She didn't look that young. You'd think someone somewhere would have clued her in to how bad she looked. Of course, I wasn't going to tell her either. Who was I to criticize?
Stirling had the palest grey eyes I'd ever seen. The irises were only a few shades darker than the whites of his eyes. He stood there with his entourage behind him. He looked me up and down. He didn't seem to like what he saw. His strange eyes flicked to Larry in his cheap, wrinkled suit. Mr. Stirling frowned.
Bayard came around, smoothing his jacket into place. "Mr. Stirling, this is Anita Blake. Ms. Blake, this is Raymond Stirling."
He just stood there, looking at me like he was disappointed. The woman had a clipboard notebook, pen poised. Had to be his secretary. She looked worried, as if it was very important that Mr. Raymond Stirling like us.
I was beginning not to care if he liked us or not. What I wanted to say was, "You got a problem?" What I said was, "Is there a problem, Mr. Stirling?" Bert would have been pleased.
"You're not what I expected, Ms. Blake."
"How so?"
"Pretty, for one thing." It wasn't a compliment.
"And?"
He motioned at my outfit. "You're not dressed appropriately for the job."
"Your secretary's wearing heels."
"Ms. Harrison's attire is not your concern."
"And my attire is none of yours."
"Fair enough, but you're going to have a hell of time getting up that mountain in those shoes."
"I've got a coverall and Nikes in my suitcase."
"I don't think I like your attitude, Ms. Blake."
"I know I don't like yours," I said.
The foreman behind him was having trouble not smiling. His eyes were getting shiny with the effort. Ms. Harrison looked a little scared. Bayard had moved to one side, closer to Stirling. Making clear whose side he was on. Coward.
Larry moved closer to me.
"Do you want this job, Ms. Blake?"
"Not enough to take grief about it, no."
Ms. Harrison looked like she'd swallowed a bug. A big, nasty, squirming bug. I think I'd missed my cue to fall down and worship at her boss's feet.
The foreman coughed behind his hand. Stirling glanced at him, then back to me. "Are you always this arrogant?" he asked.
I sighed. "I prefer the word 'confident' to 'arrogant,' but I'll tell you what. I'll tone it down if you will."
"I am so sorry, Mr. Stirling," Bayard said. "I apologize. I had no idea..."
"Shut up, Lionel," Stirling said.
Lionel shut up.
Stirling was looking at me with his strange pale eyes. He nodded. "Agreed, Ms. Blake." He smiled. "I'll tone it down."
"Great," I said.
"All right, Ms. Blake, let's go up to the top and see if you're really as good as you think you are."
"I can look at the graveyard, but until full dark I can't do anything else."
He frowned and glanced at Bayard. "Lionel." That one word had a lot of heat in it. Anger looking for a target. He'd stop picking on me, but Lionel was fair game.
"I did fax you a memo, sir, as soon as I realized that Ms. Blake would be unable to help us until after dark."
Good man. When in doubt, cover your ass with paper.
Stirling glared at him. Bayard looked apologetic but he stood his ground, safe behind his memo.
"I called Beau and had him bring everybody down here on the understanding we could get some work done today." His gaze was very steady on Bayard. Lionel wilted just a little; evidently one memo was not protection enough.
"Mr. Stirling, even if I can raise the graveyard in one night, and that's a big if, what if the dead are all Bouviers? What if it is their family plot? My understanding is that construction will stop until you rebuy the land."
"They don't want to sell," Beau said.
Stirling glared at him. The foreman just smiled softly.
"Are you saying that the entire project is off if this is the Bouvier family plot?" I asked Bayard. "Why, Lionel, you didn't tell me that."
"There was no need for you to know," Bayard said.
"Why wouldn't they want to sell the land for a million dollars?" Larry asked. It was a good question.
Stirling looked at him like he'd just appeared out of thin air. Evidently, the flunkies weren't supposed to talk. "Magnus and Dorcas Bouvier have only a restaurant, called Bloody Bones. It is nothing. I have no idea why they wouldn't want to be millionaires."
"Bloody Bones? What kind of name is that for a restaurant?" Larry asked.
I shrugged. "It doesn't exactly say bon appetit." I looked at Stirling. He looked angry but that was all. I would have bet a million dollars that he knew exactly why the Bouviers didn't want to sell. But it didn't show on his face. His cards were close to his chest and unreadable.