32
Cole stacked the last of the flippers on the rack and glanced at the clock. Five of nine. The day had flown by—running a handful of excursions followed by a steady flow of customers. He was thankful business was booming, but equally thankful it was just about closing time. He pulled to his feet as “Wipe Out!” sounded behind him.
A man entered. Early forties, tall, athletic. Definitely not local.
“How’s it going?” he said.
The man gazed about the shop before cracking a smile. “Oh, can’t complain.”
“Can I help you find something?”
The man closed the distance between them. “I surely hope so.”
“What are you in the market for?”
“Oil,” the man said with a smile and a hint of a southern accent.
“As in suntan?” Cole pointed to the small display. They didn’t get much call for it in Yancey.
The man laughed. “No, as in crude oil, son.” He yanked a business card from his shirt pocket and handed it to Cole. “I’m with Pentrinium Oil.”
Cole studied the card. “Greg Stevens.”
Greg extended a hand. “Nice to meet you.”
“Same here. My name is Cole. What can I do for you, Greg?”
“Well, I’m in need of a diver to map a grid of underwater caves. We just secured the drilling rights and believe there’s oil just waiting for us, but before I can send my boys in, I need to know what we’re looking at terrain-wise.”
Cole studied the man as he spoke, noticing for the first time the uncertainty filling him. All this talk of murder was apparently getting to him. “Why come to me?” he asked, feeling the strange need to test the man. To make sure Greg and Pentrinium Oil were aboveboard.
“I’m not the sort of man who enjoys wasting time. I asked around, learned you were the best, so here I am.”
“Who do I have to thank for recommending me?”
“Sheldon Graves over at P and R. Mike Thornton at Burnett.”
Greg’s answers fit, but something still didn’t feel right. Cole couldn’t put a finger on it. Just felt it in his gut. “Well, my family and I have done a number of exploration and mapping dives.” He stepped behind the counter and retrieved the date and log book. “How large a grid are we talking about?”
Greg removed a schematic from his briefcase and spread it out on the counter between them.
Cole studied the area boxed in with red marker. It included Herring Cove, where Cleary’s missing boat had been found, the vicinity where Liz Johnson’s body had been recovered, and encompassed the area offshore of Chirikof Island. The preliminary grid he’d made for Slidell was eerily identical. He leaned against the counter, his arms crossed. “What makes you think there’s oil there?”
“Based on preliminaries. So when can you start?”
“I’m afraid not for a while. We’re swamped right now.”
“Oh?” Greg’s pleasantness faded.
Cole flipped through his book. “Looks like next month would be the earliest we could commit to that chunk of time.”
“Even if the price was right?”
“Sorry. My hands are tied.”
“I see.” Greg rolled up the schematic and tapped the counter with it. “You have my card. Give me a call if anything opens up. I don’t have a month to waste.”
“Will do.” Cole looked back at the card, finding only a 1-800 number. “Say . . . where are you staying in town?”
The only answer he got was “Wipe Out!” playing as the door shut behind the man.
Cole picked up the phone and called Landon.
“Grainger.”
“Hey, man, it’s me. How’s Piper?”
“Quickly getting back to her spitfire self.”
“That’s great.”
“If you say so . . .” The tension had slipped from Landon’s voice, replaced with a hint of his teasing manner. Piper really must be doing better.
“A guy just tried to hire me for a cave-mapping expedition.”
“Okay?”
“It’s in the same region we’ve been spending a lot of our time.”
“Is that right? He didn’t resemble our mystery man, did he?”
“No. Too old. Besides, aren’t we assuming Piper already found our mystery man?”
“I pray that’s the case. Otherwise we’re looking at yet another victim. I tell you, Booth can’t make his report fast enough for me.”
“Or me.” The possibility of another victim seemed ludicrous, but Cole had learned from experience, when it rained it poured.
“So tell me about this guy. Did you get a name?”
“Yeah. Greg Stevens of Pentrinium Oil. Left his business card with me. I’ll drop it by your place on my way home.”
“Actually, I was thinking since Kayden’s away tonight, maybe I should bunk out on the girls’ couch.”
“Probably not a bad idea, but I can do that.”
“It’s no bother. Besides, you had your turn guarding Bailey. I’ll take this round.”
“All right. Thanks, man. Call if you need anything.”
“No problem. You should stop by the station after you close up, though. See what kind of sketch you can give Earl. Who knows . . . might come in handy.”
“Will do.”
A smile crept over his face as he strolled away from Last Frontier Adventures and into the night. Cole McKenna’s reaction to the proposed schematic was everything he’d hoped for. He’d targeted his best guess and the man responded beautifully, albeit with evasion rather than acceptance of his offer, but it mattered not.
Clearly he’d roused Cole’s suspicion, and his curiosity along with it. It wouldn’t be long before he and the girl were in the water. Both were bright and experienced. He chuckled at the promising turn of fate—he couldn’t have fashioned a better team for his purposes if he’d tried. They’d find what he needed—and when they did, he’d take it from them. Simple as that.
It wasn’t how he’d planned it, but the result would be the same. And that was the mark of greatness—what separated natural-born leaders like himself from mere pawns—the ability to fashion everything to suit one’s needs, one’s desire. He’d done just that and they had no clue.