by Leslie Nagel
He tied her thick red curls with a ribbon. “What are you going to do?”
She stood carefully, placing exploratory weight on her injured ankle. Usable, but only just. “I’m going to find out what they’re up to, and I’m going to stop it.” She checked her watch. “It’s almost noon. The Planning Commission meets at four o’clock. We need proof, and we need it fast.”
“What kind of proof?” Dmitri’s eyes widened with delight. “And did someone say ‘we’?”
She grinned. “Frankie’s benched, so you’re up, stud. You ever hear of Yamato and Drake?”
Charley sat at her desk and fired up her laptop. She typed in the name of the engineering firm she’d seen on Holland’s land plan. When the home page opened, she found herself staring at a familiar face: weathered features, a thick head of silver hair, and wearing, not a ball cap, but a red shirt with the black and white Y&D logo.
“That’s Duncan Drake!” she exclaimed. “He was in the woods this morning when Sean and I were leaving Mulbridge House.”
“So what?” Dmitri asked. “I mean, these are the guys Holland hired to survey her property.”
“They designed Oak Bridge Estates,” Charley agreed. “But Drake and his man weren’t surveying the Mulbridge land, where the development is supposedly going to be.” She slapped her desk with a mixture of triumph and indignation. “They were standing on the property line. They were walking and pointing south, away from the house.”
“Who lives on that side?”
“Nobody lives there. That’s Gallagher’s Island. Remember the orange and green? Damn it!” she exploded, angrier by the moment. “Don’t you see what this means?” At her friend’s blank stare, she continued, “Either Holland or Jamie Mulbridge—or maybe they’re in it together; hell, I don’t know. What I do know is that someone in that family must own Gallagher’s Island already, and probably has for a while—you don’t pay a major firm to do work on land that belongs to someone else. Not only that, but Holland had dinner with Drake on Wednesday night. I suppose they could’ve been discussing Phase One, but—Okay, I am now officially pissed.”
“So, it is a conspiracy.” Dmitri rubbed his hands. “What shall we do about it?”
Charley switched off her computer. “If plans for Phase Two exist, we’re going to get them. The only problem is that Drake saw me this morning. If he recognizes me, it’s game over. And with Frankie sick…” Suddenly, inspiration struck. “Didn’t you say your sister was an actress?”
It took them the better part of an hour to run the gauntlet of Lawrence and her father. While she’d kept the gory details of her morning from her family, she hadn’t been able to conceal her injuries. She’d made up a story about slipping on wet pavement, a pathetically weak tale she had a feeling neither of them bought for a minute. Convincing Bobby that she felt up to leaving the house again wouldn’t be easy, but with the clock ticking on the land vote, she had no choice.
Controlling her impatience, she dutifully forked down the grilled salmon and pineapple on a bed of fresh spinach. She managed to walk without limping, barely, and Bobby reluctantly accepted her plans to “go to the movies” with her friend.
“I worry about my girl,” he said, pale blue eyes searching her face.
“With good reason, it seems.” Lawrence’s mild tone carried an edge, and Charley avoided his steady gaze.
“I feel a lot better,” she insisted. “The fresh air will do me good.”
Ever since he’d saved her life, Dmitri had rated favored-guest status at the Carpenter home. As she returned from clearing plates to the kitchen, she found the three men talking in low voices and snickering about Lord knew what. They fell silent as she entered, their faces those of little boys caught putting a thumbtack on Teacher’s chair.
“Ready?” she asked, brows raised. “Or do you need more time to plot the overthrow of the free world?”
“All set.” Dmitri winked at Bobby and rose. “Talk soon, gents.”
“Daddy?” She narrowed her eyes, laughing when he mimed zipping his lips. She threw her arms around his neck and kissed his cheek. “Love you,” she whispered, hit by a sudden surge of affection that had her blinking away tears.
“Love you back,” he replied, patting her hand with his good one. “Now run along. I’ve got work to do.”
“You want to tell me what that was about?” she asked. “And do you mind driving? I left my car at work.”
