Broken Bonds. Karen Harper
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“I’ll be away during the day anyway, and people would be crazy to try to hunt anywhere around here at night.”
But, Char had to admit, some folks were crazy around here. Starting with someone who would kidnap kids like Tess or push someone’s truck over the side with them in it. And maybe, live out alone in a cabin, almost on the edge of a cliff.
* * *
“You didn’t need to fly in early,” Matt told Royce Flemming when he arrived at Matt’s door just after dark. He’d just taken a shower and was considering going over to the lodge to get some hot food and try to relax in the spa and sauna.
“I was coming late tomorrow, anyway,” Royce said as he stepped in.
Royce and his assistant, Orlando—his jack-of-all-trades including chauffeur and bodyguard—flew in a company plane to Columbus from wherever he was working. Royce kept a car there. Orlando drove while Royce did paperwork in the backseat—always busy. Now he turned to wave to Orlando, who backed the black sedan out of the driveway.
“He wanted to come in to tell you he’s glad you’re all right, but I told him I’d let you know and he could see you later. He’ll be at the lodge in a guest room down the hall from my suite if I need him.” When Matt closed the door behind them, Royce gripped his shoulders. “At least you’re in one piece.” He hugged Matt stiffly, set him back and headed into the living room.
As ever, the seventy-year-old was elegantly put together in his Italian leather jacket over a striped shirt and jeans which actually looked pressed. Royce’s silver hair seemed sculpted, and his perpetual tan set off his green eyes. Married and divorced three times—and paying triple alimony—Royce had not always been a successful entrepreneur. He’d made his ever-expanding fortune in upscale housing projects, including Lake Azure and another in the Poconos, and also headed up the Environmental Expansion Company, the EEC, which oversaw the majority of fracking for gas and oil in this area. Though he was a trim, fairly short man, Royce Flemming left huge footprints wherever he went.
As the sun set, they sat at the bar in the living area with its views of hills and the lake. Matt’s three-bedroom house was the medium size for the development and blended beautifully into the natural setting, one of the prerequisites for a Lake Azure home. It was perched on a cul-de-sac that overlooked the lodge and lake with its man-made sand beach, boathouse and dock.
“The usual?” Matt asked. “I could use a stiff one myself after today.”
Royce nodded. “Can you believe I’m dating a woman who likes bourbon and branch? But yeah, thanks. Make it my usual—a double.”
“Bourbon and branch? Isn’t that what evil oilman J. R. Ewing used to drink on Dallas?”
“Yeah, that’s right. So, Jennifer called from the office and said it was my truck that went over.”
Matt heaved a huge sigh and handed Royce his Jim Beam on the rocks. “Yeah, the Azure Lake truck Orlando usually drives when the black car seems a bit too much or you’re headed to rough ground.”
“I hear you, partner. That’s why I liked that truck around here. Believe me, I don’t always need Orlando hanging on—or maybe I do now.”
They clinked glasses and sat facing each other across the mahogany bar. Moments like this made Matt really miss his father. As close as he felt personally and professionally to this man who had been his dad’s best friend and who did not have children of his own, it was never quite the same. He admired Royce tremendously, but there was always an edge to the man that couldn’t be smoothed away.
“Okay, I’ll just say it,” Royce said. “The hillbilly jerk who tried to shove you off might have been after me.” It was a statement, not a question, but then Royce always seemed to have all the answers.
“Possibly. But why you, the moneyman, the salvation of this area in people’s eyes?”
“In some people’s eyes. If he was after Brad Mason, my right-hand guy in charge of the fracking contracts, the would-be killer is nearsighted as hell. Brad’s always in that fire-engine red, look-at-me truck, which is good advertising, though I know he’s got fans and haters out there.”
“Woody drove the white truck once in a while but he’s dead, and you’re always driven by Orlando, so that leaves me as the target. But if the guy in that truck wanted me to die, why?”
“Yeah. Matt, you know Woody was a loose cannon. I’m sorry he had that freak accident, but it kept me from firing him for printing up those homemade signs and picketing this place. It shook up the residents here. He should have picketed one of the drilling sites, not here.”
“I hire and fire here, and I would not have fired him.”
“Okay, he was a good worker. I overanalyze everything.”
“Me, too, now. Even after hashing all this out with the sheriff, his deputy and Charlene Lockwood, I still can’t figure—”
“Lockwood’s the woman who just happened to come along in time?”
“What do you mean ‘just happened to’?”
“I checked into her. A bleeding heart social worker who could, possibly should, profit from helping you get out of that truck in time. Maybe it was pushed just so far so it wouldn’t go over, then here she comes to help. I hear she visits families up in the hills and could no doubt use a hefty reward for her Appalachian project. And, like you said, who has the money around here? I do, you do—and people know that.”
“You mean like she set it up?” Matt’s voice rose in tone and volume. “Royce, now you’re over the edge.”
“Calm down. Anything’s possible, that’s all. You’ve got to look at all angles.”
“She asked for nothing.”
“Good. Great. But I wish you’d called me first, not gone to the sheriff. We don’t need negative PR or people speculating. The Chillicothe newspaper will pick it up from the police report, or worse yet, good old gossip will get going around here. We’ve worked damn hard to get along with the townies who think people don’t belong even if they’ve been here for a hundred years. We could have cleaned this up by donating to Ms. Lockwood’s cause and doing an investigation ourselves—which I plan to do. We don’t need the sheriff breathing down our necks.”
Matt slammed his glass down on the bar, spilling some of his drink. “Last time I checked, attempted murder is a criminal offense. Of course I went to the sheriff. He needs to look into it!”
“Okay, didn’t mean to take it out on you after all you’ve been through today. I suppose he had to know, but let’s try to keep it from getting tied to bad local feelings about this ‘ritzy’ area, as I heard one guy uptown put it. And I don’t want it tied to the fracking. Hopefully, money talks louder than the environmental do-gooders yakking about the quality of life around here from our drilling.” He rolled his eyes. “You know, that crazy Bright Star told his disciples that blasting into the bedrock like that could cause earthquakes, one sign for the end of the world—that is, until I bought out his old property for big bucks. Now he’s on my side, and that’s what we need, people around here on our side, not trying to shove us off cliffs.”
“Royce, we can’t sweep what happened today under the PR rug. It might have been some drunk guy, but I think it meant something, and since it was my life on the line, I’m not letting it go. And I mean to thank Char Lockwood and cooperate with the sheriff, too.”
“Sure. Sure, I understand. Too late not to. Hey, let’s get something to eat at the lodge, then I’ve got my fracking superintendent meeting me there later to report on how the drilling’s going. EEC is helping the down-and-outs here with some very nice drilling rights packages, bringing up the whole area, that’s my goal. The locals already owe us big thanks for the influx of jobs and money and revitalizing the stores downtown. Even newcomer Charlene Lockwood must know we’re doing great and are making good profits.”
Still