Free Jackrabbit Junction Jitters by Ann Charles Page A

figured out the estimated
value of just two of Ruby’s four mines.
    “Which mines are we talking about?”
    “Rattlesnake Ridge and Socrates Pit.” Mac dangled the bait.
    “What’s her price?”
    “That’s still up in the air.”
    “Then why are you here?”
    “To test the waters, see if the fish are still biting.”
    Johnson sat back, his leather chair creaking. He stared at
Mac for several seconds. “They’re still hungry.”
    Mac smiled, his chest loosening, relieved Johnson hadn’t
called his bluff. “I’ll let her know.” Here was where he might lose his catch. “If
you’ll give me the names and phone numbers of your attorneys, we’ll deal
through them from here on and I’ll stay out of your hair.”
    Johnson reached in his desk drawer, pulled out a couple of
business cards, and handed them to Mac. “How soon will Ruby be making a
decision?”
    “I’m not sure, but she seems anxious to get moving on this.”
Mac glanced down at the names; neither card belonged to Leo M. Scott, the
lawyer from Tucson who’d sent the letter to Ruby.
    Okay, one more lie. “She’s already contacted an attorney out
of Tucson by the name of Leo Scott.” He studied Johnson’s face, waiting for
some telltale sign that the mining company had done business with Leo Scott
before.
    Johnson just nodded and rose with his hand extended. “Great.
I look forward to working out a deal this time.”
    “She does, too.” Mac stood, knowing he’d be playing ice
hockey in hell first. He shook Johnson’s hand. “Thanks for your time.”
    Mac could have sworn he heard Edith hiss at him as he walked
by her desk.
    The sight of Richard Rensberg, vice-president of the Cactus
Creek Bank, in the reception area stopped him just short of the double glass
doors. He was reading some paper from an open folder, his forehead furrowed.
Two cardboard mapping tubes leaned against the seat next to him.
    If Ruby were with him, Mac would be holding her back from
beating Rensberg senseless with the tubes. The asshole had hassled Ruby on a
daily basis in April for being behind on her mortgage payments for the R.V.
park. Ever since, she’d used a picture of him for dart practice in the rec room.
    “Hello, Rensberg.”
    Rensberg looked up from the paper, his eyes widening as he
stared back. He snapped the file folder closed, his right hand touching one of
the tubes next to him.  “Garner.”
    “Harassed any widows lately?”
    The bank man’s ruddy cheeks darkened visibly. “Only those
who try to skip out of paying what they legally owe.”
    “What brings you to the Copper Snake? Chasing ghosts?”
    Rensberg’s great, great grandfather graced several of the
pictures hanging on the reception room’s walls. He’d founded the Copper Snake,
and along with his son and then grandson, built it into a mammoth monster that
had gobbled up most other mining companies in the area.
    Then Rensberg’s father had taken over and sold off most of
the family’s shares to support his very young, very beautiful, and very
expensive wife, only to kill himself after she left him and his son years
later. Last Mac had heard, the only role Richard Rensberg played in the Copper
Snake’s day-to-day operation was cashing paychecks for the miners at the teller
window.
    “None of your business, Garner. How’s your aunt? Still
scraping the bottom of the barrel as always?”
    Red-hot fury fired in Mac’s gut. He hid it behind a cool
smile.
    “Mr. Johnson will see you now, Mr. Rensberg.” Edith interrupted.
    Rensberg stuffed the file folder back in his briefcase and
stood. “Thank you, Edith.”
    “Would you like your coffee sweetened, as usual?”
    “Please.” He clutched the two map tubes to his chest. “Garner,
tell your aunt our refinance rates are at a five-year low,” he said, his
expression smug. “Just like her paltry savings account.”
    Mac wanted to scrape the look off the banker’s face with his
knuckles. “It’s always unpleasant to see you,