“Oh? That must have been interesting.”
I smiled. “Just another day in Salvation. We take things pretty easy around here.” Well most of us. Trina didn’t. I thought maybe Ms. Edmonds should talk to her. Trina would give her an earful on Stark although hopefully not the part about how Sinclair and Wyatt’s first marriage was a business arrangement to get rid of Stark.
“He has a reputation of getting what he wants. Rumor is that the mayor was all for this prison,” she said.
“The thing is, we’re a farming community, and we’re close-knit. Stark and the mayor underestimated the people here and their commitment to each other.”
She wrote a note on her pad. “Can I quote you?”
“Sure, why not?” I grabbed a towel and wiped the bar.
“It’s my understanding that your sister, the deputy mayor, played a
role in keeping his prison out.” She said it in a way that suggested she knew more than she was letting on. Chances were we she knew about Sinclair and Wyatt, and that I was related to them.
I nodded. “That’s right. You should talk to her though.”
“I will. I’m trying to gather the towns’ people’s impressions. The mayor was hoping the prison would bring jobs, and now with the prison plan thwarted, those jobs aren’t coming. Are there other people who resent the farmers for that?”
“If they do, I haven’t heard about it.” I noticed another customer at the end of the bar and excused myself to serve him.
When I returned, she asked, “Stark isn’t one to lose. Is there any concern he’ll retaliate?”
I shrugged. “By doing what? The people were clear they didn’t want him around. If he’s a businessman, it would seem like a better idea to find another place to build his prison.”
“You do know he has a large home on the outskirts of Salvation?”
“More like a compound,” I quipped at the ostentatious walled-in complex that didn’t fit with the conservative rural town. “It’s my understanding that he doesn’t live there, though. I’d think Salvation was too small for a man like Stark.”
She arched a brow. “Why do you say that?”
“We’re not flashy people, Ms. Edmonds—“
“Call me Erica.”
“Life is slow here. Someone like Stark would get bored.”
“Hmm.” She took more notes on her pad. “So why do you think he’s stuck around?”
“Don’t know. Don’t care.”
“Hey Ryder, how about a beer,” one of my regulars called out as he took a seat at the bar. I poured him his regular draft and served him.
When I returned to the reporter, she smiled in a way that felt more than professional or friendly. She pulled out her card from her tailored coat pocket and extended it to me.
As I took it, her hand brushed mine, and I knew for sure she was interested. There was a time I might have responded to that.
“If you can think of anything else that I should know for this story, please give me a call,” she said.
I gave her a non-committal shrug. “I doubt I’ll have anything.”
“Keep it anyway. Just in case.” She slipped from the barstool and sauntered to the door.
“You should call her, Ry,” one of my regulars said as he too watched her leave. “I think she has more she wants to investigate.” He waggled his eyebrows suggestively.
I thought he was probably right. I laughed good-naturedly, but I wasn’t going to be calling her for a story or something more personal.
I shoved her card into my pocket, intending to give it to Sinclair. She’d be a better person to talk about Stark and his shading dealings.