Chasing the Wind (21 page)

Amalise sensed that Robert was a dangerous man. If she followed through with this idea and he found out, even though no harm had been done, it would send him into a frenzy.

She went into the bathroom and brushed her teeth. The face that looked back from the mirror dared her take the chance, to do this thing, to try to make the world a little better for one family. As she brushed and foamed and rinsed and spat, she couldn't shake the thought that this problem was very real for Caroline and her family and—perhaps—she'd just stumbled on a solution.

Discovery would be a long shot, she told herself. But on the other hand, discovery would lead to unthinkable consequences. Robert would take revenge if he found out: He'd have her job.

Shaking her head, she put on slippers and a robe and went into the kitchen to make coffee. Community brand, from the familiar red package. When the coffee was ready, she poured herself a cup and wandered out onto the back porch where the cold air and the fragrance of the coffee and the dew on the grass—her own grass—revived her smile.

At 6:30 on the dot she went inside. Time to get to work. She put the coffee cup in the kitchen sink and headed for the bedroom. She resolved to think no more of this will-o'-the-wisp idea from an impractical dream, one she could barely remember now. She turned on the shower, stepped in, and let the hot water clear her mind.

Even if the idea worked, the consequences if she were found out, the price she would have to pay, would be too high.

But as she dressed, locked up the house, and drove downtown, the thought lingered, reminding her of those leeches in Mama's strawberry patch back home. Once they got hold of you, they stuck until you burned them off.

During a break that morning, Bingham beckoned Amalise over to where he and Robert had again spread the survey across the table. These were the final plans, he said. Bingham asked Robert to give her a guided tour. Together, they bent over the blueprints with a new translucent overlay. Everything was much more detailed than before. She was conscious of Bingham watching as she followed Robert's finger tracing the fine lines that mapped out the hotel, the pool, and the parking area.

The parking area backed up directly adjacent to Washington Square Park. She looked over at Bingham. "You said you'd do something to separate them, to preserve the ambience of the park." She ran her finger down the line demarking the two areas. "You said there'd be landscaping here." She looked up and met his eyes. "Some trees, gardens?"

It was Robert who answered. "There's not room. The pool area's on the other side of the lot. That's where the landscaping goes."

But she fixed her eyes on Bingham, shaking her head. "The park will be worthless butting right up against a parking lot. There'll be fumes, dust, noise. And here," she swept her hand over the residential areas to be demolished, "what about the oak trees over here? Some of them are hundreds of years old." Planting her hands flat on the table, she stared at Bingham. "If this entire area is designated for parking and a pool, what happens to those old-growth oaks?"

Beside her, Robert clicked his tongue against his cheek.

Bingham spread his hands. "We'll plant new ones."

"They take hundreds of years to grow."

"And we'll have palm trees. We'll have them lit, and we'll add tropical plants."

Careful, Amalise.
She straightened, arms dropping to her sides.

Robert stabbed his finger onto another spot on the map. She tore her eyes from Bingham and looked at the place indicated. "This will be the casino," Robert said, observing her, taking her measure, she knew. "Later on, when gambling is approved."

She did her best to remain expressionless, masking her dislike as Robert whisked a cigarette from his pocket and lit it, watching her under heavy lids. "This project will be big. Project Black Diamond plus the Quarter equals Vegas squared." His smile was grim as he let smoke drift in her direction. "Of course, this is all still confidential."

Bingham studied his hands.

Robert flicked an ash into a small glass ashtray. "One word gets out before the closing, and the deal's blown. We've got money invested, Bingham and I, and others. We need to know you understand that."

Amalise met his eyes. "You could have saved your breath."

He shrugged. "If you're going to do a man's job, you can't take things personally."

She lifted her chin and turned away from him. She realized that Robert had seen her write down the name of the owner of the house on Kerlerec from the plans a few days ago. Without another word, she turned and went back to her seat at the other end of the table. As she waited for the meeting to begin, she contemplated the lurid possibilities, but none made any sense. Unless Robert read minds, there was no way that he could know what she'd been contemplating.

When Doug arrived, then Adam Grayson, everyone situated themselves around the table again. Robert rolled up the plans and set them aside.

Bingham looked down the table once everyone was settled in their places, and he smiled. He waved his pen in the direction of Amalise. "Robert and I just reviewed the final plans for our target area with Miss Catoir. Everything looks good, but I'm concerned about the timing of property acquisitions." Bingham placed his pen on the table and sat back. "We're closing the financing on the Wednesday before the Thanksgiving holiday. I want our agents to be ready to approach landowners the day after Thanksgiving. What's the best way to get that done?" He looked at Adam, then Doug.

Adam answered first. "We'll need a complete set of agreements drawn up for each property owner to sign. Blanks for the numbers, of course, but everything else should be included—property description, names of the seller and buyer, and so on. Everything will be purchased 'as is,' of course. By the time we sign the purchase agreements, we'll have dealt with other problems, such as liens on the property, one way or another."

Doug looked at Raymond and Amalise. "They'll be ready." Both nodded.

Preston leaned forward, looking down the table. "How many properties in total will be purchased?"

