He cursed under his breath as he thumbed through files, then gave up and closed the drawer. Next he rifled through a half dozen folders scattered across his desk. He finally found the report in the last folder, marked “The Lakes.” How had it gotten there? Was Sadie deliberately misfiling? He was still considering the question when the buzzer on his intercom went off and Sadie told him he had a call on line one. “Sam Bryce,” she said, her voice as flat as a dead man’s EKG.
Cutter rose and walked to his door, then flipped the lock. That was another thing Sadie had started doing: barging in for no reason. Just to annoy him.
“Yes, Sam,” Cutter finally said.
“I’ve got more information. It took a lot of digging into town and city records, but I’ve finally come up with something I think you could use.”
Cutter grabbed a legal pad from his drawer, then picked up a pen. “Okay, shoot.”
“Well, if you look at a map of the Too-Tall Mountain area and draw a wide horseshoe around it, something interesting happens. What you’ve done is highlight most of the property that’s changed hands in the past two years. With the exception of The Lakes and a tract of land known as The Estates, the rest of the horseshoe has changed from private hands to government hands, via an intermediary.”
“Could you say that in English?”
“Someone has been buying up all the property around Too-Tall—and we’re talking timberland, pastures, farms—and selling it to the government. For a huge profit, I might add. Care to speculate who that someone is?”
“Eric Slone?”
“Close. Erica Slone, his daughter. And that’s not all. When I dug deeper, I found that most of the sales were more like hostile takeovers. The owners didn’t really want to sell but were forced to.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, what happens is that environmental protests, if they’re loud enough and big enough, can generate government actions. For instance, that big fuss the environmentalists made over the large tract of land west of Too-Tall killed a huge timber sale to the Forest Service and all near-future contracts. The loss of the sale and contracts, the endless appeals and lawsuits, forced the owners to sell the land or go belly-up. Same thing with some of the ranchers. They were denied grazing rights and then ended up in a costly appeals whirlpool. Some of the other properties were wrangled from their owners through the Clean Air Act or the Endangered Species Act. One tract of land was actually lost because of the spotted owl restrictions, and only later was it proved, after the land was sold, that no spotted owls even lived there!”
“So you’re saying that the Slone Foundation funded these protests, then went behind them and bought up the land, then sold the land to the government for profit?”
“Give the man a gold star.” A soft laugh sputtered over the phone. “When I did more checking, I found similar things going on with other foundations. It seems private land around a national park or preserve is looked at with a covetous eye because it’ll be sure to turn a profit.”
“And if the owner doesn’t want to sell, these foundations use the environmentalists to get it for them?”
“A little oversimplified, but yes, that’s about the gist of it.”
“And what do the environmentalists get out of it?”
“Most of them probably don’t really know what’s going on. All they know is that some foundation is interested in the same things they are. And if the foundation calls the shots and basically tells them what to protest, so what? They’re still saving the earth and all that.”
“Now who’s sounding simplistic?”
Sam laughed again. “Anyway, it’s safe to say that’s what’s going on with that Lakes property of yours. The horseshoe’s not complete without your property and that piece north of you, The Estates. I didn’t bother checking, but I bet they’re having the same trouble you are.”
Cutter thought of Tucker Mattson and his collusion with the agent from the Environmental Protection Agency. From what his partners in Eckerd City were telling Cutter, The Estates was having its share of trouble, but not from environmentalists. It was obvious, to anyone who cared to notice, that Tucker Mattson had cut a deal.
After he hung up, the first person he thought of was Gloria. He’d have to let her know.
Gloria could hardly believe her ears. “Sell? You plan to sell this place? You’re kidding, right?”
Wanda’s chubby fingers tugged at her hair. “When you took so long coming back from Charlie’s yesterday, I swear I thought I was going to have a stroke, right there by the copy machine. ‘How are we gonna get this job printed in time if that girl’s sashaying all over town?’ I said to Paul. ’Course, when I found out you were with J.P. trying to give him a description of some troublemaker, I calmed down, but only a bit.”
