a pot of the restaurant’s famed cheese spread and dabbed a transparent film across a slice of fragrant rye toast. “I’ll never understand my uncle’s obsession with that swamp.”
Jess eyed the bread. In her rush to get out of the house this morning, she’d skipped breakfast. But much as she wanted to help herself, talking with her mouth full was not an option. Especially since she’d just been given the opening she needed.
“It’s not a swamp.” She rubbed her damp fingers on the hem of her napkin. “It’s a beautiful piece of land that borders on a premier habitat for trout and redfish. The acreage itself is home to everything from songbirds to bobcats. An old orange grove dates back to the 1800s. To preserve its history, POE will salvage timbers from the sharecropper’s cabin. I’d love to show you all of our plans and take you on a tour of the property. I’ll even take you fishing there if you’d like.”
“No, no.” Estelle broke her slice of toast into four pieces and set them on her bread plate without taking so much as a nibble. “I couldn’t possibly fit it into my schedule.” She tossed her glossy black hair over her shoulder and straightened the collar of a perfectly tailored white blouse. “Though if the land is as lovely as you describe, it’s no wonder I’ve received several inquiries about it. One group in particular has offered to more than double the state’s offer.” She nudged the bread plate to one side.
“The Aegean?” Jess asked drily.
“Oh.” A newfound respect filled the look Estelle turned on her. “So you know about them, do you?”
Jess put extra effort into making her tone reasonable. “You know, your uncle wanted to preserve the land.”
“My uncle wanted me—and my children—to be well provided for.” Estelle lifted her head and looked down her nose. “For their sakes, I can’t afford to sell for less than the best price. Besides, there’s no guarantee the state will honor its part of the agreement.”
“Oh, I’m sure they’ll come through,” Jess insisted. The legislature had delayed their vote, but they hadn’t vetoed the funding bill. “We just need a little more time.”
Estelle took a very expensive sip of water. “You strike me as an intelligent woman,” she said. “You should know that nothing in politics is a lock until the final vote is cast.”
A flurry of activity interrupted as their food was served. The rich smell of roast game and cherries wafted up when one of the staff whisked a silver cover from the plate he set in front of Jess. Her mouth watered, and she reached for her knife and fork, determined to enjoy the rare treat before her rumbling stomach proclaimed her hunger to the entire restaurant.
Across the table, Estelle listles
sly stirred a fork through her salad before blotting her lips on her napkin. She leaned forward, pinning Jess with a speculative gaze while her voice dropped nearly to a whisper. “Let’s be frank, woman to woman, all right?”
Jess gave her food a wistful look before crossing her knife and fork on her plate.
“Every delay in the legislature increases the chances that the interested parties will move on to something else. Since I do not intend to suffer for my uncle’s shortsightedness, I’d need your personal guarantee that the state will uphold its end of the bargain before I could even consider turning down this other party’s offer.”
Certain the conversation had veered into dangerous waters, Jess asked, “And how would I do that?”
“Pony up some serious escrow money,” Estelle said, shrugging her thin shoulders. “Give me a show of good faith. You’ll get your money back when the deal goes through.”
Jess wasn’t sure whether she should be intrigued or insulted. Either way, what Estelle was suggesting simply couldn’t happen. “I don’t have those kind of resources,” she scoffed.
“Really?” Estelle’s head tilted to the side. “You’re a businesswoman, aren’t you? You have assets?”
She had On The Fly, but she couldn’t risk it. Not even for Phelps Cove. “The shop is my son’s future.”
“Ah.” Estelle nodded and pushed back into her seat. “It’s all well and good to make assurances as long as you’re not dealing with your own money. And yet, you’re asking me to turn away potential buyers.”
“Not turn away, exactly. More time—that’s all I’m asking for.”
When a marginal lift of one finger was Estelle’s only answer, Jess prayed her own fraying patience wouldn’t snap and searched for an innocuous topic.
“How long will you be in town?”
“Just long enough to take care of Henry’s affairs. Maybe a month.” Estelle examined one of her nails. Apparently satisfied that the polish hadn’t chipped, she let her hand fall to her lap. “Meantime, I’ll work on my golf game. Do you play?”
Though she itched to say, “Some of us work for a living,” Jess kept her voice neutral. “The shop and my work for POE don’t leave much free time. I spend that with my son.”
“Ah.”
Still hoping to find a soft spot somewhere in Estelle’s heart, she continued. “He’s five and a bit of a handful, but most boys are. We have a lot of fun to—” A hand on her wrist stopped her.
“Don’t despair. He’ll outgrow all that and be off on his own in no time.”
So much for common ground, Jess thought as she gave up trying to engage the woman and concentrated on her duck. Which, now that it had grown cold, didn’t taste nearly as good as it smelled. She managed a bite or two before Estelle pushed her salad aside with a long-suffering sigh.
“In New York,” she announced, “Caesar salad is made with coddled eggs and real anchovies.” She prodded her plate. “Not paste.” Her water glass had gone empty. She tapped the rim with a long tapered nail, and one of their waiters pulled another bottle from the serving cart.
“Honestly,” Estelle complained. “I don’t know how you drink the water here. It reeks of sulfur.”
Jess sipped from her own glass and rolled the clear liquid over her tongue. The only sulfur she tasted came from the she-devil sitting opposite her.
“RAISE YOU TWO HUNDRED.”
Bryce flipped a couple of black-edged chips onto the green felt and sank deeper into his club chair. One smoothly manicured pinkie trapped his cards against the table. His other hand dangled, lax, from the armrest, the cigar between his middle and forefinger apparently forgotten. To the casual observer, the head of the medical society looked as though he didn’t have a care in the world.
