"Why, Ms. Blake, I don't think you entirely trust me."
"I don't entirely trust anybody, Mr. Inger, nothing personal."
"Not even people who save your life?"
"Not even."
He let that drop, probably for the best, and said, "I'll meet you at the lake in an hour."
"Sure."
"Thank you for coming, Ms. Blake."
"I owe you. You've made sure I'm aware of that."
"You sound defensive, Ms. Blake. I did not mean to offend you."
I sighed. "I'm not offended, Mr. Inger. I just don't like owing people."
"Visiting Mr. Oliver today will clear the slate between us. I promise that."
"I'll hold you to that, Inger."
"I'll meet you in an hour," he said.
"I'll be there," I said. We hung up. "Damn." I'd forgotten I hadn't gotten to eat yet today. If I'd remembered, I'd have said two hours. Now I'd have to literally grab something on the way. I hated eating in the car. But, heh, what's a little mess between friends? Or even between people who've saved your life? Why did it bother me so much that I owed Inger?
Because he was a right-wing fruitcake. A zealot. I didn't like doing business with zealots. And I certainly didn't like owing my life to one.
Ah, well; I'd meet him, then we'd be square. He had said so. Why didn't I believe it?
Chapter 29
Chip-Away Lake was about half an acre of man-made water and thin, raised man-made bank. There was a little shed that sold bait and food. It was surrounded by a flat gravel parking lot. A late-model car sat near the road with a sign that read, "For Sale." A pay fishing lake and a used car lot combined; how clever.
An expanse of grass spread out to the right of the parking lot. A small, ramshackle shed and what looked like the remains of some large industrial barbecue. A fringe of woods edged the grass, rising higher into a wooded hill. The Meramec River edged the left side of the lake. It seemed funny to have free-flowing water so close to the man-made lake.
There were only three cars in the parking lot this cool autumn afternoon. Beside a shiny burgundy Chrysler Le Baron stood Inger. A handful of fishermen had bundled up and put poles in the water. Fishing must be good to get people out in the cold.
I parked beside Inger's car. He strode towards me smiling, hand out like a real estate salesman who was happy I'd come to see the property. Whatever he was selling, I didn't want. I was almost sure of that.
"Ms. Blake, so glad you came." He clasped my hand with both of his, hearty, good-natured, insincere.
"What do you want, Mr. Inger?"
His smile faded around the edges. "I don't know what you mean, Ms. Blake."
"Yes, you do."
"No, I really don't."
I stared into his puzzled face. Maybe I spent too much time with slimeballs. After a while you forget that not everyone in the world is a slimeball. It just saves so much time to assume the worst.
"I'm sorry, Mr. Inger. I... I've been spending too much time looking for criminals. It makes you cynical."
He still looked puzzled.
"Never mind, Mr. Inger; just take me to see this Oliver."