The Bee Balm Murders (7 page)

The plane landed, and the ground crew, one small, dark-haired woman, wheeled a stairway up to the plane. Two passengers disembarked, one after the other, stooping to get through the low door. The first, a man in his forties with carroty red hair, looked around expectantly, spotted Orion, and waved. He turned to the man behind him and said something Orion was too far away to hear. The second passenger, a freshly scrubbed–looking young man, followed him down the stairs and across the tarmac to where Orion stood by the gate, now open.

The ground crew, the same dark-haired woman, wheeled the stairway off to one side, the door shut, and the Cessna taxied away.

“Casper.” Orion stuck out his hand and the redhead grabbed it with his, clasping Orion’s shoulder with his other hand.

“Good to see you, Orion.” Casper let go and turned to the man with him. “Finney Solomon, meet Orion Nanopoulos.”

“How’re you doing?” The young man thrust out his hand and grinned, showing great white teeth. “Delighted to meet you, Orion.”

“Same here.” Orion shook hands and studied the man, who, in turn, was studying him with a half-smile. Finney Solomon was taller than Orion, six-one or -two, nice looking without being too much so. Light brown hair cut short, hazel eyes.

“I was shocked to hear about Angelo,” said Finney Solomon. “A good friend. Great guy. His wife and kids are devastated. Any word on what happened?”

“Not many clues,” said Orion. “Shot in the back of his head, left in the trench in pouring rain. Just a fluke they found his body before they filled in the trench.”

“A real loss.” Finney shook his head. He looked athletic, a swimmer or a runner or a bicyclist. Something like that. The guy oozed so much trustworthiness, Orion felt uncomfortable.

“We have a lot to talk about,” said Orion.

“We sure do,” said Finney. “Is there someplace we can talk in private?”

“My office. Do you have any luggage?”

“Just our briefcases and carry-ons,” said Casper. “The pilot loaded them into a wing compartment.”

“Yeah, that’s how it works,” said Orion. “The pilots are baggage handlers.”

“At the check-in counter they asked how much we weigh,” said Finney. “Gives you kind of an odd feeling.”

“They do that, too,” said Orion.

“There was a woman going on to Nantucket, you could tell she was deciding whether she could subtract a few pounds and still get there safely.” Finney laughed.

“Have you been to the Vineyard before?” asked Orion.

“Couple of times, briefly. I took a sightseeing bus tour once. Saw what you could see in three hours. I’ve been hoping to come back and get to really know the Island.”

Orion, who by this time had been on the Vineyard for three months, had walked its roads every day of those three months, and knew he’d seen only a minuscule portion.

The two men picked up their briefcases from the luggage cart and walked with Orion to his station wagon.

“You sit up front, Finney,” said Casper. “Better view, and I’ve seen it before.”

“I just can’t get over Angelo’s death,” said Finney. “Things won’t be the same without him.”

On their way to his office, Orion pointed out to Finney the sights he thought might interest him. The state forest with its stark, silvery snags, the failed venture of a planned forest product, where a rare and hungry fungus growing north of its usual range met up with the red pines grown for telephone poles south of their range. He showed Finney the now-defunct golf driving range that had been a wind farm and before that had been a gravel pit.

Finney Solomon looked with interest. After Orion pointed out the commercial vineyard that had given up and sold out, Finney said, “You’re not trying to discourage investors, are you?” He smiled as if to indicate he was only kidding. “I’d like to see that Ditch Witch unit of yours.”

“It’s on our way,” said Orion, passing, without comment, the pick-your-own-berries place that was for sale.

C
HAPTER
9

The Ditch Witch drill was parked behind Trip Barnes’s Moving and Storage in an area of junked vehicles and construction debris. The rig glistened and sparkled in its surroundings, as out of place as a coat and tie at a clambake. Orion, Casper, and Finney Solomon walked over the rough ground to the rig.

This was Orion’s first opportunity to examine the machine closely, and he walked around it, studying it with interest. To him, an engineer, it was perfection. The entire rig was not quite twenty feet long, about seven feet wide, and, on the trailer, about ten feet tall. Compact.

“So this is it!” said Finney. “A lot of action packed into a pretty small package.” He smiled down at Orion.

