by Cassie Page
Olivia headed down the hill towards the flats of Darling Valley to the more modest neighborhood where she lived. She had major guilt pangs about having left Tuesday on her own while she attended to these meetings, but she couldn’t help it. She’d make it up to her with some fun the rest of the day. Her friend was champing at the bit for her return. She was quite sure of that. But first she had one more stop.
Chapter Nine: Win One For The Gipper
9:1
Olivia chose the diner Cody had introduced her to out near the lake for her meeting with Roger Greentree, the spokesperson for the protesters. Without a conference room or comfortable office space, she normally she held casual business meetings at The Salted Caramel. But she realized that the trendy café could offend protesters who might have minimum wage jobs. This diner catered to a working class clientele. She figured the atmosphere would put a representative of Native American interests at ease.
She arrived early to ensure they had a quiet table near the back where the rowdy biker crowd that sometimes frequented the diner would not disturb them.
“Black coffee and a menu,” she said when the waitress asked for her order.
She slid the menu to the place setting opposite her, sending the message that Roger could order a meal if he wished, on her.
Several minutes later Roger Greentree arrived, recognizable as a tribe elder by his grey ponytail and beaded headband. She offered her brightest smile as he strode towards her. As the small table made standing awkward, she merely extended her hand. “So nice to meet you Mr. Greentree.”
The man slapped a manila file folder on the table and pulled out the vacant chair. No smile, no hello, no returned handshake. Olivia kept her smile beaming, inwardly reminding herself that she did not know tribal customs and perhaps shaking a woman’s hand was forbidden.
She edged the menu towards Greentree. “Please, whatever you like. You’re my guest.”
Greentree sneered at her. “Guest? Do you think we’re having a party, Miss Granville? This is a business meeting. I’m not your guest.”
The man’s attitude caught Olivia flat-footed. She hadn’t expected such hostility. She had to mend fences or this protest would get ugly. “I didn’t mean to offend you, I was merely trying to be hospitable.”
Greentree stared around at their corner of the diner. “Is that what you call this place? Hospitable? Why are we meeting in this greasy spoon, sitting in the back where no one can see us? You trying to hide us? Afraid the press might come sniffing when they hear a good story? You really think I’d eat the garbage they serve here?”
Olivia’s back was up. She hated being misinterpreted, but she had to bite her tongue to keep from snapping back in self-defense. “I just thought it would be convenient. Centrally located.”
“Is that so? I’m surprised you were able to find your way to the wrong side of the tracks. I doubt this is your usual haunt, Miss Granville.”
This meeting was going sideways fast and she had to right the boat. “Please, call me Olivia. I’ve been here before. That’s why I thought it would be agreeable.”
Greentree outweighed Olivia by at least a hundred pounds, most of it muscle. He folded his arms on the table, and with his square jaw and grim line of a mouth, he presented himself as a formidable adversary.
“Miss Granville,” he said between clenched teeth. “Let’s get something straight right now. My people are deeply offended at your lack of sensitivity to our traditions.”
Olivia put her cup back in its saucer, choosing her words carefully. “Mr. Greentree. What have I done to offend you, other than call you to set up a meeting? I’m sorry if the venue doesn’t suit you. I would have been happy to meet at a location of your choice and in the future, I’ll be sure to consult you.”
She thought he was going to spit at her, he looked so disgusted.
“I can’t even count the number of ways that statement offends me. We’ll start at the end and work our way to the beginning. You seem to assume you are in charge of setting our meetings. In the future, I will tell you when and where we will meet. Notice I didn’t say ‘consult you.’ That you feign ignorance of our needs and traditions seems inconceivable to me coming from a supposedly educated woman.”
Making nice was not getting her anywhere. Patience, she told herself. See, if you were meditating regularly this guy wouldn’t get under your skin. She made one more effort at a civil response, plastering a smile back on her face.
