Chapter Fourteen #2
“I started on a poster design for you,” she says, licking vanilla ice cream with bourbon caramel sauce off her spoon while I try to keep my thoughts clean. “Don’t forget to send me the information that should go on it. I’ll scan my drawing and get you the digital file for printing.”
“Thank you. I can’t wait to see it.”
“Everett, hello,” murmurs a smooth female voice to my right.
I turned my head to find Tiffany and Tad Hart at the side of our table. Tad is a direct descendant of the town’s founding family, and Tiffany is his Boston-born, my-family-was-on-the-Mayflower wife. Pushing my chair back, I stand and offer my hand. “Mr. Hart. Mrs. Hart.”
Tad shakes my hand heartily. “Mr. Mayor. Good to see you.” He’s built like a refrigerator and still carries himself like the linebacker he was fifty years ago.
He has considerably more paunch these days, but he maintains an air of intimidation—as much to do with his massive wealth as his size.
“Where are we on the donation of the old foundry site?”
“Still doing some environmental assessment.” The testing is already done, of course, but I don’t want to get into the results tonight.
Tiffany Hart clasps my hand with cool, elegant fingers.
As slender as her husband is thick, she wears a diamond the size of a doorknob on her left hand and gold bracelets on her right arm.
She has to be close to seventy, but her golden-blond hair shows no sign of gray, and the skin on her face and neck is tight.
“Is the assessment really necessary?” she asks.
“The old office building is so beautiful. It will make a perfect community center. And there’s plenty of space for a playground beside it.
So many children live in the surrounding neighborhoods. ”
And those children are going to suffer from the neurological and respiratory effects of heavy metal toxicity, not to mention the increased risk of cancer, if we don’t clean up the soil.
But I hold that back for now.
“It is beautiful,” I agree, “but first we have to make sure it’s safe to repurpose. I’m consulting with an expert.”
“What’s that involve?” Tad’s bushy eyebrows furrow.
“Some soil sampling and groundwater testing. Plans for remediation depending on the level of contamination.”
Tiffany appears perturbed. “But we’ve scheduled a press release regarding the donation of the building for a community center. I’m already planning the grand opening for spring.”
I offer her a polite smile. “We’re working as quickly as we can.”
“Hart Iron Works has always complied with all environmental regulations,” Tad says, his hand slicing through the air horizontally.
“Of course. But regulations change, and the contamination could be from historical practices.”
“What happens if they find it?” Tiffany asks.
“I’ll tell you what happens—lawsuits,” Tad grumbles. “And bad publicity.”
Tiffany seems upset, yet her forehead still doesn’t move. “Oh, dear. We don’t want that.”
“Who’s conducting these tests?” Tad demands.
“A firm out of Lansing called Impact Environmental Solutions.”
“Uh-huh.” He scrubs a hand over his slab of a jaw. “And who’s paying for them?”
“We had to find room for it in the budget, since the testing is required by law, and several concerned citizens have spoken up about the potential long-term health hazards of contamination.”
“Tell you what, sport.” Tad claps me on the back. “Why don’t we make a donation that will cover the testing? You send me the total, and I’ll cut you a check.”
I know what his game is, and I’m not playing it. “That’s a generous offer, but I can’t accept it.”
The old linebacker studies me with shrewd eyes. “Well, I’m sure you’ll keep me informed. We’re anxious to see that community center happen. For the children.”
“Yes,” Tiffany adds. “The children are the most important thing. We’re making that very clear in the press release.”
Tad refocuses his attention on Mila. “Sorry to interrupt your dinner, young lady.”
She smiles. “That’s okay.”
“Mr. and Mrs. Hart, this is Mila Ferguson.”
“You must be Eliza’s daughter,” says Tiffany.
“Yes.” Mila tugs at a strand of her red hair. “I can’t imagine what gave it away.”
Tiffany lets out a peal of laughter. “You were a friend of our niece’s, I believe. George’s daughter, Rachel? George was Tad’s brother.”
“I was a friend of Rachel’s,” Mila says, her eyes widening. “You have a good memory. I just saw her mother at the grocery store this morning. She hasn’t changed a bit.”
“I know. It must be that royal blood.”
“Royal blood?” Mila questions.
“Catriona is supposedly the second cousin once removed of a Spanish prince.” Tiffany’s tone holds a touch of awe.
“I thought she was from the Philippines,” Tad says.
His wife sighs. “She is. Never mind, dear.”
“Have you seen Rachel lately?” Mila’s voice rises hopefully.
“Not in ages.” Tiffany sighs and shakes her head. “The younger generation doesn’t seem to come back much.”
“It was nice seeing you, Mr. and Mrs. Hart,” I say, eager to avoid a kids these days conversation.
“You too, Everett. Nice meeting you, Mila.”
When they’re gone, I take my seat. “Sorry about that business stuff.”
