The Crash of Hennington (20 page)

He didn’t look up at her, and she took that as a good sign. He seemed to be back to what was for him normal behavior.
She didn’t sense fear on him. He rocked a little back and forth, eating a handful of berries he must have picked somewhere. He was never calm, but this at least seemed a return to the usual. The offensive scent lingered, though. It was, perhaps, even stronger than before. She stood there, in the increasing shadows, watching him ignore her. Finally, she moved back to the rest of the herd, but not without the occasional glance backwards before losing sight of him in the falling night.

45. Class Reunion.

The intercom buzzed.

—Yes, Angie?

—Reception says that a Jon Noth is here to see you.

—He is, is he? What does he say he wants?

—An audience with you.

—Of course he does. It has to happen sooner or later, I guess. Tell Lisa to send him on up.

Cora stuck a pen in her mouth and nibbled on the end. There was no reason to feel threatened at all. It was a little unsettling, but then again, that was probably what he wanted. So she wouldn’t be unsettled. There. He wouldn’t achieve what he obviously wanted by this mysterious re-emergence. She wouldn’t squirm, not for anyone, but especially not for Jon Noth. And yet why all this energy expended convincing herself?

Three knocks signaled Angie’s entrance. She held the door open and, heavens above, Jon Noth walked past her into Cora’s office. Older certainly, but also trimmer, shapelier, handsome still and moving like liquid. Her memory corrected for the spectacled dilettante he once was into the smooth older
man he had clearly become. My, this was even odder than she had expected.

—Cora.

—Shit Almighty, if it isn’t Jon Noth.

She stood and accepted a handshake and a kiss on the cheek over her desk.

—Have a seat. You’re looking well.

—Thank you, and yourself, Mayor. Mayor Cora Larsson.

—So it would seem.

—How exactly did
that
happen?

—Somehow I just got all these votes. Interesting what life serves up, isn’t it?

—I would agree one hundred per cent.

—So what brings you out of the past, Jon? To what do I owe the pleasure of this surprise?

—I stopped by here last week. Did you get the message?

—I did indeed. Also that you hadn’t left a number or address if I wanted to contact you. It would seem that you wanted to just announce your presence and leave it ringing like a struck bell.

—It
was
rather power hungry of me, wasn’t it?

—Not in any way that was surprising. In fact, typically annoying, I would say.

—You wound me, Cora. Sparring so quickly, are we?

—What
is
it about that smile that I can’t trust? Oh, yes, I remember. History and precedent.

—That was a long time ago.

—A very, very long time, but unless you’ve changed even more than you appear, I don’t imagine a trip down memory lane is why you wanted to see me.

—Actually, in a sense, that’s exactly why. I wanted to see if you’re the same Cora Trygvesdottir I knew forty years ago.

—Then I imagine you’re disappointed. I’m forty years older and named Cora Larsson.

—I’m not disappointed in the least. True, you’re a bit pricklier than that young bright girl in the desert, but that only somehow adds to your incandescent beauty. Don’t roll your eyes, Cora. I’m speaking the truth.

—What truth? To whom?

—To you, of course. It
is
good to see you looking as beautiful and appealing as ever.

—Once again, Jon. I’m married. Happily. Of course you remember Albert Larsson, don’t you? Shocking of you to have forgotten.

—Ah, the icicle spear of sarcasm. Of course, I haven’t forgotten. I still haven’t managed to explain it to myself after all these years.

—What? That I chose him over you?

—Now you’re being deliberately cruel.

—And you’ve not answered my question at all. Every word out of your mouth so far has been smug and self-serving. I can safely say that you haven’t changed a bit since college.

—Oh, but I have. More than you can possibly know. I’m a different man now, my love.

—How so?

—I’ve been through many things these past years. I’ve traveled, around the planet even, and you know how difficult that is. I’ve seen things with these eyes that would cause your heart to stop. I’ve changed, my darling Cora.

—You’ve been on a forty-year odyssey, and you’ve found yourself. How cute.

—I wouldn’t have put it quite so deprecatingly, but more or less, yes.

