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Lending a Paw(78)

By:Laurie Cass


Gunnie? “Thanks, but I’m good.”

We sat there, listening to the occasional click of Bill D’Arcy’s keyboard, listening to the parents struggle to keep their toddlers in line. I listened to myself chew and swallow. Gunnar sat with his arms folded and stared out the front window.

When Sabrina returned with a carafe of coffee and a mug, she asked, “Anything else?” Gunnar sipped his coffee and glared at me. I said, “No, thanks, Sabrina.”

Gunnar waited until she was out of earshot before he pushed his coffee aside and leaned forward, his arms spread wide on the table, the better to intimidate me with. But that kind of domination attempt didn’t work on me. I wasn’t even five feet tall. Everyone was bigger than I was. It was something I was accustomed to and knew how to ignore.

“What did you hear?” he asked. “The other night, when you were eavesdropping. How much did you hear?”

I wanted to say, “Pretty much all of it,” but there was a reasonable chance that the man sitting across from me was a killer. What I needed was to be smart, and to be smart in such a clever way that he didn’t realize I was outsmarting him.

“I told you the truth. I fell in the water because I was trying to keep my cat from falling in.”

“Cats don’t fall,” he said flatly.

“And cats don’t like bread, either, but Eddie loves the stuff.”

“You named your cat Eddie?”

I shrugged.

For some reason, the idea of a cat called Eddie amused him. He snorted out a laugh. “Eddie. What a stupid name for a cat.” He snorted again, then leaned low across the table. “I didn’t kill Stan Larabee,” he said quietly.

I cut my cold sausage into bite-sized pieces. Speared one piece. “Okay.” I popped the bite into my mouth.

“Nothing wrong with a nice grudge between former business partners, is there? But I didn’t kill him.”

Since I was chewing, I held out a hand, palm up, and made a tell-me-more gesture with my fingers.

His nostrils flared as he breathed in and out, in and out. “Twenty years ago, when I was down in Florida for a business conference, a mutual friend introduced me to Larabee. He thought it was funny that I summered where Larabee had grown up. Real funny,” he said, making fists with his hands. “I’m laughing hard enough to hurt myself.”

I swallowed. “So, twenty years ago . . .”

“Yeah. Back then life was good for buying property in Florida, putting in some roads, slapping up modulars, and making a killing. Larabee said he’d come across this sweet property—the owner needed cash and was selling it for a song. Larabee said he was thinking about getting out of the development business, but if I wanted in, we could make a limited liability corporation, each put in half, each get half the profits.” His face was turning a deep shade of red.

“I take it things didn’t go like that?”

“Stan Larabee was a thief,” Gunnar said stonily. “We bought the property, laid out thousands for the engineering, laid out tens of thousands for the infrastructure—then when time came to sell lots, we got nothing but rumors of hidden limestone sinkholes about to cave in, toxic waste dumps, and contaminated water. Didn’t matter what we said, the word was out. Couldn’t sell a single lot.”

“Were there any sinkholes?”

“No!” he shouted, his face now almost purple. “We had geological reports up the wazoo. We had hazardous-materials guys declare the site clean. We had the health department sign off that the water was well within tolerances. It was fine!”

I hoped he wasn’t prone to heart attacks. “Then why the rumors?”

“Stan Larabee was behind it all.” Gunnar spoke through gritted teeth. “He said he was sorry it was turning out this way, said he’d buy back my share.”

“That doesn’t sound so bad.”

“Buy back my share for pennies on the dollar. Pennies!” His fist hit the table so hard even Bill D’Arcy looked up. “And you know what happened? The minute Larabee bought the property off me, the rumors disappeared. Vanished.” He flicked his fingers out in a magician-style move. “In the end he makes a bundle with barely more than half the investment he should have put into it. And what do I get? Nothing. Nothing!”

“Did you talk to an attorney?”

“What, you think I’m stupid? Of course I did. He said he’d be glad to take my money, but it’d be a waste. If Larabee did start all those rumors, it’d be a job and a half to prove it and even if I won, I’d probably end up spending more in lawyer fees than I’d recover.” He grabbed his coffee mug and took a hefty slug. “Still, I thought about it. Thought about it hard.”