"Couple hundred," Robert said. "We'll want the purchasing documents at the closing on Wednesday, ready to go. The agents will pick them up as soon as funds arrive that day. It's critical we get them started."

Preston said he'd call the title company right away.

Robert interrupted. "I've talked to one already."

"The one we normally use—"

"Use ours."

Doug nodded slowly. "That's not a problem."

Robert hooked his arm over the back of his chair and turned toward the Mangen & Morris end of the table. His eyes flicked toward Amalise, then settled on Doug. "Let's all get something clear: Project Black Diamond is confidential.
Extremely confidential.
No one in this room will speak to anyone outside about the transaction until after the closing."

"That's a given." Preston's tone was smooth, as always. "Let's get started, then." He turned to Raymond and Amalise sitting at his right. "Make sure the title companies understand our schedule. This is a rush job."

"Trees, too." Bingham grunted and Robert looked at him. "First she's worried about souls. Now it's trees." He stabbed out his cigarette in a paper cup on the table. He was having second thoughts about Miss Catoir.

Bingham sat alone with Robert in the coffee shop just off the lobby of the First Merchant Bank Building, near the elevators. It was only ten o'clock in the morning, but already Bingham needed a break. The conference room upstairs hummed with tension that wore him down. He couldn't wait to get this thing over and done.

"I don't trust her," Robert said. "I still think we should have her followed."

Bingham looked at Robert, his dark brows slicked, his hair swept back in a smooth slide he'd have called a ducktail fifteen years ago if it were one inch longer. He took in the starched white collar on the blue shirt. And the matching tie—silk, from the look of it. Then he raised his brows. "What for?"

"Women talk."

"That won't fly."

"You've noticed it yourself. She's not on board."

Bingham said nothing. He was right. There was something going on in Amalise's mind that made him nervous.

Robert squared his arms on the table and leaned close. "Knowledge is power, Bingham. If she lets anything slip, prices of those properties will shoot up, and we need to prevent that." He frowned. "We've got too much invested to take the chance. If the preservationists find out before we close, we're done. The commotion would scare the pants off the politicians. Our permits will be withdrawn. Reporters will go crazy. And we'll have protesters with signs and flags and people sitting in trees. The banks will go into a fugue state."

There was a cooler filled with cold drinks and ice cream bars right beside their table. Robert rose, pulled two Eskimo Pies from the cooler, and handed one to Bingham. He peeled the paper off the ice cream.

"All right, then. Hire your man." Bingham liked the girl, but this was business. Besides, Robert had a point. There was too much at stake to ignore intuition. Bingham tore the paper off his ice cream and bit into it. The cold made his teeth ache, and he made a face. "But nothing comes up after a few days," he pushed out his bottom lip and shook his head, "then we forget it."

"Tom will be down next week," Robert said. "We'll have this figured out by then." He set the Eskimo Pie stick down on the table.

Bingham watched the remaining ice cream melting on the table. Robert was like that—thoughtless, unless it involved money. Bingham got up, walked to the counter, and pulled some napkins from a holder. Bringing them back to the table, he handed them to Robert. "Take care of that before we leave."

Robert cleaned up the ice cream while looking at Bingham. "I talked to Tom this morning. He said to tell you we'll all celebrate in Cayman after we close. Back at the Sunset Bar."

"That sounds good." Bingham gave Robert a sideways look, thinking of the diving trip he'd arranged last time they were all down there. Hundreds of fish coming at them, thirty, maybe thirty-five miles an hour through the gorge, and Robert pulls out a camera. "You going back to Tarpin Alley this time?"

"What's so funny?"

"The look on that guy's face when your flash went off."

Robert shrugged. "He's lucky I didn't kill him. He grabbed hold of my fins in a panic." Robert tossed the paper wrapping, and napkins in the direction of a trash can. He missed. Then he turned back to Bingham, grinning. "But you should see the look on his face in that picture."

Bingham shook his head. "We're lucky he let us back on the boat."

"Wasn't luck, old man."

"What then?"

"Fear. It's more efficient."

Amalise and Jude exited the cathedral,
flowing with the crowd. As they stepped into the sunlight, both stopped and blinked. A couple more days would bring the beginning of November, yet heat still rose from the cement. Jude took off his sport jacket and slung it over his shoulder, then slipped on his sunglasses.

He nodded his head toward the Café Pontalba on their right. "Coffee?"

"Sure. I haven't seen Gina or Henry since the accident." She glanced at him. "What time do you leave?" He was headed down to Pilottown this afternoon.

"The bus leaves at two."

The usual Sunday morning melee at Jackson Square swarmed around them as they made their way toward the old café on St. Peter and Chartres where Amalise had waited on tables nights and weekends during law school. "I have to get to the office, but I've got an errand to take care of before then. Work's piling up. Murdoch's deadline is coming up fast."

Jude reached for her hand as they walked. Amalise averted her eyes and shifted her purse from one shoulder to the other, putting it between them.
Careful, Amalise.
She felt rather than saw Jude's response, a subtle widening of the space between them.

One step at a time,
she told herself. If that's the way he wanted it, she would distance herself one step at a time. The sunshine seemed to dim for an instant at the thought.