The Ghost Runner (12 page)

E
very day I'm getting better as an actor—bit by bit, I can feel myself becoming Isabella in rehearsals. The lines feel more natural to me now; I no longer trip over them. I'm also less aware of Nate sitting offstage, tapping his pen against his clipboard. The tapping, Lucy had told me, means that you're doing well.
If the tapping stops
, she said,
you should begin to worry
. But by now I've stopped listening for it altogether; I'm in a totally different place. And I like being concealed in another character's life.

One afternoon, after rehearsals end and Nate dismisses us, I linger. I sit in the front row of seats and open my playbook, though I'm too antsy to read.

Tyler sits next to me. “I've got a name for your new estate,” he says. “Kathmandu.”

“Very funny.” One of the main reasons I like becoming Isabella is that when I'm onstage, no one can ask me about the land, make jokes, or give me advice.
There was a big article in the paper about it, so everyone in town knows, and in a small town,
word spreads fast.

“Well, I like it,” Tyler says. “Have any of those developers been harassing you?”

“Not really. Or maybe I should say, not yet.”

“You know, I bet if you sold a chunk of that property you could retire right now. Buy a mansion, a fleet of cars. Live happily ever after.”

“I could, but sell it to who? Someone who'd build on it, right? And then I'd have to live with the guilt of having destroyed all those trees, and the homes of birds, deer, bears. That's not happily ever after.”

“You're not even tempted? I sure would be.”

“I've thought about it,” I admit. “But I've never had much money anyway. I can't miss what I don't have.”

He smiles. “That's what I like about you. It seems like everyone else in the world cares about nothing else. Even my parents—they can't believe I'm a theater major. They're convinced I'll be sleeping on friends' couches and eating out of garbage cans for the rest of my life.”

“I think it's great that you're doing what you want. Money only causes people to sacrifice what they believe in. You can't let it define you.”

He's still smiling, and I realize I'm developing a serious crush on his dimples. “I should bring you home for dinner,” he says, “so you can tell that to my parents.”

I like where this conversation is headed, but at the same time, it freaks me out. I stand and grab my stuff. “It's getting late. I better go.”

“You need a ride home?”

“No. I like to walk.”

“At least let me walk you halfway.”

“Okay.”

We walk along Main Street, toward town. At one point he reaches out for my hand, and I take it. He has nice, strong hands, and we let our arms swing a little between us. For some reason, I feel nervous. Could it be that I feel anxious because I've gotten more comfortable with vampires than with real guys? Maybe I just worry that there's no way Tyler will ever understand me the way Alex does—or Roman, for that matter.

When an old Subaru passes by, I release Tyler's hand quickly, as if by instinct. It takes me a moment to recognize why—I was worried Alex would see us—and another moment to realize it wasn't even Alex's car. I stop walking and pretend to adjust my backpack, and when Tyler reaches for my hand again, I sigh.

“What is it?” he says.

“Isn't there a rule against actors getting together offstage?” I ask.

“I certainly hope not.” He leans in close and kisses me, and for the moment I forget Alex, and Roman, and the traffic around us, and everything else. And I don't want the moment to end.

But I end it anyway, breaking the kiss. “I should explain something.”

“What is it?” I can feel his fingers twirling my ponytail.

“I just got out of a relationship, and—”

“And what?”

“It's complicated.” He has no idea how complicated, and there's no way I could ever explain.

“That's okay.” He puts his arm around my waist and pulls me close again. “I'm a very patient person.”

I gently push away. “Right now I'm better off adopting Isabella's lifestyle. Not forever. Just for now.”

“But she's a nun.”

“Exactly.”

~

Lithia Runners is slow today. Or maybe time is crawling by because I'm wishing I hadn't been such a dud with Tyler. What was I thinking? Here's this gorgeous guy who likes me, and I'm still pining for a vampire?

I'm staring blankly at a wall of shoes I'm supposed to be organizing when David hands me a letter.

“Special delivery,” he says.

“What is it?” I ask, turning it over.

“I don't know, but it looks official.”

It's from the State of Oregon. I open it cautiously and unfold a letter that is marked in bold letters at the top:
Notice of Delinquent Taxes
. I skim the legalese right down to the bottom line, where it indicates that Katherine Healy owes the state $53,000 in current and back taxes.

“Oh my God.” I stand there stunned, unable to talk or move. David takes the letter from me and examines it.

