A Lasting Proposal. C.J. Carmichael

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      Harvey circled the bottom number in a long line of figures. Jake winced.

      “Of course,” Harvey pointed out, “you could avoid all this by lowering your standards just a tad. No one expects real linen in a remote mountain lodge.”

      “Not a chance.” Jake wouldn’t even consider that option. Grizzly Peaks was his baby, his life. Already clients came from all over the world, willing to pay thousands of dollars for the opportunity to ski in the backcountry wilderness of the Rocky Mountains.

      But he wanted more. Not necessarily bigger—in fact, definitely not bigger—but the best of everything. One day Grizzly Peaks would be the premier heli-skiing operation in North America.

      “Well, I’m sure you’ll come up with something. You always do. By the way, planning any mountain climbing this summer?”

      “My knees have really been bothering me lately.” A reminder that he was closing in on forty. Now he needed the four-month summer break from skiing to rest his old ligaments and joints.

      Compounding the problem with his knees was his difficulty in finding a buddy to climb with these days. Slowly but surely his friends had gotten married and started families. A day off for climbing was a luxury they could rarely afford.

      “You talk like you’re old, Jake. Wait until you’re in your seventies like me!”

      “At least you picked a good profession. You’ll be able to keep running your business as long as your mind remains capable of adding and subtracting.”

      “Yeah, but the question is, will I want to?” Harvey finished off his coffee. “Well, I guess we’re done here. I’ll put together the final financial proposal, then you can go out and try to find your money.”

      Harvey gathered the papers into his briefcase, leaving a copy of the statements on the table for Jake. After a warm handshake, he shuffled out the door. Jake thought he’d left, but moments later the older man poked his head back inside.

      “You forgot to take in your newspapers.”

      There were two in the box. Jake subscribed to the Calgary Herald as well as the Canmore Leader. After waving off his friend, he took them both to the living room.

      The headline in the Herald startled the hell out of him. Conrad Beckett had killed himself? God, what a nightmare that whole episode was turning out to be. Jake read the print on page one, then followed the story to page three. Most of it was old history; he knew the case well. In fact, he’d even started a scrapbook.

      Now he went to the kitchen to get the scissors and tape, then to his desk, where he pulled out the binder he’d used to collect articles such as this one.

      It wasn’t morbid fascination that drew him, but a combination of personal interest and family obligations. At one time popular opinion around Canmore had it that his cousin, Dylan McLean, was responsible for Jilly Beckett’s death. Now almost everyone thought James Strongman had done it.

      James’s father, Max, was the current mayor of Canmore. He’d married Dylan’s widowed mother, Rose, a long time ago. After Jilly’s death, he’d convinced Rose to make out her will entirely to him, cheating Dylan of his father’s inheritance. Then, just when Rose had seemed about to change her mind and revisit her will in Dylan’s favor, she’d been murdered.

      At first Dylan, who was known as a hothead, had been suspected again. Then evidence proving that he’d been set up was found. James, who had no alibi for the night Rose was killed, was the most likely culprit. But he’d escaped to Mexico rather than face police inquiries, and hadn’t been seen since.

      A convenient and tidy impasse in Canmore’s two unsolved homicide cases. Jake, however, wasn’t so sure that James was the guilty party. Or if so, that he’d acted alone. And others in town shared his doubts.

      Carefully, Jake cut out the article and the attached photos. He paused to examine them. First Jilly, then Rose, now Jilly’s father. Too many deaths, shrouded in too much uncertainty, for one small mountain town of only ten thousand people.

      Jake picked up the local paper next. Ironically, on the front page of the Leader was a shot of Max Strongman and a bold heading: Canmore Mayor Won’t Run Again In Fall Election.

      Well, that was good news. Jake snapped the paper, then peered again at the picture of Strongman. The man had a distinguished, statesmanlike air, but he was as wily as an old coyote, and manipulative to boot. Jake read about his plans to retire from public office to pursue “other interests.” Hah! Jake reached for the phone to call his cousin.

      “Did you hear the news about Strongman?” he asked once Cathleen had passed the phone over to her husband.

      “Wish I could say it was good news,” Dylan said. “But you know, the minute he’s no longer mayor of Canmore, he’ll be pushing that damn recreational housing project on my father’s land.”

      “Next to the oil wells?”

      Dylan’s laugh was bitter. “If he goes ahead with this, the development will cut right across the natural wildlife corridor along Thunder Creek.”

      “We’ve got to stop him somehow.”

      “Don’t I wish,” Dylan agreed. “Our best hope is that we elect an antidevelopment mayor who throws so many roadblocks in Strongman’s way he hasn’t a chance.”

      But that wasn’t likely. Feelings both for and against development in Canmore ran strong, but lately the tide had definitely been in favor of development. Plus, a new man was in the wings—a shoe-in for the job if Max retired. And he was prodevelopment, too.

      “Any other options?” Jake asked.

      “Let me see. Why don’t we prove Max planned both my mother’s and Jilly Beckett’s deaths, and that James was merely a pawn in his hands. Once Max is in jail, he’ll have a hard time presenting his development plans to town council.”

      Jake sank into a nearby chair. “Now, why didn’t I think of that?” Actually, the two men had discussed the possibility of Max’s involvement in Rose’s murder to the point of exhaustion. They each suspected that James had tossed that firecracker as a diversion for his father to shoot Jilly. Odds on proving that, however, were slim at best.

      After a depressing pause, Jake told his cousin about the plans for upgrading Grizzly Peaks.

      “So you need a silent partner, do you? Let me think about that. I may know just the person.”

      “That sounds intriguing.”

      “Oh, she is. But I have to go, buddy. Cathleen’s giving me that look….”

      “Say no more.” Jake hung up, knowing his cousin was referring to the look that every man longed for. The look that meant Come to bed, darling.

      Lucky guy. Jake hadn’t been the recipient of the look in a long time. In fact, how long had it been?

      Sprawling out on the sofa ten minutes later, with a beer and the remote control, Jake tried to recall the last woman he’d had in his bed. Over the years he’d gone through a series of relationships with a number of women. Each time there’d come a point when demands СКАЧАТЬ