A Mom for Matthew. Roz Fox Denny

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ of the building, Zeke grabbed it, vaulted from his vehicle and pocketed his keys.

      Inside, he went to the information desk.

      “The best place to begin is probably in records,” a receptionist said, taking time to flirt a little with Zeke as she hauled out a map of the courthouse and leaned close to show him the most direct route to the records room.

      “Thank you, ma’am.” Even though Zeke ignored her efforts to attract his attention, he remained unfailingly polite. He knew how hard it was for male and female singles in small towns to connect. Because of a steady tourist trade, Galveston had a greater turnover of singles than a lot of places he’d landed when he’d been in the market to date. Back then, though, he’d only been in the market for a good time.

      To give Trixie Lee some credit, he’d mistakenly thought their goals had matched. It was only later that he discovered what she really wanted—a one-way ticket out of Kingsville. Zeke blamed her for not having enough substance to stay for the sake of the child they’d made together, however unintentionally. Instead, she’d disappeared like a thief in the night with all the money in their joint account, leaving only a note on the kitchen table saying she wasn’t cut out to be a mother.

      Zeke might have accepted that if she’d left it there. She didn’t. She hooked up with a girlfriend in Dallas, who’d referred her to a lawyer, who was determined to make Zeke pay and pay big. It wasn’t the money Zeke cared about. What he hated was how Trixie and her lawyer kept putting Matthew in the middle of an ongoing war. Every time Trix ran short of money, she played the custody card. Zeke found it easier to shell out dough than take a risk on her maybe winning.

      Wrenching the doorknob to the records office, Zeke again vowed to put his personal headaches aside while he dealt with a potential company problem.

      “The receptionist out front said you’d probably have what I’m looking for. I need to verify that a new salvager in town has the proper permits. My company, Kemper Oil, is fixin’ to sink a well in the same locale. I requested our permit three weeks ago. I assume it was approved. At least, I wasn’t notified to the contrary.”

      The woman sat down at a computer and typed in the basic information Zeke provided. “Oh, I see what happened, Mr. Rossetti. Someone should’ve sent you a letter. Wait—it says here a letter went out.”

      “I didn’t get any letter. About what? Have we been denied access?”

      “Temporarily, yes. I see this letter went to Mr. Pace Kemper. Perhaps you should discuss the issue with him, Mr. Rossetti.”

      “Yes, but he’s in Dallas. I’m the guy coordinating the local drill site and I have subcontractors on hold. Would you make me a copy, please?”

      She gave a shrug, then smiled. “Since you ask so nicely, I guess that’d be all right.” The clerk turned and punched a few keys. She rose when a communal printer whirred, and came back carrying a single sheet.

      Zeke scanned the page quickly. He saw immediately that the reason for temporary suspension was listed as the state having issued a prior permit to the salvager. The letter cited the navy’s interest in the salvage. Attached was a recommendation from the Pentagon expressing a desire to locate a supply plane piloted by an MIA from World War Two. Zeke’s headache increased exponentially.

      “Kemper has a huge investment being threatened by this decision. Is there someone here I can see about reversing this order?” The hole in his stomach grew because his visits with judges left him in a perpetual state of tension.

      “Not really, Mr. Rossetti. Judge Mooney processed the permit. He’s not on the docket again until Friday. I suppose you could stop by his office and either make an appointment for next week, or if you have a company attorney, you may want him to file an appeal. A lawyer can request an assignment to Judge Mooney’s caseload. He’s really busy, but with luck you might get a hearing as early as mid-July.”

      “What? We can’t delay drilling that long. We’ll go bankrupt waiting for Ms. Stafford to bring up her blasted plane. Providing it even sank where she’s diving.”

      The clerk shrugged again. This time it was accompanied by an expression of helpless sympathy. She seemed relieved when her phone rang.

      Zeke realized that the poor woman had no more control over the situation than he did whenever Trixie’s lawyer and the Burnham woman yanked him into court. What choice did he have but to phone his boss? Zeke doubted Pace had received the letter yet; otherwise he would’ve contacted Zeke at home.

      He left the records office, returning to his pickup to make the call. “Pace, hey, this is Zeke. I’m glad I caught you at your desk. I’m at the Galveston courthouse. You may not have received it yet, but you’re going to get a letter putting our next well on hold.”

      Zeke moved the phone away from his ear as his boss vented steam before even asking particulars. Zeke read the short edict, then added, “I spoke with the salvager. First of all, it’s not any well-known outfit. We’re talking one woman diving off a leaky fishing boat.”

      Kemper swore at length. “How in hell did she get authorization for that spot?”

      Leaving his pickup, Zeke stalked up and down the sidewalk. “I think she has connections in D.C. She’s confident about her permits. The local judge who rubber-stamped the state permit is out until the end of the week. Don’t you have clout in Washington? I mean, we’ve got a government oil exploration contract, don’t we?”

      “Yeah,” Kemper muttered. “And I have got the ear of a couple of senators. Don’t know if they’ll lock horns with the military, though.”

      “Well, you’ve got lawyers. Let them earn their keep.”

      “I’d rather you took this salvager out to dinner tonight. See if you two can’t come to an agreement before involving our legal team. That can get messy.”

      Zeke didn’t want to take Grace Stafford to dinner. “I think it’d go better coming from you, Pace. Can’t you fly down and handle negotiations? We’re up against one determined female.”

      “You’ve got charm to spare, Rossetti. Use it.”

      “Like hell! I’m the least able man for the chore, boss. How about if I pass the job to Gavin?” Forced to chuckle when Pace literally roared that he wanted the woman charmed into an agreement, not seduced into bed by a guy hunting wife number three, Zeke decided Pace knew their crew chief pretty well. Gavin did fancy himself a ladies’ man.

      The two signed off, with Zeke reluctantly agreeing to invite the salvager out to dinner, and with Kemper promising to make inquiries at the energy commission.

      All in all, this wasn’t an assignment Zeke relished. But Pace paid him well to keep the Galveston operation on track, and this happened to be the disadvantage of being at the top of the heap.

      What he couldn’t decide was whether to go back to the office, where he’d have to confide in Gavin and the others, or just head back into the lobby where he’d seen a phone book and take a stab at calling waterfront hotels where the Stafford woman might be staying. She’d indicated she was in a small historic hotel. That narrowed the field. He’d leave her a message to call him on his cell so they could arrange to meet for dinner.

      Zeke settled on that plan because he wanted time to swing by his house and change into something more presentable…although he had a hard time shaking СКАЧАТЬ