A Shore Thing (20 page)

“Your mother’s stroganoff. You hungry?”

Jer pumped his head forward and back. Tori wandered in and laughed. “You eat a lot!” She looked at Gage, her eyes agog. “I already gave him a big lunch and an even bigger bowl of ice cream. And he’s still hungry?”

Gage’s smile grew deeper. “He’s a growing boy!”

A voice wafted from the television. “Our visitor today is a young woman who is making quite a splash in her community and quite quickly, I might add.”

Gage glanced at Tori. “Would you mind going and shutting off the TV? I’ve changed my mind about watching it.”

“No prob.”

The stroganoff sizzled and Gage dished up two bowls of different sizes. He called to Tori? “Would you like something to eat?”

She didn’t answer so he peered through the doorway, into the living room. The young girl stared at the screen. With her hair pulled back into that ponytail, he could see the stern grit of her teeth, the furrow laced above her brow. “Tori?”

Both hands had found her hips. “This girl’s got a lot of nerve.”

Curious, Gage blew on Jer’s food then set it in front of him. He carried his own steaming bowl with him to join Tori in front of the television. “Who is she . . . oh.”

Callie sat opposite the reporter looking composed, confident, and . . . stunning.

Tori stayed focused on the screen. “My dad says she’s a spoiled brat who gets whatever she wants. He says she’s trying to steal some old peoples’ land.”

He couldn’t take his eyes off Callie’s face. “Why would your dad say that?”

She flicked him a backward glance and he tore his gaze from the screen. “My dad’s on the town council. He knows all about this stuff. He says if she doesn’t back off, there could be trouble.”

“For who? For the old folks?”

She shrugged. “Don’t know. But if I were votin’ age, I’d make trouble for her. Listen to the way she sits there and acts like she’s doin’ what everybody wants.”

Newscaster: “Tell us about your cause.”

Callie: “Great. Thank you. Okay, well, SOS—Save Our Shores—is a grassroots effort to save the beloved open land on the bluffs in Otter Bay. We are citizens who believe in the benefits of land being available to the community. This particular area is right next to the national marine sanctuary.”

Newscaster: “And your group is concerned for the animals in that sanctuary?”

Callie: “Yes, we are. That area is particularly popular with otters, and as you are probably aware, otters were nearly extinct not too many years ago.”

“See? She’s just some earth-lover with an agenda.”

He nearly choked on a noodle. How many teenagers talked like that? He abhorred hearing Callie’s reputation defamed, especially from someone so obviously guided by a parent’s opinion. Yet he knew that news coverage like this couldn’t be good for his project. He still held out hope that SOS would fail, of course, but didn’t like the idea that the group’s fight might also present an indefinite delay for the project.

“Just wait until my dad hears about this.”

Gage swallowed another bite. “Is your father’s interest in this cause related to his work with the town council?”

“Yeah, I think so. All I know is they were all getting ready for some big project when—whoosh—in comes this lady and her harebrained ideas.”

Again, how many teen girls use words like
harebrained?
“I see. And your father would be aware of this because, around here, the town council and planning commission are made up of mostly the same folks.”

She wrinkled her forehead and paused, as if thinking. “Yeah, that’s right. I think so.”

Newscaster: “How is your cause progressing?”

Callie: “We’re doing well. I learned today that pledges are pouring in from businesses and individuals alike.”

Newscaster: “Congratulations are in order then!” She laughed and flipped her hair, peering into the camera. “Quite a feat in a short space of time. Before you go, Callie, why don’t you tell our viewers how they can help?”

Callie: “Sure! You can find more information about us by visiting this station’s Web site. SOS is fighting for the community, for our visitors, and for the otter population swimming in those waters—but we can’t do it without your help! I urge you to make your donation quickly to Save Our Shores.”