“I assure you, Mr. Greentree, I have no idea what you are talking about. If an insult was taken for some act that was committed since you launched your protest, I assure you, none was intended. I’ve dealt with activist groups on other projects and I assure you our negotiations have always ended satisfactorily for both sides. I’m sure we can work this out.”
He pushed his file away and leaned forward. She was sure the violation of her personal space was intentional. She had a hard time taking her eyes off the manila folder. Was it an injunction? A restraining order? It couldn’t be good news.
Greentree spit his words at her. “Whose idea was it to serve coffee and donuts at the site? Yours? And the medical unit?”
He said it as though she had offered him rat poison.
Truly perplexed, Olivia said, “What’s wrong with that?”
“Miss Granville we are well into the 21st century. Surely you know that western food, the grease and sugar you all eat, are killing indigenous people. Have you any idea of the rates of obesity, diabetes and heart disease among us since you introduced us to that garbage?” He made it sound as thought Olivia had personally forced a poisonous diet on Native Americans.
With a sense of horror, she had a vision of a table Scott would have set up featuring items from The Salted Caramel. Croissants, breakfast pastries with whipped cream or soft cheese, scones with pots of jam and butter. That’s what he was talking about.
“I’m sorry. As I said, no offense was intended. I’ll call Mr. Pierce and have him remove it and replace it with fry bread, fruit, anything you’d like.”
“You don’t get it, do you? We don’t need your crumbs, your fry bread. Do you even know what that is?”
Weakly, Olivia tried to offer an olive branch. “Water? Spring water? Just let us know. And the medical unit? We were showing concern for your safety.”
Greentree raised his voice; Olivia believed it was for the benefit of the other diners. He was enjoying an audience. “You don’t seem to realize that we can take care of ourselves. We don’t need your food or your medicine that will pump us full of drugs and poisons should something untoward happen to us. Our healing traditions go back further than yours do, Miss Granville.”
Here, she had him. At least she thought she did. “But you need to know, Mr. Greentree, that you can’t just plant yourselves outside our property and make your demands. There are laws about public safety. Provisions have to be made in the event of an accident or if one of your people should become ill.”
She thought she was right about that. It sounded right. She sat up straighter in the booth willing some confidence back after Greentree had her on the ropes.
Just then the waitress approached the table, pencil and pad in hand. “What can I do you for, folks. We serve breakfast all day, every day. We’re having a special on waffles, strawberries, whipped cream and sausage. Frozen berries this time of year but still good. Can I get you an order for two?”
Olivia cringed. Could the timing be any worse? Before Greentree could take out his ire on the poor woman, she said, “No thanks. The check will do.”
Meanwhile, Greentree reached into his pocket and withdrew a business card, sliding it across to her.
“Miss Granville, I am a graduate of UC’s Boalt Hall, one of the top law schools in the country. I possess a law degree and a doctorate in both social sciences and legal history. I assure you, I am well aware of the law.”
If she were alone, she’d slap herself on the forehead for her stupidity in not checking out her adversa
ry on the Internet before the meeting. It was something she always did when she was working with other design professionals. How could she have taken the protest for granted? All she could do was capitulate and ask for his demands.
“Our demands should be obvious. We want access to our land. You are to call a halt to the project and remove your machines. You are to restore the sacred trees you cut down. We will set up a site devoted to honoring our ancestors. We will conduct our own search for remains, perform cleansing and healing rituals. We want to set up an altar and have our warriors sit guarding the bones of our ancestors. We want only what we are entitled to.”
Okay, enough, Olivia said to herself. Time for bluff-calling. “You know as well as I do that’s not going to happen. Abandon the museum? Puleeze. I think we’re done here.”
“We’ll see about that,” he said.
Olivia countered, “If you wish to be involved in examining the site for artifacts, contact the state’s environmental people. I assume someone as learned as you can find the phone number.”
With that, Greentree stood up, his chair scraping the floor as he pushed it back. He turned and left, leaving the manila envelope. When he was out of sight, she peeked, needing to see the bomb he was dropping. It was a computer printout of the directions from Santa Rosa to the diner.
