by Linda Howard
She could sell the rental boats, which would raise enough money but deprive her of a surprisingly tidy bit of income. Of course, with the loan paid, and if she didn’t have to take out another one, she would have much more available cash and would soon be able to acquire more boats for rent. The only problem with that was time—again. In her experience, people took their time buying boats. Boats, even in a town like Guntersville that was geared toward the river, weren’t a necessity of life. People looked at them, thought about it, discussed it over the dinner table, checked and double-checked their finances. It was possible, but unlikely, that she would be able to sell enough of them to raise the money she needed in the time she had.
Of the limited options available to her, however, that was the best one. She put a sign that read Used Boats For Sale in front of the marina and posted other notices in the area tackle stores. Even if she sold only one, that would lower the amount of money she would need to borrow.
Robert noticed the sign immediately. He walked in late that afternoon, removed his sunglasses and pinned her with a pale, oddly intense look. “That sign out front—which boats are for sale?”
“The rental boats,” she calmly replied and returned her attention to waiting on a customer. Once she had made the decision to sell the boats, she hadn’t allowed herself any regrets.
He moved behind the counter and stood in front of the window with his hands in his pockets, looking out at the marina. As she had known he would, he waited until the customer had left before turning to ask, “Why are you selling them?”
She hesitated for a moment. She hadn’t told him anything about her financial worries and didn’t intend to do so now, for a variety of reasons. One was simply that she was reticent about personal problems, disinclined to broadcast her woes to the world. Another was that she was fiercely possessive about the marina, and she didn’t want word to get around that it was on shaky financial ground. Yet another was that she didn’t want Robert to think she was obliquely asking for a loan, and she would be distressed if he offered one. He was obviously wealthy, but she didn’t want the issue of money to become a part of their relationship. If it did, would he ever be certain, in his own mind, that her attraction to him wasn’t based on his wealth? Still another reason was that she didn’t want anyone else to have a share, and thus a say-so, in the marina. Banks were one thing, individuals another. The marina was hers, the base on which she had rebuilt the ruins of her life. She simply couldn’t give up any part of it.
So when she answered, she merely said, “They’re getting old, less reliable. I need to buy newer ones.”
Robert regarded her silently. He didn’t know whether to hug her or shake her, and in fact he could do neither. It was obvious that she was trying to raise money by any means available, and he wanted to put his arms around her and tell her it would be all right. But his instinct to protect his own had to be stifled, at least for now. Despite his decision that she was largely innocent in Mercer’s espionage dealings, the small chance that he was wrong about her wouldn’t let him relent. Soon he would know for certain, one way or the other. But if she sold the rental boats, what means would Mercer use to deliver the goods? Every one of those rental boats was now equipped with tiny electronic bugs that would allow them to be tracked; if Mercer was forced to use some other boat, or even change his method of delivery entirely, Robert would lose his control of the situation.
On the plus side, he was certain Mercer would act soon. They had intercepted a very suspicious phone call, putting them on the alert. It didn’t matter if Evie managed to sell a couple of boats, or even most of them, so long as she had one remaining when Mercer made his move. He would simply have to monitor the situation and step in to prevent a sale if it looked as if she would manage to unload all of them.
Aloud he asked, “Have you had any offers yet?”
She shook her head, a wry smile curving her mouth. “I just put the sign up this morning.”
“Have you put an ad in any of the newspapers?”
“Not yet, but I will.”
That might bring in more customers than he could block, he thought with a sigh. The easiest way would be to stop the ads from being printed; there weren’t that many area newspapers. The phones both here and at her house were being monitored, so he would know which papers she called. Somehow he hadn’t expected to have so much trouble keeping abreast of her maneuvers. Evie was a surprisingly resourceful woman.
Five days later, Evie rushed in from overseeing a delivery of gas to answer the phone. She pushed a wisp of hair out of her face as she lifted the receiver. “Shaw’s Marina.”
“Evie? This is Tommy Fowler.”
As soon as she heard his voice, she knew. Slowly she sank down onto the stool, her legs so weak that she needed the support. “What’s the verdict?” she asked, though she knew the answer.
He sighed. “I’m sorry, hon. The board of directors says we already have too many real-estate loans. They won’t okay the mortgage.”
Her lips felt numb. “It isn’t your fault,” she said. “Thanks, anyway.”
“It isn’t a lost cause. Just because we aren’t making that type of loan right now doesn’t mean other banks aren’t.”
“I know, but I have a deadline, and it’s down to fourteen days. It’s taken you longer than that to tell me no. How long would it take to process a loan at any other bank?”
“Well, we took longer than usual. I’m sorry as hell about it, Evie, but I had no idea the okay wouldn’t go through. Go to another bank. Today, if possible. An appraiser will have to make an estimate of the house’s value, but it’s waterfront property and in good shape, so it’s worth a lot more than the amount you want to mortgage. Getting an appraiser out there is what will take so much time, so get started as soon as you can.”
“I will,” she said. “Thanks, Tommy.”
“Don’t thank me,” he said glumly. “I couldn’t do anything. Bye, hon.”
