A Fountain Filled With Blood

“Well, I find a little bit of Peggy goes a long way. She’s a bit too ruthlessly organized and peppy. She’ll probably have the houseguests up at five for a brisk scenic hike. Plus, she’s been hitting me up about getting Malcolm a job at my firm, if you can believe that. Do you know him well?”

“We’ve only just met.”

“Peggy is amazingly sharp, but Malcolm couldn’t find his arse with both hands. I shudder to think what he could do if he actually had to take responsibility for something.”

“I heard he was the one who got Peggy and Bill Ingraham together for this Algonquin Waters Spa development.”

“Oh, he’s good at the social thing, no doubt about that. Which is probably why Peggy has him down for my job. There’s a lot of circulating and schmoozing you have to do. There’s also a lot of researching and interviewing and digging into company books. I suspect the last book Malcolm cracked was The Home-Brew Guide to Making Your Own Methamphetamines.”

She clapped one hand over her eyes. “You’re dropping a hint here…. I’m getting a clue as to what you think of him.”

He laughed. “Oh, God, I forgot to ask. You’re not a reporter, are you?”

She opened her eyes. “Nope. As a matter of fact, I’m pretty well known for my ability to keep things confidential.” She sipped her drink. “But I am interested in the development. It’s been a real source of controversy here in town.”

“So I hear.”

“Why are you trying to pump Peggy Landry for—”

“No, believe me, the last thing I want to do is pump Peggy.”

She giggled again—no!—and clapped a hand over her mouth. “For information about BWI,” she said firmly.

“We’ve been thinking about sinking some money into it. After the Internet bubble burst, the partners have become interested in more traditional investments. And there’s not much that’s more traditional than buying land and sticking buildings on it.”

“Are you going to go through with the investment? Now that Bill Ingraham is dead?”

“I don’t think that’s the problem. He did a terrific job, and he had a real feel for what people wanted on these luxury resorts. But he can be replaced. Maybe not by one larger-than-life guy like himself, but by an architect, a construction boss, and a marketing designer. The problem is”—he moved closer and dropped his voice—“as near as I can tell, BWI is standing on a mountain of debt. Any investment we, or others, make is just going to go into the hopper.”

In her sandals, she was exactly Hugh’s height. It made her feel like they were swapping secrets. “What’s going to happen now? Are they going to go under?”

He shook his head. “Not if they can carry off this resort. This one’s funded by private backers, not by the banks. Oppenheimer has gotten smarter.”

“Opperman. Oppenheimer invented the atomic bomb.”

“Okay. The one that didn’t invent the atomic bomb is now trying to put together consortiums of investors, rather than doing their financing through banks. Makes it a lot easier to sidestep those nasty time payments.”

“What about insurance on Bill Ingraham?”

“What do you mean?”

Clare finished off her drink. “There would have been insurance on Bill Ingraham, right? As a partner? My folks run a small aviation business, and I know my dad has insurance that goes directly into the company if he dies.”

“Oh, yeah, I’m sure Ingraham had insurance.” Hugh frowned in thought. “Actually, that’s a good question. I wonder how much it was?” He drained his glass and refocused on her. “But even if he was insured for a couple million, it wouldn’t be a drop in the bucket against their debt load.”

She worried her lower lip. “Something’s not making sense here.”

“I’ll say. They keep sending in the drinks tray, but we haven’t seen any of the hors d’oeuvres. C’mon, someone less hardy than ourselves has fled to find food and we can nab the window seat.”

He slid his hand beneath her elbow and steered her toward a window seat tucked behind a large desk angling out from a corner of the room. She collapsed onto the well-stuffed cushion and slipped off her sandals. “Oh, yes. That feels good.” Hugh flagged down the waiter. “No, I shouldn’t. I think I’ve had enough all ready. Eventually, I have to drive home.”

“You can ride with me,” he said, lifting two glasses from the tray.

“You’re not going to be in any state to drive, either, if you keep going like that.”

“I know.” He grinned. Those dimples really were awfully cute. “I’m getting a lift from the Spoffards. They’re staying at the same B and B. She’s preggers, so she’s the designated driver. They already have a minivan, in anticipation of the blessed event, so there’ll be plenty of room for you. You won’t even have to sit on my lap. Unless you want to.”