Chapter 19

In the wake of the apocalyptic tea party, Will and Laura stood in the Dial kitchen. Laura was up to her elbows in sudsy water, and Will was deftly daubing at the good china with a dishtowel grasped in his cast-free hand. Mrs. Dial had gone to lay down with a cool cloth on her forehead shortly after the last guest left. Even the dogs seemed to sense the tension in the house; their yelps and whines were momentarily stilled.

"I just don't understand what I did wrong," Will whispered, as he dried a gilt-edged saucer.

"Will, in the normal world, you didn't do anything wrong. But as I have told you and as you refuse to believe, this is not the normal world."

"But--"

"You broke one of the unspoken and unshakable laws of the prairie, Will. You brought up private, family business at a social gathering. You aired dirty laundry. You reopened a wound and a scandal that has been healing for nearly thirty years."

"But you said they all already knew you were adopted."

"They did know, Will. But that's not the point. The point is that you brought it up. It simply isn't done."

"That just doesn't make any sense. Your parents couldn't have children, you were adopted, the whole town knows about it, but it's taboo to bring it up at afternoon tea?!"

"Yes."

"You come from an odd breed, Dial."

"Have I mentioned that I left as soon as I possibly could?"

Will thought for a moment, and tried to maneuver the dish towel through the delicate handle of a tea cup.

"I guess," he said quietly, "it's kind of like the whole gay issue with me. They know it's the truth, it's there right in front of them, but since it is unacknowledged, it just doesn't exist."

"Exactly. Mentioning the my mother's lack of baby pictures of me is about the equivalent of you donning your Dorothy dress and belting out 'It's Raining Men.'"

"For your information, dear, I don't own a Dorothy dress. Ruby slippers, yes. . . but I look a fright in blue gingham."

They continued to do the dishes in an awkward silence. Finally, Will spoke.

"Why didn't you ever tell me?"

"I guess because it never seemed important. My parents are my parents, regardless of who gave birth to me. Plus, I was brainwashed at a young age to think that it was unmentionable."

"But. . .well. . .aren't you curious about your. . .your biological parents?"

"I used to be. When I was a freshman in college, I poked into it a little bit. It was a pretty sad story. My mother--my birth mother, that is--was an unwed teenager from a small town in Nebraska. Her parents, alarmed that she would ruin the family's reputation, shipped her off to her grandparents' house for the last few months of the pregnancy. She had a really awful labor, and died shortly after I was born. I stayed with her grandparents for awhile, and then I was in foster care till I was two. Then, my mom and dad got me."

"Jesus."

"It is really not a big deal, Will."

"Except when it is brought up at high prairie tea, apparently," he smirked.

The phone rang.

"Oh God," Laura said, pulling off her rubber gloves. "It's probably one of those old buffaloes calling my mother to compliment her canapés or petit fours, letting her know that her humiliation is forgotten." Laura crossed to the phone and answered it.

"Hello? Hi! No, we don't. No, we were just doing the dishes from my mother's tea party. Jealous? We--what? What?!" Her jaw gaped wordlessly.

"What's happened?" asked Will. "What's going on?"

She turned to him. "It's Fern calling from New York. She just saw this report on CNN about the clue in Colorado."

"And?"

"And the reporter was David Nimoy."

*****

"In short, Mr. Redding," said Mr. Shiatsu, leaning back from the mahogany conference table, "there are significant obstacles and multiple practical and financial stumbling blocks in our planned takeover of Waterbury Publishing."

Vesper, or rather, Christian Redding, sighed. It had been an extremely long and tedious meeting, and her patience was wearing thin. "Sir, I disagree. We merely need to accelerate our previously discussed strategies, and proceed according to my outline."

"The proximity of the Chicago clue to our building, and Waterbury's placement of his own artwork in our gallery points toward the fact that he is aware of our interest in his company," said Mr. Tamagotchi flatly.

Christian straightened in his high-backed leather chair. "Mr. Tamagotchi, Mr. Waterbury is completely unaware of our consortium. The novel and the treasure hunt were in the planning stages years before your company began to accrue holdings in Waterbury Publishing. It is merely the location of your gallery and remarkable coincidence that led him to include Takamoto in the Sooner Than Never treasure hunt. The man has been fascinated by the Eastland disaster for years." He turned chummily toward Mr. Sanyo, seated to his right. "It's morbid, really. All those poor people drowning in the--"

"We don't need a history lesson! We have a much bigger problem!" cried Mr. Harikari with sudden vehemence.