“When did you inherit this land, exactly?” he asks. I don't answer, and he gives my shoulder a gentle shake. “Kat?”

“About two years ago, I guess,” I say. “But they couldn't find me until now.”

He nods. “According to this, the taxes have accumulated over those two years, along with various penalties for missed payments.”

“That's insane,” I say. “I didn't even know that property was mine. I can't afford this.”

“I know.”

“What am I supposed to do?”

“You should go talk to that lawyer,” David says. “He should be able to give you some advice.”

David lets me take a fifteen-minute break, and I take off down the street. I barge past the receptionist and into Michael Stover's office. He's on the phone when I enter, and, probably thanks to my heavy breathing, he can see that this is an urgent matter. He murmurs something into the phone and hangs up.

“Why didn't you tell me about the taxes?” I demand.

“You must've just received a tax bill.”

“Yes, I did, Mr. Stover, in the amount of fifty-three thousand dollars! Why didn't you tell me about this?”

“First, call me Mike,” he says. “Second, in hindsight, you're right; I should have prepared you. I'm sorry. I assumed you knew that once the land was transferred, tax liabilities became your responsibility.”

“How was I supposed to know that? I've never owned land before.”

“Well, now you do—and quite a lot of it. So the taxes are going to be costly. I can put you in touch with a financial planner if you'd like.”

“To plan what? How to pay a bill I can't possibly afford?”

He looks puzzled. “But you
can
afford it.”

“Excuse me?”

“You own this land, remember?” he says.

“Unless money really does grow on trees, I don't understand.”

“What I mean is, you'll need to sell a portion of the property to cover the bill.”

Even though it was true, as I'd told Tyler, that I'd had a brief fantasy about the land making me rich, the thought of selling hasn't seriously occurred to me. “I can't do that,” I tell Mike. “I want to protect that land.”

“You can't protect it if you lose it for not paying your taxes. People do this sort of thing all the time, parceling out portions of land to lease, sell, build—and, yes, to pay taxes.”

“What if I refuse to sell?”

He sighs. “Kat, I've seen 100,000-acre estates whittled down to the size of a front yard. It's what people do. But you don't need to go that far. We're talking about a small piece of a very large pie here.”

“But the only people who'll want it are developers who will ruin it.”

“I understand that, I really do. But you have to be pragmatic. The state can take your property if you don't pay that bill.”

“How much time do I have?”

“Well, now that you've been located and the deed is officially in your name, you should have thirty, maybe sixty days.”

“That's it?”

“I'd have to take a look at your bill. You could file for an extension, but the property taxes will continue to accrue. Eventually you do have to pay, Kat. Otherwise the land will be auctioned off to the highest bidder.”

“Like Ed Jacobs.”

“I know you don't want to sell to a developer,” Mike says, “but better to sell a small portion now than risk losing it all. Ed Jacobs will gladly take whatever he can get. And he'll pay a premium. More than enough to cover your tax bill, and then some.”

“I'm not selling. Not to him or anyone else. No way.”

He sighs again. “I wish you luck, then, Kat. You're going to need it.”

I
'm standing near the creek, about a block away from the entrance to the Lithia Café. I've got my little gold nugget in my hand, and I'm thinking of throwing it in the creek, getting rid of it forever. Why I'd thought it was good luck, I have no idea—it's just a piece of dirty metal, and if anything, it's brought me terrible luck.

I'm about to meet my dad at the Lithia Café, along with someone he says can help me with my tax problems. I still feel a little wary about it, but I don't know what else to do. And it seems as though being here in Lithia has changed the way my father feels about the land; whereas before he used to take from it everything he could get, now he seems to appreciate it almost as much as I do. Like those ghost miners who used to take from the land and in death had a change of heart. Maybe my dad's near-death experience and his return to Lithia changed him, too. When I saw him just a few days ago, he said,
I don't blame you for not wanting to sell, Katie. That land is special. I wish there was some other way
.

So here I am, standing at the edge of the creek, for once not looking like the tomboy I am. Even though I'm officially out of my teens—I turned twenty in April—I still look like a teenager most of the time, since I wear nothing but jeans or running clothes. I wanted to look professional for this meeting, so I went out and bought a pair of slacks and a nice blouse, with a trim sweater. I feel like someone else, but at least I feel more like a grown-up.

