AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Oh, you mean your ex-wife Todd? I’m Jeff Koehler. I do know your ex-wife, but I’m not a farmer. Sometimes I wish I was because it’s probably the most respected and honorable profession around these parts. I’m actually a wildlife photographer.”
“Good to know, Jeff,” replied Todd. “If I ever need a picture of a squirrel or a skunk, I now know who to come see. Later Jeff.” With that, Todd exited the store, jumped in a red Corvette, and drove away. What an asshole, Jeff thought to himself as he paid for his paint and left the store. Jeff wanted to dislike Todd, and Todd just lived up to his expectations.
***
As Jeff headed home, he saw his brother Eddie coming out of Clay Thome’s law office. Clay was one of several lawyers in town. Jeff couldn’t help being curious why Eddie would be meeting with him. Many people around town suspected Eddie had money problems. He never let on if he did. If that were true, it still wouldn’t explain the need to meet with a lawyer. Jeff turned his truck around as soon as he could, but Eddie had already left. Clay came out of his office heading to his car when Jeff pulled in. “Hey Clay, how are things going?” he said.
“Going very well, Jeff. Just heading for a meeting with a client at the courthouse.”
“I just saw Eddie leaving your office. What brought him in today?”
“I know he’s your brother Jeff, but I can’t reveal details of our conversation. I suggest you ask Eddie.”
“I’ll definitely do that, Clay. Have a good day.” With that, Jeff headed home as Clay got into his car and headed toward his meeting.
That evening around 10:00 pm, Jeff ran to the local party store to grab a six-pack of beer. A few people in town mentioned Carrie bought Hardie Streeter’s old home on Maple Avenue. Jeff found himself driving past the home, even though it sat a couple blocks out of his way. As he passed the house, he saw the red Corvette parked in the driveway. I guess he’s staying there for the night, Jeff surmised as he drove home. Maybe they’re back together, maybe not.
Chapter eleven
Blonde, blue-eyed, and shapely, 24-year-old Maggie O’Shea was a perfect fit for the Coyote Grill. The establishment sat on a well-traveled crossroads about ten minutes from the Roads End cabin and twenty minutes outside town. Maggie’s attractive looks and fast, efficient service alone would have earned her a “Server of the Year” award. But Maggie prided herself on her attention to detail and excellent memory. She remembered customers' names, orders, and details they shared about their lives. Greeting familiar faces by name, asking if they wanted their “usual,” and accurately delivering it were her trademarks.
Some of what Maggie learned about the Grill’s customers wasn’t shared willingly with her. People wanting private conversations often chose to sit in the corner booth along the back wall because it appeared to afford the most privacy. It was cut off from the other booths by a hallway that led to the restrooms. Most people didn’t realize that a return air vent above the booth carried sound to a similar vent just above the kitchen salad bar. Maggie shook her head at the things she’d overheard since starting work here. Her willingness to drop these juicy tidbits into conversations with others made her popular in the town’s gossip circle too.
Gar Charington was running ten minutes late to the Coyote Grill, where he had a meeting with Cyrus Campbell for lunch. He pulled into the parking lot with his black Continental, now over eight years old. The car was a critical prop in maintaining his image as the major player in the oil and gas business in Stoneman County. Gar extinguished his Cohiba Red Dot cigar, his go-to brand, before exiting the vehicle. Charington was 62 years old with a bald head and a gut that hung over his belt. He wore a buckskin vest and a western-style cowboy hat that made him look like a Texas oil baron who forgot he lived in Northern Michigan.
Gar blew into the grill and immediately spotted Cyrus sitting in the back booth. Cyrus and Gar typically met once a quarter to discuss the status of the two oil wells on Cyrus’s property. Gar started the conversation by saying, “Cyrus, are you any closer to closing on that potential deal you mentioned last time we met?”
Cyrus frowned, “I’ve hit a few snags, but I intend to get it done, and you’ll be the first to know, all right?”
Gar nodded, “Okay, Cyrus, calm down. I know you’re working on it, but time’s ticking. It needs to get done as soon as possible. We’ll just focus on the current status of your oil production today. No sense speculating about issues that may or may not ever become real.”
Gar cleared his throat. “Ok. This is what I see from our data. Your hilltop well is declining in terms of how much it produces. This is a normal occurrence that is expected as a well reaches maturity. My company, Superior, is incurring more costs than expected to extract the remaining oil in this reserve.”
“Gar, I think you Superior boys are trying to give me a good screwing. I wasn’t born yesterday, and I know when a man is trying to bend me over. I want to see the details about your extraction costs. I’m not the dumb dirt farmer you think I am.”
“Ok, Cyrus. Calm down. I’ll get my team to produce that detail, and we’ll show you everything is on the up and up. I’ve been doing this for 15 years in this county. My reputation is stellar, and you never have to worry about ole Gar screwin ya. When we meet next month, we’ll do a deep dive into our production costs, and you’ll see what I mean.”
“I can’t wait, replied Cyrus. The devil is in the details, and I sure hope you boys at Superior ain’t the devil.”
After discussing other matters related to Cyrus’s wells for about twenty minutes, the two men ordered a shot of Don Julio tequila. When the waitress brought the drinks, Gar said, “So little sweetheart, “My name’s Garfield Cherington, but a sweet thing like you can call me Gar. You’ve probably heard about me around here because I’m an oil man. What's your name? I don’t think I’ve seen you here before.”
“I’m Paula.”
“Paula, what?” Gar inquired.
“Paula Schultz”
“Ah, a fraulein. Then you must know what German girls put behind their ears to attract men?”
“No, fraid not.”
“Their legs!”
With that, Gar broke into deep howling laughter so intense Paula could see spittle flying from his mouth. Cyrus frowned, showing no sign he appreciated the joke, while Paula feigned amusement.
“I’m used to that other foxy little lady Maggie. I guess she’s not working today, but you’ll definitely do. Care to join ole Gar and his friend for a shot?”
“No, thank you, sir. I’m busy and need to get to my other tables.”
