Читать книгу A Lasting Proposal - C.J. Carmichael - Страница 10

“YOUR PROFITS HAVE BEEN very healthy, Jake,” Harvey Tomchuk said between sips of his coffee. “But given the capital outlays you want to make this year, you could use a cash infusion.”

Jake Hartman liked the sound of the phrase. Sort of New Age—like a vitamin or herbal infusion. “Are you talking about a bank loan, Harvey? You know I’m not keen on debt.”

“No debt.” His accountant helped himself to another cup of coffee from the machine on the counter, next to the Dutch oven that Jake hadn’t gotten around to putting away after dinner. “I’m thinking of equity here, as in cash provided to the business by a new investor. Simple enough for you yet?”

“Oh, sure. Now I get it. You want me to find someone with half a mil to invest in my heli-skiing business. That should be a snap.”

“You could always ask Patricia.”

Jake snorted. He’d rather see his business fold than go into partnership with his mother. Not that he didn’t sympathize with her. She’d lost her husband when she was only thirty, and been left to raise on her own a rowdy boy she’d never been able to understand.

That had been tough for her, especially since she’d been determined to shape and mold that boy, who’d happened to be him, in the image of her late, idealized husband. And she’d never let her son forget what a terrible disappointment he’d turned out to be. He’d demonstrated no head for business, hated cities and was awkward and disagreeable at the society functions his mother planned her life around. For all his growing-up years, Jake had resented his mother’s efforts to control what he wore, how he spoke, the way he cut his hair.

The only times he felt free and happy were on his summer and Christmas holidays, which he’d spent with his uncle Bud McLean’s family, on the Thunder Bar M in Alberta. So it was no surprise he’d moved out here the day he’d finished high school.

His mother was furious and refused to so much as visit him. Out of guilt more than affection, he made an annual pilgrimage east so she could frown at him and heave great sighs of disappointment. Once a week he called to assure her he hadn’t killed himself on some godforsaken mountain.

Ask his mother for money? No way.

“I guess I’ll think of something,” he said. “How much, exactly, should I be looking for?”

Harvey circled the bottom number in a long line of figures. Jake winced.

“Of course,” Harvey pointed out, “you could avoid all this by lowering your standards just a tad. No one expects real linen in a remote mountain lodge.”

“Not a chance.” Jake wouldn’t even consider that option. Grizzly Peaks was his baby, his life. Already clients came from all over the world, willing to pay thousands of dollars for the opportunity to ski in the backcountry wilderness of the Rocky Mountains.

But he wanted more. Not necessarily bigger—in fact, definitely not bigger—but the best of everything. One day Grizzly Peaks would be the premier heli-skiing operation in North America.

“Well, I’m sure you’ll come up with something. You always do. By the way, planning any mountain climbing this summer?”

“My knees have really been bothering me lately.” A reminder that he was closing in on forty. Now he needed the four-month summer break from skiing to rest his old ligaments and joints.

Compounding the problem with his knees was his difficulty in finding a buddy to climb with these days. Slowly but surely his friends had gotten married and started families. A day off for climbing was a luxury they could rarely afford.

“You talk like you’re old, Jake. Wait until you’re in your seventies like me!”

“At least you picked a good profession. You’ll be able to keep running your business as long as your mind remains capable of adding and subtracting.”

“Yeah, but the question is, will I want to?” Harvey finished off his coffee. “Well, I guess we’re done here. I’ll put together the final financial proposal, then you can go out and try to find your money.”

Harvey gathered the papers into his briefcase, leaving a copy of the statements on the table for Jake. After a warm handshake, he shuffled out the door. Jake thought he’d left, but moments later the older man poked his head back inside.

“You forgot to take in your newspapers.”

There were two in the box. Jake subscribed to the Calgary Herald as well as the Canmore Leader. After waving off his friend, he took them both to the living room.

The headline in the Herald startled the hell out of him. Conrad Beckett had killed himself? God, what a nightmare that whole episode was turning out to be. Jake read the print on page one, then followed the story to page three. Most of it was old history; he knew the case well. In fact, he’d even started a scrapbook.

Now he went to the kitchen to get the scissors and tape, then to his desk, where he pulled out the binder he’d used to collect articles such as this one.

