Murder in Waiting - Lynn Cahoon Page 0,48
think about is all right with me.” He squeezed my hand. “I appreciate you.”
“That’s nice to know.” I felt warm and loved. I was about to reciprocate with a long kiss, but a knock on the front door interrupted us.
He stood and glanced at the kabobs. “At least it’s portable.”
“Don’t jinx us. It’s just a salesman. Or Esmeralda wanting to borrow a cup of sugar.” I moved the platter closer to the middle of the table. I didn’t want Emma to think that the fact we had walked away meant she could help herself. I stood at the edge of the kitchen so I could see both the door and the table. Emma put her head between her front paws.
I had a bad feeling about our visitor.
Chapter 13
When Greg opened the door at first, I couldn’t see anyone; then he stepped back and Mike Masters walked into our living room. He smiled and waved at me. I returned to the table and moved the food onto the cabinet and the kabobs into the microwave. They just might stay warm if our uninvited guest didn’t stay too long. I filled a fresh glass with iced tea and took it and mine out to the living room. “Greg, this is the writer I was telling you about. Mike Masters. Mike, how do you like your tea?”
“Black is fine. Thank you.” He reached out and shook Greg’s hand. “Look, I know you all have been busy here, what with Frank’s death and all, but I wanted to talk to you again about the Mission Wall. We don’t want a piece of California history to be forgotten for centuries again. The wall waited for years to be found, and when you took the steps to preserve it, that meant something.”
Greg motioned to the chair and the iced tea I’d set down in front of it. “It meant Jill’s been put in limbo for the last four or five years. That’s all. Sit down, Mr. Masters. We’ll hear you out, but ultimately, it’s Jill’s house and her decision.”
Mike sat and sipped his tea. “This is good. I’ve been grabbing one at the shop before I start my afternoon writing session. Your barista is a real character.”
“Deek has his moments.” I sat down next to Greg on the couch. “Look, I’m not sure I’m refiling the application.”
“Don’t tell me you’re selling to that developer!” Mike set down the glass on the coaster a little too hard. “A piece of history is worth a lot more to South Cove than a water park.”
“I didn’t say I was selling to anyone. And how do you know about the developer?” I leaned forward, watching his reaction.
“I’m a writer. I watch everything. I overhear people talking.” He squirmed a little in the chair.
When Greg raised an eyebrow, Mike blushed. “Okay, so I eavesdrop. It’s not illegal.”
“Illegal, no, but it’s rude.” Greg didn’t move from his spot. He had his arm draped casually around the couch. He looked relaxed, but I’d taken a body language class. For men, taking up as much space as possible was a power move.
“I’ll agree with that. I just hate to see guys like that win. They come into these small towns, promise the moon, and when the parks don’t make money, they leave. And the park falls apart with disuse. They’re like those frackers in the west. All they want is the money. When the money runs out, they’re gone.” He took another sip of his tea.
“I said I wasn’t selling. In fact, I’ve told everyone I’m not selling.” I glanced at Greg. “They can’t make me sell, right? I mean, the mayor had been pressuring Miss Emily to sell, but that was because of the way she kept up the place. Now the lawn’s all green and I’ve painted the house.”
“No, honey, they can’t make you sell.” Greg squeezed my shoulder. Then he focused on Mike. “Look, I get it. You want to include the wall in your next book. If we get anxious about the city trying to push this on us—I mean, on Jill—she might be more agreeable to letting you include the story. But they aren’t going to intimidate anyone, not in my town. And neither are you.”
Mike held up his hands. “I’m not the bad guy here. I’m trying to help. Look, I heard the developer talking to his girlfriend. He said that the process is working and he should have this deal sealed up in a few days.