not in a great mood, so I just reply coolly, “They’re public records, and I’m paying for the copies. I’d like them now, please.”
“Well, I’m about to take my lunch break.”
“It’s three p.m.”
“I didn’t get a chance to eat earlier.”I stare at him steadily.
He heaves an exaggerated sigh. “I don’t see what the rush is.”
He just stands there for a long time, then finally slouches off to fetch them. He proceeds to copy them at the slowest possible pace, until I suggest that maybe we should call the head of the planning department and ask him to come down and help, since this is obviously more than Randy can handle, at which point he suddenly proceeds to move at double speed, his eyes smoldering with resentment.
It’s not until I leave the office, with the plans clutched in my hot little hands, that I remember that he’s Murray’s cousin.
Am I being paranoid? I don’t know who to believe anymore. What Donovan told me has shattered my ability to trust. I still boil with anger that he thought it was all right to let me believe in my mother’s lies – for seven years.
Well, it’s not entirely true that I don’t know who to trust, I guess. I trust Aunt Fernanda. She may have been a crabby old bitch all summer, but she’s always been brutally honest. Still is. I trust Pamela. I mostly trust my family, in that they wouldn’t deliberately lie to me, but I know how desperately they need this deal. I could imagine them ignoring warning signs, maybe not on purpose and maybe not admitting to themselves that’s what they were doing, but I could definitely see it. After all, neither Uncle Vito nor Rocco has gotten back to me with any answers to my questions about Ferguson.
I take the plans back to the office with me and spend the rest of the afternoon doing research. I look up the types of building materials they’ve listed, and the cost of those materials. I research the costs of construction for these types of buildings, and the estimated sale prices of the buildings. When I compare them to the price they’re paying us, I see that my suspicions were right.
We knew all along that they were paying us a very generous price for the undeveloped land, which has zero infrastructure in place. No roads, no existing power grid, no wells. And looking at the costs of construction and everything else that will have to go into place, I can’t see how they’re going to be making a significant profit. Certainly not enough to justify that purchase price.
I lean back in my chair, massaging my temples, and try to imagine what they could be up to.
The office phone rings, but it says unknown number. I ignore it and let it go to voicemail.
I go on the Ferguson company website and try to find a picture of Mr. Ferguson so I can run an image search on him. There are none. Nothing but stock photos of happy, smiling families standing in front of beautiful homes.
Donovan and I have discussed his odd, faint accent. And when we had that dinner, I noticed that he neatly parried any questions about his past. We didn’t press at the time, because it didn’t seem necessary or relevant.
And what was with those big hulking bodyguards? Donovan said that wasn’t an unusual thing for very wealthy men. I guess? I don’t know, but when I think about it, between Liam’s flashy suit and his goons, there was a definite whiff of crime syndicate there.
I call the Ferguson company and reach a chipper secretary. I leave a message asking for a return call, and let them know who I am and that I’d like the names of the previous subdivisions they’ve developed.
The phone rings again. I let it go to voicemail again. This time, my mother’s voice starts speaking.
“Sienna, I know you’re there! Pick up the phone!”
I snatch it up.
“Linda?” I’m teetering between fury, relief that she’s not dead, and more fury. “Where the hell have you been?”
“Excuse me.” Her voice goes sharp. “Since when do you speak to your mother that way?”
“Since you stood me up on my birthday, broke your year’s lease, failed to show up to work and made a bunch of people scramble to cover your shifts, and vanished without a word to anybody. And stayed missing for weeks.”
“We’ll talk about that later,” she says briskly.
“No, I think we’ll talk about that now, if you