It wasn’t morbid fascination that drew him, but a combination of personal interest and family obligations. At one time popular opinion around Canmore had it that his cousin, Dylan McLean, was responsible for Jilly Beckett’s death. Now almost everyone thought James Strongman had done it.

James’s father, Max, was the current mayor of Canmore. He’d married Dylan’s widowed mother, Rose, a long time ago. After Jilly’s death, he’d convinced Rose to make out her will entirely to him, cheating Dylan of his father’s inheritance. Then, just when Rose had seemed about to change her mind and revisit her will in Dylan’s favor, she’d been murdered.

At first Dylan, who was known as a hothead, had been suspected again. Then evidence proving that he’d been set up was found. James, who had no alibi for the night Rose was killed, was the most likely culprit. But he’d escaped to Mexico rather than face police inquiries, and hadn’t been seen since.

A convenient and tidy impasse in Canmore’s two unsolved homicide cases. Jake, however, wasn’t so sure that James was the guilty party. Or if so, that he’d acted alone. And others in town shared his doubts.

Carefully, Jake cut out the article and the attached photos. He paused to examine them. First Jilly, then Rose, now Jilly’s father. Too many deaths, shrouded in too much uncertainty, for one small mountain town of only ten thousand people.

Jake picked up the local paper next. Ironically, on the front page of the Leader was a shot of Max Strongman and a bold heading: Canmore Mayor Won’t Run Again In Fall Election.

Well, that was good news. Jake snapped the paper, then peered again at the picture of Strongman. The man had a distinguished, statesmanlike air, but he was as wily as an old coyote, and manipulative to boot. Jake read about his plans to retire from public office to pursue “other interests.” Hah! Jake reached for the phone to call his cousin.

“Did you hear the news about Strongman?” he asked once Cathleen had passed the phone over to her husband.

“Wish I could say it was good news,” Dylan said. “But you know, the minute he’s no longer mayor of Canmore, he’ll be pushing that damn recreational housing project on my father’s land.”

“Next to the oil wells?”

Dylan’s laugh was bitter. “If he goes ahead with this, the development will cut right across the natural wildlife corridor along Thunder Creek.”

“We’ve got to stop him somehow.”

“Don’t I wish,” Dylan agreed. “Our best hope is that we elect an antidevelopment mayor who throws so many roadblocks in Strongman’s way he hasn’t a chance.”

But that wasn’t likely. Feelings both for and against development in Canmore ran strong, but lately the tide had definitely been in favor of development. Plus, a new man was in the wings—a shoe-in for the job if Max retired. And he was prodevelopment, too.

“Any other options?” Jake asked.

“Let me see. Why don’t we prove Max planned both my mother’s and Jilly Beckett’s deaths, and that James was merely a pawn in his hands. Once Max is in jail, he’ll have a hard time presenting his development plans to town council.”

Jake sank into a nearby chair. “Now, why didn’t I think of that?” Actually, the two men had discussed the possibility of Max’s involvement in Rose’s murder to the point of exhaustion. They each suspected that James had tossed that firecracker as a diversion for his father to shoot Jilly. Odds on proving that, however, were slim at best.

After a depressing pause, Jake told his cousin about the plans for upgrading Grizzly Peaks.

“So you need a silent partner, do you? Let me think about that. I may know just the person.”

“That sounds intriguing.”

“Oh, she is. But I have to go, buddy. Cathleen’s giving me that look….”

“Say no more.” Jake hung up, knowing his cousin was referring to the look that every man longed for. The look that meant Come to bed, darling.

Lucky guy. Jake hadn’t been the recipient of the look in a long time. In fact, how long had it been?

Sprawling out on the sofa ten minutes later, with a beer and the remote control, Jake tried to recall the last woman he’d had in his bed. Over the years he’d gone through a series of relationships with a number of women. Each time there’d come a point when demands were made that he’d felt unable to meet. The last one’s name had been…Terri-Lynn.

The next one would be…who? The pickings were getting meager, Jake had to admit. Most women around his age were married. He was willing to date younger ones. But even the women in that group were mostly paired off now.