J.P. and Gloria had agreed to stay quiet about what had happened for another week, just until the Apple Festival was over. Their official story was that Gloria had spotted a suspicious character J.P. was looking for, and she needed to give him details.
It seemed to satisfy.
The Apple Festival always brought suspicious characters. Last year it was a pickpocket by the name of Sammie Post who apparently worked three states. The year before, it was the streaker who’d tried to run naked behind the float carrying Miss Apple Festival. Every year, there was someone. But Gloria never remembered anyone as dangerous as the stalker.
“So here I was on the verge of a stroke, when Paul says, ‘Wanda, you’re getting too old to percolate like our old coffee pot. And I’m getting too old to have all that heat and steam spill over me. It’s not good for your blood pressure or mine. It’s time we retired.’”
“I … don’t know what to say.”
“Neither did I. But when I finally got my wits back, I asked Paul who in the world would buy this place. It’s old, needs a ton of TLC. And besides, I said, there’s a brand-new printer just down the road a piece in Shepherd’s Field. Well, he popped back just as fast as you please and said he knew the perfect buyer. ‘Okay, Mr. Know-It-All,’ I said. ‘Name him.’ And he said, ‘Gloria.’ Now, don’t that beat all? Thinking a sassy little wannabe city girl could run this place all by herself ?”Wanda patted down her over-bleached hair, which had turned almost orange around her ears. “So, what do you say? You wanna buy the place?”
Gloria’s heart thumped. Of course she did. But how? She had no money, and she couldn’t operate the presses. Hiring a pressman would be costly, plus there was the expense of running the business, not to mention paying off the bank loan she’d have to get. No, it was all pie-in-the-sky. “I’d love to, Wanda, but I can’t afford it.”
“You don’t even know how much we’re asking.”
Gloria shrugged. “Okay, how much?”
The big blonde giggled. “To tell you the truth, Paul and I never got that far. All we know is that we wanna sell.” “I think you should buy it, Gloria.”
Both Gloria and Wanda turned at the sound of the deep male voice and saw Cutter Press leaning against the wall behind them, his arms folded across his brown pinstriped suit. He must have been standing there for some time because it was evident he had heard most, if not all, of their conversation.
“I think it’s a good investment for you,” he added.
Gloria raised her eyebrows. This whole thing bordered on the ridiculous. “Come up with a price, Wanda, and I’ll think about it.” She didn’t know any other way to end the conversation.
Wanda grinned, showing off huge white teeth that Gloria imagined were recently bleached, like her hair, then trotted toward the pressroom, straight to Paul.
“You should always view your options, Gloria,” Cutter said when Wanda was no longer within earshot. “Never turn anything down prematurely, especially something you really, really want.”
“How do you know I really, really want this place?”
Cutter gave her an exasperated look. “You think I expected you to stuff folders forever? I was just waiting to see some initi
ative.”
All those years working at Medical Data, Gloria had believed Cutter viewed her as only a file clerk. Now it appeared she had been wrong, just like she had been wrong about so many things.
“Looks like I surprised you on that one. You’ve got your mouth open.”
Gloria quickly closed it.
“We can talk about it over lunch. I’ve come to take you out.” Cutter chuckled. “You’ve got your mouth open again.”
“Did anyone ever tell you that you are incredibly pushy?”
Cutter leaned over her desk, bringing his face within inches of hers. It reminded her of the time in McGreedy’s barn when he’d kissed her on a dare. She felt herself cringe. “You can always say no to my invitation. But then you won’t find out what Sam Bryce just told me about the Slone Foundation.”
At the mention of the detective’s name, Gloria rose to her feet. “I’m going to lunch, Wanda,” she yelled. “Be back in an hour.”
Cutter watched Gloria nibble on her BLT, then take a swig of milk. He smiled when he saw a white mustache cover Gloria’s upper lip, but apparently she knew it was there and wiped it with her napkin.