I close my hand into a loose fist and let the little nugget bounce against my palm. I really should toss this thing into the creek and let it flow all the way out to sea. I have a gigantic delinquent tax bill, unfinished homework, unmemorized lines, and I'm missing yet another afternoon of work. I thought inheriting that land was such a great blessing, but it's been nothing but a burden.

I glance at my watch, the one Dad gave me, and see that I'm going to be late. I look at the nugget again and decide to hold off on throwing it away. If there's one thing I'll need during this meeting, it's a bit of luck. I'll give it one last chance; maybe it'll work this time.

In the café, Dad waves me over to a table. He is seated with a bald, potbellied man in a gray sport coat.

“Hi,” I say.

“Katie, this here is Don.”

“Nice to meet you, Katherine,” the man says.

I shake his hand and try not to wince as he grips it too tightly. I hate it when men do that, like they're trying to show off.

“Don here is executive director of the Lithia Land Preserve. He's interested in protecting your property.”

“How?”

The man smiles. “Lithia Land Preserve is dedicated to preserving the wilderness surrounding Lithia. If you are interested in our proposal, we would take over stewardship of your property and ensure that it's not developed.”

“Not ever?”

“It would be protected for eternity.”

“What about the taxes?”

“Our organization would cover all tax liabilities. You'd be free and clear.”

“Really?” I narrow my eyes at him. Either my nugget is finally working, or this is too good to be true.

“Absolutely.” Don opens an attaché and places a contract of some sort on the table. “Here is a standard contract that would allow you to hand over the deed to your property to us. Once you sign this and get it notarized, I'll take over the rest. This is what we do, Katherine. Our organization is funded by private donors who want to see this region protected, just as you do.”

I look at my dad, and he nods encouragingly. I suddenly wish I'd brought Mike Stover along to advise me. I hadn't even thought of that until now.

“This is all happening so quickly,” I say. “I don't have to sign right now, do I?”

Dad leans over and puts his hand on my shoulder. “I know it's a lot, Katie. And you don't have to decide right now. If you want, I can take care of it for you.”

“What do you mean?”

“You sign the property over to me, and I'll read through the contract, have a lawyer check it out, and take care of it for you.”

It's as if he's read my mind. But I'm not sure why I can't do that myself.

“If I'm advised that this all looks good,” Dad continues, “I'll hand it over to the land trust and get rid of all your tax issues. Then you can get back to school and the play and look up at those hills every day knowing you saved them.”

Dad turns to Don. “My daughter here is in college, doing Shakespeare, and holding down a job. I don't know how she does it.”

“Why don't I have Mike look at it?” I say. “Then you don't have to go through all that trouble.”

“Just trying to give you one less thing to worry about,” Dad says. “You've got a lot on your plate these days, not to mention that tax burden. Hate to see you default on that, ruin your credit. You're so young, and that could hurt your chance to get a student loan, buy a house someday. But if you want to do it yourself, Katie, you go right ahead. I'm only trying to help, not get in the way.”

“There's no rush, is there?”

Don clears his throat. “Just the accumulation of taxes and fees. Which we are happy to cover, but prolonging this further does dip into our resources and affect our ability to preserve other parts of the county.”

I never thought of that.

“That's why I offered to help,” my dad says. “So you don't have to bother with all this any longer than necessary.”

I look at my watch. I'm already late for Lindquist's class, and I've got rehearsal after that. The land is so much more important—but I don't know what to do, who I can trust.

I look at my father, who is stirring more sugar into his coffee as if we've been talking about nothing more than the weather. His face is calm. Trustworthy. “Will you take this to Mike?” I ask. “I want him to be the lawyer who looks this over.”

“Sure, anyone you want.”

“And you'll make sure everything works out?”

“I promise,” he says.

I look from him to Don. “Well, okay,” I say. “Let's do it, then. I've got to get to school.”

I follow my father to the bank, where we find a notary. I sign the deed over to my father, my hand shaking only a little. It's the best option, I reassure myself—the only option.

The notary places her stamp on the papers, and a few minutes later, we're standing back in the square.

“Is that it?” I ask.

“That's it,” he says. “I'll head over to Mike's office now. Feel better?”

I don't know how to answer that. For a moment, I wish I could take it all back; then I slip my hand into my pocket, looking for the stone. I grip it tightly—a piece of the very land I'm working to protect—so it can't possibly bring me bad luck, can it?

If only I could be sure.