Jeff Abbott - Only Good Yankee

There, no one could ever say I hadn’t memorized the library’s bylaws.

“These good people aren’t interested in your lies,” Nina retorted.

Tiny bolted to his feet, presumably to play bouncer. Nina jerked a hand at him and he stayed put. “She’s got him trained like a dog,”

Candace whispered to me. “Lies, Ms. Hernandez? I’m not here to lie,”

Greg Callahan said smoothly. “My associate, Ms. Wiercinski, along with our new friend, Mr. Jacksill, thought that we ought to set the record straight.” He pointed an elegant, pale finger at Nina Hernandez. “This woman is nothing but a radical and an environmental extremist!” A murmur ran through the sparse crowd. “Wrong,” Nina snapped back. “I have no political agenda. My only desire is to protect the river-and to expose Intraglobal for the wasteful, pernicious business that it is. I wouldn’t quarrel with sensitive, responsible development. But you, Mr. Callahan, have no regard for people or the land they live on.” “Ridiculous!” Greg Callahan sneered back. I envied him his glare; it was a right effective one. “You’d throw yourself over a blade of grass to keep someone from building a patio, Ms. Hernandez. And folks, let me tell you: it wouldn’t make much sense for me to invest in riverfront property then trash the river, would it, now? Who’d buy a single condo? No one, that’s who.” He cast his penetrating blue eyes across the gathering. “Investment, ladies and gentlemen. That’s what this resort would be. I’m going to spend so much on the riverfront that I’d ruin my own business if I polluted it.” He jerked his head toward Lorna and Freddy Jacksill. “We’ll be holding a meeting of our own, to really tell the truth about Intraglobal. Tomorrow night at the Sit-a-Spell Cafe. Y’all are all invited.” I thought he should’ve left that last part off; Texans do not take kindly to having their accents or regionalisms adopted by others. Miss Twyla stood. “I won’t be there. I’ve already heard enough from Nina to know I’ll never sell my land to you.” Eula Mae was not about to be upstaged. “And I’m going to put my considerable resources behind Miss Twyla’s campaign to save the river.” Callahan smiled thinly. There was the vaguest hint of malice lurking there. “Perhaps you’ll change your mind, Ms. Oudelle, Ms.

Quiff.” He’d done his homework, you had to give him that. He nodded confidently at the crowd. “I urge everyone not to pay too much heed to Ms. Hernandez. She’s a bit upset right now because this is her third attempt to interfere with Intraglobal’s business, and every time she’s failed. She’s a loser. Until tomorrow night, ladies and gentlemen.” He turned on his imported heel and strode out, with the confidence of a rooster leaving a sated henhouse. Freddy Jacksill stayed right in Callahan’s personal space, probably busily calculating the amount of money he could make as the local agent for helping Intraglobal. Lorna hung back for a moment, then left, favoring me with another glance. I patted Candace’s hand and whispered, “I want to talk to him.” I followed them out, hearing Uncle Bid cackle, “See! Jordy’s chasing that fellow to sell him his land. Y’all ain’t going to win.” I decided I’d worry later about setting Uncle Bid straight-as straight as someone as crooked as he could get. I hurried out the back entrance from the stairs. (The upstairs meeting room is accessible by a side door, so folks can have meetings after hours without going through the rest of the library.) Lorna, Greg Callahan, and Freddy Jacksill were standing by Freddy’s Taurus, its RIVERTOWN REAL ESTATE sign big on the driver’s-side door. Greg Callahan watched me as I ran up to them.

