A Matter of Trust Read online

  He said nothing as Peter left his office. The Stillwells may have come up from being dirt poor, as Peter had recounted so many times, but Ben couldn’t help wondering at what point Peter had lost his understanding of how the average person perceived big, bad corporations like KKO. Peter had clawed his way to the top, through the trenches, not allowing anything to get in his way. Maybe he didn’t want to remember what it was like, Ben realized. Maybe that was what happened when the wealthy got wealthier.

  Chapter Two

  “Wow, would you look at that!” said Jason, the helicopter pilot, his voice clipping through the headphones as they approached Kit Cove.

  It was a small coastal town, a fishing community with a large Native population. As Ben stared out the big bubble of a windshield, he was struck by what appeared to be hundreds of people below, waving signs as the helicopter approached the small community airfield. As they came in closer, Ben could see how they moved and yelled, shaking their signs in anger, the energy all ramped up. There was no doubt in his mind that this unfriendly crowd of people was meant to be his welcoming committee, and he didn’t need to read their damn signs to know that this community wasn’t interested in listening to him. What the hell was he walking into? Ben ground his teeth, fighting his first instinct to swear. Instead, he growled, wondering who was responsible for this.

  “Okay there, boss?” Jason said. He could hear him, of course. The microphone picked up everything.

  “Just trying to figure out how they knew that I was coming,” he replied. Ben had thought they were being smart, flying in tonight and slipping into town unannounced. He remembered telling Janet to make sure that she didn’t announce their arrival. He glanced over at his pilot, who was wearing headphones and dark glasses, his microphone almost touching his lips.

  Jason was handling the stick, lowering the chopper down. “Wasn’t me who alerted these folks, just in case you were wondering,” he said gruffly.

  No, Ben knew it couldn’t have been Jason. He’d known the man for six years, working closely with him for the last four. Ben had always been able to pick up on things in people once he got to know them, and he could always pick out the questionable ones that he wanted to keep an eye on. Jason wasn’t like that. He had a wife, four kids, loved to fly. He was about as uncomplicated as they got. “Don’t be an ass,” Ben replied. “I know it wasn’t you—not unless they offered you box-seat season tickets to the Mariners.”

  Jason laughed. “Yeah, that would be sweet. May want to find out who told them, though. Whoever it was probably has it out for you,” he said. Jason could be a smartass sometimes, but Ben picked up on the edge in his voice.

  “Yeah,” he bit out. He’d have to speak with Janet, as she had organized the meeting at the town hall tomorrow at five—“After the folks put in an honest day’s work,” as she had put it. He remembered adding that they would be tired and cranky, too, having a chance to get all worked up before he had time to say his piece. She’d pursed her lips and said that was the only time they’d be available to hear him, because, after all, they were the working class.

  He had realized then that she was upset with him, for some reason. He couldn’t imagine that Janet actually wanted to be the one to handle to this mess, so he hadn’t given it a second thought, but now he was wondering if she had just happened to mention when he would be coming. He could be reaching, and he didn’t want to start pointing fingers until he knew for sure, but he planned to find out. Maybe he’d call Verna, too, to make sure people kept their mouths shut. Ben wasn’t liking this reception, and he generally avoided this kind of heat. Protests weren’t about listening to reason or hearing from the other side, and you never knew when a friendly gathering could become dangerous.

  The chopper landed a safe distance from the crowd. The sun was setting, and there was a string of lights across the small building.

  “You take off as soon as I’m clear,” Ben muttered.

  “Okay, boss. Take care,” Jason said. “Is someone picking you up?”

  “Yeah, better be.” He pulled his headphones off, reached behind the seat for his bag, and climbed out. Bending over, he hurried away from the chopper as he spotted a pickup coming his way, pulling away from the crowd.

