“Yes it was a compliment,” I said. “And yes, of course I cook.”
Skeptical, his eyebrows went up as he turned to look at me. I might have blushed. “Well, I usually use the microwave.”
He grinned, the corners of his mouth turning up just enough to catch my attention. “Dinner will be ready in about forty-five minutes. Meanwhile, why don’t you start on your report? Any questions I can help with, just ask.”
I arranged the laptop on the breakfast bar and situated myself on a barstool. He set a stem glass in front of me and poured some white wine. I took a sip. It was cold and refreshing and just right. Then he set out a small plate of sliced gouda, crackers and some giant garlic-stuffed olives. I almost told him I could get used to being pampered, but stopped myself. No need to sound like I was into the domestic scene. “Thanks for all you’re doing to help,” I said instead.
Slicing what appeared to be zucchini, he nodded. He was using a black cutting board. I didn’t even know I had a cutting board. “No problem,” I mumbled.
Due after every assignment, project final reports were the responsibility of the team leader. I hated paperwork, and the Rumton report would be especially difficult since I had nothing positive to say. Other than a stranger waltzed in and threw some money on the table to save the day. Which wasn’t a positive to me. Staring at the computer screen, I sighed. I thought of Lester and his smooth, patronizing attitude and his giant white teeth and sighed again. I had absolutely nothing good to say about the man in my report.
Sensing my distress, Justin poured himself some wine and joined me at the bar. “You only need to come up with two pages. Might could even get by with one. You know the drill. Just write something to make the partners feel good, and back it up with enough substance to justify your time. It’s that simple.”
Frowning I looked at him. The computer screen remained blank. My fingers rested on the keyboard but didn’t move.
“Okay,” he said. “Let’s try this. Forget the report for a minute, and we’ll sum up the Rumton situation. Organize what was done on behalf of Shine. That way, you can clarify what you want to say.”
As something that smelled heavenly sizzled in the oven, we started by naming all the setbacks Rumton faced, like its lack of infrastructure. The list was long. Next, we reviewed results of the development feasibility study that Justin had overseen from the office. It was just as dismal. Even with its proximity to water and neighboring towns, Rumton was too remote to attract developers or businesses. People wanted activities, choices for recreation, quality schools, shopping and medical facilities. If Rumton weren’t landlocked, it might be a different story. Developers would dish out big bucks to put in the amenities, knowing they could turn the community for a nice profit.
Next we made a list of everything we’d done. Avery’s environmental study and satellite photos. Justin’s feasibility study for both residential development and corporate appeal. Grant money research. A town profile. Resident interviews.
My fingers finally started punching keys. Fifteen minutes later, I’d condensed my Rumton ordeal into two summarized pages. All that remained was a concluding paragraph. Justin stood to serve our food and I realized the table wasn’t set. I started to do it, but he waved me off.
“Just point me in the direction of plates. And the flatware, which hopefully is not plastic.”
I pointed. “Stainless steel, thank you very much.”
Telling myself to forget about Rumton, I typed furiously: No immediate avenues for the revitalization of Rumton were apparent. In what was coincidental timing, an investor with ties to the town displayed an interest in purchasing several parcels of land. Lester Smoak recently bought land and residential options. He also purchased a primary residence in Rumton and has already moved in. He promises to build public amenities at his own expense, including a medical office. The majority of townspeople and the town council fully support his efforts. Therefore, the Rumton pro bono project has reached its conclusion. Information gathered during Shine’s studies and surveys will be made available at the request of the town council, and Shine will remain involved in an advisory capacity.
I stood, stretched, sighed. “It’s done,” I announced, struggling to ignore gnawing thoughts of looming calamity that nagged at my subconscious. I was just a worker bee, after all. Not the queen. I was paid to do what I was told, and that was that. Rumton wasn’t my problem anymore.