Crickets chirped around us, a deafening chorus of them in the live oaks that towered near the library. The sun was setting and his eyes looked hard in the fading light. I said, “Lorna, aren’t you going to introduce me to your friend?” Lorna shuffled slightly. I don’t think she was happy with the upshot of our last conversation. “Sure. Jordan, this is Greg Callahan. Greg, this is Jordan Poteet, my old friend I told you about.” “Jordan, fabulous to meet you.” Greg shook my hand with what I considered an abundance of fake warmth. “Fantastic town you’ve got here. Really homey and cozy.” “Thanks. We’d like to keep it that way.” Greg fixed me with a smile. “Now, Jordan, I hope a smart gentleman like yourself isn’t going to jump on this environmental hysteria bandwagon. I assure you all the information that Lorna presented you is absolutely valid. We’re not going to shoot ourselves in the feet by ruining the river.” “Jordan,” Freddy Jacksill interrupted, “why don’t you give me a call tomorrow and I’ll set up a meeting at my office, where we can discuss Intraglobal’s offer on your land.” I made myself smile at Freddy. I couldn’t say I actually disliked him; but he was one of those people who so nakedly curries favor that they annoy the living hell out of you. He was in his mid-forties, portly, and not dressed in the height of fashion. I always saw him on weekends, squiring potential buyers, usually young yuppie couples from Austin who fantasized about country living. “Well, Freddy, that might just have to wait a spell. I’m not sure I want to sell my land. I’d prefer to give it some thought before I make any decisions.” Greg smiled heartily and squeezed my good shoulder. He didn’t ask what had happened to my arm. “Of course you would, Jordan, and I know that a reasonable guy like you is going to make the right decision. You’re a clear-thinker.” I resented someone who didn’t know me making such gross generalizations; I could be as muddy-thinking as they came, if I put my mind to it. My distaste for Greg bolted in my chest; why was Lorna working for him? I smiled politely. “Well, I’ll be glad to attend your meeting and hear you out.” I glanced at Lorna.

“You’re very lucky to have Lorna working for you. She’s a remarkable woman.” That elicited a smile from both Lorna and Greg. “Isn’t she, though?” he said. “I’d be lost without Lorna. She’s my details lady.”

He grinned at her with a nearly proprietary air. “Great. Well, then, I’ll see y’all both tomorrow.” I shook hands and turned to leave. “And we’ll see y’all tomorrow, too,” Greg chirped. I tried not to break stride. Yankees. They never seem to get that y’all is plural, not singular. Someone needed to have a talk with Greg on how not to alienate the locals. I decided that if I chose to sell my land, I’d coach Greg on the intricacies of Mirabeau etiquette. I returned to an assembly that was frothy with outrage at anyone who might even glance askew at our beloved Colorado River. Uncle Bid and his supporters had departed. Candace leaned over and whispered to me, “So did you cut a deal?” “Not hardly. That fellow is slicker than a watermelon seed.”

“Well, Eula Mae announced she’s donating fifty thousand dollars to the antidevelopment cause.” “Good Lord!” I whispered back. “I didn’t know she had that kind of cash to burn.” I glanced over at Eula Mae; she was absently twirling her hair with a finger. I hoped she had the money to back up her promise. The Loudermilks were silent. Nina’s voice droned on, outlining how they would use Eula Mae’s seed money to raise a massive war chest to inform the public about the perils of Intraglobal’s invasion. The meeting didn’t last much longer. I didn’t pay much heed; I kept watching the obvious glares between the Loudermilks and their daughter, who had kept her seat in the back of the room. Something was amiss in Mirabeau’s first family. Jenny Loudermilk tossed her rather luxurious locks in prime Barbie style and ignored her parents. Miss Twyla gave a final inspired speech on how we should ban together to fight this godless (not quite sure where theology crept into the equation, but Miss Twyla was on a roll) development. “We will stop this!” Miss Twyla vowed. “Whatever it takes, we will stop this!” God, was her timing lousy. I’d escorted Candace home. We hadn’t talked much. I told her Lorna had been mostly businesslike at dinner, calmly outlining Intraglobal’s strategy. She didn’t ask for an explanation of what constituted mostly. Her goodbye kiss was quick and dry. When I got home, I discovered Clo in the living room. She was watching her favorite program, Star Trek. “You never miss that one, do you, Clo?” I asked as Captain Kirk dueled a barbarian with a bad overbite. “That Lieutenant Uhura, she looks just like my girl.” “Really?” I said. Clo had been tight-lipped about her private life. She’d mentioned a granddaughter once. “She’s dead now.