  He could hear the whir behind him as the chopper took off, the wind from the blades making it hard to see when he glanced up. He turned back just as the pickup truck pulled up beside him. The crowd was closing in, too, all carrying signs. Some were written in blood red, with images of death and destruction. Some cried, “No tankers!” Some even bore his photo with a line drawn through his face, as if someone wanted him dead. He swallowed, feeling the hairs on the back of his neck pricking up. There was shouting and anger, and then someone spit in his face. He wiped it off and stared down at the culprit; a short, blond woman with an oval face and sharp blue eyes. She was attractive, once he got past her outrage.

  “Get back on that chopper, you oil company sleaze ball! Get the hell out of here! You’re not welcome!” she shouted.

  “Hey, knock it off!” a man yelled from the open driver’s door of the truck. He was older, maybe late fifties, close to Ben’s father’s age. He had gray hair and was large in the middle, as if he enjoyed a lot of home-cooked food. “You Ben Wilde?” he yelled over the roar of the departing helicopter and the shouts of the protesters. The group made no move to surround his truck, though they continued to wave their signs and shout.

  Ben started toward the man. “I am, and you are?”

  The crowd was about to surround them. The other man was a few inches shorter than Ben, but he didn’t seem bothered by the crowd at all. His expression gave nothing away, and he gestured toward his truck.

  “Get in! I’m your ride. I suggest you hurry before we’re boxed in by your welcoming committee and get stuck here for the night.”

  Ben tossed his bag in the back of the truck and went around to the passenger side, squeezing past the protesters who rustled him as he pulled the door open and slid in. As soon as he'd closed the door, the man put the truck in gear, pulling in a big circle, narrowly missing some people who hadn’t stepped back. He then pressed the gas, heading away from the crowd, out the open wire gates. They turned onto the road.

  “My name’s Jack Richardson,” the man said. “I was hired to come and get you. My wife and I run a B&B, and your company rented out one of our cabins. A lady named Verna called, spoke with my wife and arranged it for you. She seemed concerned. She your wife?”

  Ben chuckled, and the man gave him an odd look. “No, my secretary,” he replied. “She likes to mother me. I think, some days, she thinks I’m one of her kids.”

  Jack gave a hint of a smile and then shook his head softly. Maybe he understood, but he didn’t say anything else.

  “That was quite the welcoming committee, and all for my benefit?” Ben said, trying to lighten the mood. At the same time, he was wondering if this man was responsible for filling that crazy group of people in on his arrival.

  This time, Jack chuckled and shook his head. He didn’t sound at all pleased, though, and Ben wondered if that was because of him or the crowd. Somehow, he thought it was him. “The people here aren’t too charitable to your kind,” Jack said. “That was a peaceful welcome you got. Don’t know what you’re thinking of saying to these folks that will make them happy or change their minds.”

  Peaceful? A woman had spit in his face! He glanced back over to Jack, who didn’t seem interested in talking. Ben stared out the passenger window at the passing trees while trying to figure out the best approach for this community. These were the kind of people who wouldn’t fall for some big fluff campaign or slideshow with a bunch of fancy words. He needed to figure out right quick how to speak straight in a way that would matter to them, in a way they’d understand—a way that would reach them. It was then that it came to him, the phrase he’d grown up with: Be honest. That’s always the best approach.

  He could see the coastal shoreline in the distance, with rocks
and boulders and houses crammed together. The man drove through the small town, with average small homes, faded paint. A lot were worn down, worn and torn. Some places were boarded up. Jack waved at someone walking by and then flicked his signal light on, turning down a gravel road. Ben glanced over again at the stone-faced man, whose eyes were glued to the road as if this was a duty he was determined to finish. Ben wondered what kind of reception he’d get from Jack’s wife.

  “Let’s be clear: The only reason I agreed to rent one of the cabins to you is that tourism here has really declined. The economy, you know,” Jack said. “I don’t want trouble, and I’m worried about how some folks will react to me renting out my place to you.”

  So he could talk, after all. Ben faced Jack and wondered if he’d say more. Something was worrying the man, and Ben felt bad. He knew all too well that, sometimes, communities could turn their back on their own.