Olivia left money for the check and a generous tip. “Well, that can go down as a solid win for our team,” she said to the trio of ketchup, mustard and artificial sweeteners in the center of the table as she headed for the door.
9:2
“Am I holding it correctly, dear?”
Olivia called out, “Tues?”
Both Tuesday and Mrs. Harmon turned to watch Olivia ascend the top step into her kitchen. She dropped her bag at her feet when she saw her prickly tenant sitting at the table holding a set of keys dangling from a string of seed pearls.
“Why, hello, dear,” Mrs. Harmon said.
Did Mrs. Harmon just call Olivia dear? Was she actually sitting in her kitchen? Was Tuesday performing a fortune telling ritual with her?
Tuesday read the look of shock on Olivia’s face. “I ran into Elise when I went downstairs to empty the trash. She was coming out of her apartment to use the washing machine. We started talking and one thing led to another and lo and behold, she’s interested in pendulums.”
Elise? Tuesday was calling Mrs. Harmon Elise? Olivia wouldn’t have even known her tenant’s first name if she hadn’t seen it on the lease agreement. The elderly woman’s formality made Marguerite Fredericks look like a stoner. And Olivia and Elise lived in the same building, shared garbage cans and laundry facilities. Yet she had never invited Olivia to call her by her first name.
All this ran through Olivia’s mind as she said, “Hello,” not sure what to call her tenant now. “Oh yes, the pendulum. I know it. How did you make one?
Tuesday jumped in and explained. “I didn’t have my meatball with me, you know the ball and chain I use to consult my unconscious,”
“Yes,” Olivia said, taking a chair at her table opposite Mrs. Harmon. “I know your meatball.”
Tuesday had often used her pendulum, a round charm that Olivia called a meatball, to help her figure out thorny personal problems.
Olivia gave her guest a puzzled smile. “Somehow, Mrs. Harmon,” no way would she EVER call her tenant Elise unless she was invited, “well, I just never imagined you as the occult type.”
Mrs. Harmon returned a smile. “You’re never too old to learn new things, dear. Why did you know, Olivia, that this little ball and chain can help me find my keys when I lose them?”
Olivia answered with an ingratiating smile of her own. She pointed to the pendulum. “Yes, just look for them hanging from your pearls.”
They all laughed. Olivia had never seen Mrs. Harmon in such a jolly mood. What had Tuesday been feeding her, she wondered.
“Oh no. These aren’t my keys. They belong to Tuesday. She borrowed the pearls I had around my neck and put the keys on them to demonstrate the way a pendulum worked. Then she showed me how to ask it yes or no questions to help me find lost objects.”
Olivia gave a what’s up look across the table to Tuesday. “Yes, I’ve used pendulums. It’s amazing, isn’t it? I have a locket on a chain that I use.”
Mrs. Harmon was getting revved up about the ability to peer into the future. “Look, let me show you. I’m going to think of a question and if the keys swing from side to side the answer is no and if it swings backwards and forwards the answer is yes.”
Olivia smiled. She had tried to explain that she knew about and actually had used the pendulum herself, but her tenant was suddenly like a kid at show and tell. She had to demonstrate for herself.
Mrs. Harmon closed her eyes. “Okay. My question is this. Who is the terrible person who killed that sweet girl’s husband?”
Both Olivia and Tuesday said, “No, no,” in unison.
Tuesday explained, “Remember, Elise? I said a pendulum can only answer a yes or no question.”
Mrs. Harmon’s eyes popped open and she grinned. “Oh, silly me. That’s right. Let me see. Okay, here’s a good one.”
She closed her eyes again as Tuesday had instructed and held the pearls between her thumb and index finger. She concentrated and then said, “Did Olivia kill that nice young man?”
“MRS. HARMON!”
The elderly woman opened her eyes with a look of surprise. “What’s wrong? That’s a yes or no question.”
