Only Good Yankee jp-2

by Jeff Abbott

  What she did was far worse. She was icy calm and polite. I broke the embrace and tried to think of a well-mannered way to wipe the kiss off my mouth and not insult Lorna. I instead sucked my offending lips into my mouth, thinking that hiding them from view might lessen my culpability. I looked instead like an old man who’d had his dentures yanked right from his gums. “Candace, hi!” I said brightly. She smiled her chilliest smile, the one reserved for people who made a snotty comment about someone she liked. I stumbled onward, feeling totally uncool: “This is an old friend from Boston, Lorna Wiercinski. Lorna, this is Candace Tully-um, my girlfriend.” I gestured feebly toward Candace. No one could have ever deduced my taste in women from looking at these two. Lorna was tall, where Candace was petite. Lorna was dressed like a businesswoman in heat, a la the heroine of some Jackie Collins miniseries. Candace looked like she’d tiptoed out of Laura Ashley University with a bachelor’s in Prim. Lorna was smiling, Candace was not. If I’d had one ounce of sense I would have kept talking, but I was a little too rattled by Lorna’s unexpected appearance. “Candy. How nice to meet you.” Lorna offered a hand.

  Candace smiled and took Lorna’s hand. She looked ready to keep it in a jar. “It’s Candace, Ms. Weird-chintzy. And how nice to meet you.”

  Lorna ignored the mispronunciation jab. After all, Candace had nearly gotten her name right. “You’ll have to forgive me, I’ve taken Jordan quite by surprise. He certainly wasn’t expecting to see me. I’ve just arrived from Boston.” “Since he’s never mentioned you”-a glare went Jordyward-“I’m not surprised. How nice of you to visit. And what brings you here?” Candace asked. I was awful interested in that question myself. So were Itasca and Florence, who edged closer. “I stopped by to donate some books,” Lorna said innocently, handing me a plastic bag. I regarded it with suspicion. She’d always been one for yanking my chain. Peering inside, I saw that Lorna felt that the Mirabeau Public Library was missing some key volumes: The Collected Stories of Eudora Welty (one of my personal favorites), The Tourist’s Guide to New England, and-oh, boy!-the Kama Sutra. Now, would that go under sports or biology? “Two of those might be for you, Jordan. Can you guess which ones?” Lorna smiled. Since I already owned a well-worn copy of the Welty, it wasn’t a hard guess. Itasca made a snatch at the bag. “Shall I catalog those for you?” I yanked them back, somehow keeping my smile in place. “I’ll do that later, thanks, Itasca.”

  Candace crossed her arms and one eyebrow went up questioningly. “I have a proposition for you, Jordan.” Lorna beamed and the air temperature continued its downward slide. I’d never thought of Candace as possessive before, but I knew her well enough to sense the seething under her calm exterior. Like I said before, Candace is plenty smart.

  For an old girlfriend to show up, all the way from New England-I took a deep breath. “Do you now?” Candace asked. I drew closer to Candace to show my allegiance. She leaned (unthinkingly, I’m sure) against my hurt arm. I winced, but let her stay. Lorna pulled herself down from the counter. “Yes, Candy, a business proposition.” She blinked as though shocked at the thought that she could have any other suggestions for me. “I’d like to discuss it this evening with you, Jordan-say, over dinner. Nothing wrong with mixing business with pleasure.” “Gosh, Lorna, you’ve kind of popped up from nowhere and taken me by surprise.” I wanted to convince Candace that I hadn’t been expecting Lorna. “Can’t you tell me what this is about?” Lorna smiled at Candace. “I’d prefer to discuss this privately with you, and not during your working hours.” She glanced around the modest library.

  “Not exactly like your old office, is it, Tex?” I squirmed at the nickname; up north, it had seemed clever and given me the vaguest sense of home; now it seemed silly. “No, it’s a real different office.

  It’s better, if you ask me.” I hesitated. “Well, Lorna, why don’t you come to the house? We can talk there. Say at six?” I jotted down the address and directions for her. “Fine, Jordan. It’s wonderful to see you again, by the way. You never did say what happened to your arm.”