  “Well, I’m hoping that after I speak to the people here tomorrow, I won’t be seen as quite the enemy I am now,” he replied. “I’m not a bad man, and what my company is proposing is going to do so much for this community—”

  “Stop,” Jack said, lifting his hand from the steering wheel in a hard, sweeping motion before putting it back down. “Don’t try to sell me. I retired from an oil company, and I know all about your spin on everything. This is all just about getting your oil and the billions of dollars your company stands to make. Your company will do anything to make sure it gets every last dime. I’ve done my share of things that I’m not proud of, and I know all too well that the real answers are never shared until something bad happens. The oil spills, the environmental contamination…you know folks get sick because of that?” He sighed. “Don’t waste that slick PR stuff on me. I lived the spin for too many years. I like it here, I like these people. You get my drift?”

  This time, Jack did look his way, and what Ben saw was a man older than his years, someone who had seen too much of the dirty side of life.

  “Yeah, I get it,” Ben said as they pulled into a dirt driveway that led to a sprawling log home between rolling green hills. From what Ben could see, they had four or five horses corralled there, with cabins off to the right in the same style as the main house. Everything looked nice, well maintained—welcoming.

  Jack drove past the house and parked in front of the first cabin. It was charming, with a small front porch. “This one’s yours. The wife has it ready for you,” he said as he slid out.

  Ben followed, reaching in the back for his bag. Jack opened the door to the cabin, and Ben was surprised at how modern it was, with a wood floor, a large queen bed, an easy chair with an ottoman, a fireplace, and another door leading to the bathroom. There was a gift basket or something on the table. Ben set his bag on the bed and unzipped it, pulling out his laptop case and setting it on the small table by the window.

  “The wife has dinner for you in case you didn’t eat,” Jack said.

  Ben hadn’t expected that. It would have been easier to say no, but he was hungry. He had planned on ordering something from a local restaurant and then getting to work on his presentation for tomorrow, but, then again, he was way out here in the middle of nowhere. If he wanted to eat, better not to decline their hospitality. “Actually, I am starved,” he said. “I wouldn’t mind dinner, if it’s no trouble.”

  “Well, come on, then,” Jack said.

  Ben realized, as he followed him out and closed the cabin door behind them, that there was a lot more to Jack Richardson than met the eyes.

  Chapter Three

  Ben woke to bright sunlight streaming through the window. The red checkered curtains fluttered from the fresh breeze through the screen—which he was glad for, considering the mosquitoes that had come out the night before. He glanced at his watch and took in the time, 7:10 a.m. It was late, and Ben wasn’t one to sleep in. Then again, he’d stayed up until after two in the morning, trying to outline a presentation that would reach the folks here in Kit Cove and hopefully win them over.

  “Ugh, this is going to be tough,” he muttered.

  His thoughts kept turning to that fiery blonde who had spit on him with such hatred in her eyes. She had been too young to carry that kind of hate, he thought. He didn’t know what it was about her, because even though he had walked away from her yesterday at the airfield, that spitfire’d had the nerve to invade his dreams last night. Everything about her irritated him, and he wanted—no, needed to see her again and change her mind about him. No woman had ever hated him! He always kept things civil, light, and they always parted friends. He wasn’t a bad person, Ben told himself. He was honest. He had integrity. Why couldn’t she have seen that? He didn’t even know her name, that tiny woman in sneakers. The top of her head had reached just past his chest.

  “Enough!” he snarled as he tossed back the duvet and slipped out of bed. He was naked, and he reached for his jeans and slipped them on in the morning chill. He liked the cabin, although it had no heat other than the fireplace. This time of year, early fall, the mornings up here were chilly.

  He began to make his way to the bathroom when he heard a vehicle outside, and he parted the curtain to see Jack’s truck pulling up. He reached for his coat and shrugged it on. Barefoot, he opened the door.

  Jack rolled down his window but didn’t get out of the running vehicle. “Wife wanted me to check and see if you were coming for breakfast!” he called. Exhaust steamed from the tailpipe in the frosty morning air.

  “Yes, sorry. I was up late, working. Let me grab a quick shower and I’ll walk up,” Ben said, watching his host, a very complicated man, behind the wheel.

