Sweet Olive (9780310330554) (7 page)

They settled in a wooden glider in the yard as they waited. The slats in the back and sides were shaped like bottles, and Camille ran her hands across the varnished wood. Sunlight shot through the glass bottles, making rainbows. The children chased the patterns on the ground and danced around the trees.

Lawrence emerged from the house wearing a black T-shirt that pulled across his broad shoulders. He dragged a yellow bayou chair up next to the glider. With the black shirt and yellow chair, he gave Camille the impression of a good-looking bumblebee.

He looked at her. “Sorta figured you’d come around.” His tone was polite, but not friendly.

“Your work’s beautiful.” Camille pointed to the displays.

Lawrence surveyed the yard, a thoughtful look on his face. “Thanks,” he said after a second. “I’ve got a ways to go, but I’m improving … I hope.”

“Camille’s out here to learn about our art,” Ginny said.

Lawrence twisted his head around, his eyes perplexed. “I thought she wanted to convince us to sign away our mineral rights.”

“That too,” Ginny said.

“Darn,” he said with a crooked grin. “And she’s so cute.” He stood abruptly and leaned in to the side of the swing, his hands on the metal bar. “I suppose Ginny explained to you that we don’t do business with people who presume to know what’s best for us.”

“Something like that.” Camille’s face was still warm from the “cute” comment.

“Camille knows we’re not inclined to sign,” Ginny said.

His gaze locked with hers and he raised an eyebrow. “And yet you’re still here.”

“The money could do so much,” Camille said. “I won’t go back to Texas until I know you understand its potential impact.”

“That’s more encouraging than what we’ve been hearing,” Lawrence said.

“I’m authorized to increase the earlier offers and to provide community help, that sort of thing.” These people deserved candor.

He frowned. “Sweet Olive means more to us than a new car or a vacation to the beach.”

“I can see why you’re fighting for this place,” Camille said. “But you can trust me.”

His gaze was steady. “Folks think you tricked us. They hold that against you.”

“I didn’t trick anyone. I’m here to help you.” Her frustration with the way the landowners had been treated mounted.

“Your company tried to lease our land for much less than it was worth,” Ginny said. “And much of that was done by people on the phone in the Samford office. They didn’t even bother to come out here.”

“I wasn’t—”

“Camille, you’ve got a job to do,” Lawrence interrupted. “But J&S doesn’t care about us, our land, our water, or our traditions. They’ve let it be known that they only care about drilling.”

Camille couldn’t deny his words held truth.

Ginny sat up straighter. “It actually turned out to be a blessing—the way your company treated people.”

“That’s one I haven’t heard before,” Camille said.

“We realized we didn’t want certain things to change. We don’t want to be at the mercy of a big company.”

Camille cleared her throat. “J&S takes a risk too. It costs a lot to get to the gas—and there’s no guarantee what we’ll find.” Conversations like this were easier in a sterile conference room.

Lawrence looked as her intently. “You don’t seem like the kind of person to do us wrong, but we aren’t interested. Marsh can probably explain it better.”

“He has a lot to gain from this too. He’s an attorney, for heaven’s sake.”

“He’s doing this job pro bono,” Lawrence said.

Camille fingered the chain on the swing to hide her surprise. “No one does something for free.”

“Sure they do,” Lawrence said. “Neighbors help each other out. Marsh is a good friend, laid-back most of the time but wound tight when it counts.”

The landowners’ emotions were hard enough to deal with. Add a lawyer with a personal interest and … “I must have caught him on one of the wound-tight days.” Camille brushed away the memory of him working in his yard.

“He looks out for the people he cares for,” Lawrence said.

“Do you have children?” Ginny asked abruptly.

Camille shook her head.

“Our dream is that Sweet Olive children will want to come home to raise their families, that they’ll become artists the way their parents and grandparents were.”

“That they can put down roots here,” Lawrence said, “make a life the way my father did for us.”

The comment stung. “These leases can help pay for those dreams.” Camille nodded to where Kylie and Randy played. “Don’t you want security for them?”

Ginny’s look was sober, eyes unblinking behind her glasses. “I want only good things for them. But I want them to trust God to provide, not obsess about money in the bank.”

“Have you thought that maybe God provided this opportunity?” Camille couldn’t hold back her agitation, and her voice got a little louder.

“We’ve talked about that a lot.” Lawrence nodded. “We’ve sought God’s guidance every step of the way. That’s why we convinced Marsh to become involved.”

“I pray about that each day.” Ginny clasped her hands together as she looked at Kylie and Randy.

