Redemption Mountain (28 page)

“Excuse me, Greg,” Charlie interrupted, “but I think I have a solution that may kill two birds with one stone.”

“Let's hear it, Charlie,” said Tuthill.

“It has to do with DeWitt's granddaughter—the woman who went to see the lawyer in Welch?”

“What about her?” asked Yarbrough.

“She's got a project that would be perfect for us,” Charlie said. “Seems she's tried to open a children's library in a small building next to the athletics fields. But the roof leaks badly. And she could use some kids' books to replace the ones ruined by water. It would make a nice high-visibility project, and the woman—Natty Oakes—is a real pistol, as you know. She'd most likely lead the lynch mob against us, especially with her interest in Redemption Mountain. If we could neutralize her by taking care of her pet project, it could quiet her down.”

“I like that, Charlie,” replied Tuthill. “What do you think, Vern?”

“Could work, if Burden can pull it off,” Yarbrough answered cautiously. “You sure you can get her to pull in her horns if we take care of this library?”

“I think fixing up her library will make her back off,” said Charlie.

“Good. That's it, then,” announced Tuthill. “You orchestrate it, Charlie. Talk to the girl and to the planning-board guy. Spread a little cash around if you need to. Vernon, you'll go through your presentation, and then when the shit starts flying, Charlie and the DeWitt girl—”

“Oakes,” said Charlie.

“Huh?”

“Her married name is Oakes.”

“Right. You and the girl put on a show about the library. Everybody's happy and we move on. That about right?” asked Tuthill.

“That's it,” said Charlie.

“Great. Thanks, everybody,” said Tuthill. “I won't be able to get down there for the meeting, so, Charlie, you and Vern will speak for OntAmex. Vern, call me right after the meeting.”

“Will do, Larry; so long. Charlie, I'll see you week after next,” added Yarbrough.

Charlie clicked the hold button on his phone and covered the speaker with his hand. Then he gently pressed the hold button once more. He could hear the hollow sound of an open phone line, then Larry Tuthill's voice again. “Oh, I almost forgot. Charlie, you still there?” Tuthill asked. Charlie remained silent. “Vern, you there?”

After a few seconds, Yarbrough's voice came on again. “I'm here, Larry.”

“We're alone. When you gonna move on the farmer?”

“Based on what Burden said, I'm thinking that we should wait until right after the planning-board meeting. Don't need any repercussions affecting the pond thing.”

“I think you're right,” said Tuthill.

“We'll go up the week after the planning-board meeting. Need a little more time to find a local boy to put on the team. The sheriff down there's a real straight arrow, but I got a line on another fellow—a deputy named Wayne Lester—supposed to be willing to play ball.”

“Everything else all set?” asked Tuthill.

“Like the invasion of Normandy. The staties are all set, and the DEA, and our judge. We'll have warrants to search, inside and out. That hillbilly pig-fucker'll be wishing he grabbed that seven-fifty was on the table last time I had to go crawling around that dump, eatin' his shit. I'll give you a call when it's going down.”

Tuthill and Yarbrough clicked off. Charlie sat, unmoving. He replayed the conversation in his mind. What the hell was Yarbrough planning? To have DeWitt arrested? For what? This was obviously the Plan B that Yarbrough had let slip, and it didn't sound good for Bud DeWitt.

But what, if anything, could he or should he do about it?
If he sabotaged OntAmex's effort to acquire the farm and was exposed, his career would be over. And OntAmex would probably sue for breach of contract and bankrupt him with legal fees. Ellen's dream home would again be taken away from her. Even if Charlie could live with the consequences, it wouldn't be fair to her.
No, he'd have to go slowly on this and see how it played out.
He quietly hung up the phone.

*   *   *

T
HE SWEAT POURED
off his forehead, running down to his already soaked T-shirt. Charlie looked at his watch—five minutes to go, and he was still a good mile from the climb to Main Street. When a horn blared behind him, he leaped to the shoulder of the road. Natty's Honda accelerated past him, then stopped about fifteen yards up the road. She got out of the car and smiled at him. “Need a ride, sailor? Don't look like you're going to make it back to town.”

