Truman, the owner, had declared bankruptcy a couple years ago. Now Ronnie operated a car wash south of town and Nash Sidney spent a lot of time alone in his youthful practice on Main Street.
Or had spent time alone. It had been roughly a year since Gun visited him to formalize the transfer of land, house, and personal effects to Mazy’s name, and Gun noticed a lot of changes in the formerly sparse office. For starters, when he pushed the door open, there was no dime-store tinkle.
“Hi, Gun,” said Nash Sidney. He sat behind a big kidney-shaped desk new enough to smell like varnish. “Miss the bell?”
“You took it down,” Gun said. “What would Ronnie say?”
Nash smiled. “He was here last week to talk about a
suit. Seems his car wash soaped and waxed the crushed velvet in some lady’s Lincoln. Ruined it. She’s suing Ronnie because she forgot to roll the window up.”
“Glad you still care about client confidentiality.”
“Anyhow, he never noticed the bell,” Nash said. “I was disappointed.” He rose, tall next to anyone but Gun, and leaned across the desk to shake hands.
Nash Sidney was twenty-eight years old, had gradu ated from high school a couple years ahead of Mazy and gone to the University of Minnesota on a sports scholarship. Baseball. His fastball and control had been the only happy factors on a sad Stony team for several years, good enough to draw scouts from at least two big-league organizations. Nash chose the university, which made Gun smile, and then law school.
“Business good?” Gun said. He was looking at the kidney-shaped desk, which matched a set of gleaming walnut file cabinets on the back wall.
“Business is very good,” Nash said agreeably. “What summons you to town?”
“Big meeting today. Over at the Muskie. Surprised I didn’t see you there.”
“The Hedman event, yes. Um, congratulations.” Nash sat down again and winced slightly, as though his chair was padded with rocks. “I’d have been there, but the phone wouldn’t quit. I have one of those secretaries that only works mornings. You know.”
“Yup.” Gun sat down on the hood of Nash’s desk. He inhaled through his nose and squinted at a blue- tinted map pinned to Nash’s big bulletin board.
“Gun, what’s going on?”
“I think I’m finding out. An onerous process, as Jack says.” He nodded at the map. “Isn’t that a blueprint for Hedman’s mall project?”
“Loon Country Attractions. Yes.”
Gun smiled. “You know, there’s something familiar about that shoreline. The way it dips in right there, next to where you’ve got the talking loon. I wonder where I’ve seen that before.”
Nash was quiet. He took off his glasses and dangled them in his fingers. “Good God. You mean you didn’t know? Until today?”
“That Mazy was pulling out with Geoff? Or that my place, her place, is heading for the sewer? And how did you know about any of it, anyway?”
Nash shrugged. “I wouldn’t call Loon Country a sewer. Mazy could do worse than Geoff Hedman. And I knew about it because I’m Lyle’s lawyer. One of them, at least. He’s been hinting about some such romance, and it wasn’t hard to guess the rest. That map there,” he poked a thumb at the wall, “is a prospectus. Something Lyle had drawn up, just in case it worked out.”
“Just in case,” Gun said. “I would have appreciated a call.”
“Assumed you knew. You’ve got a daughter who has a little to do with this, Gun. Don’t you and Mazy ever talk?”
Gun stood up. “Nash, I came in here a year ago and we made a legal transaction. Mazy knew about it and that was as far as it went. She didn’t talk about it, I didn’t talk about it. Not to anybody. Now I find out she’s joined the Hedman household, and like it or not, she’s serving up her inheritence so Lyle can build himself a kingdom on it. He knew about that land transfer somehow. Before he should have. And I wonder how.”
Nash Sidney folded his hands.