She sat there on the stool for a long time after she hung up the phone, trying to deal with her disappointment and sense of impending disaster. Though she had been worried, the worry had been manageable, because even though she had been making contingency plans, she had been certain the mortgage would go through.
She hadn’t sold a single boat.
Time was of the essence, and she didn’t have a lot of faith in getting a loan through any other bank. It was as if an evil genie was suddenly in control of things, inflicting her with malfunctioning machinery and uncooperative banks.
Still, she had to try. She couldn’t give up and perhaps lose the marina from lack of effort. She wouldn’t lose the marina. No matter what, she simply refused to let it go. If she couldn’t get a mortgage, if she couldn’t sell the boats, she had one other option. It was strictly last-resort, but it was there.
She picked out a bank with a good reputation and called to make an appointment with a loan officer for the next morning.
The heat was already intense the next day when she was getting ready. Despite the ceiling fans, her skin was damp with perspiration, making her clothes cling to her. Robert hadn’t asked why her house was so hot, but the past three nights he had insisted on taking her to his home and bringing her back after breakfast. This morning she had showered at his house as she usually did, then asked him to bring her home earlier than usual because she had a business appointment at nine. He hadn’t asked any questions about that, either.
She retrieved her copy of the deed from the fireproof security box under the bed and braced herself like a soldier going to war. If this bank wouldn’t give her a loan, she wasn’t going to waste any more time going to another one. Time was too short. She would rather be too hasty than take the chance of losing the marina.
She rolled the truck window down, and the wind blowing in her face cooled her as she drove to the bank. The heat was building every day, and soon it would be unbearable in the house if she didn’t turn on the air-conditioning. She smiled grimly. She might as well
turn it on; one way or the other, she would have the money to pay the power bill.
Her appointment was with a Mr. Waldrop, who turned out to be a stocky, sandy-haired man in his late forties. He gave her a strangely curious look as he led her into his small office. Evie took one of the two comfortable chairs arranged in front of the desk, and he settled into the big chair behind it.
“Now then, Mrs. Shaw, what can we do for you today?”
Concisely, Evie told him what she needed, then pulled the copy of the deed from her purse and placed it on his desk. He unfolded it and looked it over, pursing his lips as he read.
“It looks straightforward enough.” He opened his desk and extracted a sheet of paper. “Fill out this financial statement, and we’ll see what we can do.”
Evie took the sheet of paper and went out to one of the small seating areas off the lobby. While she was answering the multitude of questions, her pen scratching across the paper, someone else came in to see Mr. Waldrop. She glanced up automatically, then realized she knew the newcomer, not an unusual occurrence in a small town like Guntersville. He was Kyle Brewster, a slightly shady businessman who owned a small discount store, dealing in seconds and salvage material. He was also known as a gambler and had been arrested once, several years back, when the back room of a pool hall had been raided on the information that an illegal game was being conducted there. Evie supposed that Kyle was fairly successful in his gambling; his style of living was considerably higher than the income from the discount store could provide.
The door to Mr. Waldrop’s office was left open. She couldn’t hear what Kyle was saying, only the indistinct drawl of his voice, but Mr. Waldrop’s voice was more carrying. “I have the check right here,” he was saying cheerfully. “Do you want to cash it, or deposit it into your account?”
Evie returned her attention to the form, feeling slightly heartened. If the bank would lend money to Kyle Brewster, she saw no reason why it wouldn’t lend money to her. Her business was more profitable, and her character was certainly better.
Kyle left a few minutes later. When Evie completed the form, someone else had come in and was with Mr. Waldrop. She sat patiently, watching the hour hand on the clock inch to ten o’clock, then beyond. At ten-thirty, the other customer left and she carried the form in to Mr. Waldrop.
“Have a seat,” he invited as he looked over the information she had provided. “I’ll be back in a few minutes.” He carried the form out with him.
Evie crossed her fingers, hoping the loan would be okayed that morning, pending an appraisal of the property. She would get the bank’s appraiser out to the house if she had to call him ten times a day and hound him until he appeared.
More time ticked by. She shifted restlessly in the chair, wondering what was taking so long. But the bank seemed busy this morning, so perhaps the person Mr. Waldrop had taken the form to was also tied up, and Mr. Waldrop was having to wait.
Forty-five minutes later Mr. Waldrop returned to his office. He settled into his chair and tapped his fingertips together. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Shaw,” he said with real regret. “We simply aren’t making this type of loan right now. With the economy the way it is…”
Evie sat up straight. She could feel the blood draining from her face, leaving the skin tight. Enough was enough. “The economy is fine,” she interrupted sharply. “The recession didn’t hit down here the way it did in other parts of the country. And your bank is one of the strongest in the country. There was an article in one of the Birmingham papers just last week about this bank buying another one in Florida. What I want to know is why you would lend money to someone like Kyle Brewster, a known gambler with a police record, but you won’t make a loan on a property worth five or six times that amount.”
Mr. Waldrop flushed guiltily. A distressed look came into his eyes. “I can’t discuss Mr. Brewster’s business, Mrs. Shaw. I’m sorry. I don’t make the decisions on whether or not to okay a loan.”
