The red-faced LSU-cap man from the town meeting was waiting for Camille in the parking garage the next afternoon.
“You might want to be careful,” he said, adjusting his hat. “Downtown can be dangerous.”
Camille looked around, but the garage was empty. Even the attendant was missing from his little shed.
The man—she remembered his name was Drew Cross—reached into his pocket and pulled out a container of snuff, took a pinch, and stuck it between his lip and teeth. He shuffled his feet and put his hands in his pockets. Camille looked over his shoulder, hoping to see anyone.
“Is this a bad time?” He followed her gaze.
“For what?”
He looked around and pitched his voice low. “I’ve got four acres, and I want to sign.”
She took a step back.
“I don’t want my neighbors to know until it’s a done deal. They’ll try to talk me out of it.”
“I’m—” Stunned? Surprised? Sad? “Are you sure?” she finally said.
He looked confused. “Are you trying to trick me?”
“I … I want you to be sure before we do all the paperwork.”
“I’m tired of waiting for a bunch of old people to get a sign from God or something.”
His behavior, much as it had the previous night, reminded Camille of one of the wild hogs that rampaged around Uncle Scott’s ranch. From his questions, though, she suspected he had good business sense.
“What about the Artists’ Guild?” she asked. “I’ve been instructed to work through their attorney.” She gave a little smile, intended to charm him.
“I’ve had it with them. This is my land, my life. I’m not holding out any longer.” He stepped closer. “A couple of the younger artists want to talk to you too. Will you pay me extra if I talk others into leaving the group?”
She moved back, slightly nauseated by the question. “I can’t do that.”
Drew gave his head a quick shake. “You are one peculiar woman. You’ve been pushing us to sign, and Janice said you were trying to meet a deadline.”
She let out her breath. “I am.”
“Then give me my money.”
“This is complex,” she said, glad Uncle Scott wasn’t able to hear this. “I don’t want a repeat of the Martinez situation. J&S lost a lot of time and effort on that.”
“If you don’t come through, I’m going to Bienville Oil. And some of the others are too.”
“Don’t do that,” she said, keeping her voice calm. “We’ll work this out.”
“Is this a good place to meet?”
“Wouldn’t my office be better?” Camille looked at the few cars still parked nearby.
“I’m not a fan of office buildings. They give me claustrophobia.”
“Maybe a restaurant? I’d be happy to buy lunch or supper.”
“We want this to be private,” he said, as though she’d suggested they discuss the matter on stage.
“J&S shares this garage with several businesses,” she said patiently. “Marsh Cameron, among others, parks here.”
“You call me then. You have my number.” He tipped his cap and started to walk away before turning back. “Janice loves them kids. She’s a good mother, no matter what Ginny says.”
Camille froze. “They’re sweet children.”
He turned to walk away again, and this time Camille called out. “Drew, there’s one more thing.”
His eyes narrowed in suspicion.
“Are you an artist?”
“Everybody in Sweet Olive’s an artist.”
“What medium do you work in?” she asked, her voice eager.
Drew wore a puzzled look. “I’m not right sure what you’re talking about.”
“Do you paint or carve or do some other kind of art?” she asked.
“My people make things out of old mufflers, and I make metal bugs.”
“The bugs! Those are great, very entertaining.”
“Entertaining?” He lifted his cap and scratched his head. “I reckon they are.”
He was almost to the side exit of the garage when he nodded at someone and slowed his steps.
Camille saw Valerie, standing on the other side of her car, the BMW that had been a gift from her parents when she turned thirty.
Standing still, Camille tried to hear what they said, but echoes of the garage mingled with street noise prevented it. Drew smiled and nodded, then reached out to take a piece of paper—a business card, maybe?—from Valerie.
Scooting behind a nearby SUV, Camille fished her cell phone out of her purse. Holding it up over the edge of the hood, she snapped a picture as Valerie and Drew shook hands. The camera looked like a periscope in an old submarine movie, and her lips curled in amusement.
One way or the other, she’d convince Valerie to work with her. With Slattery somehow involved in Uncle Scott’s deal, firing the annoying Miss Richmond was not an option. But Camille was not going to let her hurt the artists, whatever it took.