Thankful for a reason to stop running, Charlie slowed to a walk. “This part of West Virginia hospitality?”

“No, not for everyone,” Natty said, squinting into the setting sun, “just guys with nice legs. Hey, thanks for getting Pie that baseball hat. He wore it to bed the last two nights.”

“I knew he'd like it,” said Charlie.

“And he hasn't put that magazine down. I think he's memorizing it.” Natty's face lit up with her trademark smile. “How about I buy you a cold beer at the store when you finally make it up there?”

Charlie laughed. “It's a deal,” he said, starting to run again.

As the Honda passed him, he noticed the exhaust pipe swaying back and forth, suspended on a twisted coat hanger. Ten minutes later he made it to Eve's. Natty was seated on the bench in front of the store. Next to her was a small plastic bowl filled with ice and a sixteen-ounce can of Budweiser stuck in the middle. “Hot night for running,” she said, offering the beer to Charlie.

He sat down across from her, pressing the ice-cold can to his forehead. He saw Eve peering at them through the large window. He waved, but she only nodded before disappearing into the store. He wondered if Eve had a problem with him having a beer with her sister-in-law.
Maybe she thinks there's something going on between us.
Charlie took a long, satisfying drink. “Thanks,” he said, gesturing with the can.

Natty finished the beer she'd been drinking and tossed the can into a cardboard box next to her bench. He noticed her equipment bag near the steps down to the street. Next to it was a small brown grocery bag from the store, in which he could see the top of a Jack Daniel's bottle and a carton of Marlboros. It was Friday night, and she must be on her way over to the two retired miners she took care of.

“Been meaning to ask you something, Mr. Burden.” Natty's voice had a more serious tone than usual.

“Sure,” Charlie said.

“I been tryin' to figure out … um, when you went up to Redemption Mountain and you talked to my mother, how'd you know who she was? I never said anything about being a DeWitt.”

Charlie recalled the picture of Natty in her baggy sweater and the wild hair with the shock hanging down across her forehead—the face that he couldn't erase from his mind. As he looked at her now, it dawned on him that he had never seen her wearing any makeup. Not on her eyes, or her lips—nothing. Then something else occurred to him. She never wore any jewelry. No earrings, necklaces, bracelets. He checked her hands quickly—no rings of any kind, just a small white-faced watch with a brown leather strap.

“'Course, you don't have to tell me if you don't want to,” Natty said.

Charlie smiled at her. “No, I'm sorry. I saw your picture on the dining room wall.”

Natty smiled. “I forgot about them,” she said. They sat quietly for a few moments. Then Natty spoke again. “How are you going to save our farm, Mr. Burden? Like you told my mother.”

It was a question Charlie didn't want to hear. He squeezed his beer can flat and tossed it into the box.

“I don't want to make you uncomfortable, Mr. Burden, but this is important,” she pressed him. “All your friends are trying their damnedest to take that farm, but you tell my mother that you're on
our
side?”

She deserved an honest answer, he knew, not some corporate spin. “Natty, I'm not sure I
can
save your farm,” he answered. “There are a great many powerful people who will stop at nothing to take it.”

*   *   *

N
ATTY WATCHED AND
listened as he labored over his answer, but all she could think about was how, for the very first time, he had called her
Natty
. He said it so naturally, as if they'd been friends for years. He really did know her name.

“I told your mother I would do what I could, and I will, to a certain point. But this is serious business to a lot of people and several companies. Trying to save Redemption Mountain could mean the end of my career, so I have to be careful.” He reached down and loosened the laces of his running shoes. “I'll do what I can, but your grandfather is most likely going to lose his farm.”

The cold fear of reality replaced the giddiness Natty felt from hearing her name on Charlie Burden's lips. She nodded. “That's fair enough.” She looked at her watch. “Got to take care of my boys,” she said, standing up. Natty slung her case over her shoulder and picked up the grocery bag. “Want to come over and meet a couple of old coal miners?” she asked.

Charlie looked over at the old building across the street. He hesitated, then said, “I'd like to meet them sometime, but not tonight.”