Justin put two plates of food on the small kitchen table. “See? That wasn’t so bad.” He added water glasses garnished with lemon wedges, refilled our wine glasses and put a bread basket between us. Lastly, he placed a single yellow tulip on the table. Cut short, it stuck out of a Coors Light bottle.
“I didn’t see a vase anywhere,” he explained.
“I don’t keep them,” I said, and immediately wished I hadn’t. Not only did it sound snobbish, but it also reminded him of my track record with men. I’d gotten my share of flowers, but always threw away the cheap vase along with the blooms when they dried out. Which typically took as long as it took for me to tire of the individual who’d sent them.
He didn’t reply. I tuned the Bose system to a jazz channel and we sat down to eat. Stomach rumbling from hunger, I unceremoniously dug in and was making appreciative food noises by the second bite. “I had no idea you could cook like this!”
“Just one of many things you don’t know about me,” he said, saluting with his wine glass. “To officially being done with Rumton!”
He’d made a roasted pork loin topped with a garlic, red pepper and pineapple sauce. The vegetable was seared zucchini. The bread was fresh and hot enough to melt butter. I slowed down to enjoy both the food and the amazing man sitting across from me. I’d worked with him as long as I’d been at the agency, but knew nothing about him and yearned to learn everything there was to know. Strange.
“This is incredible,” I said, sipping the wine and letting it roll over the back of my tongue. “I didn’t know you could cook. You could open a restaurant.”
“Thanks. I just might do that someday when it’s time to retire from the research grind.”
We ate in silence, enjoying the smooth sound of Kirk Whalum flowing from the speakers.
“I know it’s a done deal and all,” I said, when my stomach was comfortably full. “But I can’t help but wonder why Lester wants to buy up Rumton. In essence, he’s buying a worthless small town. Why would anyone do that?”
“Well, he’s not buying the entire town. Just pieces of it. But people have bought towns before.” Justin went on to mention a few examples. Many years ago, Kim Basinger bought Braselton, Georgia, and later sold off most of it when she declared bankruptcy. Much more recently, an engineering school bought Playas, New Mexico to create an anti-terrorist training ground for Homeland Security. The possibilities for Lester’s interest in Rumton were endless, he told me.
“He’s a slime ball,” I replied. “And his interest is greed. Somehow, it boils down to the land. He’s going to do something with the land.”
Justin rolled the tulip back and forth between his fingers. “You’re not going to let this drop, are you?”
“Look,” I said, unable to conceal my exasperation. “A man who doesn’t know me invites me to live in his home. Cooks for me. Shows me around town. Knowing he’s not getting anything in return. He wouldn’t even accept the daily stipend the company offered for room and board.”
Justin smiled. “That’s Pop for you.”
“And Rumton wasn’t the hellhole I imagined it would be. It’s bizarre, no doubt about that. But the people are…;well, they’re just genuine, I guess. No pretenses. You have to admire that.”
“True.”
“So maybe it has become personal. I’ve become fond of these people and I feel like I ought to still be there, trying to figure out what Lester is up to. Somebody needs to look out for them.”
Justin wiped a napkin across his mouth, pushed his plate back a few inches. “Jaxie, they’ve been ta
king care of themselves for a long time. They got along before Shine ever stepped into the picture, and they’ll get along just fine now.”
Suddenly the food in my stomach, previously settling beautifully with the music and the company, hit a wave of discord. Agitated, I straightened in my barstool and looked directly into his eyes. “You think I’m blowing everything out of proportion? Like, who the hell am I to think I know what’s best for Rumton?”
His gaze dropped, paused, moved back up to meet mine. “I wouldn’t have put it quite that way, but yes. I agree with Aaron. You might be personalizing this assignment because it didn’t turn out as anticipated. Like you said, you’re used to winning. But you can’t win every single time. You don’t think this was a win. But it wasn’t a loss, either. Maybe this one was a draw.”
“Yeah, and maybe you should just go,” I said miserably, my mood shattering faster than a dropped glass on a tile floor.
