A heavyset man wearing a badge identifying him as the store manager greeted them with a big smile. “A Blizzard, as usual, Mr. Sawyer?”
“Of course, Juan. It’s Cookie Dough this month, isn’t it?” He turned to Jase. “And what’s your poison, young Redlander?”
“A dipped cone, I guess.” That’s what Maxie always ordered for him when he was a kid.
As soon as they got their treats, his host led him to a booth in the back of the side room, several tables distant from the herd of exuberant Cub Scouts who had taken over the front area.
Sawyer sucked in several spoonfuls of Blizzard before he started in on him. “Now, Jason, tell me about yourself. I understand you’ve accumulated considerable real estate holdings up and down the I-35 corridor.”
“Yessir. I started out with one parking lot, and it just grew from there.” He decapitated the custard’s curly top.
Sawyer produced a small notebook and a ballpoint pen. “Actually, I’ve googled most of your official information. What I really want to know are what your plans are for our fair city.”
“You don’t use a recorder?”
Sawyer shook his head. “Makes people too nervous, like they’re being interrogated.”
Jase paused to recapture a large piece of the frozen chocolate shell that had broken loose. “I know the feeling.”
He liked Art Sawyer as an adult even more than he’d liked him as a kid. The old guy was a straight shooter.
Sawyer enjoyed several more spoonfuls of his Blizzard, then started in again. “Now, about your plans…”
“I’m not holding back on you, sir, but I’m unsure yet what my plans are. I bought the old Anderson tract east of the river, and I’m negotiating on a smaller lot, but that’s all I can say.”
“The Anderson tract. That’s within spitting distance of the Espinoza addition, isn’t it?”
“Fairly near. They’ll probably tie in eventually, but I’m not assuming anything right now. It’s an investment, that’s all.” He’d reached the cone, the crisp, crunchy, sweet cone.
“Do you think you and Raymond might get together businesswise at some time?”
“Maybe.” Crunch, crunch. “Who knows? I’ve always dealt in land, but I might go into homebuilding at some point.”
“Even in this economy?”
Jase wiped his hands on a paper napkin and shrugged. “There’s always opportunity.”
Sawyer’s eyes lit up. “There’s always opportunity! I like that!” He scribbled in his notebook, then made a big show of replacing it in his pocket.
“Strictly off the record, what about Laurel Harlow?”
Jase was caught completely off guard. “I, uh, we’re friends, close friends.”
Sawyer glanced at his rumpled shirt, the same one that Jase had worn at the Bosque Club, and raised his eyebrows. “And where did you spend the night?”
“Not where you think,” Jase countered. Not where I would have liked to. “I slept in my car.”
Sawyer nodded like a wise old owl. “She kicked you out?”
“No, I…yeah, she kicked me out.” He couldn’t say he’d left Laurel because he was mad at her father. It didn’t make sense even to him.
Sawyer looked at him as if reading his mind.
“Now, listen to me, young Jason. Every person on this planet, no matter how good, has feet of clay. People are a mixed bag, and Edward Harlow was no exception. He did some terrible things, but he also did some good things too, some very good things. This doesn’t excuse him, but it’s important to recognize both sides of the man. People around here have not only vilified Edward Harlow, but they’ve also extended their anger to his family. Dovie Kinkaid was one of the sweetest, gentlest women I’ve ever known, and they drove her to suicide. Laurel is stronger than her mother, and I think she’ll make it, but she’s got to get the hell out of Bosque Bend.”
Sawyer tilted his cup up to get a last swallow of his Blizzard, put the cup down, and looked Jase in the eyes. “I came in on the end of Betsy Simcek’s tantrum last night and saw Laurel’s face. And yours. I can’t tell you what to do except that you can never go wrong by doing the right thing. You said there’s always an opportunity, and I’ll add to it: There’s always an opportunity to do the right thing.”
Jase nodded. “Don’t worry about my relationship with Laurel, sir. I’ll be back in Bosque Bend in a day or two. I just have to—to figure everything out.”
*
Sarah poured herself a cup of coffee and sat down at the table across from Laurel. “Okay, spill. What’s been going on over here?’
“Nothing much. I’ve been answering the phone all morning. First there was a guy who wanted to contact Jase, then Jase, then my Realtor—it looks like the house might sell.”
“What about the call from Jase?”
Laurel shrugged. “He said he’d stay in touch, whatever that means—I’m not holding out any hope.”
“What I’m asking for is that you tell me what the heck’s been going on this past week?”