“Nope, and not at all. Where to?”
“First stop is Old Hat to collect Vanessa.”
Five minutes later, Dmitri’s sister piled into the backseat carrying an enormous bright green shopping bag. “Heddy and I were remerchandising the floor when you called, so I found what we need in no time. Am I allowed to ask where we’re heading, Best New Boss Ever?”
Charley examined the bag’s contents with approval. “Perfect, and yes, you may.” She powered up her smartphone and opened the browser to display the website she’d examined earlier. “Yamato and Drake are located south of town on the interstate, at least thirty minutes both ways.” She tapped the dash clock. “One o’clock. We’ve got three hours.”
As they drove past Prescott’s, Charley noted it was still closed. Where was Pamela? Could she possibly be involved in Calvin’s death? She shook her head, recalling a diligent worker, a devoted friend, a woman almost laid out by the shocking loss of the most important person in her life. Besides, Pamela had access to those sales records; she wouldn’t need to steal them. And the idea that she would involve herself with Benjy for any reason…In the cold light of day, Charley’s wild speculations seemed preposterous.
While Dmitri drove, Charley pulled up a popular satellite image app, and then one that showed a street view of Yamato and Drake. She zoomed in and examined the modern glass façade with interest. Just visible through the tinted two-story window was a reception desk manned by a shadowy figure.
“Okay,” she said thoughtfully as she considered all she’d learned about the scary and imperious Holland Mulbridge and her apparently underperforming younger brother. “Here’s the plan.”
They pulled in to the parking lot at one thirty-six. Dmitri cruised, searching for a spot that afforded a vantage point of the reception desk. She’d started to send Sean a text message asking him to call her when she realized she didn’t have his cellphone number. Cursing at the delay, she hurriedly dialed the main administrative number at the Safety Building and asked the receptionist to relay an important message to the city’s newest Planning Commission member. Stressing the urgency of her need to speak with him as soon as possible, Charley could only hope Sean got the message and called her back before the meeting began. They were running out of time.
Dmitri backed his car into a spot that left them facing the glass-fronted entrance. A young man in a red polo shirt sat behind the reception desk, talking into a headset and tapping at a keyboard.
“It’s a guy, so I guess I’m up. Your gear’s in the bag, Brother.” Vanessa checked her lipstick in the rearview and tousled her hair. “I am sexy, I am charming, I am desperate.” She reached for the door handle, but Dmitri laid a detaining hand on her arm.
“Actually, little one,” he said slowly, eyes fixed on the distant figure, “I think it’s still me.”
As Vanessa donned the disguise and Charley enjoyed the view of Dmitri’s impeccable black leather–clad backside sashaying toward the entrance, her cell rang.
“How are you feeling?” she asked without preamble. Best friends didn’t waste time on small talk.
“Ravenous, actually.” Frankie was speaking around a mouthful of something. “Whatever was ailing me, I got rid of it. The hard way, if you know what I mean.” She swallowed. “Enough about me. You’re okay? Reports have been alarming, to say the least. Is Dmitri still there? Want me to come over?”
Charley watched Dmitri fling open the glass door and take possession of the lobby, a lead actor stepping into the spotlight. The young man at the reception desk glance
d up. As he took in the vision in black prowling toward his workstation like a cheetah stalking a wounded gazelle, his mouth fell open. “We’re not at the house.”
“You’re not?”
“We are in the field, old chum.”
“No fair,” Frankie grumbled. “How can you investigate without me?”
“You’re sick, remember?” Dmitri propped a hip on the edge of the reception desk, smiling coyly and talking a mile a minute. As the receptionist gazed up at him with a foolish grin, Dmitri flipped his fall of silken black hair back from his face and laughed, maintaining eye contact and leaning several inches farther into his victim’s personal space. The receptionist swayed forward involuntarily, lips parted, tongue all but hanging out, his body language unmistakable. Charley almost felt sorry for the guy.