“Seriously, I’d like you to think about Wanda’s offer. If it’s a good deal and you want to go for it, I’d be willing to kick in some money, become a silent partner. I’m looking to diversify. I could use a half interest in something that’s making money these days.”
“How do you know it’ll make money?”
Cutter put down his hamburger and wiped his fingers. “You’re a hard worker, and everyone in town is pleased with the new stuff you’ve designed. Wanda’s creations were getting stilted, boring. You’ve got flair, Gloria. Couple that with hard work, and you’ll make out fine. Take my word for it; I don’t invest in anything unless I believe it’s a moneymaker.” Gloria smiled, and Cutter felt sweat bead around his collar.
“That’s really kind, but I’d have to think about it.”
“Why?” He thought Gloria looked uncomfortable.
“Because people are already talking about us. Rumors are flying all around Appleton, and—”
“Yeah. I’ve heard them too. But Gloria, if you let these rumors stop you from taking advantage of a great opportunity, then you don’t deserve to have the shop.”
Gloria’s face pruned. “Let’s not talk about it now. Let’s wait until Wanda gets back to me with some figures. Besides, we’re here to talk about Sam Bryce. What did he find out?”
Cutter bit into his hamburger as he watched Gloria eat. He liked the polite way she ate, how she took a small bite, chewed it thoroughly, then drank from her glass, then brought the napkin to her mouth. He guessed he liked nearly everything about her. Always had. He wondered why he had wasted so many years trying to prove that he preferred women like Sadie Bellows, and suddenly he realized it was so Gloria wouldn’t know how he really felt and get the upper hand. Was Virginia going to be the barometer by which he would forever gauge all women?
He washed down the last of his hamburger with a mouthful of Coke, then told Gloria what Sam Bryce had discovered.
“Well?” he said, when she just sat quietly, saying nothing. “What do you think about that?”
“It makes things clearer.” Quickly, she told him about the latest incident with the stalker, how he had pulled a knife and threatened to hurt her if she didn’t call off Sam.
Cutter hit the table with his fist. “Why didn’t you tell me? If we’re going to run this road together, then we can’t have secrets; we can’t hold anything back. We need to weigh the risks with the rewards. I think we both know now that this thing could get seriously out of hand. The Slone Foundation’s not a penny-ante outfit. They have deep pockets and can buy all the help they need. That runs the whole gamut, Gloria, from thugs to lawyers. With one hand they can have someone knife you; with the other, file a lawsuit. The thing that really bugs me is, why are they going after you instead of me?”
“I’ve wondered that myself.” She smiled sheepishly. “Not that I want them to come after you, of course, but … why me? I don’t know. Maybe they’re trying to intimidate me because I’m the one doing the flyers. And because I am doing the flyers, they may believe I’m the one who hired Sam. They probably don’t see you as a threat because they’ve already tied your hands legally. Stopped you from building on The Lakes.”
“Well … maybe. I guess the real question is, what do you want to do now?”
“I want to do another flyer. Sam’s information is a perfect follow-up to our last one. Instead of generalizations about how and why big foundations influence the environmental movement, we could give them specifics. Name names. A lot of people have lost their land around Too-Tall Mountain. I think we owe it to them to share what we know.”
Now that the stalker had pulled a knife on Gloria, Cutter was sorry he had convinced her to continue the fight. He should have let her get out when she’d wanted to. If anything happened to her—
“All right,” he said, because he knew he had to. “But any more encounters of the third kind, any more visits by our weird and dangerous friend, you let me know. Understand?”
“I don’t get you.” Gloria narrowed her eyes. “You’re the one who said I shouldn’t quit. So what’s the problem?”
“The problem is I love you.”
“Pfffffff.” Gloria flipped her hand like she was swatting a gnat. “That’s the reason you gave so I wouldn’t quit. You’re not making sense.”
“Sure I am.” Cutter watched Gloria fold her napkin neatly alongside her plate, as though she were at a ladies’ luncheon. “I’m making perfect sense.”
