Sweet Olive (9780310330554) (17 page)

A
llison Carney,” a polished voice said. “May I help you?”

“Allison, hey,” Camille said, feeling like they were back in college. “It’s Camille Gardner.”

“Tell me you’re back in town.”

“Not quite yet.”

“I trust there’s not a problem.” Allison’s words became frostier.

“Not exactly,” Camille stammered. “I—”

“You are going to honor your volunteer commitment, are you not?”

“Of course.”

“But …?”

“I’m looking forward to working at the gallery,” Camille said in a rush, still not pulling out the correct words.

“And we’re looking forward to having you … if you ever get here.”

“I’ll give 100 percent when I get back. I’ve already identified a group of unique folk artists for your consideration.”

“That’s sweet,” Allison replied. “But you know that Carney & Associates doesn’t represent many folk artists.”

“These aren’t ordinary folk artists. They use an array of media with striking results.”

“I’m sure they’re lovely, but—”

“There are incredible whirligigs, primitive paintings with a fresh eye, and glass that reminds me of Chihuly’s work.”

“Glass, hmm,” Allison said, her tone less terse. “That’s quite marketable right now if the quality’s good.”

Camille was encouraged. “It’s excellent. May I e-mail you photos of the work?”

“We’re very select in what we present.”

“You’ll like it,” Camille said, clenching her fist. What if Allison didn’t like the Sweet Olive work?

Camille paced around the hotel room, sick of cable television. She’d hoped to go to Ginny’s to work on art projects with the children, but since it was Wednesday, they had prayer meeting.

Ginny had invited her to go along. “We can always use another pair of hands in the mission class. The children would love to see you.”

Camille declined. Helping would only make her departure that much harder.

“Well, if you won’t come with us,” Ginny said, “do you have any prayer requests?”

“Prayer requests?”

“People you want us to pray for. That’s what we do at prayer meeting,” Ginny said with a chuckle.

“I know what a prayer request is.” Camille gave an embarrassed laugh. “I don’t think I really have any …”

“Would it be all right if we prayed for you?”

“Why would you pray for me?”

“We pray to do the right thing about our land,” Ginny said. “We can add you to that list.”

“Absolutely,” Camille said.

Sitting on the end of the hotel bed, she dialed her mother, but the line was busy.

With phone in hand, she looked around the room. For the past seven years, she had lived in rooms like this, and she had photographed every piece of hotel room art she’d seen. Most of it, like the mass-produced European landscapes in this room, were mundane, and she wondered why hotels didn’t feature local artists.

Scrolling through the photos, she found the handful of pictures she’d taken Sunday in Sweet Olive. She attached a few to a note to Allison and smiled as she hit Send. Then she dialed her mother again.

“Hey, sweetie,” her mom said. “How’s my one and only precious girl?”

“I’m okay.”

“That’s not very convincing. What’s going on?”

Camille considered her mother’s question. “Work’s sort of an extra hassle lately, but I think Ginny and I have patched things up.”

“I remember the people in Louisiana being extra friendly.”

“Mama, we were only here part of a summer.”

“You’ve only been there this time for a few weeks.”

“Good point,” Camille said with a little laugh. “You’re making me feel happier already.”

“Are you still ready to quit traveling?”

“Beyond ready. But this is taking longer than I thought.”

“I’m praying about your new job.”

“Everyone’s praying for me today. I must need it.”

Her mother cleared her throat. “Scott called again tonight.”

“What’d he want?”

“It was odd. He was asking about you, said he was concerned when y’all talked. Wanted to know if you’d mentioned anything about the Sweet Olive deal.”

“He asked about my work?”

“I thought it was strange too. I told him I wasn’t sure what was going on but that you are doing a fabulous job.”

“He’s up to something.”

“Your father used to say that Scott came out of the womb negotiating a deal.”

“These people are special, Mama. I don’t want him to hurt them.”

The line was quiet for a moment.

“Then don’t let him.”

M
arsh held up the cup of fancy coffee and gave Valerie a questioning look through the glass wall of her office. A week had passed since the community meeting, and he wondered what she was up to.

She cradled the phone on her shoulder and was writing a lengthy message on a legal pad. Gesturing him in, she slid a file folder over the yellow tablet.