He stood casually. “No problem.”
“I’m grateful for your help, Justin. And dinner, too. But you just don’t get it!”
“I do get it, Jaxie, but if you’d take a step back and look at the bigger picture, you might see that your concerns are unreasonable. Pop is my uncle. I love him. I love Rumton. And I don’t see this grave danger or impending doom that you keep talking about. I don’t see the evil Lester that you see. I just see an investor with motives we may not fully understand.” He frowned and it was a look of total disappointment. In me. “Maybe your ego has gotten in the way,” he suggested in a soft voice.
“My ego? Are you kidding me?” I resisted the urge to slap him. “I don’t know why I even bothered to get to know you. You…;you’re…;you’re not worth it!”
He remained quiet. I wanted him to say something, anything. Even raising his voice at me would have been better than the silent stare he gave me. “You’re just not,” I repeated, muttering. Part of my brain told me to shut up and quit talking, quit thinking, and just…; kiss. Just kiss him. But another part of my brain, the stubborn part, couldn’t stand to look at him.
He read the latter emotion on my face. “I’m going, I’m going,” he said, palms up and facing out in a surrender motion. “If it will make you feel better, give Pop a call tomorrow to say hello. See what’s going on.”
I closed the door behind him with a feeling that was part lust, part anger, and mostly frustration. The result was a churning in my stomach that did total injustice to the incredible meal I’d just eaten.
“Why can’t anybody else see the obvious?” I said to the walls as I moved dishes from the table to the sink. In answer, my mobile phone rang. Disgusted, I dug it out of my purse. “Hello.”
“Your investor with small town political aspirations?” It was Chuck. “He’s got quite an interesting track record, Babe.”
My heart did a summersault. “I knew it! What did you find?”
“The gentleman’s name used to be Spear. Not Smoak. He had it legally changed. And before that, he went by at least one other alias. He never served time in the military, at least not that I could find. He owns a majority share of a development company that specializes in master planned communities. They do the groundwork, acquire land, and deal with local municipalities to get things approved. Layout the design, put in water, sewer, roads and such. Then they use very expensive and very splashy marketing to promote the community, but sell out to another developer before the first house ever goes up.”
“High-tech think tank, my ass,” I muttered.
“He was busted for fraud three years ago, but got acquitted. Apparently, he took a lot of money from a lot of old people under the pretense of building an amusement park that never happened.”
I sat on the sofa and flipped open a pad to jot some notes. “A real upstanding citizen.”
“But wait, there’s more,” Chuck said, mimicking a TV infomercial announcer. “He keeps some interesting company, according to my pal in the bureau who spoke to me off the record. They’re watching Senator Wands, who incidentally, is quite active on the Indian Affairs Committee. And Wands has been seen playing golf with your man on several occasions.” Chuck paused and I heard papers shuffling.
“Where is Wands from? And why are they keeping an eye on him?”
“Wands is a democrat from South Carolina, and my source wouldn’t say why they have an interest in him. Other than it has to do with accepting kickbacks.”
“Huh,” I mused.
“Huh?”
“It’s a small town thing,” I said. “Means I was thinking.”
“Huh,” he said while he thought about it. “You might also find it interesting that one of Lester’s business partners won’t be winning any congeniality awards. He has known affiliations with one of the mob families and is not a nice guy.”
“Huh,” I said again. My brain attempted to make sense of it all. “Ties to Indians and mobsters. I wonder if the Indians know that Lester’s other friends are bad guys.”
“First,” Chuck said, “I don’t believe Senator Wands is of Native American Indian heritage. He just serves on the committee. He serves on three different committees. But he spends a lot of time and effort on Indian affairs issues. That’s one of his main campaign platforms.”
“What’s second?”
“Second, this information doesn’t prove anything.”
“It proves Lester is hiding things. And that he lied about his military experience. Who does that?” I felt like I’d just hit the jackpot. “By the way, how’d you get all this?”
