Larry squinted at Nash. “Who exactly do you know in Atlanta?”
A shrewdness came into Nash’s eyes, something Larry didn’t remember seeing before.
“Just some guys, who know some guys.”
“I thought you said you were an architect.”
If Nash wasn’t an architect, he was the best fake Larry had ever met. He was an excellent builder, and facts and figures came out of his mouth in an almost encyclopedic manner. Larry recognized it, since he could do it himself.
Which gave him pause. Nash was one genius of an architect. And he’d chucked it all to run a bait shop?
“I am an architect,” said Nash.
“For who? The mob?”
Nash grinned. “Right. I’ve been running their office tower development division on the Eastern Seaboard.”
Okay, maybe not the mob. But there was something…
“Why’d you move to Myrtle Pond?” he tried.
Nash didn’t answer, his expression inscrutable.
Larry felt a shiver run up his spine. He bought some time by taking a chug of his rapidly warming beer. “With my IQ, I guess I should be smart enough to know when to shut up and stop asking questions.”
“Yeah. And especially as a researcher on the N-52 Isis project.”
Larry froze. “What did you say?”
Nash gave him a look that said that Larry knew perfectly well what he’d said. He’d just tossed out the name of a top secret satellite project that, maybe, fifty guys in the world knew Larry was involved in.
“NSA?” asked Larry, his eyes squinting down at the waning light. “The military?”
“No initials you’d recognize.”
“But, the good guys,” Larry confirmed.
“The good guys,” said Nash.
Then another unsettling thought hit Larry. “You’re not here because of me, are you?”
Nash laughed, tipping back his head. “No offense, Larry. But you’re nowhere near important enough for me to guard.”
“Any danger to Myrtle Pond?”
Nash polished off his beer, stood up and hit the deck lights. “No one’s going to find me here. Nobody’s even looking.”
Larry nodded, knowing that was as much information as he’d get, also knowing that was as much information as he wanted. If Nash knew Larry was working on the Isis project, he also knew Larry could be trusted; otherwise he wouldn’t have revealed even that much.
Nash grabbed a couple more beers from the cooler. “So, if you need this Zane jerk tuned up, you just let me know.”
Larry was sorely tempted. “Not the kind of solution I’m used to.”
Nash set an unopened beer on the table next to Larry. “Likely not the kind of problem you’re used to, either.”
Larry couldn’t disagree with that.
His mind snapped back to his other problem. “Let me ask you this.” It was obvious he could trust Nash. “If you cared about a woman, but the circumstances were all wrong, would you walk away?”
“You’re asking the wrong guy.”
“Why’s that?”
“Because the circumstances have never been right for me.”
“So, what do you do?”
“You walk away from the ones you care about.” Nash paused. “And sleep with the ones you don’t.”
“That’s depressing.”
“Isn’t it though?”
Larry popped the tab on his second beer. “You and I are complete opposites.” The last woman Larry had either cared about or slept with, he married.
“Which is why I can’t see you being wrong for anybody,” said Nash. “You’re a freakin’ Boy Scout.”
“If I were a Boy Scout, I’d have walked away from her already.” And that was the truth. It wasn’t that Larry didn’t know the right thing to do. He was simply too selfish to do it.
“Why?” Nash demanded.
“I’m too old.”
“Horseshit.”
“Eloquent argument.”
“You don’t have to be eloquent when you’re right.”
“She has her entire life ahead of her.”
“From what I could see, she wants to spend part of it with you.”
“And when I die?”
“Excuse me?”
“What happens to her when I die?”
Nash’s voice rose with incredulity. “Well, hopefully, she gets a fat life insurance settlement and can grieve in the South Pacific.”
Larry started to laugh. “You should practice what you preach, you know.”
“How am I not?”
“If you’re not afraid to leave a widow, then get into a relationship. Find a nice girl. Get married.”
“Like a nice girl would marry me.”
“Why not?”
Nash seemed to give it a moment’s thought. “Because I’d have to lie to her every minute of every day.”
Fair point. Larry supposed neither of them were particularly good husband material. He’d give Crystal some space, let her weigh the cons. Maybe she’d decide on her own to break things off. If she didn’t? Then, at some point he’d have to be a man about it.
CRYSTAL GAZED AT LARRY’S profile in the first-class cabin of the 757. He’d seemed more than willing to oblige when she’d suggested they leave for Pocono on Saturday morning instead of Friday night. It meant they’d miss some of the pre-race activities at the track, but it also meant that Jennifer and David would be with their grandmother the entire time Crystal was gone.
Crystal had had a long talk with Kenny about both her job and her apartment, so she was resting easy on those fronts. Though there did still remain the matter of William Chandler’s bequest.
Given that he’d paid for first-class tickets, and the fact that Larry owned an airplane and two houses, she was guessing he was used to dealing with money. His family, at least, must have a pile of it to be so heavily involved in NASCAR. He seemed like a good person to approach with the problem.
She turned in her roomy seat, addressing him across their shared table of pre-flight champagne and orange juice.
“So,” she began, trying to frame the situation into a couple of succinct sentences. “I’ve got this five million dollars.”
He turned. “Excuse me?”
“Five million,” she repeated with a nod of affirmation.
“And we were looking for an apartment on Roolan Street?”
“Well, I didn’t have the money then.”
“What? You knocked over a bank while I was away?”
“It’s Rufus’s money.”
“Oh.” Larry nodded. “Well, that explains it.”
“Quit messing around.”
He grinned. “Sorry. Tell me what you’re talking about.”
The flight attendant came by to remove their glasses as the plane lurched to a taxi, and the safety demonstration came on their screens.
Crystal gave Larry the rundown on the lawyer’s visit.
“You sure this is legit?” he asked after she’d finished.
“If it’s a scam, it’s pretty elaborate.”
“Did he ask you for any money?”
She gave Larry a look of disbelief. “I don’t have any money. But no, he didn’t ask for any money.”
“Well, did he give you any money?”
“It’s supposed to come next week.”
“You have a lawyer?”
“No.”
“You mind if I let mine look at the check and the paperwork?”
She waved his question away. “Whatever. What do you think I should do with the money? Do you like the idea of setting up a trust for homeless animals?”
“I think you should invest it.”
“Why?”
“Then you can spend the interest and keep the principle into perpetuity. At eight percent, rock-solid investments, no risk, you’d have four hundred thousand a year. If you wanted to play around a little-”
“And I could take the four hundred thousand and run the trust.”
“Or pay your rent.”
“Dog food comes out of that money, Professor. Nothing else.”
The jet engines whined as the aircraft gained speed on the runway. “I’ve never met a woman with more money and less inclination to spend it.”
“It’s not my money.”