“It’ll do the job,” Orion said, feeling irritated for some reason. On the way from the airport, he’d done most of the talking. Casper had said almost nothing. Now, Orion could look at Finney directly, see his face and find out who this man was. All he knew was the guy had been a friend of Angelo Vulpone’s and claimed to have connections to venture capitalists.

Orion and Finney walked around to the front of the Ditch Witch drill and stood on either side of the trailer hitch, while Casper checked out the rear.

“You have an engineering background?” Orion asked.

“My background is strictly financial,” said Finney. “I’m depending on you to tell me what I need to know.”

“This is the first time I’ve been able to examine the rig,” said Orion.

“Do I understand an investor bought the rig in exchange for a share in your company?”

“That’s right,” said Orion.

Finney scratched his chin. “Did he buy it outright?”

“She,” said Orion. “Dorothy Roche. She worked out some kind of payment plan with a finance company.” He noticed a fleeting skeptical look on Finney’s face. “She’s wealthy. Lives in Edgartown, expensive cars, expensive house. No question of money.” Orion put his foot up on the trailer hitch to relieve his back. “According to her, financing it is the best route.”

Finney looked thoughtful. “Sometimes it is. How did she get involved?”

“She apparently has contacts in New York who’d heard about our fiber-optic project. She attended a selectmen’s meeting where I spoke and came up to me afterward.”

“I’d like to meet her, talk to her. Would you mind calling and introducing me to her?”

“How long are you staying?”

“I’d planned on leaving in the morning, but I can rearrange my schedule to leave later.”

“I’ll set up a breakfast meeting for you. I’m sure that would work for Dorothy.” Orion’s back was beginning to ache, so he stepped over the trailer hitch and they moved around to the side of the machine.

“This rig even has cruise control,” Orion said.

Finney grinned. “You’d drive this down the road using cruise control?”

“It’s not that kind of cruise control,” said Orion. “The operator can set the drilling speed and then just monitor the unit while it drills. Less fatigue and increased production.”

He showed Finney where the drilling fluid was stored. He pointed out the mud pump. The operator’s controls. The pipe rack. They walked partway along one side and Orion was about to point out the new tracks, not a speck of dirt on them, when Finney said, “Impressive. But I’ve seen enough. Time to talk business.”

Casper was tagging along after the other two and spoke up for the first time since they’d stopped at Trip Barnes’s. “Finney’s right. We’ve got a lot to discuss.”

Orion felt, somehow, as though his machine had been slighted. He’d begun to think of the Ditch Witch drill as his very own, and wanted to show Finney everything. Finney hadn’t seen the anchoring system. Orion hadn’t yet sat up in the operator’s seat. He itched to climb aboard and examine the controls. He turned away and walked over to his station wagon, patted its side, and climbed in.

They drove from Trip Barnes’s up Main Street and then over a block to Orion’s office, and parked behind the two-story frame building. The three climbed the outside stairs and Orion unlocked the door, which opened onto a large, airy room with skylights and windows on two sides and a drafting table in the center.

Finney Solomon took off his sports coat and slung it over the back of a chair, opened up his briefcase on the drafting table, and the three sat down to business.

“How did you and Casper get connected?” Orion asked.

“Angelo Vulpone was my mentor,” Finney said. All three paused for a moment of respect in Angelo’s memory. “I knew about your project and after Angelo’s death I contacted Casper here.” He nodded at Casper, who was sitting to his left. “Angelo was a genius at spotting winners, and he was confident your project was a winner. He said his investment would pay off many times over, big time.”

Casper nodded. Orion looked down at the table.

“That’s why I’m interested,” said Finney. “When Angelo decided to invest in a construction project, it was a platinum seal of approval.”

Orion produced several thick folders from a locked file cabinet and spread maps and diagrams and copies of permits in front of Finney, lists of contacts, lists of town officials, lists of equipment owned, leased, or required, budgets, schedules …

Finney examined everything. Two hours later he said, “How much additional capital are you looking for?”

“Fourteen million,” said Casper.

Finney took out his iPad and worked it with a stylus. “Shouldn’t be a problem to raise that.” He looked over and saw Orion’s doubtful expression. “Believe it or not, it’s easier to raise fourteen million than it is to raise fourteen thousand.”

