Page 61 of South of Nowhere

Shaw beamed at the validation. “We saw one on your website. The Byron model. We can customize it, right?”

“Interior? Yes, to your heart’s content. Exteriors I’ve designed myself.”

“Seriously? So you’re an architect.”

“No, no. But I will say I have imagination. Then I hand the nitty-gritty over to the experts.”

“Do you have a model I could look at?”

“Not the Byron. They won’t be ready for another two months or so. Can I interest you in a Shelley or Coleridge? They’re similar. But smaller.”

“No, our heart’s set.”

“Well, here’s this.” He pushed a brochure Shaw’s way.

“Nice,” Shaw said slowly, flipping the pages. “Oh, the kitchen. To die for. Maddie’ll love it. She was going to meet me here, but did you hear? The levee collapsed in Hinowah and took Route Thirteen out.”

“No! I didn’t! Anyone get hurt?”

“I don’t think so. But my wife’s stuck in Nevada. Was there on business.”

Was the surprise in Gabris’s face genuine? The developer’s reaction seemed authentic but in his years of rewards-seeking he had learned that depending on their level of skill, sociopaths can lie without detection.

Gabris scoffed. “That levee…I always said they should reinforce it.”

So he was aware of how fragile the earthwork was.

“But all the county ever said was quote, ‘We’ll look into it.’ And they never did. Of course, in fairness, in recent memory, the Never Summer’s always been about two feet deep, tops.”

“Let me ask you a question,” Shaw began, a hint of conspiracy in his voice. “When they ran the news story about the levee, I saw some footage of the town.”

“Hinowah?”

Shaw nodded. “It looked pretty nice. Quaint, you know. You have any houses there, by any chance? Or any plans to build? I frankly like trees a bit more than the desert.”

Gabris blew out air and his cheeks puffed up. “No, sir, Mr. Stone, and word of warning: steer the hell away from property in Hinowah.”

Shaw shot him a frown. “Why’s that?”

“I looked into acquiring some land there. I thought there might be some people who’d like a more rustic home—like I’m hearing from you. You know, tucked away in an old mining town. A certain appeal. But I found out that the land is shit. Pardon my language.”

“How’s that?”

“It’s not a declared Superfund site, but there’re problems with the soil. You’ll buy a home there at your own risk.”

“But there are hundreds of houses there, it looked like.”

“Nothing new. Mostly grandfathered in.”

“What’s the issue?”

Gabris chewed briefly on the cigar. “Runoff from the mines. A hundred fifty years ago, they had no concept of the environment. There’s lead, arsenic, sulfuric acid. Bunch of other crap.”

Shaw method-acted a frown. “Is there a problemhere?”

“My God, no. I’ve had the soil analyzed from every single lot. Cost me a fortune. I’ll get the report to you and your inspector. He can take samples of his own. But no, we’re ten miles from the closest mine.”

Gabris might have very well been a vulture, but Hinowah wasn’t his prey.

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