Homecoming (21 page)
He’s been very…insistent about the repayment of the loan. Threatening, actually.
Will, you’ve got to help me. Please. Everything’s coming apart all at once. Please, Will.
Russ
EMAIL FROM: [email protected]
TO: F
[email protected]
Dear Frederick, I hope things are going well in Prague. But don’t worry too much. Time’s on our side. They need us more than we need them.
I’m happy to be the bearer of good tidings re our financial situation. Colossal good tidings, actually. The other day on the golf links, I was approached by a representative of Luna films. I know you hate films, but George Luna is the producer of a space opera saga called
Space Battalion
, which has one of the highest grosses in film history. The representative dropped a hint that George Luna wanted to talk to me.
I went out to Santa Barbara and met the Great Man himself. He was older than I imagined, since I still have fond memories of the first
Space Battalion
movie when I was a freshman in high school.
He’s this round little man with a salt-and-pepper beard. He’d heard—don’t ask me how, but these people are the rulers of the Earth so I suppose they’ve got good info—that we bought the Carson’s Bluff property. One of his scouts had seen the property, and apparently it is just what Luna needs. He’s planning another trilogy, this time set in the Old West, and the Carson’s Bluff property is just what he’s looking for as the set for all three films.
Now get this. He is willing to lease the property from us—I didn’t tell him that we aren’t actually, technically speaking, the owners of the property—for a sum which would pay us back for the purchase in the first quarter and which would put us heavily in the black by the second quarter.
They would lease it for a three-year period, which would amply cover the Kiev purchase. Not only that. Get this—they don’t want a restored property. They want it as-is. At the end of the three-year period,
they will return it to us fully restored.
Which means that we won’t have to invest any money in it for the restoration! We milk it, they return it, and we start our plan to turn the property into an executive retreat three years later, several million dollars richer.
Believe me, Frederick. There is a God, after all. And He is a Republican.
Paul
“Well, honey,” Ellen said as she threw her Inter Airways flight bag on the bed of the big, homey room Stella had made available. “So how’s celibacy?”
It was her usual greeting, but her eyes widened when Federica froze and blushed a bright, glowing red.
“Oh-ho.”
“Oh-ho, nothing,” Federica answered tightly.
“Nothing? You’re the color of the dress I was wearing at the Christmas party.” Ellen chuckled at Federica’s blank look. “That was that nerd’s line. He said he liked my red dress because it went with his green jacket, and it made us look Christmasy together.”
“That jacket practically glowed in the dark.”
“Yeah, I know. So maybe he’s color-blind, too, to go with his other defects. But you’re evading the point, honey. So tell me.” Ellen sat on the big, comfortable-looking bed. “Who is it? The guy who was throttling you or the other one?”
Federica blinked, but she knew that Ellen knew her too well to be put off. “The one who was throttling me,” she said grudgingly.
“And who was the other one? The blond. The one I…”
“Shot?”
“Er…yes. Wyatt was his name, wasn’t it?” Ellen asked casually.
“Wyatt Earp Sutter.” Federica smiled. “Apparently their mom is a Western history buff.”
“And so what does…Wyatt Earp do? Not a gunslinger, I take it.”
“No, I think he’d leave all the gunslinging to you, Ellen.”
“Federica…” Ellen said threateningly.
Federica felt like laughing for the first time in an hour. She squeezed Ellen’s shoulders. “I shouldn’t be teasing someone who came rushing so…so…womanfully to my rescue. I’m really grateful, El. I don’t know much about Wyatt, actually, except that he’s a nice guy. He’s the town treasurer and…” Federica’s brow furrowed, “…and he brews beer and…”
“And?”
“And…I guess that’s it.”
“That’s
it
? He brews beer?”
“Yeah. Occasionally. And makes wood benches. He’s a real…relaxed type.”