—And now you’ve returned to Hennington for what?
Some kind of peace offering? What is it that you want to tell me, Jon? Why are you here?

—So admirable of you to cut right to the point. So invigorating and fresh. It’s something I’ve always loved about you.

—You’re avoiding the question. Why are you here?

—I’ve come to take you back, my love.

—Take me back.

—Take you back, yes, precious one.

—Take me back where?

—With me. Into my life. I’m ready for you now, my darling.

—Stop calling me that and have you lost your mind? ‘Take me back'. There are so many things wrong with that, I don’t know where to begin. I’m not bounty that can be taken, and what on earth makes you think I’d ever want to go? And go where? I’m not and have never been a prize in a contest. Really, Jon, you can’t possibly have nursed a grudge for this long against Albert.

—True, he has proven a worthier opponent than I thought at first, but are you really satisfied with him? Are you honestly and truly in your heart of hearts a happy woman with that man? He’s not worthy of you. Entirely too frivolous.

—You have the gall to walk into my office after forty years—

—Thirty-six, if we’re exact.

—Shut up. You walk in here and think that you have the right to attack me and the man that I love, and let’s be unambiguous about this, I adore Albert with my heart, soul, and body, you imagine that I would willingly sit here and listen to this? You’re delusional, Jon, and that really proves that you haven’t changed one bit. I’m dumbfounded.

—I expected you to be a bit surprised, but I don’t doubt
you’ll come around soon enough. I’ve come back for you, Cora. Here I am. For you.

—You’ve lost the plot in a fairly spectacular way, Jon.

—On the contrary. I’ve finally found it.

—Amazing. You amaze me. Do you know what I’m going to do tonight? I’m going to go home to my beloved husband, and after he greets me with his usual kiss and after we’ve settled down to the nice dinner that he’s prepared for me, I’m going to tell him that you came into my office today and I’m going to tell him what you said. And do you know what we’ll do then, Jon? Do you know? We’re going to laugh. We’re going to laugh at your presumption and ego and effrontery and audacity. We’re going to laugh at the idea of a grown man nursing a college-age grudge for four decades,
well
past what any normal person would consider healthy. We’re going to laugh at someone who would think he has some primogeniture on not only my time, but somehow on my affections as well. Not just my affections, it seems, my entire bloody life. We’re going to laugh, Jon. We’re going to laugh. At you.

—You don’t even know how unhappy you are. Right now, right at this moment, you’re in misery.

—Out. Now. Leave like a gentleman, or I
will
have you thrown out.

—I didn’t expect you to understand right away.

—Well, thank heavens for that. Get out. The next action I take will be a call to security.

—Don’t worry, I’m leaving, but you haven’t seen the last of me.

—I think you just might be wrong there, Jon.

—We shall see, Cora. We shall see.

46. He What?

Thomas heard it from Hennington Hills’ bartender Tracy Jem-Ho, once again proving herself as a source of reliable information.

—You’re kidding.

—Nope. ‘Personal reasons’ and none of them can figure out exactly what the hell that means.

—I’ll bet. Well, I’ll be goddamned. I don’t believe it.

—Believe it. Apparently, your father is having fits.

—I don’t think my father has ever had a fit. I’ll bet he’s at work every waking moment, though. My God.

—Butterfield said the assumption is they had some sort of falling out, and the rest of the Committee—

—Board.

—Board, whatever, the rest of them are sitting tight, hoping it clears itself up.

—What else did Butterfield say?

—Not much. I had the ball in his mouth most of the time.

—What about during foreplay?

—Now who’s got to be kidding?

—What about pillow talk?

—He’s a sleeper. He shoots, he snores.

Thomas drained his cocktail, his third so far.

—So that was all you were able to get?

—Well, that and your father says he’s looking for someone new to take Luther’s place.

—Don’t get your hopes up, Tracy. He most assuredly doesn’t mean me.

—Why not?

—I was sent to Hennington Hills as banishment for being an incorrigible youth.

—Precisely, and you’ve proven yourself an effective leader and a great businessman.