  “I had a little accident.” I didn’t feel like discussing Mirabeau’s mad bomber. “It’s okay.” “How’s your mother?” she asked unexpectedly.

  Lorna had been none too pleased that I’d left Boston-and her-to come home to take care of Mama. “About the same.” “I’m sorry. Well, I’ll see you at six. Nice meeting you, Candy.” With that, she turned, nodded at Florence and Itasca, and sauntered out the door, like a hurricane moving in from the coast. The only difference was that hurricanes are indifferent to the destruction and chaos they cause. I turned to Candace. “Now listen to me-” “Candy! How dare she call me that, after I told her what my name was. I’m no confection.” Her voice was low and cool and anything but sweet. “I’m sorry you saw her kiss me. She took me by surprise-” “How stupid do you think I am, Jordy? Of course she took you by surprise. That was all over your face and I could read it like a book. Or in this case, a comic strip.” Itasca walked up to me and, very thoughtfully, wiped lipstick off my mouth with a crumpled tissue. She is always one for attention to detail, even at the worst possible times. “I liked your friend,” she announced bluntly, shooting a glance at Candace. I’m fond of Itasca because she’s smart and funny, but I don’t like her resentment of Candace’s money. Itasca hadn’t been particularly supportive of my relationship with Candace. “She’s gorgeous and she’s got style.” “Is that what you call style, Itasca? Her throwing herself at a man who left her months ago?” Candace parried. I handed over the bag of books and she peered inside. “How transparent,” she finally said. “Your favorite writer, a guidebook to her stomping ground, and a sex manual. Honestly, Jordan, is this the kind of woman you dated up north?” Note she called me Jordan. Big trouble ahead. “I’m sure she was just glad to see Jordy,” the generous-hearted Florence piped up. Itasca rolled her mascara-encased eyes. “Some people might be critical of a lady like her that takes what she wants.” Itasca stuffed her tissue back in her purse and took the opportunity to reexamine her own makeup. “I’m not.” ‘Takes what she wants?” Candace sputtered. “What on earth makes you think she’s going to get Jordy back?” Itasca closed her compact with an authoritative air. “Jordy didn’t seem too broken up to see her, did you, honey?” Three pairs of eyes trained on me and I felt as embarrassed as a preacher with a broken zipper. “Look, Itasca, you’re as wrong as wrong can be. Candace, I’m as surprised as you are to see her here. Those books are just Lorna’s idea of a joke. I can’t imagine that she wants me back, and I don’t know anything about her business proposal.” Florence attempted peace. “Well, now that she knows Jordy’s involved with someone else, I’m sure she’ll leave him alone.” “Excuse us, please,” Candace said, taking my good arm and leading me back to my office. She shut the door. She crossed her arms, uncrossed them, and crossed them again. “Just one thing. You had no idea she was coming?” “None. And I don’t know what this secret business proposition is about either. When I left Boston, Lorna worked for a consulting firm that specialized in real-estate development. I don’t have any idea why she wants to see me.” “She’s a good kisser, isn’t she?”

  Candace demanded. “Of course not!” I bleated. What did Candace want from me? An undying pledge of commitment? We hadn’t discussed future plans-too much had happened in those tense couple of months when we’d come together and realized our feelings for each other. After the double punch of a murder investigation and learning about my parentage, long talks about the days ahead held little appeal. I was concentrating too much on past lies and present woes. “Look, I’ll see her, find out what this is all about. If it’s just a ploy to get me back in her life, I’ll swat her on the ass and send her on her merry way.” Her frown didn’t waver. “C’mon, you trust me to handle her, don’t you?” I asked. “Whatever this is, it isn’t trouble. We’ve already had our share of that today.” She nodded, nearly imperceptibly, then hugged me, being careful of my arm and shoulder.

  After a moment she le
t me go and went off into the stacks. I sank down into the front desk chair. My body and mind felt stunned-except for my lips, which tingled from Lorna’s kiss. No trouble, I told myself, is going to come of this. Of course, I was dead wrong. It was trouble, and in the worst way.

  CHAPTER TWO

  “It’s nothing but damned carpetbaggers!” Miss Twyla fumed in my office. For Miss Twyla to utter the word damned portended serious trouble. She’d rushed into the library late in the afternoon.

