"You mean the mortuary?” Shocked, Nan dropped onto a long, tan sofa that separated the two visiting clusters. “Can't you tell him I'm trying to buy the land the mortuary sits on?"

"I did. But he won't listen. He's got a marketing plan ready to go."

"Carl's disrupting four lives and he could care less. What a creep."

"Quit worrying about the Witt sisters. They'll take care of their own problems. If the judge rules in Carl's favor, you've got a decision to make. I hope to be part of that decision.” Paul perched on the back of the sofa and pulled Nan between his legs. He rested his chin on her head. “It'll get better. I promise."

"It doesn't seem like it.” Nan tipped her head as Paul massaged the back of her neck. “It's one thing after another. Do you remember when I sent that letter to the patent bureau to see if a patent had been filed using the drawing I sent them?"

Paul nodded.

"Their reply came today. It's on my desk.” She waved her hand toward the office. “They can't help me unless I can cite a patent number."

"I'm not surprised,” Paul said. “Think of the volume of patents they process. They probably don't have time to sift through those files."

Paul never displayed an interest in her attempt to locate the information. His lack of empathy concerned Nan. “There's got to be a way to get that information. That was Dad's handwriting on the patent application and his drawings, so I know he designed the apparatus. I sent them sheet three of four. I never found the other three sheets, so I don't know what the device was. From what Mother said, she thought the man stole the idea and filed the patent in his name about six years ago."

"But you don't have the guy's name,” Paul said. He drummed his thumb against her shoulder. “There's not much you can do without a name or a patent number. And you said your mom didn't seem to think it was important."

"Nothing about Dad was important to Mom. I already told you that. It was a love-hate relationship. All I want to do is talk to the man and find out what happened. Maybe it was just an idea that never materialized."

"You might as well give up. I doubt you'll ever find him."

"You're probably right. I've got enough to worry about."

The phone rang. When Nan returned from her office, she said, “The family is about five minutes away. I've got to pull a few things together before they get here."

Paul leaned on the French doors leading into the office. “I'm picking you up at seven and I won't take no for an answer. We'll work on eliminating one of your hurdles."

"Hook, line, and sinker.” Paul sat in the cracked-vinyl visitor's chair in front of Carl's desk. “I think I'm about to reel in the big one. If Nan contacts you about continuing her land lease, don't talk to her. Tell her your attorney will contact her.” Pointing at Carl, Paul added, “I want you to tell her all negotiations have to go through him. I don't want my plan to fall apart."

"You sorry sack of shit,” Carl said. “You're preying on that poor woman's misery to get her to marry you. What kind of bottom feeder are you?"

A furrow of irritation creased Paul's forehead. “Same species as you. Except you're dealing with two old women you intend to put out on the street. But I don't need to remind you, do I?” If Carl wanted to take a position for the sake of arguing, he'd better choose his words wisely.

"Please. Remind me,” Carl said. “It excites me. My middle initial doesn't stand for Raymond, it stands for Revenge.” Carl's lips curved into a crooked smile as he put his hands behind his head and leaned back.

"I'm going to present an offer Nan can't refuse,” Paul said. “I also bought another piece of land south of town on the highway. It would make a good spot for a new mortuary. She doesn't know about it, though.” Paul stretched his long legs and crossed one foot over the other. “I'm keeping that surprise on hold in case I need ammunition. If she turns me down, I'll sell it to someone else."

"Is she still on a kick to find that man who screwed her dad over a patent?"

"She mentioned it again today."

"Do you think she'll find him?"

"I doubt it. I told her to give it up, but you know Nan. It's all about family loyalty."

The dispatcher entered the room and lifted the lid on a plastic container she carried. Angie waved the box under Carl's nose. “Try one. My daughter baked them this morning."

Carl inhaled one of the gooey cookies in two bites before grabbing a second one and stuffing the whole thing in his mouth.

Paul took a cookie and broke off small sections. Staring at the chocolate smears on Carl's lips, Paul placed a piece in his mouth before flicking at the crumbs on his grey slacks. He didn't want chocolate stains to soil his new three-hundred-dollar pants.

"By the way, Carl,” Angie said, “I forgot to tell you Mr. Fossum's sister called yesterday. She won't be back for a few more days. She wondered if you'd keep an eye on the Fossums’ property.” Angie handed Carl three more cookies. “She's meeting a realtor out there when she gets back."

As Carl licked the chocolate off his fingers, Lon Friborg entered through the side door. Lon rummaged through the stack of papers in his hand, pulled out an envelope, and tossed it at Carl. The envelope slid across the desk and hit Carl in the stomach. “Here's the letter you wanted. It looks like the union's going to back your election."

"Holy shit,” Carl said with a whoop. “It's about time they back the better candidate. With their vote and your campaigning, it'll seal my victory tighter than a virgin's ass."

"Congrats, buddy.” Paul grabbed Carl's hand and pumped it. “Things are going your way."

"I wonder why?” Lon said under his breath.

Carl pulled the cookies out of Lon's reach. “If you've got something to say, say it to my face.” He shoved a whole cookie in his mouth, glaring at Lon.

"I wonder why things are going your way. It wouldn't have anything to do with that fishing excursion with Judge Kimmer, would it?"

"That's none of your damn concern, Deputy,” Carl said. “You better keep your nose out of my business. If your brain was as big as your ears, I wouldn't have to remind you."

Carl gestured with a stab of his finger. “You're trying to sabotage my election by conducting an investigation behind my back. You're going to get somebody in a whole shit load of trouble, and it ain't gonna be me."

22

Sadie draped her arm over the back of the driver's chair as she tried to interpret Lora's frantic ramblings. After calming the woman, Sadie stomped out of the van and marched through the sliding glass doors into the nursing home.

"Hi, Miss Sadie,” a nursing home resident shouted as she hurried past him and continued down the hall. Her bare heels slapped against her sandals.

"I'll catch up with you later, Elmer.” Sadie rounded a corner. Cursing her sandals for slowing her down, she paused in a doorway and kicked them off. She called out to Aanders.

A gnarled hand pointed in the direction of the dining room. “I just saw him pushing that empty wheelchair down the hall.” The resident attempted to clear the gravel from his voice. “Don't that kid have nothing better to do than wander the halls all day?"

Sadie waved briskly as she passed a woman inching her way down the hall supporting her weight on a walker. Clutching her sandals, Sadie scurried past two more residents in wheelchairs. A conversation at the end of the corridor caught her attention. A funeral director from a town located seventeen miles north of Pinecone Landing loaded a body bag into his vehicle. Sadie watched him thank the nurse who had assisted him and hand her a sheet of paper. The nurse attached it to a clipboard and returned to the nursing station.