Page 18 of The Map Home
“Dang. Is there anything more I can do?” Tad maneuvered the truck onto the highway. The snow had stopped falling and the snowplows and had already been through clearing away the white stuff followed by the gritters spreading sand and salt in their wake.
“You’re already doing the most important thing,” Curtis said. “Cover any stories, big or small. Make sure to interview some cute little kids for the tree lighting, they’re aways fun and the parent almost always okays it. Keep an eye on Honey if you can. This is the one time I’m glad the paper is a weekly and not a daily. By the time you’re ready to lay out the front page for next Wednesday, I should be able to take a look at it.”
“Of course. When are they letting you out of there?”
“Bastard doctors claim I can’t take care of myself. I’m being forced to go to the recovery facility.”
“You do live alone, Curtis,” Tad pointed out. “I’d rather you healed up and not fall again. I bet as soon as you can do the important things on your own, they’ll let you go home. It’s probably just a few days.”
They both knew it was probably longer; the docs had already said Curtis couldn’t put weight on his leg for twelve weeks. But once he was handy on crutches, Tad figured they’d probably let him go home.
“Yeah, yeah,” Curtis grumbled.
Tad knew this road like the back of his hand, but he was still driving slow and keeping an eye out for icy spots. Carefully taking the sharp curve around a wide valley blanketed by fresh snow, he spotted a herd of elk off in the distance moving across a meadow. The huge animals never failed to amaze him.
“I was thinking about interviewing a few of the crafters and the owners of Odette’s too.”
“That sounds good to me.”
He was about to say goodbye when a thought struck him. “Hey, Curtis, what do you know about possible construction out near my folks’ spread?”
Curtis’s eyes narrowed and his expression dark. “It’s fucking Peter Kline, isn’t it? I knew he was up to something.” Curtis spat the name out like it tasted bad in his mouth.
“What’s his deal?” Tad asked.
“I suspect he’s a fast-talk-no-substance kind of guy. Unfortunately,” Curtis continued, “some people on the county council are interested in his snake oil. Easy money, they think. He’s been glad-handing, making opaque promises about more housing—which, yes, we need—but I think what he’s really talking about is an upscale development. Which isnotwhat Collier’s Creek needs.”
“Fuckery. I guess his company just got preliminary approval.” This was not good. He’d hoped the news last night had been an exaggeration.
“I know he’s not from around here. Came from California.” Curtis made California sound like hell on earth. “Where is this land he’s hoping to pillage?”
“He supposedly snagged those fifty acres on the plateau between my folks’ place and Twisted Pine, the old Pickering place.”
“What?” Curtis sounded outraged. “That’s horseshit. Carter Pickering never wanted that. Screw ’em. How the hell did Kline get his hands on that land? That’s my first question. That part of the valley is heavily protected. That story about water rights I mentioned? I’d been planning on spreading it out over a few weeks—god damn snow and ice. The environmental protections list takes years for developers to get them all ticked off, if ever. And, if the will hasn’t been settled yet, how can he own it?”
“How about I poke around? Maybe we can add to your piece, find out a little more about Kline.” Tad knew Curtis wouldn’t be able to say no to the suggestion. It was probably a good thing Tad had brought it up; Curtis would now have something to do while he was recuperating from his accident.
“Damn right. We’re gonna dig deep and make sure everything about the deal is on the up and up. Or stop it from happening.”
“I’mgoing to do the investigating,” Tad emphasized. “Youare going to recover.” There was no way Curtis could stay away from the story, but Tad would be able to do the legwork.
“I hate this.”
Tad could tell from his tone that Curtis was scowling.
“After the tree lighting, I’ll get started on the story and keep you updated.”
“Call me the minute you find something. And, Tad?”
“Yeah?”
“Watch your step. You never know who doesn’t want a journalist sniffing around.”
Ending the call, Tad wondered if someone else maybe hadn’t wanted an older newspaperman sniffing around. What if Curtis’s fall hadn’t been the accident they thought it was?
Tad parkedhis truck in the alley behind Cooper Ellis’s leatherworks store. Parking was bound to be at a premium today since it seemed like everybody in the county was coming into town for the festivities.
Hitching the backpack with his camera lenses and other equipment tucked inside it onto his shoulder, Tad walked over to the town square, figuring he’d slowly make his way around to the tree and then back up the other side. His favorite camera hung from a strap around his neck, and as he strolled along, enjoying the decorations and scent of pine in the air, he took candid shots of the folks milling around.
