Джозеф Файндер - Company Man

“That’s a lot of phone calls.”

“How many lawn companies in Fenwick? Two or three, maybe?”

“Not my point,” Bugbee said. “So you find the one company that sometimes uses Penn Mulch in its hydroseed mix. Then what?”

“Then you find out whose lawns they used Penn Mulch on. If you’re saying it’s so expensive, there can’t be all that many.”

“So what do you get? Our dead guy walked over someone’s lawn that had Penn Mulch on it. So?”

“I don’t imagine there are too many fancy lawns down in the dog pound, Roy,” she said. “Do you?”

During the drive from the high school back to Stratton, Nick found himself thinking about Cassie Stadler.

She was not only gorgeous — he’d had more than his share of gorgeous women over the years, especially during college, when Laura had wanted them to “take a break” and “see other people” — but she was so smart it was scary, eerily perceptive. She seemed to understand him fully, to see through him, almost. She knew him better than he knew himself.

And he couldn’t deny the physical attraction: for the first time in over a year he’d had sex, and he felt like a sexual being again. This was a sensation he’d almost forgotten about. The pump had been primed. He felt horny. He thought about yesterday afternoon and got hard.

Then he remembered who she was, how he’d come to know her, and his mood collapsed. The guilt came surging back, worse than ever.

A voice in his head: Are you kidding me? You’re screwing the daughter of the man you murdered?

What’s wrong with you?

He didn’t understand what he was doing. If he allowed himself to get close to her... Well, what if she found out, somehow? Could he keep up this crazy balancing act?

What the hell am I doing?

But he badly wanted to see her again. That was the craziest thing of all.

It was late afternoon by now, and he didn’t have to return to the office. He pulled over to the side of the road and fished a scrap of paper out of his jacket pocket. On it he’d scrawled Cassie Stadler’s phone number. Impulsively — without heeding that chiding voice in his head — he called her on his cell.

“Hello,” he said when she answered. His voice sounded small. “It’s Nick.”

A beat. “Nick,” she said, and stopped.

“I just wanted to...” His voice actually cracked. Just wanted to — what? Turn back the clock? Reverse what happened That Night? Make everything all better? And since that wasn’t possible, then what? He just wanted to talk to her. That was the truth. “I was just calling...”

“I know,” she said quickly.

“You okay?”

“Are you ?”

“I’d like to see you,” he said.

“Nick,” she said. “You should stay away from me. I’m trouble. Really.”

Nick almost smiled. Cassie didn’t know what trouble was. You think you’re trouble? You should see me when I’ve got a Smith & Wesson in my hands . Acid splashed the back of his throat.

“I don’t think so,” Nick said.

“Don’t you think you’ve done enough?”

He felt something like an electric jolt. Hadn’t he done enough? That was one way of looking at it. “Excuse me?”

“Not that I didn’t appreciate it. I did. All of it. But we need to leave it there. You’ve got a company to run. A family to hold together. I don’t fit into that.”

“I’m just leaving an appointment,” he said. “I can be there in about five minutes.”

“Hey,” Cassie said, opening the dusty screen door. Carpenter-style jeans, white T-shirt, flecks of paint. Then she smiled, a smile that crinkled her eyes. She looked better, sounded better. “I didn’t think you’d come back.”

“Why?”

“Well, you know, buyer’s remorse. Regret over what you’d done. The usual male stuff.”

“Maybe I’m not your usual male.”

“I’m getting that idea. Bring me anything today?”

Nick shrugged. “Sorry. There’s a bottle of windshield-wiper fluid in the trunk.”

“Forget it,” Cassie said. “That stuff always gives me a hangover.”

“Might have a can of WD-40 around, too.”

“Now that’s more promising. I’m really digging the idea of having the CEO of Stratton as my personal grocery boy.”

“Point of pride with me. Nick Conover buys a mean turkey sandwich.”

“But should I take it personally that you got me nonfat yogurt?” She brought him inside. “Let me make you some of the tea you bought.”

She disappeared into the kitchen for a moment. She had a CD on, a woman singing something about, “I’m brave but I’m chicken shit.”

When she came back, Nick said, “You look good.”

“I’m beginning to feel more like myself again,” she said. “You caught me at a low point the other day. I’m sure you know how it goes.”

“Well, you look a lot better.”

“And you look like shit,” she said, matter of fact.

“Well,” Nick said. “Long day.”

She stretched herself out on the nubby brown sofa, with the gold thread woven through the upholstery like something out of the 1950s.

“Long day, or long story?”

“Trust me, you don’t want to hear a grown man bitch and moan about troubles at the shop.”

“Trust me, I could use the distraction.”

Nick leaned back in the ancient green La-Z-Boy. After a few moments, he began to tell her about the Rumor, leaving out a few details. He didn’t mention Scott by name, didn’t go into Scott’s disloyalty. That was too painful a subject right now.

Cassie hugged her knees, gathering herself into some tight yoga-like ball, and listened intently as he explained.

“And if that weren’t enough, I get a call from Lucas’s school,” he went on. He stopped. He wasn’t accustomed to talking about his life that way. Not since Laura’s death. Somehow he’d gotten out of practice.

“Tell me,” she said.

He did, telling her, too, about how he’d called Lucas at home, confronted him, and how Luke had hung up. When he finally checked his watch, he realized he’d been talking for more than five minutes.

“I never understood that,” Cassie said.

“Understood what?”

“Kid gets suspended for three days, meaning what? They don’t have to go to school for three days? They stay home?”

“Right.”

“And get into more trouble? That’s supposed to be a punishment? I mean, a baseball player gets suspended for five games for fighting with the umpire, that’s a punishment. But telling a kid he can’t go to school, which he hates, for three days?”

“Maybe it’s like social humiliation.”

“For a teenager? Isn’t that more like a badge of honor?”

Nick shrugged. “Wouldn’t have been for me.”

“No, you were probably Mr. Perfect.”

“No way. I got into the usual trouble. I was just careful about it. I didn’t want to get kicked off the hockey team. Hey, where’s that tea?” he asked.

“That stove takes forever. Electric, and underpowered. Dad wouldn’t allow gas in the house. One of his many ‘things.’ But we won’t go there.” She craned her head, listening. “I’m sure it’s ready now.”

“Just that all this talking makes a man thirsty,” Nick said.

Cassie came back with two steaming mugs. “English Breakfast,” she said. “Though I saw that you also bought me a box of Blue Moon Kava Kava and Chamomile mix. I’m guessing that’s not Nick Conover’s usual cup.”

“Maybe not.”

“Why do I get the feeling you’ve got me figured for some sort of New Age nut?” She shrugged. “Possibly because I am one. How can I deny it? You make chairs, I teach asanas. Hey, when it comes down to it, we’re both in the sitting industry, right?”