  I’d felt tired and lethargic and my arm was awful sore. I should have listened to the doctor, gone straight home, and pulled a pillow over my head. Right now all I wanted was some quiet, an icy-cold Celis bock, and another Tylenol. If I didn’t watch it, I’d get chemically dependent and end up on Donahue, discussing my woes with nine million people. “Librarians Who Are Injured by Prank Bombs, Then Have Close Encounters With Ex-Girlfriends.” I’d do wonders for the show’s Nielsens, no doubt. Only problem was I’d be the sole panelist. I had been ready to call it a day when Miss Twyla arrived, looking bad, mad, and demanding some of my time. “What was that about carpetbaggers, Miss Twyla?” I leaned back in my office chair that dated from when vinyl was first invented and tried to find a comfortable position.

  “Car-pet-baggers!” Miss Twyla repeated. I’m sure the term has more emotional weight with her than it does with me, since I don’t recall using the word except in a history paper. “Would you care to explain?”

  “Have you had the pleasure of meeting Miss Lorna Wiercinski and Mr.

  Greg Callahan?” Miss Twyla asked. I’d had all sorts of pleasures with Lorna but didn’t care to discuss them with Miss Twyla. “Yes, ma’am, I know Ms. Wiercinski. We knew each other in Boston. I haven’t met Greg Callahan-who’s he?” I paused. “I’m supposed to meet with Lorna this evening about a business proposal.” “Well, hide the silver,” Miss Twyla advised. “Those two are nothing but thieves. They want our land, Jordy.” I had this sudden image of Lorna bartering with Chief Manhasset, tossing a few extra beads on the pile. “What land?” “The land you and I and some others own, that fronts down on the river.

  They want to buy it up and build condos.” “Condos? In Mirabeau?”

  Mirabeauans are house dwellers, except for the hardy few who call the trailer park home and those who live in the town’s one, rather shabby apartment complex. So this was the reason Lorna was in town. Good-it had nothing to do with our former relationship. Then I remembered the kiss and Lorna’s dictum that there wasn’t a damn thing wrong with mixing business with pleasure. “I know. It’s stupid. Who’d want to buy a condo in Mirabeau? But that’s what they want. And we’ve got to stop them. Condos would ruin that lovely view of the river, not to mention cause all sorts of nasty runoff into the Colorado. And possibly bring an undesirable element-weekenders.” Miss Twyla shuddered. “Maybe that wouldn’t be so bad, Miss Twyla. It could pull some money into town.”

  Mirabeau wasn’t exactly lacking in funds, but aside from cotton and peanut farming, cattle, pig raising, a couple of bed-and-breakfasts, a few odd service industries, and some antique stores, there wasn’t much to hold folks. Which made me, in reflection, even more curious as to why Lorna or anyone else would want to build condos. “It’s time for action!” Miss Twyla announced, and if she’d had a walking cane, I’m sure she would have stamped it to emphasize her point. “I’m calling a meeting of all concerned citizens tonight. Those developers might think they can ignore me ‘cause I’m old, but they’re dead wrong!” “It seems to me that the easiest way to stop them is just not to sell them the land.” The fire in her eyes scared me a little; Miss Twyla was one of those old ladies who, once they’ve gotten their dander up, aren’t likely to put it back down until they’ve had their way. Plus most of the Oudelles, while respectable, had turned out crazy in their later years. Miss Twyla had taught chemistry at the high school and it always made us a tad nervous that she had so many poisons at hand. “Of course, Jordy, but we must present a united front. I’ve gone to the county courthouse and found out who all owns the land these Yankees are after. It’s you, me, Bob Don Goertz-” (Here she harrumphed-had the gossip about my relationship with Bob Don reached her? We had made no formal announcements, but Junebug, Candace, and a few others in town knew.) After clearing her throat, she continued: “Dee Loudermilk, and your uncle Bidwell.” I groaned at the thought of meeting with that group. First of all, let me clarify that Bidwell Poteet is no longer my uncle, although I may call him that just for purposes of torture.