Olivia was outraged. “How could you think I’d do such a thing? Or that I’d kill anyone for that matter? I’m shocked.”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake, Olivia. You’re not perfect by any means, but I don’t think you killed him. I just wanted to see what the pendulum would say. After all, it’s all over the news, that you were involved.”
Tuesday broke in. “Just for the record, she wasn’t involved in his death. It’s not a good question on any account. You can only ask about information that is locked in your own subconscious. Like where you put your keys or if you should go to the movies or go shopping. You have no way of knowing what Olivia did, if she killed him or not.”
“Tuesday,” Olivia grumbled, “now you’re at it. I had nothing to do with Jed Fisher’s death. Let’s get that off the table.”
“Girlfriend, we’re not saying you did. You’re a little touchy today, sweetiekins. Maybe we should put the pendulum away for now.”
Olivia said, “Good idea.”
She expected Mrs. Harmon to realize her visit was over and excuse herself, but she seemed to be just getting warmed up. She turned to Tuesday.
“Okay, dear You’ve read my tea leaves and taught me how to use the pendulum. What else can you do? How about numbers? Are you good with numbers?”
Tuesday broke into a big smile. “Actually, I learned this Tibetan method of numerology. Want to try it?”
A call came in on Olivia’s cell just then, giving her a perfect excuse to exit. She held up her phone. “Got to take this. I’ll be down in my office.”
She grabbed her tote with her laptop and headed off. She answered the call without checking the screen. When she heard Brooks Baker say, “Hi, baby,” she almost fell down the stairs.
9:3
Tuesday, dinner time
“HOW COULD YOU LET HIM NEAR YOU?”
Olivia broke the Gorgonzola into bits for the salad while she waited for Victor’s to deliver their main course. She put her hand to her ear. “Yeah, Tues, the neighbors at the far end of the street are saying they heard you screaming.”
Tuesday paced back and forth in front of the counter “After what he put you through? How many chances are you going to give that loser?”
It was true that Olivia and Brooks had been on and off so many times they looked like a subplot of a soap opera. But Olivia believed that this time was different.
“You’re jumping to conclusions, Tues. First of all, I’m not giving him any chances. I don’t own the world. He’s not coming to see
me. He just gave me a friendly warning that he was coming to town on business.”
Tuesday scoffed. “Likely story.”
Olivia put the salad in the refrigerator and washed her hands. “Look, Tuesday, you know as well as I do that Darling Valley is the hot spot for architects, designers, construction geeks, anyone who wants to cash in on the renovation boom here. Why wouldn’t he want a piece of it?”
“You’re making excuses, silly girl. Hasn’t he heard of Beverly Hills? Star Island in Florida? I’ve heard there are quite a few orange crates going up in those towns. With his reputation he can plant his flag anyplace he wants. He doesn’t have to come sniffing around here.”
Olivia went searching for a bottle of wine to accompany the pizza. “Well there’s nothing I can do about it. He has his eye on a particular project and I think once he looks around and has enough info to submit a bid, he’ll be on a plane back to LA. Bet it won’t take him more than a few hours.”
And maybe not. Olivia didn’t tell Tuesday everything. Brooks had explained that a ten-thousand square foot teardown was being turned into a thirty-thousand square foot showplace. He would probably stick around to do some schmoozing with folks around town to get the lay of the land and get an introduction to the clients. He might actually be in town for a few days.
“So, what do you know about this project of his.”
From Tuesday’s tone, Olivia knew that nothing she could say would put her mind at ease about Brooks, so she didn’t try. “Not much. Will you hand me the corkscrew?”
She retrieved two glasses from her cupboard and held one up for Tuesday. “You in?”
“As long as it was bottled since the Civil War, you know it, girl.”
“Brooks told me that he thought the clients had another architect in mind but they wouldn’t name names. I suspect it’s Hamish. I’m sure everybody wants him now that he’s made Architectural Digest. But I didn’t give him my suspicions and get into a long drawn out conversation with him. Anyway, he was on the run, so it was like, a two sentence conversation. Maybe three.”