“That’s okay.” She twirls her spoon in the melted ice cream and caramel sauce again. “It’s not like the mayor can ignore the town’s founding family. Though… It sounds like they aren’t thrilled about the testing.”
“Doesn’t matter. It had to be done.” I tip back the last of my old-fashioned. I make sure to leave the cherry where Mila can see it, just in case she wants to show me her little trick again.
“Why not let them pay for it? It must be expensive.”
“It is, but if the Harts pay for it, they’ll expect me to bury any results not in their favor.”
She nods with understanding. “Do you think the results will show contamination in the soil?”
“I already know they do.”
She sits back. “Oh, shit. What kind?”
“Chromium. Lead. Arsenic.”
“So no community center?”
“It could still be done eventually, if I can find the funds for the clean-up.”
She looks out the window into the dark. “It’s funny about that place. My friends and I used to hang out there all the time. It was our secret meeting spot.”
“You guys probably have lead poisoning.”
Her lips twitch. “What does clean-up look like?”
“The consultant told me the standard approach is excavation and removal—basically, dig up the contaminated soil, haul it to a hazardous waste landfill somewhere, and backfill with clean soil.”
“How long does that take?”
“Six to twelve months. But the bigger problem will be the cost. The consultant estimated three to five million dollars, which is more than the town can afford.”
“Ouch.” She sucks some caramel sauce off her finger in the most alluring way imaginable. “Will the Harts offer to help?”
“I doubt it.” I try to casually adjust the crotch of my pants.
“That would mean claiming responsibility, and they’re clearly fearful of litigation.
They just want this done quickly and simply so they can rid themselves of a tax liability while benefiting from a write-off through a charitable donation. ”
“So charitable of them to donate their contaminated land.”
“Exactly.”
“So what will you do now?”
“I have to figure out an agreeable solution for all parties. The town can’t afford to make enemies of the Hart family.
Their name isn’t just on the biggest employer in this area, it’s also on the health clinic, the lakefront park, the animal rescue—the town itself.
So it’s not just a straightforward question of ethics.
I have to find the balance between keeping the Hart family happy and doing what’s best for the residents of Hart’s Landing, all within the constraints of a small town budget. ”
After one final lick, she sets her spoon down. “I take back what I said about the mayor not deserving a parking spot.”
“Thank you.” I smile. “How was your dessert?”
“Delicious.” She puts both hands on her stomach. “But I’m officially full.”
“Too full for another cherry?” I slide my empty cocktail glass toward her.
She laughs. “Are you asking me to perform my little trick again?”
“I think you should. Maybe you just got lucky the first time.”
Her eyelids lower slightly as she reaches for the cherry. Within seconds, she’s got the stem tied in a knot. “There,” she says, holding it up with a victorious grin.
God, I want to kiss those lips.
I signal to the server that we’re ready for the check. When it arrives, Mila suggests splitting it. “No way,” I argue, tucking my credit card inside the leather holder before she can grab it. “I’ve got this.”
“But—”
“I asked you to dinner tonight. It’s my treat.”
“You didn’t ask,” she reminds me. “But thank you.”
Ten minutes later, we walk out of Wardwell House into the September night. A cool breeze ruffles Mila’s hair, and she shivers. “Shoot. I forgot my jacket. I must have left it on the chair in the living room. I just wanted to get out of there.”
“Here.” I shrug out of my blazer and hold it up.
After slipping her arms into the sleeves, she frees her hair from the collar, and I want to gather it in my hands and bury my face in it. Inhale its scent. She turns to face me, and I notice that her hands have disappeared.
I cuff up the sleeves for her. “That’s better.”
She gives me a smile that quickens my pulse. “Thank you.”
“What do you feel like doing? Would you like me to take you home, or do you want to hang out for a little bit, go get a drink or something?”
“Hmm.” She thinks for a moment. “I’m afraid if we go to a bar, I’ll see my face on the Landing Pad again tomorrow. Maybe a walk along the river?”
“Sure, we can do that. Let’s grab the truck and drive downtown. We can take advantage of my hard-earned parking spot.”
She laughs and sways in my direction, giving me a full-body side nudge. “Perfect.”
As we walk toward the truck, I wonder what, exactly, is prohibited by a no-dating rule. Does it mean she’s completely off-limits? Are there allowances for out-of-town flings? Am I the asshole if I make a move?
I don’t want to be the asshole.
But I can’t remember the last time I wanted to lock my fingers with someone else’s. Drape my arm possessively around someone’s shoulders. Kiss someone on a street corner in the dark.
I know just what she’d taste like. Vanilla ice cream. Bourbon caramel sauce. Cherry on top.
Our pinky fingers brush against each other’s. Once. Twice. Then they’re linked together, the small point of contact blooming with heat.
I slip my hand into hers, and she lets me hold it.