Dan knew better.
Having played poker with his business partners twice a month for the past eight weeks, he’d observed that the deeper Bryce wallowed in his chair, the crappier his hand. Unfortunately, a lowly pair of deuces didn’t put Dan in position to take advantage of that insight. He tossed his cards onto the table, facedown.
“Too rich for my blood.”
Out of the action, he watched and waited. Chase might have dropped out of The Aegean, but his friends hadn’t deserted him. Dan noticed him lick his lips and eye his bourbon, a sure sign he clutched at least a straight between his tightly fisted fingers. Ice clinked in Mark’s glass; he had nothing. Beneath the table, Jack uncrossed his legs before crossing them in the opposite direction. Nothing there, either. More hands folded as each man decided to play it safe.
When Chase threw down along with the others, Dan struggled to maintain a poker face. How was it possible that Chase hadn’t read Bryce’s glaring tell? The man really ought to work on his observation skills. In surgery as well as at the poker table.
“You made quite a steal,” Dan murmured to the winner. He dropped a quick nod toward the one man who, from all accounts, could ill-afford the loss.
“Who? Me?” Bryce asked innocently while he scooped the impressive pot of chips into colorful stacks. He slugged bourbon, a predatory glint in his eyes disappearing behind the rim of his glass. He puffed on his cigar, and the pall of smoke over the table thickened. As everyone anted up and the deal passed to the next player, the senior man settled his elbows on the table.
“My eyes and ears in the state capitol tell me the legislature has pushed funding for Phelps Cove off the agenda. At least temporarily. My man says if we grease a few of the right palms—” Bryce fanned the cards he’d been dealt, and took a quick look before snapping them into a neat pile. He gave an exaggerated wink. Winked again. “We’ll be clearing land by the end of the month. I can count on twenty thousand from each of you, can’t I?”
“I’m not sure bribery is such a good idea,” Dan managed. He’d expected a few just-one-more-thing’s to bump up his investment in The Aegean. This request, however, was way over the line.
“You misunderstand. The head of the finance committee is a close personal friend of mine,” Bryce said with feigned innocence. “Unfortunately, he’s in a bit of a jam, financially. This is a loan from one pal to another. Just to tide him over.”
Mark elbowed Foreman. “Yeah.” He grinned. “A loan.”
Both men laughed as Foreman nodded. “With a generous repayment schedule.”
“And no interest,” pointed out Chase, who probably wished for one himself.
“Call it what you want—greasing palms, bribery, whatever—it’s not going to look good on the front page of the newspaper,” Dan insisted.
Bryce blew out a noisy breath. “You say that as if anyone at this table would put their career on the line by talking too much.”
One thing about Bryce, he got right to the point. The man had enough clout to ensure that anyone who talked would be blacklisted for what was left of a very short career in medicine. Though he’d already decided to leave the group, Dan thought a little fence-mending was in order.
“You know how investigative reporters are whenever they find the least discrepancy in a lobbyist’s bank account. I wouldn’t want to see any of us get tangled up in something that might jeopardize our reputations.”
Bryce cocked his head. “You think my man is so stupid he doesn’t know how to cover his tracks?”
“I don’t know him, so I couldn’t say.” Dan fanned his cards and casually noted the full house.
“It won’t be a problem,” Bryce countered with an apparently unconcerned flick of his wrist. After another quick look at his cards, he slid forward on his chair. “Whose bet is it?”
The matter of money dropped for the moment, Dan kept his doubts to himself and concentrated on the game until Chase lost the rest of his stake. The party broke up quickly after that. As the new man, it was his job to sort and store the chips, and he lingered over the task, waiting for a private chat with Bryce. Once the last of the group had departed, the host toted glasses to the bar and asked if he wanted another drink.
Dan held his b
reath. Here it came, the moment he’d been dreading. Instinct drew him to his full height, but he propped his hands behind him against the card table and forced his body into a relaxed pose. “My plans have changed. I have to withdraw from The Aegean.”
Though liquid sloshed against the sides of Bryce’s glass, his face remained unperturbed. “What kind of nonsense are you talking?” he asked.
“I’m serious,” Dan said. He dropped his chin so he could look Bryce in the eyes. “If you go forward with the project, it’ll be without me.”
It took another long pull from his glass, but the development’s leader managed to sound blasé when he asked, “Funding problems? I hear you’re invested in some community outreach program. You should drop that, stay with us. The poor will always be there. Chances like this don’t come around often.”
It was Dan’s turn to scoff. There had been a time when acceptance by people like Bryce meant the world to him. But no longer. Sensing the situation called for a bold statement, he said, “I’m pulling out. Completely.”
“Oh, I get it.” Bryce practically sneered as his facade slipped. “I can’t say I’m surprised. I took you into the group because Jack insisted, but I always knew a man with your background would never measure up. Too bad. You’d have made a killing.”
Dan let the insult roll off.
“Protecting this land from development has become important to me. There are dozens of other locations that would suit your needs. I have a list and, if you want, I’ll work with you to find a great spot.”
More ice cubes clinked. The level of bourbon in Bryce’s bottle dropped another inch.
“Don’t bother. We’ll find someone to replace you.”
“Really?” He had expected Bryce to go ballistic. The man’s indifferent attitude raised Dan’s suspicion. “Someone like Chase?” he asked.
“Mmph. Maybe. He is one of us, after all. Did I mention that he and his wife have reconciled?”
“The man’s a menace,” Dan said with slow, careful deliberation. “It’s another reason I wanted to speak with you. I took one of his patients back into surgery this afternoon and replaced the mitral valve he supposedly repaired. She would have died otherwise.”