"Don't interrupt me," Christian fumed, his azure eyes sparkling dangerously. "Ever."

"That man is going to bankrupt his company before we take it over, Mr. Redding, " said Mr. Suzuki, waggling his pen in the air.

"The logical assumption to be made," Mr. Takamoto said grimly, "is that Waterbury is aware that his empire's financial state is precarious at best. He has doubled the Sooner Than Never prize money in an extremely eccentric and rather brilliant attempt to stave off corporate investors."

"Waterbury is liquifying his assets," volunteered Mr. Kawasaki.

"He is throwing his ballast overboard," added Mr. Shiatsu.

"He cut off nose to spite chin," spat Mr. Harikari.

"He would rather ruin himself financially than be stripped of his assets by an outside entity," said Takamoto, with an air of dark finality.

"Gentlemen, please," Christian soothed. "You are letting your business sense cloud your vision of reality. Waterbury has frequently made these costly, eccentric and seemingly shortsighted decisions, but he seldom takes a loss. His doubling of the prize money will no doubt generate millions more in revenue. It's simply a marketing strategy. Mr. Waterbury is eccentric, yes, but he is not an unwise business man."

"Waterbury is loose cannon," concluded Harikari, " and he shoot his cannonball right through our portfolio! You crazy, guy! You got bridge to sell me in Delaware, or something?"

"Enough, Mr. Harikari," said Mr. Takamoto, leaning in to the table. "Even if Mr. Waterbury is not aware of our plans, the brutal fact is that if the prize money is found before we secure a majority holding in the company, our investment in Waterbury Publishing is worthless."

"I am aware of that fact, sir," Christian muttered. "But keep in mind that there are other individuals who have also invested in this project, who could stand to take a significant--"

"Hmph!" snorted Mr. Harikari. "Other individual! Other individual?! We spend one hundred, two hundred, eight hundred million on project. You spend a drop of water in the ocean, guy! If he go bankrupt, we go bankrupt! You just walk away poorer man!"

"Don't interrupt me, dar-- Harikari!" Christian bellowed, and pounded the table with both fists. A vein stood out on his neck. "You are ignoring the simple truth and the patterns Mr. Waterbury has followed for years. The treasure hunt is developing excruciatingly slowly. The book hit store shelves in September, and in that time, only three clues leading to the treasure's whereabouts have been found! The notion that someone will solve the mystery before we can secure a majority holding is extremely unlikely."

"Gah," said Mr. Harikari petulantly, " I should go find treasure. Then I get money and don't have to hear wacky American hit nice table."

Christian fumed on, ignoring him. "Mr. Takamoto, your company and its subsidiaries currently control twenty-three percent of Waterbury stock. My partners and I control fourteen percent. If we can secure only fourteen percent more of the company's available shares, Waterbury Publishing will be ours."

"But no one will be selling for some time," said Mr. Suzuki dryly. "Considering the development with the prize money, investors will be cautious about purchasing or losing Waterbury stock. They'll be waiting for indicators. . .it could take months to secure fourteen percent more. And we may not have months."

Something clicked in Christian's head. Something cruel and devious danced in his eyes, and he spoke. "Perhaps, gentlemen, if we use our imaginations rather than paranoia, we could buy ourselves some time. Lots of time."

Takamoto was intrigued. "And how do you suggest we do that, Mr. Redding?"

*****

Mary Lou Heiligman clipped her pearl-drop earring into place, and observed its effect in the massive dresser's mirror. With her stylish black wool dress, the earrings were positively fetching. She glanced at the reflection of her husband sitting on the window seat, staring out into the snowy night.

"Al, dear. You're going to want to get ready soon. The press conference starts in an hour."

Al didn't shift his gaze from the window. "I spent a lot of money on that RV, Mary Lou. God knows what could happen to it with all the crazies coming into this town. I intend to sit here and make sure it's safe." The dark hulk of their Winnebago was dimly visible in the parking lot outside the lodge, across a landscape that looked like it had been coated with vanilla frosting.

Mary Lou crossed the rough hewn logs of the rustic suite and gave her pudgy husband's body a playful hug. "Now, Al, I'm sure the RV will be just fine. Maybe I can call down to the front desk and they'll watch it till the press conference is over."

