Heartwood (Billy Bob Holland 2)

Peggy Jean straightened her back, her chest rising and falling. Earl pulled at his collar; a tic jumped at the corner of his eye.

“We want half the drilling operation,” Peggy Jean said.

“Not an option,” I said.

“That land’s worth a minimum of thirty-five hundred an acre, Mr. Deitrich. For a signature you make an immediate two-hundred-thousand-dollar profit, plus you get half of what may be a huge oil sand. I wouldn’t take too long making up my mind,” Temple said.

Earl Deitrich looked at his wife, then at Clayton Spangler.

“Why don’t y’all have a drink at the bar?” Clayton said to our side of the table.

Late that afternoon I took a half gallon of French vanilla ice cream out of the freezer and put it, a serving spoon, and two bowls and teaspoons in a paper bag and drove down to Temple Carrol’s house.

She was wearing moccasins and lavender shorts and a beige T-shirt when she answered the door.

“Sit in the swing with me,” I said.

“Where’d you go after the Deitrichs took the deal?” she asked.

“I wanted to get ahold of a Houston homicide detective named Janet Valenzuela. She’s working the arson of the savings and loan and the deaths of the four firemen. I told her Cholo Ramirez admitted to being at the fire and was working for Ronnie Cruise’s uncle and Earl Deitrich in a take-down scam. I called the FBI, too. Maybe they can squeeze the uncle.”

“You left Ronnie’s name out of it?”

“He’s not a player. You want some ice cream?”

She slipped her palms in her back pockets. They were tight against the cloth and curved against the firmness of her rump. I could feel her eyes studying the side of my face.

The half gallon of ice cream had begun to soften in the warm air, but it was still round and cold in my hands when I set it on the railing of the gallery and filled two bowls. I handed one to her and sat down in the swing. She sat on the railing and ate without speaking. The cannas in her flower bed were stiff and hard-looking in the shade, the bloom at the head of the stalk sparkling with drops of water from the sprinkler.

“Why so quiet?” I asked.

“That deal today? You had everybody in the room absolutely convinced Wilbur was about to punch into a big dome. I don’t think he could find oil in a filling station,” she said.

“Avaricious people make good listeners,” I said.

“What are you up to?”

“I’m just not that complex, Temple.”

She raised her eyebrows. I got up from the swing and sat next to her on the railing. Her shoulder and hip touched mine. Her spoon scraped quietly in her ice cream bowl while she continued to eat.

“You want to go to a show?” I asked.

She didn’t answer.

“Is your father home?” I asked.

“Why?”

“I thought you might want to go to a show. I mean, if he’d be all right by himself.”

“He’s at his sister’s. They have dinner and watch late-night TV one night a week.” Her face turned up into mine.

“I see,” I said. I circled my fingers lightly around her wrist and touched her upper arm with my other hand. In the shadows her mouth looked red and vulnerable when it parted, like a four o’clock opening to the evening’s coolness.

Then she dropped her eyes and tilted her head down.

“A movie sounds fine. I have to change, though. Can you wait for me out here a few minutes?” she said.