What the Heart Wants (What the Heart Wants, #1)(71)

“You didn’t sound like yourself at first.”

She laughed. “It’s me.” Was he coming back?

“I just called to say I’m sorry I left like that. I’m heading off to Dallas in a bit, but I’ll be in touch.”

Her heart landed with a thud. “Oh. Well, have a good trip.”

“Are you—are you okay? You sound odd again.”

“Just fine.” Except that my heart is broken.

“I’m sorry, Laurel, but I need time to get my head around this. Reverend Ed…”

“I understand.”

“People like Betsy Simcek…you’ve had a hard time of it, haven’t you? Will you be safe? I could get you a bodyguard or something.”

“I can call the police if anything happens. Mervin Hruska doesn’t look the other way like his predecessor did.”

“Well, call me if you change your mind about the protection. You’ve got my number.”

“Thanks.”

Her eyes began to smart as soon as she hung up the phone, but she refused to allow herself to cry. She’d cried a week ago when he was about to leave, and look how that had ended up—now she was more alone than ever.

Instead, she made herself a strong cup of coffee, sat down at the kitchen table, and checked in with her Realtor again.

Good news. He’d talked to an out-of-town couple, the Cokers, about Kinkaid House, and they’d be coming to town next week to visit the property. She hoped it would work out. The way things looked right now, she would need to be in Brownsville by mid-August, and she’d prefer to sell the house before then.

Now to drink her coffee and brood awhile. She could indulge herself that much.

What was that? Someone was knocking on the door.

She started to get up, but sat back down. She didn’t feel like talking to anyone. Maybe her visitor would cease and desist if she pretended she wasn’t at home.

The bell started ringing and a loud, familiar voice called out her name.

“Laurel! Laurel Elizabeth Harlow! Answer the door! I know you’re in there!”

It was Sarah.

Laurel put down her coffee, walked slowly to the door, and opened it a hand’s width. “Go away.”

“Let me in right now, or I’ll call the cops and have them break down the door!”

“You can’t do that!”

“The hell I can’t! I’ll tell them you’re suicidal! Besides, you know that Mervin Hruska always did whatever I asked him to!”

Laurel opened the door. Sarah threw her arms around her the second she stepped across the threshold.

“Sweetie, I’ve missed you so much, and I just had to come over when I heard about what happened at the Bosque Club. Besides, Mother told me that black Cadillac wasn’t in your driveway last night.”

Laurel drooped her head to Sarah’s shoulder. She needed her so much right now. “Betsy Simcek—”

“Betsy Simcek should be institutionalized. And Jase Redlander should be hung from a yardarm, whatever that is. Now, let’s go into the kitchen and talk everything over.”

*



Jase gave Craig Freiberg instructions about finishing up the two deals he’d committed himself to in Bosque Bend, then drove over to Dairy Queen for his meeting with Arthur Sawyer.

Sawyer hailed him from a table near the door. “You’re right on time, Jason. I like that. Dependable.”

“I try.” Jase looked around. The store wasn’t even recognizable from the last time he’d been there. Laurel had told him the Mayfields had redone the restaurant, but he hadn’t expected the place to look quite so upscale.

Sawyer started to rise. “Let’s go order. I’ll buy you a frozen custard to soften you up before I begin third-degreeing you.”

Jase laughed. “Sure thing. Lead the way.”

A heavyset man wearing a badge identifying him as the store manager greeted them with a big smile. “A Blizzard, as usual, Mr. Sawyer?”

“Of course, Juan. It’s Cookie Dough this month, isn’t it?” He turned to Jase. “And what’s your poison, young Redlander?”

“A dipped cone, I guess.” That’s what Maxie always ordered for him when he was a kid.

As soon as they got their treats, his host led him to a booth in the back of the side room, several tables distant from the herd of exuberant Cub Scouts who had taken over the front area.

Sawyer sucked in several spoonfuls of Blizzard before he started in on him. “Now, Jason, tell me about yourself. I understand you’ve accumulated considerable real estate holdings up and down the I-35 corridor.”

“Yessir. I started out with one parking lot, and it just grew from there.” He decapitated the custard’s curly top.

Sawyer produced a small notebook and a ballpoint pen. “Actually, I’ve googled most of your official information. What I really want to know are what your plans are for our fair city.”

“You don’t use a recorder?”

Sawyer shook his head. “Makes people too nervous, like they’re being interrogated.”

Jase paused to recapture a large piece of the frozen chocolate shell that had broken loose. “I know the feeling.”

He liked Art Sawyer as an adult even more than he’d liked him as a kid. The old guy was a straight shooter.