“I realize that, Mr. Waldrop.” She also realized something else, something so farfetched she could hardly believe it, but it was the only thing that made any sense. “I didn’t have a chance of getting the loan, did I? Having me fill out that form was just for show. Someone is stepping in to block the loan, someone with a lot of influence, and I want to know who it is.”
His flush turned even darker. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled. “There’s nothing I can tell you.”
She stood and retrieved the deed from his desk. “No, I don’t suppose you can. It would mean your job, wouldn’t it? Goodbye, Mr. Waldrop.”
She was almost dizzy with fury as she went out to the truck. The heat slammed into her like a blow, but she ignored it, just as she ignored the scorching heat of the truck’s upholstery. She sat in the parking lot, tapping her finger against the steering wheel as she stared unblinkingly at the traffic streaming by on U.S. 431.
Someone wanted the marina. No one had made an offer to buy it, so that meant whoever it was knew she wasn’t likely to sell. This mysterious someone was powerful enough, well-connected enough with the local bankers, to block her attempts to get a loan. Not only that, the original transfer of the loan from her bank to the New York bank had probably been arranged by this person, though she couldn’t think of anyone she knew with that kind of power.
She couldn’t think why anyone would want her little marina enough to go to such an extreme. Granted, she had made a lot of improvements in it, and business was better every year. When she paid off the outstanding debt, the marina would turn a healthy profit, but it wouldn’t be the kind of money that would warrant such actions from her unknown enemy.
Why didn’t matter, she thought with the stark clarity that comes in moments of crisis. Neither did who. The only thing that mattered was that she kept the marina.
There was one move she could make that wouldn’t be blocked, because she wouldn’t be the one obtaining the loan. She wouldn’t breathe a word about this to anyone, not even Becky, until it was a done deal.
Numbly she started the truck and pulled out into traffic, then almost immediately pulled off again when she spotted a pay phone outside a convenience store. Her heart was thudding with slow, sickening power against her ribs. If she let herself think about it, she might not have the nerve to do it. If she waited until she got back home, she might look around at the dear, familiar surroundings and not be able to make the call. She had to do it now. It was a simple choice. If she lost the marina, she stood to lose everything, but if she sacrificed the house now, she would be able to keep the marina.
She slid out of the truck and walked to the pay phone. Her legs seemed to be functioning without any direction from her brain. There was no phone book. She called Information and got the number she wanted, then fed in another quarter and punched the required numbers. Turning her back on the traffic, she put her finger in her other ear to block out noise as she listened to the ringing on the other end of the line.
“Walter, this is Evie. Do you and Helene still want to buy my place on the river?”
“She stopped at a convenience store immediately after leaving the bank and made a call from a pay phone,” the deep voice reported to Robert.
“Could you tell what number she called?”
“No, sir. Her position blocked the numbers from view.”
“Could you hear anything she was saying?”
“No, sir. I’m sorry. She kept her back turned, and the traffic was noisy.”
Robert rubbed his jaw. “Have you checked to see if it was the marina she called?”
“First thing. No such luck. She didn’t call Mercer, either.”
“Okay. It worries me, but there isn’t anything we can do about it. Where is she now?”
“She drove straight home from the convenience store.”
“Let me know if she makes any more calls.”
“Yes, sir.”
Robert hung up and stared thoughtfully out at the lake as he tried to imagine who she had called, and why. He didn’t li
ke the angry little suspicion that was growing. Had she called the unknown third party to whom Mercer had been selling the stolen computer programs? Was she involved up to her pretty little neck after all? He had backed her up against a financial wall, just to find out for certain, but he had a sudden cold, furious feeling that he wasn’t going to like the results worth a damn.
Chapter Fifteen
“Would you like to go fishing this morning?” Robert asked lazily, his voice even deeper than usual. “We’ve never been out in a boat together.”
It was six-thirty. The heat wave was continuing, each day seeing temperatures in the high nineties, and it was supposed to reach the hundred mark for the next few days, at least. Even at that early hour, Evie could feel the heat pressing against the windows.
It was difficult to think. Robert had just finished making love to her, and her mind was still sluggish with a surfeit of pleasure. He had awakened her before dawn and prolonged their loving even more than usual. Her entire body still throbbed from his touch, the echoes of pleasure still resounding in her flesh. The sensation of having him inside her lingered, though he had withdrawn and moved to lie beside her. Her head was cradled on one muscled arm, while his other arm lay heavily across her lower abdomen. She would have liked nothing better than to snuggle against him and doze for a while, then wake to even more lovemaking. It was only when she was sleeping, or when Robert was making love to her, that she was able to forget what she was doing.
But the throb of pleasure was lessening, and a dull ache resumed its normal place in her chest. “I can’t,” she said. “I have some errands to run.” Errands such as finding a place to live. Walter and Helene Campbell had jumped at the chance to buy her house. They had wanted it for years and had decided to pay cash for it and worry about the financing later, afraid she would change her mind if she had a chance to think about it. Evie had promised she would be out within two weeks.