When he handed her the coffee, she mouthed a
thanks
and took a sip. “Ahhh,” she said as she wrote on the back of an envelope. Marsh gave a thumbs-up and pointed toward Camille’s office. She shrugged and motioned toward the phone.

As Marsh left, he glanced back. Val had already resumed her note taking.

Glancing down the hall, he took a sip of his dark roast. Somewhat to his chagrin, he had found himself looking for ways to run into Camille. He had only talked to her once since the encounter at Evelyn’s studio, deliberating over contract details.

Marsh started to leave. Then he turned back. If this were any other businessperson in town, he’d drop in. He stepped toward Camille’s office, and Val aimed a small frown his way.

“May I help you?”

The voice startled Marsh, and he turned to see Camille walking in from the lobby.

“I stopped by to see Valerie, but she’s busy.” For good measure, he nodded in the direction of Val’s office, his coffee sloshing. He felt foolish.

“I can have her call you.” Camille followed his gaze. “She’s been on the phone with her door closed most of the morning.”

He gave his head a quick shake. “We’ll connect later.”

Camille ran her fingers through her hair, which was always mussed enough to show she didn’t pay strict attention to it. She looked more like a schoolteacher than an oil-and-gas deal maker. Her only jewelry was a pair of turquoise earrings, and Valerie would have gone naked before she wore those rumpled pants. A pair of heels brought Camille just about to his shoulder, but he liked her better in her beat-up boots.

He cleared his throat. “Have you thought any more about how the contract might read?”

She nodded slowly. “We’re doing the last of the title searches. I should have a document for you to review within a couple of days. I don’t expect to get everyone, but maybe we can come up with a compromise.”

“My father told me about your art center funding idea. You got their attention with that one. That’s a … generous offer.”

Camille cocked her head. “If it sounds ‘generous,’ why do you sound suspicious?”

He gave a spurt of laughter. “In my experience, oil-and-gas
companies don’t usually offer quite so much.” He studied her more closely. “Everyone in Sweet Olive is speculating about you.”

“Speculation
is
the business I’m in.”

On impulse, he reached out and touched her arm. “I have a question.”

“Yes?” She tilted her head.

“You had to know some of my clients would ultimately give in,” he said. Her face gave nothing away. “So why are you offering them such a good deal?”

Her shrug was so brief he nearly missed it. “Timing’s everything. Your clients benefited from our deadlines.” She started past him. “And it’s the right thing to do.”

Camille’s knock on Ginny’s door Thursday evening was deliberately tentative. She liked to watch the students draw before they noticed her.

However, no one was seated at the art table today. A child wailed from the direction of the kitchen, and two or three children played an unusually frenetic game of chase.

She knocked louder. The dog walked up to her, licked her hand, and ambled off, and Randy, a smear of blue paint on his face, wandered to the door. He stared at her for a second. She picked up the cowbell and rang it, laughing, but he ran off, chasing a ball that rolled across the room.

The crying intensified, and Camille opened the door. “Hello. Ginny?”

At the sound of her voice, the yard dog ran at her in an
unexpected barking frenzy. The inside dog skidded around the corner and reared up on the door, his shrill yaps adding to the noise.

“What in the world are you barking at?” Ginny’s voice was agitated. She held a child of about eight or nine—too large to be carried—in her arms.

Camille gave a wave. “It’s me.” When she pushed the door open further, the dog on the porch dashed inside and started wrestling with the smaller animal. A cat darted through Ginny’s legs, hissing.

“Can you stay with the students until my sister-in-law gets here?” Ginny said, perspiration shining on her forehead. “Sammy’s cut his arm.”

As Camille looked closer, blood oozed down the child’s arm and onto the smock-like shirt Ginny wore. “Certainly,” she said, noticing the children’s scared expressions as they looked at Sammy. “We’ll have fun.”

Kylie gave a tentative smile, but the others shook their heads and looked reluctant. Randy nodded. “She likes my pictures.”

“Let’s see what everyone’s working on.” Camille sat at the table as Ginny mouthed
thank you.