“Like I told you, I’m good at what I do. And the fingerprint helped. Nice job on getting that.” He paused to sip something. “Oh, and that feathered ring hanging from the rearview mirror of his Lincoln? It’s called a dream catcher. A Native American Indian artifact. They’re popular souvenirs in some gift shops, especially around reservations.”
“Yeah, I asked him what it was. He said his father gave it to him, but didn’t elaborate. It’s rather coincidental that he’s been playing golf with an Indian Affairs Committee guy and he has a dream catcher thingie hanging in his car.”
“I thought the same thing, but nothing came up in the background information to indicate his heritage. Although anybody can claim to be just about anything these days if it suits their purpose, so I rarely look into genealogy. Criminals invent family backgrounds every day.”
I thought about that while I paced in front of my kitchen table, looking at the bloom sticking out of the beer bottle and wishing Justin hadn’t left. “What the heck is Lester up to?”
Chuck sighed. “Don’t know. But, keep in mind that none of this information proves any harmful intent on behalf of Lester Spear.”
“Maybe not. But what does it say of his interest in Rumton?”
“That’s for you to figure out.”
Chuck gave me some more details, but ultimately we concluded that Lester was free to do what he wanted. Being shady wasn’t illegal. And keeping company with mobsters wasn’t illegal. Other than some gossipy information, I had nothing to stop the man from taking over Rumton. And the more I thought about it, the more I knew Lester could talk his way out of accusations that he’d been dishonest. The townspeople thought he was a savior. After all, he’d say through his big-toothed smile, there was nothing wrong with changing your name. And the bust? All a misunderstanding, he’d say. He’d been acquitted. As far as his alleged military service, he’d explain the records were sealed, or make up some other nonsense. The town council would probably assume he’d done top secret work in the military.
I wasn’t sure if the townspeople would listen to me or not, but they deserved to know something about the real Lester Smoak, whether or not they chose to believe it.
“You’re the best,” I told Chuck.
“You’re welcome,” he said.
“Before you go, answer this for me. My boss said Lester checked out. How did that happen?”
“Either he did a sloppy internet background check for twenty-nine dollars, or he didn�
��t do a check at all. Or, maybe he uncovered everything I did, but saw no reason to make a big deal out of it.”
“I get the feeling my boss knows something about this whole mess. Something he’s not sharing with me.”
Chuck a sip of something and swallowed. “Are you still in Rumton?”
“No, I’m home in Atlanta. The pro bono project is officially over. I’ve been told to let it drop.”
“Are you going to keep digging?”
I wasn’t sure myself, until I said it. “Yes.”
“Be careful, Babe. Your man Spear keeps some dangerous company.”
I disconnected and immediately dialed Justin’s mobile. Like most people I worked with, his number was in my speed dial list. I couldn’t wait to tell him I’d been right.
“Justin here,” he answered.
Changing my mind, I hung up. He didn’t deserve to know the truth.
Chapter 18
Flush pulled himself off the front porch and ran to greet me when I opened the car door. I hadn’t told Pop I was coming and hoped his greeting would be just as enthusiastic. Aside from Sheila, I didn’t tell anyone where I was going. I took off work by using a vacation day, and since it was a Friday, the personnel guy assumed I just wanted a long weekend. The seven-plus hours on the road allowed me to think. Modern jazz music flowing loud, I thought about my boss and the entire pro bono project. I thought about Justin. I thought about the townspeople, who were acting like mindless zombies even though I knew them to be wonderful people. I tried not to think about anything at all. And then I thought a lot about Lester and his motives. Annoyingly, I came to no conclusions. Not even a theory. Maybe Pop’s insight would help.
I knocked on the front door, even though it stood open. “Pop? Are you here?”
He appeared with Bandit on his shoulder and upon seeing me, a huge smile spread across his face. “Back so soon, Lass? You must’ve missed me.”
Carolina Booty Page 17