“Here I go,” Vanessa murmured. Wearing a brown windbreaker and ball cap and carrying a clipboard, she strode purposefully toward the entrance.
“Tell me what’s going on,” Frankie demanded. “Maybe I can help.”
“Maybe you can.” Charley explained where they were and what they were after. “Gallagher’s Island has to be the future location of Oak Bridge Estates, Phase Two. Whichever Mulbridge is driving this deal, I’m betting they had their engineers do at least a preliminary survey or layout of some kind. If we can get our hands on that—”
“You’re planning to burst into the commission meeting and reveal their evil plot in the nick of time?” Frankie laughed. “I’m grabbing a shower. I wouldn’t miss this for the world.”
“Before you do,” Charley said, as the receptionist glanced with ill-concealed annoyance at Vanessa, dismissing her query with a brief head shake before turning eagerly back to Dmitri, “I need you to check something online—my phone is too small for what I need.” Vanessa tapped her clipboard insistently, Dmitri continued to lay it on thick, and the man finally stood with an air of impatience. With a starry-eyed smile for his new friend, he led this aggravating courier through a rear door. Dmitri turned and sent Charley a double thumbs-up.
“Command me.”
Charley smiled. Good old Frankie. “Can you go onto the Montgomery County Auditor’s website and search property records?”
“You want me to look up the Gallagher property?”
“I do. I don’t know if it even has an address, so start with Mulbridge House.” Charley quoted the Runnymede address from memory. “Then search parcel ID numbers before and after that one.”
“Hang on a sec.” Charley heard the staccato music of computer keys clacking. “What am I looking for, exactly?”
“First of all, the parcel ID is how the auditor issues property tax bills, so that should give us a current owner. If either Holland or Jamie is listed, we’ll have proof positive of who’s involved. Second—” Charley stopped, remembering Sean’s frustratingly vague suspicions, as well as his warnings about poking into land records. She wished he’d been more specific about the nature of the threat. Surely Frankie would be safe enough visiting government websites and viewing publicly available records, wouldn’t she? She rubbed her temple. Keep it together, Carpenter. The shock of her ordeal this morning was making her paranoid.
“You there, Carpo?”
“I’m here,” Charley said firmly. “I want to see if anyone’s filed any permit requests to do anything to that land. If you find one, try to discover who approved it. Digitized scans of every plot plan are stored online. See if you can find a time stamp, a signature, anything.”
“Got it.”
Charley started to click off, then added, “And Frankie? Don’t tell anyone what you’re doing, okay? At least until we—”
She stopped abruptly, her attention riveted on the sleek black town car that had just pulled up to the main doors of Yamato and Drake. A liveried driver leapt out and hurried to open the rear passenger door. To Charley’s horror, Holland stepped onto the pavement.
“Oh, no!” she exclaimed. “What’s she doing here?”
“Who?” Frankie asked in alarm. “What’s going on?”
“It’s Holland.” Charley watched helplessly as the CEO of Mulbridge Shipping spoke briefly to the driver before turning her three-inch stilettos toward the entrance. Because of the intervening bulk of the town car, she could no longer see Dmitri. Would he recognize Holland? Even if he did, the moment she identified herself to the receptionist, they would be busted.
The plan had been for Vanessa to pick up the “latest version” of Phase Two for the Planning Commission meeting. Since their paperwork was as fake as Vanessa’s uniform, Dmitri’s role was to distract the receptionist so that he’d simply hand over the plans without asking questions. Seen in a certain light, Charley thought uneasily, what they were doing amounted to theft. Knowing Holland, she wouldn’t hesitate to call the cops.
“Shouldn’t she be at the Safety Building, parking her broom and getting ready for the big vote?” Frankie asked indignantly.
“She’s still got a couple of hours.” Charley glanced at the clock and felt her tension level shoot up several degrees. “I’ve got to warn him. Call me when you find out anything, Shorty.” She clicked off and dialed Dmitri’s cell. An instant later the distinctive sound of Beyoncé declaring that “you shudda put a ring on it” emanated from under the driver’s seat. Charley reached down and fished out Dmitri’s cellphone.