“The money’s tempting. We’d be lying if we said otherwise.” Lawrence gave a snort of laughter. “Art sure doesn’t pay the bills.”

Ginny’s look grew more solemn. “How’s Evelyn?”

“A rock,” he said, before looking at Camille. “My mother was diagnosed with cancer three weeks ago. We’re in the tests and decision phase.”

“I’m sorry.” Camille touched his hand.

“Circumstances like Evelyn’s make our decisions harder,” Ginny said. “Everyone could use the money.” She took off her glasses and worked on a smudge with the sleeve of her T-shirt.
“That’s why it’s imperative that you get to know us—and we get to know you.”

They sat for a moment, only the sound of the children breaking the silence.

Camille stroked the smooth wood of the swing’s arm. “I’ll make this work,” she said, speaking as much to herself as to them.

D
innertime was approaching by the time they left Lawrence’s house, Camille clutching a blown-glass amber vase shot with strands of deep blue.

She tried to pay for it, but Lawrence insisted it was her welcome gift. “I look forward to visiting again—and not talking business.” Lawrence winked as Ginny turned the key in the golf cart’s ignition.

“We’ll have you over for supper one night.” Ginny seemed to notice Camille’s blink of surprise. “Would that be okay?”

Camille tilted her head. “To be candid, landowners don’t usually invite me over to eat.”

“We’re not like all those other landowners you’ve met.” His mouth eased into a crooked grin.

“That thought had crossed my mind.” Camille returned his smile as she climbed aboard the crazy little cart.

When they pulled out of the yard, Lawrence stood next to
a bottle tree done totally in shades of violet and tossed an easy wave.

“Bye!” Kylie called out. Randy was silent.

Ginny gestured with one hand, the other on the steering wheel, as she headed away from his house.

“This work is amazing,” Camille said.

“And there’s more.” Ginny revved the little engine. “Some people think Sweet Olive’s dying, but there’s a lot of life here. I’m unwilling to believe that the best is behind us.”

As they approached a curve, bright houses on either side of the road, Randy spoke from the backseat. “Aunt Ginny, I want to go home.”

She looked in the rearview mirror, and Camille turned. The boy was pale and had tears in his eyes.

“You’re right, buddy. We’d better head back.” Ginny kicked up a cloud of dust as she did a U-turn. “Camille will have to come back to see the others.”

“Yay!” Kylie said. “She needs to see the wood man.”

“I like the wood man.” Randy’s voice was a whisper. “I miss my daddy.”

Ginny pulled the cart over and hopped out in a fluid movement. “I know you do, baby.” She pulled him into a hug.

Kylie sat quietly, twisting a piece of clover she had pulled from Lawrence’s yard.

“You come here too, sweet girl,” Ginny said, drawing them together. “Group hug!”

“What about Miss Camille?” Randy asked, his bottom lip still trembling.

Camille, who prided herself on never crying, felt her eyes grow moist as she put her arms around the trio.

By the time the golf cart rolled into Ginny’s yard, Randy’s cheeks were pink, and he was giggling. Ginny studied him with a pensive look as the children scampered toward the house.

“I could wring his mother’s neck,” she said with a sad shake of her head. “All Janice wants is money. She bought a big car thinking she was going to get a settlement. Then she practically moved in with her boyfriend.” She looked at the children hopping off the porch again and again. “She’d sell our land if she could.”

Ginny threw a hasty look at Camille. “That probably ranks at the top of the list of things I’m not supposed to tell you.”

“You have a list?”

“Longer than my arm,” Ginny said. “Marsh e-mailed it to me after we convinced him to take our case.”

While Camille knew she should worm information out of Ginny, it was hard to summon a strategic thought, so she nodded wordlessly.

Kylie skipped to the door and gave the cowbell a ring, and Randy petted the dog. They waved and called good-bye to Camille before disappearing into the house.

Ginny looked from the children to Camille. “Why don’t you come meet with the Sweet Olive landowners this week at the library? You were willing to look at our world today, and we owe you the courtesy of doing likewise.”

“You truly love Sweet Olive, don’t you?”

Ginny gave a dramatic groan. “Why else would I be mixed up in this lease foolishness?”

“I’ve always wanted roots like this,” Camille said.

“Where do you call home?”

“My mother’s in Amarillo, but we moved a lot when I was a child.”

Ginny’s face creased. “That must have been hard.”

“We never really got to know our neighbors. Your community is … indescribable.” She headed toward the truck.

“I’d have pegged you for more of an SUV woman,” Ginny said, walking beside her.

“I’ll race you in that golf cart sometime. I might actually outrun you.”

