I haven’t told anyone where I’ve been working—not Jasper, not Bev or Charlotte, not even the hellcat—and the idea of Arthur gossiping casually about his new housekeeper makes my brain cramp.
The prickles spread up my arms and down my spine. “Maybe I do.”
“Oh, don’t worry.” She steps closer and touches my shoulder. She smells like the JCPenney’s in E-town: sterile, steam-pressed. “We keep track of things like that.”
“Who’s we, exactly?”
“Oh, of course!” A small, friendly laugh. “I’m with the Innovative Solutions Consulting Group. We’re under contract with Gravely Power.” She extends her hand. I’m aware that I should take it and tell her it’s very nice to meet her—such a small lie, in the scheme of things. My arms remain at my sides, stiff in Arthur’s sleeves.
Baine withdraws her hand smoothly, unoffended. “We were hoping you might be able to help us, Opal. We’ve been trying to get in contact with the current occupant of the Starling house for some time now.”
“And why’s that?” The question comes out before I can remind myself that I don’t care.
“It’s an issue of mineral rights and property lines—a lot of legal terms I don’t understand.” I bet she does; her laugh is humble, almost girlish, but her eyes are cut glass. “Mr. Gravely is always looking for new opportunities to invest in Eden, and we think the Starling property has a lot of potential. You know the plant is expanding?”
“I’d heard, yeah.”
My tone must be off, because Baine says, chidingly, “It could be very good for Eden’s economy.”
“Sure.” And then, because you can’t grow up around Bev without picking up a few bad habits, I add, “They fix the leak in the fly ash pond yet? It’s just everybody remembers what happened in Martin County. Massey paid what, five grand? And they still can’t drink their own water over there—”
“Gravely Power is committed to the health and safety of the community,” Baine says. “Now, what can you tell me about the Starling property?”
“I’m just the housekeeper.” I do a friendly little shrug, trying hard to suppress Bev’s voice in my head: goddamn vultures. “So you’ll have to give Arthur a call about that.”
“Arthur doesn’t have a number listed.” Baine puts a faint emphasis on his name, and I feel obscurely that I shouldn’t have used it.
“So write him a letter.”
“He doesn’t write back.” Her expression is still serene. “We just hoped you might convey the seriousness of our interest to Mr. Starling. This could be a very profitable arrangement.” A precisely timed pause before she adds, “For all of us, Opal.” This time her smile says: I know how you work.
And she does. I can feel my lips stretching in an ingratiating smile, my spine softening. I open my mouth to say, Yes, ma’am, but what comes out is “Sorry. Can’t help you.”
I can’t tell which of us is more surprised. We stand blinking at one another, neither of us bothering to smile. Distantly, I notice my fingers are gripping the cuff of Arthur’s coat.
I turn away, fighting the urge to run before I make any other bad choices or worse enemies.
Baine’s voice reaches out after me. “Mr. Gravely knows about your situation.” I stop walking. “It pains him.” Her tone has a triumphal undercurrent, like she’s pulled a winning card, except I don’t know what game we’re playing. The only Mr. Gravely I know is the man with hands like boiled eggs and hair the color of raw liver, the man who owns the power company and half the county. It’s difficult for me to imagine that he even knows my name. Is this supposed to be another bribe? Or—my chest contracts—a threat?
I look back over one shoulder, hard-eyed. “I don’t know what situation you mean, but we’re just fine.”
Baine makes a face that’s probably supposed to be sincere. “He wants to help you, Opal.”
“Why exactly would Mr. Gravely give a shit about me?”
“Because . . .” Her eyes move over my face, slightly narrowed. I have the impression she’s performing a number of quick calculations. She swallows them with another smile. “Because he’s a good man. He really loves this town, you know.”
I doubt it. The Gravelys have that big house on the edge of town, but they’re always vacationing and traveling.11 I bet Don doesn’t know which dogwoods bloom first or how the train whistle sounds at night, hollow and lonesome. I bet the tap water tastes like blood to him, because he’s not used to all that metal in his mouth. I don’t know if I love Eden, either, but I know it all the way down to its rotten bones.