Tori used the remote to turn off the television. “Grrr.” She used a sassy, mocking tone. “SOS is fighting for the community, for our visitors, and for the otter population swimming in those waters. C’mon, Jeremiah, let’s go find something fun to play with.”

Jer slid from his seat and, leaving his bowl half full, ran into the living room. “Yeah!”

Gage finished his bowl of pasta and headed back into the kitchen to wash up. Callie had poise and presence on that screen, and if it weren’t for this project between them, he might have picked up the phone to tell her so. He rinsed his and Jer’s bowls and shook off the excess water. As it was, if he was going to be able to stay focused on the job at hand, he had to forget about Callie and SOS for the time being.

It didn’t help, however, that Jeremiah’s teenage babysitter could so readily recall Callie’s carefully crafted sound bite.

Chapter Twenty-one

June’s gratitude-filled voice poured through the receiver. “Callie, I phoned to tell you how beautifully you handled that television interview, dear. Is it true? Are there really that many pledges coming in?”

Pledges, yes. Actual money? Not so much.
I’d pulled my car to the side of the road to use my cell phone because I couldn’t remember where I had stashed my ear buds. “Yes, June, pledges are definitely coming in. And hopefully, my interview today will spur people on to really get involved.”
How’s that for a positive attitude?

“Wonderful!”

I pressed my lips together, thinking. “You know, June, I’m wondering if you have thought any more about going public about your predicament with the loan.” I scratched my head and glanced in my rearview mirror as trucks and cars sped by me. “I just think that if people knew what you were up against—”

“Then they would feel sorry for us.”

I swallowed before speaking. “It’s nothing to be ashamed of, June. Your story is one people can relate to because, well . . . who couldn’t have made a better money decision at one time or another?”

“You don’t understand. Timothy has been getting worse. He walks that shoreline every day, like he’s saying goodbye, but every time I bring up the subject, he won’t hear of it. He doesn’t want our private business splattered all over the newspaper.” Her voice shook. “Says it’ll kill him—and I don’t want to be the one to put that man into his grave.”

“I understand.”

“He’s confused. I’m confused. Sometimes I think I should not have bothered you. We can just turn over the house and take the money for the other property, then go and live a modest life with our daughter and grandchildren.” Her voice still sounded shaky. “Wouldn’t be so bad.”

I clenched a fist. Traffic whizzed by rocking the car. “Not like this. I’m sure your daughter and the kids would love to be closer to you, but not like this. Let’s not give up hope, okay? My voice mail is filled with messages I’ve yet to listen to, so something tells me the interview today had a great impact. Don’t lose heart.”

“Thank you, dear. I will try not to.”

For the first time in hours I allowed myself a minute to think. My head found the seat rest and I nestled into it, closing my eyes to shut out the day’s worth of noise and decisions. My phone buzzed.

“It’s Ruth.” She hollered into the phone like she too was parked on the side of a busy speedway somewhere. “You were somethin’ on that telly, I don’t mind pointing out to you.”

“Thanks. Not too corny?”

“Nah, but who would care anyway? A little corn could do some good. Our Web guy says the site’s been lighting up with pledges brighter than Times Square.”

“Really?” My shoulders dropped. “Fantastic.”

“Hold on. I haven’t told you the half of it. It looks like we got ourselves a little clandestine meeting going on with the town council. My source tells me the developer of this property is in a snit about SOS. I hear they’re trying to get some kind of go-ahead approval before the fact. Can you beat that?”

Unbelievable. I pressed a fist to my forehead. “That doesn’t smell legal to me. Doesn’t that violate the Brown Act?” Then again, Ruth had been known to befriend “sources” who might better be described as elderly women with nothing but time to watch the world through the split in their drapes.

“Any chance Kitteridge might have signed over the whole place right from under us?”

“Not a chance. I just . . . well . . . June promised me that as long as we come up with the money in advance of her deadline, the property will be sold to the community. And I believe her.”

Ruth sniffed in my ear. “What deadline?”

