Джон Гришэм - Camino Winds

“Danielle Noddin, Houston, Texas, and I have a lot of questions.”

“So do I,” Bruce said. “How did you know about our wedding ceremony on the beach?”

She flashed a warm smile and Bruce almost melted. “I was on the island with a friend, just a few days at the beach. I wanted a closer look at you and your turf. When we were in the store we overheard a conversation about the ceremony, so we just happened to stop by. It’s a small town and I guess people talk too much.”

“That’s certainly true,” Noelle said.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to frighten you. I mentioned it so that you would take my letter seriously.”

“Oh, I did,” Bruce said. “We’re not playing games here.”

“No, we’re not. Why did you know I’m called Dane?”

“We went through Nelson’s stuff after the police were finished. There wasn’t much. Virtually all of his notes and research were, evidently, in his computer and heavily encrypted. But there were three notebooks with all sorts of random chicken scratch. Notes on the best dive lodges in Bermuda; restaurants in Santa Fe; a three-page story idea for a novel, one that went nowhere because the idea was not good; a few phone numbers that the police checked out and got nowhere. That sort of stuff. But there were four references to a ‘Danielle,’ who was also called Dane. I take it you guys met once in San Antonio.”

She shook her head in disbelief. “We did.”

“The police paid no attention to it. No surprise there.”

“Where is their investigation?”

“Still open, but they’ve found little. Coffee, anyone?”

Noelle nodded and Dane said, “That would be nice.”

Bruce stepped to the phone and called room service. Noelle asked her softly, “You’re in the city often?”

“Twice a year. The usual, shopping and Broadway and a new restaurant or two, with some girls from Houston.”

It was obvious Dane had expensive tastes and lived well. Noelle pegged her age at forty-one, max.

Bruce returned to the sofa and asked, “Now where were we?”

“How much do you know about Grattin?” Dane asked.

“Well, everything that has been written about a company that works extremely hard at revealing nothing. Basic corporate structure, sales figures, number of facilities, a few names of the big boys, and a lot of bad press about nursing home abuse. The company seems to relish staying in trouble.”

“The company relishes making money, and it’s very good at it. Does the name Ken Reed ring a bell?”

“It’s his company, CEO and chairman.”

“When Ken was about thirty years old, his father died in a plane crash and he inherited a string of cheap nursing homes in Texas and Oklahoma. He learned the business, spruced up his facilities, and began expanding. He was and still is very ambitious. Now he’s sixty-two, rich, and still works seven days a week.”

“Do you work for him?”

“I sleep with him. I’m wife number three. First I was his secretary slash assistant slash girlfriend. He got tired of wife number two and I got the big promotion. Now he’s looking for number four. The man will never have enough money or women. He’s more than happy to get me out of town. It’s never been a healthy marriage and it will soon be over.”

“ Forbes puts his net worth at six hundred million.”

“No one knows. He buries it here and there, does a lot of offshore banking, runs money through a maze of corporations. He’s paranoid about his privacy and cheats like hell on his taxes. Not your typical rich Texan who can’t wait to show off his money. There’s always somebody richer down there so he doesn’t play that game.”

“Why will the marriage soon be over?”

She smiled again and looked out the window. “We don’t have enough time.”

“You brought it up. We can talk about something else.”

She offered him a soft gaze but the beautiful eyes were focused, almost glaring. “When I was twenty, I got a job as a secretary with a company in Tulsa that owned some nursing homes. Ken bought the company and came through one day. I caught his eye, primarily because his eye is always roving. I got a promotion I didn’t deserve and was transferred to Abilene, where I got another lucky promotion and a one-way ticket to Houston, where his company was headquartered. It was called West Abilene Care back then. Later merged with Grattin, and Ken liked that name better. His name is on nothing but his car titles and land deeds and not all of them. Anyway, when I got to Houston he was waiting. He offered me the job as his executive assistant, at a generous salary, and before long we were companions. This went on for about five years. He finally paid off number two and I became number three. That was fourteen years ago. I worked hard, took my job seriously, learned everything about the company, most of which I’d like to forget, by the way, and kept up with the technology. Over time, Ken began to worry that I knew too much, so he forced me into retirement, to get me out of the office. But I was quite unhappy sitting around the house—I refused to have children with him, which has proven to be a wise decision—and I insisted on a job, something meaningful. He resented this but finally agreed. Not long after I returned to work I learned that he had a serious new girl in Dallas. This was no surprise, really, because he has never stopped philandering. So, I’ve played the game myself. Not exactly an open marriage but it’s kept me sane.”

Bruce looked uncomfortably at Noelle, who ignored him. The term “open marriage” brought back memories.

“And you met Nelson?” Bruce asked.

She smiled seductively at her own memories. “I did. I liked him a lot. Obviously, you’ve read his last novel.”

“Read it, edited it, sold it.”

“Well, folks, the novel is true, and the story is about Grattin and its secret drug. When I decided to squeal, snitch, blow the whistle, call it what you want, I decided to go to Nelson Kerr. I had read an interview with him in which he talked about his work and his research into shady conspiracies and such. I reached out, we met, hit it off in a fine way, and began a relationship.”

“Go, Nelson,” Bruce said.

“Come on, Bruce,” Noelle scolded.

“It’s okay,” Dane said. “We were very fond of each other. And, I feel responsible for his death. If he hadn’t met me he would still be alive.”

“We’re leaving out entire chapters here,” Bruce said. There was a knock on the door and Bruce opened it. A porter set the coffee service on the table, and Bruce signed the check. Noelle poured as Bruce locked the door.

They fiddled with their sugar and cream for a while. Dane said, “A question. Can the novel be stopped?”

“No way,” Bruce said. “That’s where they screwed up. They didn’t know that Nelson was finished with it when they took him out. I’ve sold the book and it’s coming next year. In a big way. If we can prove he was murdered because of it, they won’t be able to print ’em fast enough. A question for you. How did they know about Nelson and his research?”

“He went to China and found the lab. I told him not to go, just as I told him not to dig too deep. Just take the story, fictionalize like crazy, and write a novel. That wasn’t good enough for Nelson. He wanted to know all the dirt. Somehow, somewhere in the underworld, word got out that Nelson Kerr, a bestselling author, was writing about a nursing home company and its mysterious drug.”

“Was the Chinese lab involved in his death?”

“I doubt it. It’s a huge pharmaceutical over there that makes all manner of illegal and semi-legal drugs. They don’t care and they’re immune from prosecution and liability. They make fentanyl, even meth. How much do you know about the drug?”