Maybe he’d missed his chance. Yet Jake didn’t regret ending any one of his failed relationships. So maybe he was born to be a bachelor. It wasn’t the worst fate for a man…especially one as busy as he was. Grizzly Peaks took a lot out of him. And now he had to find the equity partner Harvey was talking about.

Jake picked up his copy of the financial papers and scanned the bottom line. Who did Dylan know with that much money available?

MAUREEN WENT TO Conrad Beckett’s funeral Tuesday afternoon. She sat near the back of the Riverview United Church, the same church where services had been held for her husband, little more than one year ago. And previous to that, for Jilly Beckett.

Many of the people filling the pews today had attended those funerals, as well. Certainly Linda Beckett had been at both. Maureen remembered her stopping to speak after Rod’s service.

“If you ever need someone to talk to, Maureen,” she’d said, squeezing her hand hard, “I’d be glad to help.”

Linda’s well-meaning kindness had made Maureen feel guilty for not having offered the same to Linda after Jilly’s funeral. She’d assumed that family members, and more intimate friends, would be filling that role in Linda’s life. And Conrad’s. But maybe they hadn’t.

The service was over at four. Maureen doubted that Linda Beckett even recognized her when she stepped up to give her condolences. The new widow seemed disoriented. Her sister had guided her through every step of the service as carefully as if Linda had suddenly gone blind.

Maureen left the throng of people with a sense of unease. She’d hoped attending the funeral would provide closure in the whole affair, but she was left feeling even more unsettled.

From the comfortable leather-covered driving seat of her BMW, she was tempted to return to the office but instead went to the Safeway and picked up a rotisserie chicken, rolls and a bagged salad. Usually she had a housekeeper half days, so someone would be home when Holly came from school. But they were between employees right now—the last woman had quit when Holly had tossed her dinner in the garbage without even giving it a taste.

Just as Maureen was pulling into her garage, the cell phone rang. She attached the small speaker into her ear and pressed Talk.

“Hello?” With her free hand, she grabbed the bags of groceries, then entered the house.

“It’s me. Cathleen. Dylan asked me to let you know about an opportunity. It’s with his cousin, Jake Hartman. Do you remember him from our wedding?”

As it so happened, Maureen did remember Jake—a big man with dark blond hair. She’d caught his gaze on her a few times during the ceremony, then later at the reception. At the time she’d been vaguely uncomfortable with the man’s open scrutiny.

Now she was curious. “What about Jake?”

“He’s looking for new capital for his heli-skiing business. It sounds frivolous, but trust me, it’s extremely successful. His profits are amazing.”

“So?” Maureen set the grocery bags on the counter. She could hear the muffled, pulsing bass of Holly’s music coming from upstairs. Her daughter craved awful stuff these days, heavy metal from bands like Faith Warning and Bitter End. Maureen had asked Holly not to buy those kinds of CDs, so instead she borrowed pirated copies from kids at school.

“I thought you might be interested. You have that money from Rod’s life insurance, and I know how pitiful interest rates are these days.”

Maureen pulled out a bowl for the salad, then a knife to carve the chicken. “You think I should invest Holly’s inheritance from her father in a heli-skiing business? Cathleen, that’s nuts!”

“Why? Jake’s a great guy and Grizzly Peaks has a world-class reputation. With your cut of the profits, you probably wouldn’t have to work anymore, unless you wanted to.”

Maureen wondered if this could be it—the opportunity she’d been waiting for. “Well, I have to admit, I’ve been thinking of quitting my job.” The new case requiring all that travel to Edmonton had done it. Or maybe it was Conrad Beckett’s funeral. Or the lyrics she’d listened to on Holly’s ghetto blaster last week when her daughter was out of the house.

“Then you should definitely check out Jake’s proposal. If it appeals, you could move back to Canmore. You’ll make a ton of money selling your house, too.”

“How much capital is Hartman looking for?” It couldn’t hurt to check this out. Although the idea of being partners with Jake was a little…disturbing.

Hard to say why exactly. Just that something about the man had set her nerves on edge. The way he kept watching her…

Yet for every time his gaze had been on her, her gaze had been on him. Even during the service, when she should have been concentrating on Cathleen and Dylan. She remembered thinking, that man knows.

He knows I’m only pretending to mourn for my husband.