“Oh, for pity’s sake.” She reached for the door handle, determined to march—well, limp—into that lobby and unleash some damage control. If they were lucky, she could distract Holland long enough for her friends to escape. But before she could set a foot on the ground, the car doors flew open. Vanessa tossed a tightly rolled tube of papers into her lap as Dmitri slid smoothly into the driver’s seat.
“Shall we?” He shot her a brilliant smile as the engine roared to life. Charley glanced back at the entrance just in time to glimpse a red-faced Holland stumbling onto the sidewalk in a most undignified hurry, her sleek blond head whipping left and right. A moment later they rounded the building and were gone.
Vanessa pulled off the brown cap and shook out her long black hair. “I’m definitely going to love this job.”
While Dmitri drove, Charley slid off the rubber bands securing the roll and unfurled two documents. A quick glance at the top sheet confirmed this was the same diagram she’d spied in Holland’s hotel suite: Oak Bridge Estates, with its fourteen lots. In the corner she found again the legend phase one. As she rerolled it and let it slide to the floor, revealing the second drawing, she gasped.
She held a colored site rendering similar to the first one. The difference was that in this picture, Phase One filled only a third of the map. The majority of the acreage was titled oak bridge estates, phase two. A long road labeled pony run branched off Shadetree Circle, the street comprising Phase One. Pony Run traced a bold course much farther south, curving around and through the Gallagher property. The new street was lined with numbered boxes that filled every available inch, boxes beginning with the number 15 and ending at 58.
“Forty-four additional lots,” Charley murmured. “If the prices are the same, say three hundred thousand dollars each, that’s…” She stared out the windshield, calculating rapidly. “Holy crow. We’re talking over thirteen million dollars.”
A few minutes later Dmitri pulled in to one of the few remaining parking spaces behind the Shops of Park Avenue.
“The public gathers,” he observed. Knots of people, many speaking together in angry tones, were hurrying toward the Safety Building.
Charley glanced at the clock: two thirty-seven. “Come on,” she said, gathering up the plans and limping toward her employee entrance.
“What are we doing?” Dmitri asked as he and Vanessa followed. “If we don’t go now, we’ll be lucky to find places inside the Council chamber.”
“We’ve got time yet.” Charley unlocked the steel door. “This is a lot to process, and I don’t want to make an idiot out of myself in front of half the city. Plus, I want to see if Frank
ie found anything. Proof that Holland or Jamie Mulbridge owns—” She stopped. “Ellen? Hey, there. Hi, girls.”
Ellen Meade held two small girls firmly by the hand. She halted, frowning. “Charley,” she said coldly. “I suppose I’m not surprised you aren’t going to the meeting.”
“But I am,” Charley began. “I’m trying to…” She trailed off. How much could she say? She gazed at Jess and Penny Meade, thinking of the diagram in her hand, remembering Sean’s car inching along Runnymede’s hand-laid bricks. The full import of the plan sank in. Phase Two might provide a bump to the overall Oakwood economy, but it would essentially destroy a lovely, historic neighborhood. And who knew what the impact on Houk Stream and Hills and Dales Park would be?
With all that Ellen and the other neighbors had at stake, what if Charley promised to stop today’s vote, and then failed? What if everything she learned still wasn’t enough? She couldn’t raise this woman’s hopes until she knew more. She needed to explain either everything or nothing. And she definitely didn’t have time for option two.
And what of the impact of Phase Two on her own future? Small-town gossip was never more dangerous than when people had a perceived injury and an axe to grind. Pass or fail, her little shop would become just as much a casualty of the Mulbridges’ land proposal as Calvin Prescott.
The only way to clear her name in the eyes of the Oakwood community, to silence all rumor and doubt, was to do it publically and in a big way. She had to walk into that meeting with the proof that would shut Holland and Jamie down.
“I’ll get there as soon as I can,” she finished lamely. Without another word, Ellen tugged at her daughters’ hands and strode off.