As she chugged out of the driveway, Camille saw the small green classic convertible zooming toward her, the top down and Marsh Cameron at the wheel. His brown hair was windblown, and he wore a chambray shirt, the sleeves rolled up.

An eighties dance tune blared from his radio.

She shifted gears and slowed, rolling her window down. Marsh slowed to a stop, turned down the music, and peered at her over his sunglasses. “I should have known you wouldn’t waste any time. You haven’t been harassing my clients, have you?”

Ahhh, broad shoulders. Narrow mind.

While his attitude wasn’t unexpected, she was disappointed by it. Somewhere deep inside she had wanted Marsh to prove her wrong.

“Good afternoon to you too.”

“I don’t want you bothering them,” he said, but his tone was calmer. “They’re good people—people not used to dealing with corporate types.”

“And this astute observation from a corporate lawyer,” she said. “I’ll consider the source.”

He removed his sunglasses, his blue eyes vivid in his tanned face. “You’re quick. I’ll give you that.”

“I’m not so sure about you. Attorneys usually want to wine and dine me—soften me up for the big deal. You act like you’d rather run me out of town with a torch and an ax.”

“Sweet Olive’s different.”

“So I noticed,” she said and eased off the clutch. “Enjoy your visit.” She proudly glided off without a hitch.

T
he automatic doors to the office building, Samford’s answer to a skyscraper, slid open, and a security guard jumped to his feet when Camille entered.

“Good morning, Miss Gardner. Welcome.”

Camille hesitated, and he held up a photograph of her. “I’ve been waiting for you,” he said. “Let me call your assistant to show you to your office.”

“That’s not necessary. I can find my way.”

The guard looked either pained or annoyed; Camille wasn’t sure which. “I’m sorry, ma’am. All unbadged persons must be escorted.”

“But you already know who I am. I work for J&S Production. Where did you get that picture, anyway?”

“From the Houston office.” He picked up the phone. “You’ll need a new ID for full access to J&S offices and other parts of the building.”

While Camille waited for her assistant to appear, she checked again for messages, angry that there had been no further word
from Scott. Then she studied a list of tenants written in small white letters on a black background.

“Pretty impressive, isn’t it?” the guard asked as he hung up. “Some of the best companies in Samford have offices here.”

She pondered the list, noticing names of several of the people she had met at Saturday’s party. Slattery Richmond & Associates, Attorneys-at-Law, had larger lettering. Marshall Cameron, Attorney-at-Law, was listed under another firm, which she had read was headquartered in Baton Rouge. Marsh’s office was two floors above hers.

She had been looking forward to taking Marsh down a notch—until she visited Ginny.

The arrival of the elevator interrupted her thoughts, and Camille brushed a microscopic piece of fuzz off her newest suit, still wrinkled from the suitcase, and held her shoulders straight, a practiced smile on her lips.

The smile disappeared when Valerie Richmond rounded the corner, wearing the exact suit Camille had chosen for her corporate job. Only Valerie’s was at least one size smaller. Maybe two.

“Valerie!” Camille said a bit louder than intended. “What a surprise. I was just noticing your dad’s firm is in this building.”

She didn’t seem the least surprised to see Camille, but her lips thinned at the mention of her father. “Daddy moved here after he talked J&S into buying this building. He likes to keep an eye on me.”

“That must be easy with you working so close,” Camille joked.

Valerie pointed to the guard’s desk. “You’ll need to sign in until we get your badge.”

“If you don’t mind.” The guard held up a notebook with a
place for her signature and the time. “Then Miss Richmond can take you on up.”

“Miss Richmond?” Camille looked at the guard and then at Valerie, completely baffled. “I don’t want to hold you up, Valerie. I’ll wait for my assistant.”

The guard cocked his head as though facing a lunatic. “Miss Richmond
is
your assistant.”

The resigned look on Valerie’s face confirmed his statement. “Sign in, and we’ll get on with this.”

“You work for J&S?” Camille’s mind whirled back through Saturday’s party, searching for clues she had missed. She added a new reason to strangle Uncle Scott to her list.

“Who’d you think I worked for?” Valerie gave her hair a flip with her hand, her nails still perfect, and headed for the elevator.

“Your father.” Camille pointed to his name on the sign as Valerie punched the button for the sixth floor.

“That didn’t work out, so J&S bailed me out.”

Camille fought to keep her face impassive.

“My father and Scott Stephens go way back. Mr. Stephens hired me to set up a small office here when the Cypress shale field was discovered. I do a little of everything.” Valerie stepped into the elevator. “Or at least I did until Saturday night.”

“So you’ve been involved in the Sweet Olive deal?”

Valerie hesitated. “To a degree.”

