Champagne for Buzzards (17 page)

I took my cell out to a rocker on the porch and called Clay. There was a little sweet talk and I was just getting down to telling him what was going on in Independence, when he said, “I've got something to tell you.”

I waited, pretty certain I wasn't going to like what was coming.

“I'm in a little bit of trouble,” Clay said. I sat up straighter. “What kind of trouble?”

“Financial,” he said and went quiet.

“I need a little more information than that.”

“My contractor has gone bankrupt, leaving unpaid bills. The banks are calling in my loans, and my partners pulled out months ago. They read the writing on the wall. I didn't. I bought them out. Now, nothing's selling. This isn't the economy to sell vacation homes in the Florida Panhandle. Those retirees are all staying up North with their money.”

“Yeah, I know. We've been seeing that at the restaurant;

business is down twenty percent over last year. The only thing that keeps it from being worse is having a restaurant right on the beach.” I realized I'd taken over the conversation. “Sorry,” I apologized, “you were telling me about your worries and I jumped in with mine. How bad is it, Clay?”

“About as bad as it can get. I used my other properties as security for this one when everyone started pulling out. The resort is half done, eating money, and without finishing the marina and the units on the water, the condos aren't going to sell. I have to have the whole package. I'm trying to refinance and bring in a new partner. Unless that happens, and happens quickly, I'm dead.”

I started to make a joke and tell him he could always bus tables at the Sunset but stopped myself in time.

He said, “It may get worse.” He went silent and I waited for the really bad news I knew was coming. Clay had a large chunk of money in the Sunset. I'd used Jimmy's insurance money and Clay had made up the difference on the multimillion-dollar property. The restaurant and the rental properties barely carried the mortgage, taxes and overheads — don't even think of profit. If I lost one of the stores, a definite possibility given the economy, I wouldn't be making the mortgage payments any longer.

“I'm sorry, Clay.”

He said, “I can't make it home this weekend. Brian is here, we're working through the refinancing.”

“But, I'm having…” I took a deep breath. “The house looks perfect. I wanted you to see it. And it's your birthday.” “I'm sorry, Sherri. I have one more chance at making this right. I've got a meeting with a guy that may partner up with me on this. Can't you come up here?” I said, “Let's talk tomorrow.”

I'd have to let more staff go. Where would they find jobs? Nobody would be hiring wait staff and bartenders. If things got worse I wouldn't have a job myself. The little bit of money I sent Ruth Ann every month, where would I find that? There was a question I hadn't asked. If Clay lost his development in Cedar Key, would he also lose his share of the Sunset?

One minute everything was fine and the next, well, my life was swirling around the bowl and about to go for the big flush.

Marley stuck her head out the door as I hung up. “This is going to be the best party ever. When is Clay getting here? I hope it isn't until after most of the guests have arrived, won't be much of a surprise otherwise.”

After dinner I slunk off to my bedroom to decide what I'd do if I lost the Sunset. Nothing came to me and hours later Marley burst in and started to tell me about her really good idea.

“I was watching this program on PBS, all about Western dude ranches in Arizona, Utah and like that. That's what Clay should do with this place. It would be great. Hundreds of acres to ride through, creeks to canoe down and Independence even has a rodeo — every one of these little towns out here has a rodeo in the tourist season. And the beaches are only an hour away.”

She was bouncing with excitement, planning the layout from turning the bunkhouse into a guesthouse to constructing more. “Of course, at first we could treat it like a B&B with horses and trails — there's enough bedrooms, might need more bathrooms. Do you think every bedroom would need to have its own bath or would people be willing to walk down the hall?”

I nearly bit her head off.

“All right,” she said, “but I still think this is a great idea and I'm going to tell Clay about it no matter what you think. And if he goes for it, well, I'm going to be part of it.” She slammed the door on her way out.

In the morning, after we walked all the horses out to the paddock, my nearest and dearest piled into their vehicles and left the ranch. Marley didn't say what her plans were, barely spoke to me after I told her I was canceling the party, but Tully and Ziggy were going to look at Lovey for an hour. Ziggy just had to get his fix and the eagerness with which Tully tagged along convinced me Tully had been bitten by the same bug as Uncle Ziggy.

I stayed behind on the farm to talk to Clay. I wanted details, wanted to know if there was any hope.

