Chapter 18 #2
"I'm happy for you, Aimee. You deserve it."
"Damn right I do." She pointed the Dr. Pepper can at me. "Now. Speaking of romantic entanglements. I have heard some very saucy things about you, Thomas Harmon."
I leaned back in my chair. "What have you heard?"
"The gossip, and I want you to understand this is extremely high-quality gossip from multiple independent sources, is that Thomas Harmon is building himself a little harem in the woods up at that cabin.
That he has been seen on multiple occasions with Liberty Flint, who, I should note, is twenty-one years old and gorgeous.
And also with Claire Beaumont, who is twenty-seven and gorgeous.
And now there's talk that he is also living with that pretty Asian girl who works at Irma's bakery. " She paused for effect. "Is it true?"
I laughed aloud. "The small-town telegraph system is faster than the speed of light."
"It has always been that way. Always will be. Now answer the question."
I caught my breath and wiped my eyes.
"I am not building a harem in the woods," I told her. "I am trying to be neighborly with good people who live around me. That's all."
Aimee sniffed. A theatrical, deeply unconvinced sniff.
"Fine. Keep your secrets."
"I have no secrets from you."
"Uh huh." She uncurled her legs and set her feet on the floor. "Well, Uncle Isaac should be here any minute. He was finishing his back nine."
The knock came two minutes later. Three sharp raps.
"Come in, Uncle Isaac!"
The door opened and Isaac Greene stepped inside.
He was tall but stooped, as if years of bending over a desk had reshaped his frame into a permanent question mark.
Bald, with blue eyes that sat deep in a weathered face.
He wore a salmon-colored golf shirt, pleated gray slacks, and white shoes that he'd wiped on the mat outside.
He carried a visor in one hand and a faint smell of sunscreen and cut grass.
"Uncle Isaac, this is Thomas."
"Mr. Greene. Thomas Harmon. Thank you for stopping by."
I stood and extended my hand. His handshake was firm but brief.
"Was out golfing, so no trouble to stop by afterward."
He turned to Aimee and his whole bearing shifted. The stiffness dropped away and something gentle moved across his face.
"Besides, I always love an excuse to see my favorite niece."
"Ditto," Aimee beamed, kissing him on the cheek. "My favorite unc, as the kids say."
"I have another niece in Port Angeles, but I prefer to keep my distance from that one."
Isaac said this deadpan, but a ghost of humor moved through his blue eyes. He took a seat in the armchair by the window and set his visor on his knee.
"So. What can I do for you, Mr. Harmon?"
I took a deep breath and collected my thoughts. I'd been preparing for this meeting since I'd first called Aimee.
"Mr. Greene, I moved to the area in March. I bought the old James cabin in the area east of Port Chasten. My neighbor is Claire Beaumont. I think you know her?"
"I know of her," Isaac said carefully. "I knew her father better. Mark James."
"Yes, Mark James. That's why I asked Aimee to meet you.
I want to talk to you about a young reporter named Richard Whitlock.
He's been working on a story about how county government has been influenced by a private citizen to the detriment of local landowners.
He contacted you about speaking with him regarding your time at the Office of the County Commissioner. "
The change was immediate. Isaac's shoulders drew together. His hands, which had been resting loosely on the arms of the chair, gripped the upholstery. His blue eyes, which had been open and warm when he'd greeted Aimee, went flat as paint.
"I have no desire to speak with Mr. Whitlock or anyone else about my work at the Office."
"I understand that. But the story Richard is working on matters, Mr. Greene.
It matters to real people who have been hurt.
" I leaned forward. "He's found falsified boundary documents.
Fraudulent tax abatements. Access fees collected on wells that sit on other people's land.
County inspection reports that were never conducted but somehow got filed--"
Isaac held up his hand, palm out, fingers spread.
"I appreciate what you're telling me, Mr. Harmon. But I am retired. I served the county for forty years and I am done. The last thing I want is to sit down with some young reporter and revisit all of it."
He stood. The chair creaked as his weight left it. He picked up his visor and turned it in his hands.
"I only came because Aimee asked me to, and I can't say no to Aimee.
But I will not speak to anyone about my work.
Not the reporter, not you, not anyone. I want a quiet life.
That's all I've wanted since I turned in my county ID card.
" He nodded once, a short, definitive dip of his chin. "I wish you a good day."
He turned toward the door. Aimee caught my eye. Her lips pressed together. She gave me the smallest shake of her head, a warning or a surrender, I couldn't tell which.
Isaac reached the door and put his hand on the knob.
"If you don't want to talk about me or Claire Beaumont," I said, "maybe you could talk about Abner Flint."
Isaac's hand stayed on the doorknob. He didn't turn around.
"Abner Flint served this country for twenty-two years," I said. "He came home from Iraq with smoke damage in his lungs from burn pits the Army lit and the VA won't acknowledge. He came out here to live a quiet life, Mr. Greene. Much like the one you want."
Isaac's shoulders dropped. Not a movement he chose. A movement that happened to him, as if something heavy had settled across the back of his neck.
"Instead, he got harassed," I pressed on.
"His neighbor used county connections to cut off his electricity on a paperwork technicality.
Abner Flint has lived without grid power for fifteen years.
Fifteen years, Mr. Greene. He raised his daughter in the dark.
Abner is slowly dying and he will not ask anyone for help because every institution that was supposed to help him either failed him or was used against him.
" I paused. "Are you okay with what happened to Abner Flint? "
The AC rattled in the window frame. Aimee sat motionless on the loveseat. Isaac stood with his hand on the doorknob, his back to us, his stooped frame silhouetted against the bright rectangle of sunlight coming through the glass panel beside the door.
I waited.
Isaac opened the door, walked through it, and closed it behind him.