The elevator stopped, and Camille automatically stepped out. “This is five,” Valerie said. “The J&S office is on six.” She sounded like a teenager telling her mother she hated broccoli.

“Oh, of course.” Camille brushed against the closing door as she stepped back in.

“You’ve got something on your skirt.”

Camille looked down to see a black mark. “Not a big deal. I’m much more interested in the paperwork you and I have to review—and how we came to upset the Sweet Olive artists so thoroughly.”

Valerie picked at her fingernail, her first hint of nervousness.

The elevator slowed and jerked slightly. Valerie stepped out first, swinging her arm around. “The Samford headquarters of J&S Production. It’s probably not as fancy as you’re used to in Houston.”

“It’ll do.” Camille moved in front of Valerie onto the stylish carpet. The wall in front of the elevator was painted with the J&S logo with two lines underneath: Samford Office, Camille Gardner, Manager.

She jerked her head back. “Who did that?” she asked, but Valerie had walked toward the glass doors into the suite of offices and either didn’t hear or pretended not to. How long had Uncle Scott been plotting this? Probably about as long as she had been begging him for the Houston job.

Rubbing at her skirt, Camille glided into the office, sidestepping Valerie. Her assistant—how was that even possible?—was right on her heels when Camille stopped in the reception area.

“Your office is down that hall,” Valerie said in a hushed voice. Camille couldn’t tell if she was subdued or putting on airs. “We catch our own phones.”

“I don’t plan to be in the office much,” Camille said. “Once you brief me on the Sweet Olive files, I’ll be out in the field.”

Valerie started shaking her head as soon as Camille spoke. “I don’t know much about those people,” she said, again in a low voice.

“You certainly seemed to know Ginny Guidry Saturday evening.”

Valerie rolled her eyes. “Who doesn’t know that publicity hog? If she wasn’t in love with the spotlight, J&S would have settled this by now … and you wouldn’t be stuck in Samford.”

Camille pursed her lips. “I’ve seen plenty of ‘publicity hogs,’ as you so elegantly put it. Ginny Guidry doesn’t strike me as one.”

“She plays up that ‘poor me’ act. Things aren’t always what they seem.”

“Perhaps you’re right.” What would Scott say if she fired Valerie on the spot?

“However, you clearly have years more experience than I do.”

“Clearly,” Camille said dryly.

“While you’re here,” Valerie cut her gaze behind her, “business leaders will expect to meet with you.”

“No problem. I’ve met with people around the country.” Perhaps getting to know the power brokers would give her a bargaining edge when Marsh Cameron came to call—and she knew he would.

“Since I didn’t know you were coming,” Valerie continued, “I have an appointment at the bank this morning and a lunch with the Downtown Development Council later this week.”

“E-mail details about the luncheon,” Camille said. “Let’s plan to attend together.”

“Together?” Valerie’s voice sounded as though Camille had suggested they dance through downtown naked.

Camille nodded. “As you said, I need to get acquainted with the players.”

Valerie seemed to deflate for a moment, but gave a secretive smile. “You won’t have any trouble getting to know them,” she practically purred and turned and walked away.

Camille followed down the wide hall, lined with old
photographs of oil and gas wells. “Nice touch. Where did these come from?”

“I found them in the archives at LSU in Shreveport.” Valerie gave a careless shrug.

“I forget sometimes how gritty those early days were,” Camille said as she studied the photos.

“They’re still plenty gritty if you ask me.” Valerie sauntered into a small office, speaking over her shoulder. “Your office is down there.”

Glass enclosed the corner office, except for a dazzling mosaic of white tile behind the desk. Camille’s gaze went from the striking design straight ahead to the business district of Samford as she walked slowly to the window. Although the city was small, the architecture was an intriguing blend of old and modern.

Shifting slightly, she saw a massive conference table to her left.

With at least half a dozen men in coats and ties rising to their feet.

“Good morning, Camille,” Slattery Richmond said with a smile. Marsh stood next to him and nodded, his face stern, bearing little resemblance to the man in the convertible.

“Good morning,” she stammered.

“Here’s the file on the meeting.” Valerie breezed into the room.

“But …” Camille’s voice trailed off as she watched the men sizing her up, Valerie’s triumphant grin solidly in place.

Camille reached for the folder. She would not flinch—but she’d throw a Texas-sized fit in private.

“I hope I didn’t keep you gentlemen waiting too long. I had a few snags getting through security. Airports could be so fortunate as to have our entrance guard on their team.” The men gave a knowing chuckle and their attitude appeared to warm.