“I have a meeting with some of my lenders on Friday,” he told me. “If that doesn't work, I'll file a legal action, an assignment for the benefit of creditors, which is really pretty much like bankruptcy but it may force my lenders to take a proper look at things and negotiate with me. The problem is my property in Cedar Key has lost value so the banks want me to make up for this. If I don't come up with the money, they won't renew the loans on the land; if I can't renew, I'm in default and they can take all of my property here plus what I put up as security. The banks are telling me to come up with the additional money or they will force me into foreclosure.”

“Sounds like you've really got your tail caught in the door. What about Riverwood, can't you use that to make up the difference?”

“It isn't enough. And besides, it might turn out to be throwing pennies after dollars that are already gone. Even if I were willing to put up Riverwood, it wouldn't be enough to keep the banks from moving in and the question is, do I protect what I've got or push everything onto the table and risk the whole pot?”

I asked the really big question, “What about the Sunset?”

“If I lose my securities, it means you'll have a new partner.”

“The bank?”

“Yeah.”

“Which will tear it down and put up condos.” Clay had always said that the moment the Sunset stopped carrying itself he was going to replace it with condos on the beach and that's exactly what the banks would do.

“Not in this market,” he assured me. “Nothing's going to be torn down and rebuilt in this economy and, besides, to do that they would have to buy you out.”

“Yeah, but how much will they pay for it? I'm betting the value of the Sunset is less than we paid for it.”

“Not according to what they lent me on my share. I don't think you'll lose money.”

“So we still have something left?”

“We? There's still a we?”

“Hell, yeah,” I said. “You haven't killed anyone, have you?”

His voice was so quiet I could barely hear his next words. “I thought you might leave me.”

“Now how am I going to make your life a misery if I leave you?”

“I should have told you I was in trouble sooner but I didn't want you to worry.”

“Okay, I can see that, but not worrying over a specific problem now means I worry all the time about what might be happening that I don't know about.”

“I'm sorry.”

“Don't keep secrets.” It didn't escape my attention that I'd been keeping a few secrets of my own but that was different, wasn't it?

“I may be starting over, no more penthouse,” Clay warned.

“Well, I know a great trailer park. Drunks, losers and even the odd saint passes through — they'll make you feel real welcome.”

“Don't joke. I'm more than a little scared it'll turn out to be true.”

I laughed. I'd always known that the penthouse wasn't permanent. One way or another it was bound to end, but it had been fun while it lasted. “Being poor isn't all that hard. I'm real good at it; I'll show you how.”

After our tender goodbyes I settled in to cancel the party, a party being the very last thing Clay would want to deal with if he got back Saturday night. Come to that, a party was the last thing I wanted to deal with. While I was joking with Clay, I'd also been saying goodbye to the good life in the penthouse on the beach. It was sweet while it lasted.

When I finished with the e-mails and calls, I moved restlessly about the kitchen, trying to decide what came next. Marley had left a couple of oddities from the last of the unpacking in the hall. I took the box of leftovers upstairs to the junk room.

The binoculars where still where I'd left them. I picked them up and went to the back window to check out where I'd last seen Boomer. Two ATVs burst out of the woods, one ridden by Sheriff Hozen, with a rifle across the handlebars, and the other by Boomer, also carrying a weapon. They got to the opening to the lane, following something on the ground, and came on a hundred yards before they had a discussion. Red Hozen pointed behind them and turned back but Boomer didn't. He looked up at the house and then down at the ground and then back at the house, shouted something over his shoulder and came on towards the house.

I threw down the glasses without waiting to see where he was headed. I just ran.

I was getting out of there. If Boomer was coming to visit I wasn't going to be sitting on the porch waiting for him.

I grabbed my purse off the back of the kitchen door and bolted for the drive shed, with Dog at my heels.

Reality brought me to a dead stop; there was neither truck nor car sheltering under the tin roof, no way of escaping. I was trapped out in this wilderness with a madman.

Dread and fear prickled along the hairs of my arms. My palms were damp. My heart was racing and I was whimpering with fear. Beside me Dog growled. Did he sense my mood or was danger closer than I knew?

What were my choices? Even if Tully and Ziggy had cell phones there was no time for them to get back to Riverwood before Boomer got me. Hide, I had to hide. That was my only choice, but where? “Think, think,” I told myself. I looked behind me at the house. It was impossible to secure the house. Not enough time to close all the windows. He could punch out the old-fashioned screens and step into the house through any window. And upstairs there were no locks on the bedrooms.