Camille started the children—four elementary students and two preschoolers—on a colored-pencil project and was charmed by their color choices and design eye. Maybe there
was
something in the water …

She was so engrossed in the children’s paintings that she jumped when the storm door slammed. “Mommy!” Randy said, and ran toward the front of the house, throwing his arms around the woman’s knees. Camille remembered seeing the children hug the woman at the art festival.

“Hey, buddy. How’s my little man?” The woman took a step toward the art table, Randy clinging to her knees. “Kylie, aren’t you going to give Mommy a hug?”

Kylie ignored her, picking up a black pencil and scribbling bold blobs on the paper.

“What’s wrong, sweetheart?” Camille asked.

The woman seemed to notice Camille for the first time. “Who are you?”

“This is Miss Camille.” Randy tugged on his mother’s oversized purse.

“I’m Camille Gar—”

The woman’s eyes narrowed. “You’re that woman giving out checks.”

“I work for J&S Production. I’m here as a volunteer today.”

“Where’s Ginny?”

“There was a minor emergency, and she had to leave. Could I help you with something?”

The woman smirked. “More likely, I could help
you.
I’m Janice Procell, one of the landowners. I watched that fight at the gym, and Drew told me you’re a spitfire.”

“Drew?”

“Drew Cross, my boyfriend,” Janice said as though she’d admitted to dating a movie star. “He says you’re playing us, but that woman who works with you is much more reasonable.”

Camille looked at the children, all of whom had gone back to their projects except for Kylie, intent on drawing what looked like a series of tornados, and Randy, still tugging on Janice’s purse.

“Perhaps we can discuss this when Ginny gets back?”

Janice’s mouth was set in a sour expression. “The land’s mine. She’s using that Saint Ginny act to steal from me and my kids.”

Camille kept her face passive. “I’d be happy to look over your deed another time,” she said, keeping her words quiet.

“Kylie, Randy,” Janice barked, “get your things.” She was a short, thin woman, who looked like life had been hard on her. Her hair was pushed back with an elastic headband, and her cropped pants revealed a tattoo of a dragon on her ankle.

“But class isn’t over,” Kylie said, her face stricken. Randy moved back toward the table.

“Ginny didn’t mention you’d be taking them.” Camille stepped between the children and Janice.

“I hardly need an appointment to pick up my own children.” Janice snapped her fingers. “Don’t make me count, Kylie. We’re leaving now.”

Tears came to Kylie’s eyes as she stood.

Camille looked around, more tense than she’d been in the most hostile of J&S negotiations. She could think of only one thing that might keep the woman here. “Now that I think about it, we do need to discuss your claim. Why don’t we go into the kitchen and discuss the options?”

“That’s more like it.”

As soon as they were seated, Janice began to wring her hands. “Everybody’s going to get money, and I want mine. This is Procell family land, and my children deserve their share.”

“I understood that Ginny was handling that for the family.”

“Todd wouldn’t want it that way.”

“According to our records, the arrangement was stipulated in his will.”

“We were getting back together.” Janice seemed genuinely dismayed. “Then he got himself killed.”

“I’m sorry for your loss. Your children are precious.”

Janice nodded. “Ginny’s been a big help, but I need that money to provide for my babies. It’s hard without Todd.”

Camille merely nodded.

Janice strolled out of the room and gave the children a hurried good-bye. “I’m not going to be able to stay after all. I’ll see you sweet peas later.”

“Will you come back tonight?” Randy followed her to the door.

“We’ll see,” Janice said.

Kylie looked at Camille, her little lips pursed. “That means no.”

“Be good for Miss Camille,” Janice said. As the front door closed, a pall fell over the room.

“I’m glad she’s gone,” Kylie said in a trembling voice. “I hate her.”

“Oh, Kylie,” Camille said, putting her arms around the child, “of course you don’t.”

“I want to stay with Aunt Ginny.”

Camille stroked her soft, curly red hair. “It’ll be all right.”

“I know.” Kylie sniffed as she spoke. “Jesus is watching out for us, even when Mommy can’t.”

Drawing in her breath, Camille pulled Kylie closer. “What a smart girl you are.”

The look on Kylie’s face was like stumbling across a familiar, faded photograph. Camille had worn that look almost constantly until she’d turned fifteen.