  Uncle Bid redefines the term small-town shyster. He is possibly the least ethical lawyer produced by the Texas education system, which has never been shortchanged when it comes to producing lousy lawyers. But I liked Dee Loudermilk-she was the mayor’s wife, and although her husband was deadly dull, I enjoyed Dee’s wry sense of humor. I dreaded the thought of Bob Don and Bid together. Bid enjoyed bad-mouthing Bob Don (in his ever so subtle fashion-as subtle as a skeeter bite on the end of your nose). “Is this really necessary, Miss Twyla? Maybe Lorna and this Greg Callahan will change their minds about buying the land if they see the town’s not behind them.” “Hardly.” Miss Twyla huffed.

  “They’ve already offered me an obscene sum for my acres.” An obscene sum? I could use that and I’m not ashamed to admit it. I’d given up a lot, career-wise, to return to Mirabeau, and librarians don’t get paid diddly. Sister wasn’t exactly opening up a numbered Swiss bank account with her earnings at the End of the Road truck stop either. I felt uncomfortable enough with letting Bob Don hire a part-time nurse to take care of Mama. Condos on the river didn’t sound so bad. “I have taken further action.” Miss Twyla stood and opened the door to my office. “Nina, please, join us.” She widened the door slightly to admit a young woman. My first thought was: Oh, God, she’s one of those hippie herbalists. Mirabeau’s had their share. These folks (generally women) come out to small towns like Mirabeau and set up shop selling herbs to the few tourists that wander off Highway 71 and stop in Mirabeau. God knows the locals won’t buy their botanicals; those folks who don’t believe in herbal medicine won’t touch them and those who do know where to find them in the surrounding countryside. The woman looked a bit older than me, perhaps in her midthirties. She was plain and her attire didn’t help much in my opinion. Her garb-a long, shapeless beige dress-gave her the look of a modern-day shepherdess. A series of sand dollars, shells, and beads ensconced her thin, dark throat; she could have decorated a beach all by herself. Her coal-black hair was cut short and not stylishly. The dark hue of her complexion suggested Hispanic ancestry, and her black eyes gleamed with intelligence behind wire-rim frames. She greeted me with an earthy smile. “Jordy, this is Nina Hernandez. She’s an environmental activist from Austin. Nina, this is our town librarian, Jordy Poteet.

  Jordy also owns some of the land that those Yankees want.” I felt Nina Hernandez’s eyes coolly assessing me, as though measuring me for some internal scale of worth. She gave my hand a two-handed shake. “I hope that you will stand firm, Mr. Poteet. Folks like Intraglobal Development will stop at nothing to get what they want.”

  “Intraglobal?” “I take it that Miss Twyla has told you about Wiercinski and Callahan being in town.” “You make them sound like foreign agents,” I said. Nina sank into a chair next to Miss Twyla.

  “Don’t underestimate these people. I’ve dealt with Callahan before.

  He’s cool, ruthless, and determined to win.” I wondered if she could be described the same way. The intense gleam in her eyes screamed Type-A personality, even if she was a tree hugger. “We already suspect that they’ve been in touch with your uncle and with the mayor’s wife.”

  “Already? How long have these folks been in town?” I asked. Lorna stalking Mirabeau, possibly exchanging gossip with my friends and family-horrible thought. I hope she spoke kindly of me. “Wiercinski just arrived this morning. Callahan’s been here two days, staying at the Mirabeau B. Lamar Bed-and-Breakfast” Nina jerked her head toward Miss Twyla like an
officer commending a private. “We can thank Miss Twyla here for ferreting out that information.” Miss Twyla looked inordinately pleased with herself. I had to admit that Nina chose her allies well. “Now, Mr. Poteet, we’ll have to mobilize to fight Intraglobal. Callahan will certainly be rallying the forces of irresponsible development to combat us.” The beads around her neck jangled gently, in odd counterpoint to her strident tone. Miss Twyla told Nina that I was to meet with Lorna this evening. Nina eyed me like someone prodding Daniel into the lion’s den. “I don’t know much about Wiercinski,” Nina said, half to herself, “but she’s got to be tough if Callahan hired her. He chews broken glass for dinner. Now, what you’ve got to do, Mr. Poteet, is-” I don’t usually interrupt folks, but for her I made an exception. I smiled. “Look, Ms.