  “See you up there,” Jack said before rolling his window up and circling around to drive back to the house. Ben could see it from his cabin, a ten-minute walk, and the fresh air would do him good—clear his head.

  He was showered and dressed in five minutes, and was shrugging his coat on when his cell phone buzzed. He checked the screen--Verna, of course. “Hey, Verna. You’re calling awful early. Trying to escape that brood at home again?”

  She laughed at the other end. “Ha, ha--very funny. You know I love my family. Mark my words: One day, when you settle down and have a bunch of screaming brats of your own, you’ll understand the need for…space. Besides, I wanted to check in and see if you made it okay and if everything’s all right with your accommodations.”

  Verna could be like a mother hen, but Ben supposed that was just one part of her that made her the best damn secretary ever. “It’s nice and quaint, quiet. Good job, by the way, since I’m pretty sure no one else in this town would have rented me a room. How’d you swing it?”

  “Oh, you know. I had to rent all of the cabins for the week. Besides, they seem like nice people,” she said on the other end. A sudden silence lingered, which was so unlike Verna. Ben wondered if there was more to her call.

  “You okay, Verna?” he asked as he zipped his coat up and stepped outside, starting the walk up to the house.

  Verna sighed. “I saw it on the news last night, your arrival in Kit Cove. That was quite the welcome you got. I was just worried, is all.”

  The media had been there? Someone really had leaked his arrival. “Hey, Verna, you didn’t by any chance tell anyone when I was coming?” he said, knowing before he even asked that she wouldn’t do something like that.

  “Ben, I would hope you’d know me better than that. I would never leak that kind of information. No, the only ones who knew were the folks where you’re staying--Kit Cove Wilderness Lodge. I gave them the company credit card and asked them to pick you up. I did also ask them not to mention to people that you were staying there or when you were coming in.”

  He wondered last night if it had been Jack, but there was something about the thought that didn’t sit right. Jack and his wife, Alice, didn’t strike Ben as the type to pull that. “Sorry, Verna. I should have known better than to say anything to you. I know you wouldn’t do that. Must’ve been Jack and his wife.”

 
There was silence again on the phone, but it was different this time. He recognized by the way she was breathing that she was mad. Verna was one of those women who’d hold on to things forever and suffer in silence. “Verna, seriously, I’m sorry. I know you wouldn’t say anything. I’m just trying to figure out how someone could pull together that kind of welcoming protest—and with the media, too. I think maybe I need to have a talk with old Jack here just so I don’t arrive back to my cabin to find a bunch of journalists parked out front.”

  Ben kept walking and noticed a small compact approaching down the driveway. That was one thing about open land: You could see for miles on a clear day. The car pulled up in front of the two-story house, and, as Ben stepped closer, he watched as the spitfire blonde from last night’s protest climbed out and darted up the steps, walking into Jack and Alice’s home as if she lived there. “Well, I’ll be damned,” he said. He actually stopped walking.

  “No, you may not be yet, though I’m sure all those women you’ve dated may believe you are,” Verna muttered on the other end.

  “No, Verna--one of the protesters from last night, who spit in my face, just pulled up and walked into the house as if she lives there. I guess I have my answer.”

  “She spit in your face?” Verna yelled in outrage on the other end.

  “Yeah, listen, I’ve got to go,” he said. He didn’t wait for Verna to reply as he pocketed his phone, started up the steps, and knocked on the front door.

  Chapter Four

  Carrie leaned against the square center island in the warm kitchen. The wooden walls were a smoky amber color and looked as if they had been freshly polished. She crossed her arms over her light blue sweater, still irritated over the balls of that oilman. What nerve he had to whoosh in on his fancy helicopter, with all that wealth, thumbing his nose at the community! What made him think he could just waltz in here and try to shove this pipeline project down their throats? Didn’t he realize that they were going to fight him tooth and nail? The community had already said no, in one unified voice, telling KKO to piss off and shove that project someplace the sun didn’t shine, but they just kept coming.