“Any chance the company who wanted to partner with yours was Smedlock?”
“They didn’t tell me who it was,” he said. “But I bet it was Smedlock. I plan to find out. And I’m afraid I may have helped trigger Sherry’s attack on Miss Annabel. One of the major points in my report was that anyone trying to mine Biscuit Mountain could expect protracted and potentially expensive opposition from the local citizens. Not hard to figure out who’d be organizing that opposition.”
“Not your fault,” I said. “You didn’t recommend killing off the opposition. And I think Mr. Weaver already knew she’d be a problem.”
“No doubt,” he said. “Anyway, the reason I had them drop me off here is that I wanted to talk for a moment to the lady of the house, if she’ll see me.”
I wasn’t surprised when the door opened a few seconds after he said that.
“Mr. Williams.” Cordelia strode out and offered her hand. “I’m Cordelia Mason. I’m pleased to see that you’re no longer suspected of killing me.”
“My condolences on the death of your cousin,” he said. “And may I say that I’m very glad you survived to carry on your work.”
“My work?” Cordelia tilted her head slightly as if puzzled.
“Protecting the emus,” he said. “And preserving Biscuit Mountain.” He nodded slightly toward where we could see the mountain looming up in the distance, still clad in a few wisps of early morning fog, “If Smedlock Mining—or anyone else—tries to start a mine that would ruin that, I’d be grateful if you’d call on me to help you stop them. I’ve had some experience in that area.”
He handed her a business card.
She took it, studied it for a moment, and then tucked it in her pocket.
“Have you got another one of those?” she asked. “I’m slowing down a bit. Sooner or later I’ll need to pass the torch along to the new generation. Let’s make sure my granddaughter also knows how to reach you.”
She put her hand on my shoulder and squeezed it with a surprisingly strong grip.
So she’d decided in favor of full disclosure about her connection to Dad—and me. I couldn’t help smiling with delight.
Williams blinked slightly. He’d heard the story of how Grandfather had discovered his long-lost son. I could see him putting the pieces together.
“Of course.” He actually only paused for a few seconds before reaching into his pocket, taking out his wallet, and handing me another of his cards.
“And now if you’ll excuse me,” he said. “I’m told the mess tent is serving a special celebratory brunch this morning. The Riverton jail may be comfortable, but the cooking can’t hold a candle to Camp Emu.”
He nodded, then strode down the steps and headed for the backyard.
“Of course, I’m hoping we can resolve the question of the mountain pretty amicably.” Cordelia let go of my shoulder. I heard the creak of the old-fashioned screen door as she went inside. A few moments later another creak announced her return. I cracked an eye open to see her setting a tray with a white china teapot and several matching cups and saucers on the table beside me.
“There’s hot tea if you want it,” she said. “I had a little talk this morning with the president of the First Undermountain Bank.”
“This morning?” I eyed the teapot and decided to let it steep a bit. “It’s not even six.”
“I wasn’t feeling very patient,” she said. “I asked him if he thought maybe his board would reconsider my offer to buy the Biscuit Mountain farm, now that the other potential buyers have been revealed as homicidal maniacs who will probably end up doing hard time and are definitely not people he wants to appear to be in cahoots with.”
“You think he’ll see the light?” I leaned back in my chair and closed my eyes.
“I think he already has.” I heard a creaking noise and suspected she was following my example. “I have a feeling he’ll be burning up the phone lines this morning, contacting all the other board members. I’ll call my lawyer a little later today and get him to go down and start negotiating with them.”
“What will you do with it?” I asked. “Set up the emu sanctuary?”
“No,” she said. “I think the emus will be just fine at the Willner Wildlife Sanctuary. Contrary to popular opinion, I’m not some kind of crazy emu fancier. Just didn’t think the poor things should be abandoned that way. No, I have other plans.”
“Like reopening the Biscuit Mountain Art Pottery Works?” I asked.