—I could do with a little less ass-kissing, but thank you. My father might secretly like what I’ve turned this place into, it used to be a money pit, you know, but he could never publicly approve. And the Board would never have me.

—Why not? You’re well respected.

—I’m well
known.
The respect of the Banyon Enterprises Board of Trustees is another thing altogether.

—But half of them are regular clips. I see three of them myself.

—Precisely. Would you want your entertainment-provider to be your boss?

—There are probably a hundred reasons why I shouldn’t answer that question.

—But you see my point.

—You could at least
try
your father.

—And say what? ‘Heard you were looking for a spare son? How about trying an old favorite?’ Ain’t gonna happen. Hey, did Butterfield say anything about a third party being involved?

—What? Peter Wickham? Doubtful. Too nice a guy to cause trouble, unless the old man flipped out over him and Luther.

—Not Peter. Another businessman, say.

—No. Why? What do you know?

—Just a new guy in town that I had a meeting with, hints that he’s wealthy as the dickens.

—When do I get to meet him?

—You don’t. He’s not interested in joining up.

—That’s odd.

—Exceedingly so. See what you can find out about him, a mystery man from the Fifty Shores called Jon Noth. Says he’s
an old friend of the Mayor’s but they had some falling out.

—Sounds boring.

—Rich is never boring.

—Fine, I’ll see what I can do.

Thomas took another drink.

—Tracy.

—Yeah?

—Do you like your job?

—Someone’s getting a little drunk.

—Just answer the question.

—I’m one of the ones who doesn’t mind, remember? Stephanie’s going to the best prep school in this half of the country because of this job.

—That’s what I thought. Give me another one of these.

—See what I mean about being a little drunk?

Tracy poured him another.

—Do you ask because Jacki Strell is still missing?

—You should quit trying to become my confidante, Tracy. It’s not a good idea. For either one of us.

—Can’t help it. Bartending tool of the trade.

—But this one could get you killed.

—Oh, big, big talk from a big, big boy. I know how to take care of myself.

—I’m sure you do. I’ve seen you with that whip.

—Practice makes perfect. Still no word on Jacki though?

—Not unless you’ve heard something.

—Nada. No one here knows anything?

—Not that I’ve been able to find out. Paul Wadstone says there’s no clue at her place either.

—You sent that thug snooping?

—I couldn’t very well call the police, could I? He said that some clothes had been packed, but I’ve had the house under constant surveillance since the day she called in sick. Nothing.

—Foul play? A clip that got a little too attached?

—I’ve been through every single one of her clips. Councilman Wiggins was her last one, and he says he left her that last night sleeping.

—Do you believe him?

—No reason not to. He hasn’t changed his story under various pressures. Plus, she called here three times after that to report in sick, and no one thought anything strange.

—Did you ever talk to her yourself

—No, and that’s what smells funny.

—I thought she’d at least come in for some hits.

—You’d think so, wouldn’t you?

—Any ideas?

—None. She doesn’t have any
reason
to hide.

—Doesn’t she?

—She was happy here.

—Whatever you say, Thomas.

—She
was.
Anyway, it doesn’t matter. If she’s hiding somewhere, I’ll find her. I can guarantee you that much. She’s too valuable to this company to just leave without even giving a reason.

Thomas patted his pockets for a cigarillo. When he found one, Tracy lit it for him. Without asking, she refilled his glass.

—Are you going to try to sweet-talk her back?

—I’m not going to try anything. I’m concerned about her wellbeing is all. She could be hurt or in trouble. I want to save her from all that.

—Maybe she doesn’t see it that way.

—I can make her see it that way. She’s part of our family now. She’ll come back.

—You sound so sure.

—I am. We haven’t seen the last of Jacki Strell. She’s out there somewhere, waiting to be rescued. Oh, and Tracy?

—Yes, boss?

He winked at her.

—I’m not as drunk as you think.

47. In Which Much News Is Confirmed.

—Cora, there you are. Is it correct, what I’m reading in the papers?

—Depends on which papers, Archie.

—That Max has dropped out of the race?