I could hear the machine getting louder. Clearly, whatever I did, I had to make up my mind quickly. The deep threatening drone was coming closer. “Hurry, hurry,” I whispered aloud.

“Come on,” I said to Dog and headed back to the house. I opened the door to the kitchen and let him in, closing the door quickly behind him and trapping him inside. “Sorry,” I told him.

The problem was I couldn't trust Dog to be quiet. He might growl and give me away and, while he'd do his best to protect me, a dog was no match for a gun. I had no doubt that Boomer would shoot Dog if he got in Boomer's way.

The angle of the lane, swinging away from the barn around a stand of trees and then back towards it, put the barn between the house and where Boomer was coming up the lane. For a few seconds more I was out of Boomer's sight. I raced for the barn but stopped at the door, not going inside, flattening myself against the wall.

The front and back doors of the barn were open to let the air blow through. Anyone coming up the lane could see right through the barn. If I stepped into the opening Boomer would see me silhouetted against the light. He could drive right into the barn on his machine and run me down.

The sound of the ATV was loud. He was at the barn. My time had run out.

On the side of the barn was a lean-to, a place to store old machinery and the ride-on lawn mower. It was the only cover. The creak of the rusted hinges on the door was barely covered by the sound of the machine.

Inside, dust motes danced in the light from the grimefilmed window. A green tractor, a bailer, an old wagon and various other pieces of equipment — I headed deep into a dusty tangle of forgotten machinery, crouching down between the wall and a wooden box of spare parts. Not the best. If he had any idea where to look for me, I was done.

My heart was pounding. I heard the sound of Boomer's machine make the turn around the barn to the house. The sound died. I held my breath, struggling to hear everything. What was Boomer doing? Was he heading for the barn? Senses working overtime, straining to hear, I tried to guess.

The tension was too much for me. I couldn't bear not knowing where he was and what he was doing. I took down a rusted pipe wrench hanging on the wall and crept out of my hiding place to the grimy window. Boomer had parked by the back door and was on the kitchen porch. He reached for the door. The fact that the inside door was open, that only the screen door was in place, well, Boomer must have been sure someone was there, but he didn't knock. He was going to open the door and walk in.

But he had to get past Dog, who was going crazy. Boomer thought better of stepping into the kitchen. He circled the house, heading for the front door.

Dog was going ballistic. He must have raced from the kitchen down the hall to meet Boomer at the front door.

I could hear the second machine, growing louder and getting closer with each second that passed.

Dust tickled my nose. I sucked in my breath and pinched my nostrils, trying to stop it, ending it in a cough of a sneeze. The roar of the other engine filled the shed. I eased back to the window. Sheriff Hozen came into sight outside the grimy pane. Boomer walked around the side of the house to the edge of the porch and leaned on the railing.

Their first exchange was lost in the noise of the machine but Boomer's body language was saying he wasn't happy with what he was hearing.

When the engine died I heard the sheriff's words clearly. “Forget the girl, we'll get her later. Keep your mind on what's important.”

Boomer cursed viciously.

“Look,” the sheriff said, standing up on his machine, “This is your fucking disaster. Get your ass out there and solve it. The bitch can wait.”

Boomer kicked the railing. I heard the spindle crack. He stomped down the stairs and marched to his ATV.

I stayed where I was until the sound of their machines faded. Would they come back? There was no way I was going back into the house to wait and see if they showed up again.

And no way I was hiding in the shed until Tully and Ziggy came home. What if Boomer returned and did something awful? Crackling fire, the smell of gas, and crawling from a burning trailer — those memories kept me from running for the house.

Slowly, I opened the creaking door, not quite believing they were gone, more than half-expecting them to be waiting for me. The yard was empty and quiet.

I slipped from the shed and hesitated. Should I get the dog? I didn't know if he would be an asset or a liability. Best not. I started down the lane towards the road, feeling vulnerable in the open. My steps faltered and stopped.

I could head for the road but there was a deputy waiting there. There were open fields to the right of the lane. Across them was Sweet Meadow Farm. Being on foot, I would be caught in no time. There had to be another way.

Joey was rubbing his neck along the boards of the gate as if waiting for me to come and get him, and for once he came along like a prince when I grabbed his halter and led him towards the barn to get the saddle. Don't ask me why I thought that piece of dog food would be any help. I just wanted to be able to move if I needed to, moving being preferable to hiding or being caught out in the open on foot. And to ride him, I needed a saddle and bridle. There was no other way. I was tightening the girth when I heard the sound.