Catching Valerie’s eye, Camille motioned toward the door. “Thank you, Valerie. That’ll be all.”

Camille was ashamed at how much she enjoyed watching the woman’s face when she dismissed her. Valerie wouldn’t get away with stunts like this one, nor would she keep Camille from meeting her goals.

“Doesn’t Val need to be part of this?” Marsh asked. “She usually sits in on our discussions.”

Camille waved her hand. “Not to worry. I’ll catch up in no time.”

Valerie’s mouth turned white around her perfect pink lipstick. “I look forward to visiting with y’all at the luncheon later this week,” she drawled, posing near the doorway. “Daddy, don’t forget to remind them you’re looking for a foursome for the golf tournament.” She took one slow step toward the door. “Marsh, after that game last week, you’re off the list.”

The men settled into the chairs, their laughter mixed with Valerie’s giggle as she walked out in her spotless suit. Camille stood at the head of the table, hoping it shielded her smudge.

Marsh placed his hands on the table, leaning over slightly. He wore a gray suit, his striped tie and blue eyes the only spots of color. “Perhaps the senator could get us started.”

Slattery looked around the table before he rose to his feet, smiling. “Our area’s relationship with J&S has been exceptional. We want to make sure we’re all on the same page.”

Several of the heads around the table nodded at what sounded like a canned speech. “The development of the newly discovered shale fields is monumental to our economy,” Slattery said. “We want to remove any roadblocks.”

Camille felt a flare of anticipation and leaned forward. “We’re in perfect agreement. That’s precisely why I’m in Samford.”

Marsh shot to his feet, shaking his head. “My clients aren’t roadblocks.”

“I didn’t mean to suggest they were, Mr. Cameron,” she said.

“To clarify,” Marsh looked pointedly around the table, “these men represent the broad business interests of Cypress Parish. They’re not here to speak for Sweet Olive.”

The smile left Slattery’s face. “Don’t be a troublemaker, Cameron. We’re only getting acquainted. What could be the harm in that?”

“No harm in a friendly visit.” His gaze met Camille’s. “But there’s a fine line between harmless chitchat and digging for information.”

Camille couldn’t hold back a slight smile. “I think we all understand the difference between business and being neighborly.”

“If you think I’ll be railroaded because I came into this case late, you’re mistaken.” Marsh put his hands on his hips, his stance making the seated men look like toddlers.

Camille held the file folder in front of her like a shield. “We pay generously for leases,” she said, once more looking at her file. “And we’ve contributed to nearly two dozen local causes, including our donation two days ago.”

“You can’t put a price tag on water or history,” Marsh said.

“I thought that’s what you were just attempting to do,” she said.

“As I said, my clients aren’t prepared to discuss their case.”

“So they told me.” She knew she didn’t imagine the look of surprise that flashed across Marsh’s face before he slowly returned to his chair.

“If the discussion veers off-limits, I’ll leave immediately.”

“Should that be necessary, I’ll show you to the door.” Camille turned her smile to its highest voltage.

Slattery’s face had taken on a mottled look, and he wiped his brow with a monogrammed white handkerchief. “Sniping won’t get us where we need to go. Everyone in the state—and I mean from the governor on—wants to know how J&S sees this project unfolding. Marsh, that will benefit everyone in this room, including you.”

“Point well taken, Senator.” Marsh looked at Camille. “Please don’t let me hold things up.”

Camille plunged ahead, realizing she hadn’t enjoyed one day of her Houston job this much. “The discovery of the Cypress shale field is monumental. We anticipate removing an immense amount of valuable energy from right underneath North Louisiana’s feet.”

She sounded like a television commercial, but her audience appeared to listen.

“This gas is trapped in shale,” she said, “and requires great expense and effort to extract.” The process was complex, and she doubted that most of Cypress Parish had any idea how gas was produced—or cared. “Shale is—”

“With all due respect,” Marsh said, “we don’t need a lesson in oil-and-gas production.”

Shoving her irritation aside, Camille put both of her hands flat on the table, mimicking Marsh’s earlier posture. “Of course you don’t. I’m used to dealing with newcomers to the process.”

She pretended to look at the folder while she collected her thoughts. “We plan to pay the landowners generously for their mineral rights—the use of the underground gas and, in a few instances, surface water. We’ll move forward as soon as we strike a deal with landowners, starting with those in Sweet Olive.”

“What about other parts of Samford?” the man from the Chamber asked. “Will you be drilling there as well?”

“I certainly hope so,” she said so quickly that it drew a small round of laughter. “We want to start with Sweet Olive because we believe it has the most potential.”

“What if the production doesn’t meet your expectations?” a banker asked.