“That's okay. I understand. Some other time. They'd get a kick out of meeting the big mule.”

They both smiled. Then Charlie took a step toward her. “Natty, this has to be our secret, about Redemption Mountain, you understand that.”

“I know,” she said. “I can see the fix you're in. You're the only friend we got in this thing.”

“You're right about that,” he said, moving toward the door.

“Hey, Charlie.”

“Yeah?”

“Thank you. Thanks for everything.” She turned and headed for the Pocahontas Hotel.

*   *   *

I
NSIDE THE BARNEY'S
building, in the pitch-black basement, Eve Brewster stood on an old wooden packing crate, looking out the open basement window directly under the boardwalk. When she was certain that Natty was safely across the street at the Pocahontas Hotel, she quietly closed and locked the small window.

 

CHAPTER 17

 

C
harlie lay still in the darkness of the big bedroom, trying to figure out where he was, as he often had to do when he woke up in the apartment. Then he heard the toilet flush in the adjoining bathroom and Hank, standing at the sink, hacking up his morning ritual. Sharing a bathroom was a drawback, but Charlie could live with it.

After fifteen minutes of tossing and turning, Charlie abandoned his attempt to go back to sleep. He thought about Ellen and the house in Mamaroneck, which was now on the market. In some ways he was more uneasy about the sale of the old house than he was about the purchase of the new one. He had an empty feeling as he thought about losing another part of the life he desperately wanted to hold on to. They had spent so many years and created an album of family memories in the old house, and now it was all being wiped away too quickly.

He thought about the power plant, and the pond problem, and Redemption Mountain, trying to figure out some way to make it right for everyone—which didn't seem possible—or to extricate himself from the situation while doing the least amount of damage. Then, inevitably,
she
came into his thoughts. He smiled to himself when he thought about Natty standing next to her car the previous day.
Need a ride, sailor? Don't look like you're going to make it back to town.
Natty made him laugh.
She could be a real ballbuster when she wanted to.

Charlie got out of bed and went through the small kitchen and out onto the porch, eager to see the morning view of the mountains. Then he heard her footsteps. Faintly, almost imperceptibly at first if one wasn't attuned to the sound, then more clearly as she approached the bottom of the hill. Charlie retreated into the apartment behind the screen door. He didn't want Natty to look up and see him—so obviously waiting for her—and get the wrong idea. He heard Hank's door clap shut and the gentle creak of the porch floorboards under his neighbor's slippers.

“Morning, Natty,” he heard Hank call down.

“How you doin', Hank? Be expecting you at the soccer game later on. Playin' Welch, so we could use some fans.”

“Wouldn't miss it, Natty. Going to win some games this year?”

“Gonna try.” Charlie could hear the smile in her voice.

“Then I'll see you later on,” said Hank. Charlie had forgotten about the soccer game. Maybe he'd take a walk down the hill and watch a little of the game, for Pie's sake.

*   *   *

F
ROM HIS STOOL
at the counter in Eve's Restaurant, Charlie saw Hank shuffle past the window. He walked with a cane, which he probably needed to make it down and back up the steep hill from the soccer field. Charlie had folded up
The Charleston Gazette
and was pulling out some bills to pay for his breakfast just as Eve Brewster came out from the kitchen.

“Goin' down to watch Natty's team play, Mr. Burden?” she asked, as she headed out of the restaurant.

“Sure, have to watch my buddy the Pie Man—”

But Eve breezed past him. It wasn't like her to be so brusque or to call him
Mr. Burden.
Again he wondered if perhaps she was suspicious of his friendship with her sister-in-law. He made a mental note to talk with Eve. He liked her too much to have her angry over a misperception.

As Charlie left the restaurant, three boys in blue soccer uniforms came out of the store, carrying bottles of Gatorade. They wore dark-blue shorts with the Umbro logo and light-blue stockings over their shin guards. Even in Westchester County, their uniforms would have been considered sharp.

The boys had the kind of swagger that identified them as confident, experienced players. Charlie followed behind as they made their way down the hill to the field. He was ten yards back but close enough to overhear their conversation. “So their best player's some girl. We gonna kick some butt today, right, Gabe?”