“Oh.” Ellen’s shoulders slumped in dejection and she sighed. “A bum. What a pity. He’s a looker. So what’s the story on the other one, the sheriff? The one who was throttling you.”
“Oh. Jack.” Federica fell silent.
“Except he wasn’t throttling you,” Ellen prompted.
“Er…no. Not really.”
“He was…”
Federica sighed. “He was kissing me.”
“Hallelujah!” Ellen threw two brightly colored silk shirts in the air. “Finally! I never thought I’d see the day. It’s about time you got over that jerk Russell.”
“Poor Russell.” Federica picked up the shirts and folded them. “I feel sorry for the guy.”
“
Sorry
?” Ellen exclaimed. “What do you mean sorry? He dated you just so he could get a promotion to head of the Engineering Department and then when he got it, he dumped you. What’s the matter with you, Federica? How can you feel sorry for someone like that?”
“Well, his promotion means that now he works directly under Uncle Frederick.”
“Oh.” Ellen thought about that. “Poor Russell.”
They smiled at each other. “I’m so glad to see you, Ellen,” Federica said.
“Me too, kid. Particularly since I had visions of finding your body by the roadside. Eaten by wolves.”
“I’m not too sure there are wolves in California, El.”
“Yeah, that’s what the nerd said. So how come you’re not happier about this…Jack? That’s his name, isn’t it? The sheriff?”
“And the mayor.” Federica searched for another tissue. “It’s very complicated.”
“Tell me about it. Life in the twenty-first century.”
“It’s not that—”
“So what is it? Is he married?”
“He was. He’s not anymore.”
“So? Jack seems to have all his limbs. Most of his teeth. One head. A job. What else can a girl ask for?”
“Oh, El…” Federica sniffled and held her tissue to her nose. “Oh, El,” she wailed, “it’s just
awful
.”
Ellen pulled Federica down beside her and gave her a handkerchief. “Come on, hon, how bad can it be?”
Federica blew her nose. “Horrible.”
Ellen waited patiently.
“I’m going to have to cream him,” Federica said finally.
“Okay, this I want to hear. Shoot.”
“I’m here to negotiate the sale of a piece of property called Harry’s Folly.” Federica felt a pang just hearing the name. “It’s this gorgeous old mansion a few miles up in the hills around here. It’s worth several million dollars but it’s like a ripe plum for the taking because it doesn’t seem to belong to anyone but the township of Carson’s Bluff. There’s over $100,000 in tax burden, which makes it onerous property and saleable to the highest bidder.”
“So?” Ellen handed Federica another clean handkerchief. “The town stands to gain from the sale, then, doesn’t it?”
“You don’t understand, El. This place is…magic. It’s a real community. Everyone gets on with everyone else. Horace Milton lives here. Rachel Douglas lives here. It’s…” Federica shrugged.
“Magic,” Ellen supplied. “Okay. Carson’s Bluff is a real nifty place. So?”
“So,” Federica drew in a big breath. “Imagine what will happen when Mansion Enterprises takes over. And we
will
take over. You know what we’re like. We’re a juggernaut. We’ll take over the Folly, take over the town. Our executives will move in. The town will lose its soul. And I’ll lose Jack.”
Ellen reflected for a long moment. “Looks like you’re in trouble, Federica,” she said finally. “Big time.”
EMAIL FROM: [email protected]
Dear Mr. Cobb,
My name is Emanuel Lucosi, and I’m the new director of the Muau Loi Mansion Inn. We have just put the head of the Mansion Inn Engineering Department on the red-eye flight to San Francisco. He will be arriving on Flight DA 3506 at 6 a.m. local time. Quite frankly, Mr. Cobb, we’re not too sure that having Mr. Russell White here has been that much of a help. He has been distracted and careless in his time here. Thank God, the lava flow stopped of its own accord this morning, otherwise we would have had a disaster on our hands. Mr. White’s lava break lasted about two minutes.