“How long will it take to raise?” asked Orion, fishing a notebook out of his shirt pocket.

“Guarantee you’ll have money in hand in six months.”

“What do you mean by guarantee?”

“You’ll have your fourteen million dollars. Period.” Finney’s voice was flat.

“And your take is?” asked Orion, his pen poised over the notebook.

“A monthly retainer for six months, and two percent of the funds raised.”

Orion worked some figures. “Two percent of fourteen million comes to two hundred and eighty thousand, right?”

“That’s right.”

“And what’s your modest monthly retainer?”

“Five thousand plus expenses,” said Finney.

Orion scribbled some more. “Thirty thousand.” He looked up. “Three hundred thousand plus, for six months work? And I assume you’ve got other jobs going at the same time as well.”

Finney didn’t answer.

“That’s a lot of money.”

Finney grinned. “Fourteen million is a lot of money.”

Casper had been silent during this exchange. Orion turned to him. “What do you think, Casper?”

Casper sat where a shaft of sunlight from the skylight struck his hair, turning it an almost fluorescent orange. He was doodling stars and dollar signs on the pad in front of him. “If he can raise fourteen million in six months, it’s worth every penny of it.”

“If he can’t,” Orion stood, “we’re out thirty thousand plus expenses. Plus time. I want to see the contract.”

Finney reached into his open briefcase. “Here it is. Look it over.” He slid a green plastic binder, legal size, down the table to Orion.

Orion sat again and glanced at the contract. He turned to Finney. “You brought your CV with you, too, I assume.”

Finney shuffled through papers in his briefcase and produced a document in a blue plastic binder. “There’s a one-page resume on top. The rest is background.”

Orion leafed through the slickly produced document. “We need to think about this for a while. How soon do you need an answer?”

“I’m in no hurry,” said Finney. “As you surmised, I have other projects.” He snapped his briefcase shut. “You’re the ones under time pressure.”

C
HAPTER
10

Dorothy Roche invited Finney to breakfast the next morning at her house. She’d send her car, she said.

“The hotel is only a few blocks from here,” Orion told Finney. “I’ll drive you there.”

Finney snapped his briefcase shut. “Appreciate it.”

“Mind dropping me off on West Chop?” asked Casper.

“Sure. No trouble,” Orion said.

“Aren’t you staying at the hotel?” asked Finney.

“I’m visiting an old college friend.” Casper gathered up the papers they’d spread out on the drafting table and Orion stowed them in the locked file cabinet.

After they settled Finney at the Mansion House, Orion continued up Main Street toward West Chop.

“What do you think?” asked Casper.

Orion grunted. “I’m not impressed.”

“He claims he can raise fourteen million.”

“So he claims.” Orion slowed to let a woman with a dog cross the road in front of them. She waved her thanks.

“Any other suggestions, Orion?”

“You talked to the car dealer, Roger Paulson?”

“By phone. He’s a cranky, stubborn guy.” Casper gazed out at the glimpses of the harbor through trees. “As I told you, he offered to invest seven million, but he wants a share in the company.”

“How did you learn about him?”

“He came to me,” said Casper. “He heard about your presentation at the selectmen’s meeting and checked up on you and the project.”

The West Chop light came up on their right, its beam feeble in the bright afternoon. Orion slowed. “Where’s the place you’re staying?”

“On the dirt road straight ahead.”

“Before we go any farther, let’s talk money.” Orion pulled over next to the lighthouse. “Can you get Roger Paulson to accept non-voting shares? I don’t want any investor taking a percentage of the company.”

“You gave Dorothy a percentage.”

“That may have been a mistake. I wasn’t thinking straight. I should have offered her shares of profits rather than a percentage of the company. But we need the drill and she’s buying it.”

Casper shrugged. “I’ll meet with Paulson, try to talk him into accepting your proposal. But I’m in favor of giving Finney Solomon a chance. He’s talking double what Paulson is willing to invest.”

“I won’t close my mind to Finney. But Paulson has a place on the Island, wants fast communications, and the system will make money for him. Use that approach.”

*   *   *

When Orion came home that evening, Victoria was in the parlor reading. Orion sat in the rocker.