My breath caught. “The uh, you know, date before the developer planned to buy the property. You know, before the community got involved. I’ve talked about it.”

She huffed. “Maybe. Here’s what I think: June Kitteridge could tell those people to go jump in the ocean if she wanted to, but she would never do it. That woman doesn’t have the backbone of a flea. Now Tim, he could get rid of those people. Deadline . . . phshee. He oughta tell them to stick that deadline where—”

“Where and when is the meeting tonight?”

Ruth harrumphed. “Well, technically it’s not a
meeting
because there are laws against that. It’s just a
gathering
of friends, supposedly. Friends, who just so happen to be wanting to buy the Kitteridge property, at the home of a town council member, who just
happens
to be one of those in power to approve or disprove the project. So anyway, this non-meeting will be up at the Jamison house. Know where it is?”

I scoured my mind. Jamison. New council member. Teenage daughter. Pleasant-looking wife. This piece of information contained facts. “I can picture the family, but not where they live. He’s new on the council, right? Are they up on Sutter’s Way?”

“Yes, he’s a new council member, which isn’t saying much since most of ’em are new. And wrong about the house—they used to live there but now they moved to one of those sprawling places at the top of the hill on Cascade. Can see the whole ocean from up there.”

“I see.”

“So what do you think, Ms. President? You think we oughta crash their party, make ’em invite the public in to their little shindig?”

Ruth smelled blood. Her voice quivered in a low growl sort of way. No doubt she’d like nothing more than for me to lead our band of revolutionaries through the pines and across the Jamison’s gleaming marble floors that led to a sanctuary of sorts for all kinds of underhanded business dealings. Maybe she was right. Nip secret activities in the bud before they can gather the steam necessary to blow away their competition.

Then again, wouldn’t it be better to observe a malfeasance in the making firsthand? To allow questionable activities to play right into the hands of the enemy? Or had I been reading too many suspense novels?

I pulled in a breath and allowed it to flow out again.
Be the leader, Callie.
“Let them have their meeting, Ruth. Right now, I need you to follow up on the PR that you’ve so brilliantly choreographed already. Why don’t you have the Web guy pull a clip of my interview today and upload it to YouTube.”
Good, Callie, good.
“Let’s beat them by creating an impenetrable campaign of goodwill, one that will endear our cause to the community we represent.”

She chortled. “I’ve taught you well. Very good then. I’ll trust your judgment on this one. I only hope we won’t be sorry.”

We clicked off the line and I glanced into the growing line of traffic. Nothing but brake lights as far as my eyes could see. I released a heavy sigh. Ruth needn’t have worried. If it were at all possible, I would not allow this ill-timed meeting to go on without the benefit of evidence.

I only hoped that traffic would clear soon enough for me to make it home to Otter Bay—and up the winding hillside to the group that gathered on Cascade Court.

GAGE

BACK IN HIS OFFICE, Gage rubbed the heaviness from his eyes. They stung, which usually meant he had worn his contact lenses far longer than he should. He’d planned to remove them when he slipped home for his late lunch and replace them with glasses, but became distracted by Callie’s undeniably alluring presence on his flat screen TV. That and the way she so confidently answered the reporter’s questions while staying fully intent on burying his career.

His office phone jarred him with its ring. “Gage Mitchell.”

“Gage, my man. Rick Knutson here.”

Gage glanced at the clock on his desk. Its digits glowed red, much like his eyes. “Yes, Rick.” He had no patience for the nettlesome realtor’s games tonight.

“You’re working late. I’m impressed. What say you shut it down for the night and come join the boss for a nightcap and some good old-fashioned conversation?”

He had to be kidding. Was he beckoning me? And at who’s behest? Redmond’s? “Thanks for the invitation. Maybe some other time.”

“Whoa-whoa-whoa. C’mon, man. Take a break. No one can work all day and still be a prince.” The man’s voice oozed like butter through the phone. Nauseating.