Al turned to her. "You know, Mary Lou, I had no idea it was going to be like this. This is just nuts. You would've thought we landed on the moon or something."

"I know, dear. Did you read over that letter she sent me? Are you sure you know exactly what you're supposed to say?"

"I read the letter, Mary Lou. I'm not gonna let the cat out of the bag."

"We need to make sure we call her and let her know the full story. They're going to be waiting to hear from us about what we found."

"I'll call her. I'll go call her now. She said not to use the phone in the room, so I'll take a little trip down to the lobby."

"Good. And then you need to shower and shave."

"I'll shower and shave. But you've got to sit down here and watch the RV."

"I'll watch."

Mary Lou quietly sat on the window seat. Al crossed to the stone fireplace, put a log onto the fire, and left the room. Mary Lou promptly returned to the dressing table and put on her bracelet.

*****

"I just can't believe it!" Will shouted, pounding a pillow on the overstuffed couch. A chorus of dogs echoed his shout. "Here we are, trapped in this frozen wasteland, and that skinny basket case is making money off of our misfortune! It's not fair!"

Laura turned off the television. "Will, David is a reporter. It's not his fault that he was assigned to cover Sooner Than Never for CNN."

"Oh, the injustice of it all," Will moaned, draping himself across the sofa like a dying heroine. "Do you know what I'd do if I saw him? I'd walk right up to him and spit in his face. That's what I'd do. I'd spit in his face!"

Laura sighed. She never quite understood Will's absolute refusal to let go of the past. It was irrational, it was immature, and it was bizarre. He harbored grudges, or at least pretended to, like no one she had ever seen. True, David had broken his heart, but Will just wouldn't move on. Anyone who ever broke up with Will was the subject of his undying disdain and hostility. Forever.

"It's really a lucky break for him," Laura said quietly.

Will looked strangely at her, and blinked. "A lucky break? A lucky break! Where's my lucky break? Why does he get a high-paying job in his dream career, covering the biggest news story of the year, after he walked all over my emotional well-being? I want vengeance!"

"Will--"

"Do you know he had no self-confidence until he met me? None. He was gangly, awkward, inhibited. He blossomed when he was with me. Oh, my God, I created a monster!!!" He punched another throw pillow with his good arm.

Mrs. Dial ambled into the room, with a yapping Maltese tucked under each arm. She had just been awakened from her nap. "Is something wrong?" she asked timidly.

"Oh, nothing's wrong," said Will acidly. "Nothing's wrong, except my God-damned ex-boyfriend is on TV, building a career on my bad luck. To think I used to share a bed with that man!"

Mrs. Dial's eyes bulged, and she almost dropped her dogs.

Laura rolled her eyes heavenward and shook her head.

"Laura," she said quietly to her daughter. "Promise me he won't bring this up at the Elks Club Spaghetti Dinner tomorrow night."

******

"Then it's settled, Mr. Redding," Mr. Takamoto said with a smile. "We will proceed with our plans as you have outlined them. I think your ideas are creative and flawless."

Christian Redding stood up and straightened his suit. "Thank you, Mr. Takamoto. I imagine we will be meeting again in the late spring. Of course, I will notify you with all developments. It's been a pleasure, gentlemen."

He shook hands with everyone in the room, except Mr. Harikari, who pretended to drop his stack of papers and hid under the table. Then, he left.

"Redding is brilliant," breathed Takamoto.

"Yeah," snorted Harikari, "he also meaner than snake, and crazy like fox. Can we stop fake name game now?"

"Absolutely, Mr. Yemeshigi. But, may I ask, was your Charlie Chan accent necesssary? I think you took it just a bit too far"

"Just giving the customer what he wants? We all look alike to him anyway."

******

Al Heiligman stood at a pay phone in the pine board hallway of the Beaver Creek Mountain Inn, and dialed his niece's number.

"Hello?" said a voice at the other end.

Al could never tell who answered the phone there. They all sounded the same.

"Yeah, it's Al Heiligman."

"Oh, hi!" the still unidentifiable voice said sunnily. "Just a sec. Let me go get her."

Al knew now. It was Holly who had answered the phone. Someone picked up an extension in Chicago.

"Hello?"

"Faye, it's me."

"Uncle Al! I was wondering when you were going to call!"

You are visitor #

This page hosted by Get your own Free Home Page