This afternoon, Mr. White was mugged in an unusually violent incident, which left him with a broken arm. Believe me, Mr. Cobb, violence is almost unknown here. Mr. White’s behavior has been most peculiar. He refused to press charges with the local police and muttered something about “repayments”, and then proceeded to book the first flight back. Something tells me he knew the identity of the mugger or muggers.
The lava flow problem is now over—no thanks to Mr. White—but I seriously question Mansion Enterprises’ recruiting techniques.
Sincerely,
Emanuel Lucosi
INTERNAL MEMO: Mansion Enterprises
From: Paul Cobb
To: Willard Greenlee
Willard, I’ve just received word from Mr. Mansion in Prague that we are to proceed with the purchase of the Carson’s Bluff property and that it is to be given top priority. Would you please advise Russell White? I’ll be out of the office tomorrow. Has anyone heard anything from Federica?
Paul
EMAIL FROM: [email protected]
Hey Russ,
I understand you’re on your way back to SF, minus the use of an arm. Don’t say I didn’t warn you. You must have known Gambetti worked for IBM (Italian Business Men) and that you don’t mess around with those guys. You’re lucky it was your arm that was broken and not your head.
All is not lost. You’re in luck, my friend. Word has just now come from On High that the Carson’s Bluff deal is now back in the pipeline—go figure bigwigs—and not only in the pipeline, but in with a vengeance. It’s been given top priority. I’d get myself off to Carson’s Bluff—
fast
—if I was you.
Don’t ask me why, but I’m willing to bail you out. I’ll lend you what you need, at the going bank rate on the day of transfer of the money, plus five percent, with the proviso that you secure the Carson’s Bluff deal, since it means a big bonus for me. Come back from Carson’s Bluff with the deed in your hand and your troubles are over.
Will
Federica raised her glass of Plonk against the setting sun, admired its ruby color and drained it. She sighed and leaned back against Jack. They were sitting on the veranda, engaging in Federica’s favorite activity—watching the sun go down over Carson’s Bluff. Jack was sitting on the top step and Federica was sitting one step down, sheltered in the vee of his legs.
Dinner had been elegant and delicious, courtesy of Stella, served on Lilly’s plates and heated in the microwave. Smoked breast of duck, fresh steamed green beans, whole wheat bread and cherry cobbler.
“I didn’t realize that camping out could be so much fun,” Federica said contentedly. “And so elegant. I thought camping was all about hardship and being damp and uncomfortable and trying to light fires with a magnifying glass.”
“You’ve never camped out?” Jack’s voice was a pleasant rumble above her head.
“No, never. I went to summer camp once, in England.” Federica winced at the memory of her very lonely fourteenth summer. “But mainly they taught us tennis and computer science.” She lifted her empty glass.
“You’re lucky you didn’t have to camp out with my dad.” Jack poured some more Plonk into Federica’s glass. “Now
that
was hardship. My dad is the gentlest of men, a really relaxed guy except when he’s camping, and then he just morphs straight into Attila the Hun. Wyatt and I used to dread it when he’d get that look in his eye. It meant he wanted to go out in the wilderness and commune with nature and bond with his sons. All his sons wanted to do was watch
Charlie’s Angels
reruns when we were little, and later on find a girl willing to make out on Saturday nights.”
“Sounds tough,” Federica commiserated.
“You don’t know the half of it. Dad would allow a tent, a knife, a box of matches, a hook and a line. And that was it. We’d have to live off the land for a week, ten days. Wyatt and I used to dream about burgers and corndogs while we skinned rabbits.” Jack smiled at the memory, a part of him wondering if he’d ever have a son of his own to torment. Maybe he wouldn’t inflict camping in the mud or trying to light a fire out of wet kindling. Maybe he’d just inflict baby boomer torture—a steady diet of Beatles and Rolling Stones.
“Life is hard.” Federica leaned her head back against his thigh.
He buried his hand in her hair, savoring the soft curls. “Isn’t it?”