“Well, I don’t want to talk about it,” Gloria said, placing her hands on her lap.
“I didn’t expect you would. Before we go, anything else you do want to talk about?”
“Yes. Tracy Mattson. I’d like you to give her a job.” Gloria giggled softly. “Now look who’s got his mouth open.”
Gloria entered the bedroom, walked noiselessly across the beige Saxony carpet, then put the book she had tucked under her arm down on the nightstand and began smoothing the bedding. Virginia Press remained motionless. “Stop fussing, Agnes. Can’t you see I’m trying to sleep?”
Gloria continued tucking the paisley sheets around the four-poster bed.
“I said, stop it.” Virginia glanced over her shoulder and spotted Gloria. “Oh, it’s you.”
“Yes, and aren’t you ashamed? Acting like a disagreeable, spoiled child.”
“I am a disagreeable, spoiled child,” Virginia said, showing discolored teeth that were badly packed with plaque. She tried to sit up. When she couldn’t, Gloria gently pulled her up, then fluffed pillows and placed them behind and around her. Hemmed in by the oversized bedding, Virginia looked small and crumpled, like one of Gloria’s old dolls that Grandma Quinn still kept in the attic, only with greasy hair that separated into clumpy strands.
When Gloria pulled the covers away from Virginia’s chin, the odor that wafted up from the bedding said that Virginia was badly in need of a bath.
Had Virginia forsaken all personal hygiene?
“What’s this?” Virginia said when she spotted the book Gloria had placed on the nightstand.
“A Bible. And don’t give me that look. You and I made a deal, remember?”
Virginia shrugged. “I don’t remember saying you could bring a Bible.”
“You certainly did. And you know it.” Gloria sat on the bed, disturbed by the little space Virginia’s body took up—it seemed like less and less space each time Gloria came. She picked up the Bible, opened it to Luke 15:4 and began reading. “‘Suppose one of you has a hundred sheep and loses one of them. Does he not leave the ninety-nine in the open country and go after the lost sheep until he finds it? And when he finds it, he joyfully puts it on his shoulders and goes home. Then he calls his friends and neighbors together and says, “Rejoice with me; I have found my lost sheep.” I tell you that in the same way there will be more rejoicing in heave
n over one sinner who repents than over ninety-nine righteous persons who do not need to repent.’”
“Of course, you’re trying to tell me I’m that lost sheep.”
“I’m trying to tell you how Jesus feels about you. How much He longs for you. How much He wants to pick you up and carry you on His shoulders. Carry you home.”
Virginia’s crowlike eyes narrowed. “You’ve got a mean streak in you, Gloria. You’re bound and determined to see me crumble.”
“Would that be so terrible?”
“I … don’t know.”
Gloria took Virginia’s hand and quietly held it for a long time. When she saw that the older woman was struggling to stay awake, she closed the Bible and put it back on the nightstand. “I’m leaving this here. It’s yours. But I expect you to read the entire gospel of Luke before I come back.”
“Humph. I suppose you’ll ask me a hundred questions, just to make sure I did.”
“You can take it to the bank.” Gloria bent closer and kissed Virginia’s cheek; then she exited the room as quietly as she had come in.
After returning home from Virginia’s, Gloria worked on the C&C flyer for several hours, incorporating all the details Cutter had faxed earlier to Appleton Printers. She had already notified Harry about her plans, and he had been excited. “We’re close to breaking the back of this thing. I can feel it,” he had said. And Gloria felt that way too. It was only after she had proofed her article for the last time and faxed it to Harry on her little Sharp UX 300 that she felt a deep sense of dread.
Gloria listened to Wanda whistle a nameless tune and watched her bustle around the shop. Since announcing her retirement, Wanda had been more relaxed. Even so, saying Wanda was relaxed was like saying someone’s favorite hockey team wasn’t as violent as it used to be because after their last game, even though several players were bleeding, nobody needed stitches. But the change in Wanda, albeit slight, did make for a more relaxed atmosphere at the shop.
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