Drift by Jon McGoran Read Free Book Online Page A

that much demand for land out here.” I smiled to myself, thinking it more likely they’d be pressuring her to buy than to sell.
    Moose rolled his eyes. “Tell that to whoever keeps calling and hanging up.”
    Nola sighed and draped her hand wearily across her forehead. “It’s nothing. Really. Despite Moose’s conspiracy theories. Yes, there’s a developer trying to buy up a lot of the land out here. Wants to build some tracts. And yes, I told him I wasn’t interested. I came here to farm.”
    “And that’s when the calls started,” Moose added.
    “How many calls?” I asked.
    “Not that many.”
    “A couple of times a week,” Moose said.
    “Always hang-ups?”
    “Yes.”
    “Who’s the developer?”
    Nola just sighed, but Moose chimed in. “Company called Redtail.”
    “Is that who’s calling?” I asked her.
    “I have no idea.”
    “Do they block the number?”
    “Of course they do.”
    “Can’t you just block calls from any blocked numbers?”
    She shook her head. “I don’t know how many customers that would cost me, but I can’t afford to lose any right now.”
    “Have you talked to the police?”
    She laughed. “No.”
    I smiled. “Yeah. I’ve met your police chief. Didn’t exactly fill me with confidence, either.”
    She shook her head. “No, it’s not that. It’s just … I mean, it’s nothing.”
    “Want me to talk to the developer? I could put a little fear of God in him. Or at least fear of the IRS.”
    Moose leaned forward. “You have friends at the IRS?”
    I shook my head. “Nobody has friends at the IRS. But I know some people.”
    She looked at me with an odd smile: part patronizing, like she thought it was cute, and part annoyed, like she really didn’t. “If you want to talk to the developer about paving over all the farmland around here, that would be great. But this”— she reached over and put her hand on my knee—“this is just a minor nuisance.”
    Then she got up and headed toward the kitchen. I had never thought of myself as having particularly sensitive knees, but my knee was tingling where her hand had been.
    Then I noticed Moose looking at me with that same drunk-but-smug look. “It’s probably not the developer, anyway,” he whispered loudly, his words bumping up against each other.
    “What do you mean?”
    “If the developer can’t assemble the whole parcel, the whole deal could fall through. The developer can just walk away, find another place to pave over. The people who already agreed to sell, the ones who’ve already made other plans, picked out other houses and spent all that developer money—I bet that’s who’s calling.”

 
    13
     
    Nola and I switched from beer to coffee after dinner, but Moose stuck with his squish and the effect was visible. He poured another inch into his glass and sloshed some onto the coffee table.
    I reached over and grabbed the bottle as he put it down. “What the hell is this stuff, anyway?” I sniffed the mouth of the bottle. It smelled like a cross between dry wine, rotten apples, and vinegar.
    “Try it,” he said, sliding back in the armchair and closing his eyes for a second. “You’ll like it.”
    I poured an inch into my glass and sipped it.
    “Not as bad as I expected,” I said, surprised.
    “It’s not just the taste that’s the deal breaker,” Nola said, returning with a plate of brownies. “Have a few more and tell me how you feel.”
    Moose let out a drunken giggle and closed his eyes.
    I finished what was in my glass, but didn’t pour any more. The events of the past few days suddenly weighed heavily on me, pushing me down against the sofa. I broke a brownie in half and went back to my coffee.
    “Hey, sleepyhead,” Nola said loudly, nudging Moose’s leg with her toe. “You want a brownie?”
    He flopped an arm over his belly. “Stuffed,” he said without opening his eyes.
    “See what I mean about that stuff?” she said, turning to me.
    “Point taken.” I sipped my