Patiently Carlson explained. “You’ve made a name for yourself in real estate. And not by riding my coattails, either. I might have placed a few opportunities in your path, but you took advantage of them.”
“Thank you, but what is this leading to, Father?”
“In your own right, you’re something of a celebrity in this town.” She shook her head scoffingly. “I mean it. Your name is well-known in important circles. And in recent days your name and picture have appeared in newspapers and on television. You’ve been made into a sort of folk heroine. That kind of free publicity is as good as money in the bank. I propose that we use this disaster to our advantage.”
On the verge of panic, Rusty wet her lips. “You mean promote the fact that I survived an airplane crash to generate business?”
“What could it hurt?”
“You must be joking!” He wasn’t. There was nothing in either his expression or demeanor to indicate that he was only fooling. She bowed her head, shaking it. “No, Father. Absolutely not. The idea doesn’t appeal to me at all.”
“Don’t say no right away,” he said patronizingly. “I’ll get our advertising agency to work up a few ideas. I promise not to move on any of them until you’ve been consulted and I have your approval.”
He was suddenly a stranger to her. The voice, the face, the polished manner—all were familiar. But she didn’t really know the heart and soul of the man behind the veneer. She didn’t know him at all.
“I’ll never approve. That plane crash killed five people. Five men, Father. I met their families—their grieving widows and children and parents. I talked to them. I offered them my heartfelt condolences. To turn their misfortune to my own advantage—” she shuddered with repugnance “—no, Father. That’s something I can’t do.”
Bill Carlson pulled on his lower lip, as he always did when he was deep in thought. “Very well. For the time being, we’ll table that idea. But another has occurred to me.”
He pressed both her hands between his. Rusty got the distinct impression that she was being restrained as a precautionary measure, as if what he was about to suggest would precipitate a fit.
“As I’ve told you, I had Mr. Landry thoroughly checked out yesterday. He owns a large ranch in a beautiful area of the Sierras.”
“So he’s said.”
“No one has developed the land around it.”
“That’s the beauty of it. The region has remained virtually untouched. I fail to see what that has to do with us.”
“Rusty, what’s the matter with you?” he asked teasingly. “Have you become a conservationist after two weeks in the woods? You’re not going to circulate petitions accusing builders of raping the land every time a new tract of homes goes up, are you?”
“Of course not, Father.” His teasing bordered on criticism. There was a trace of reproach behind his smile. Rusty didn’t want to disappoint him, but she hastened to eliminate any ideas he was nursing regarding Cooper and enterprise. “I hope you aren’t considering any commercial development in Mr. Landry’s part of the state. I can promise you, he wouldn’t welcome it. In fact he’d fight you.”
“Are you sure? How does the idea of a partnership strike you?”
She stared at him incredulously. “A partnership between Cooper and me?”
Carlson nodded. “He’s a war veteran. That’s very promotable. You survived a plane crash together and endured unbelievable hardships in the Canadian wilds before you were rescued. That, too, has high drama and marketability. The buying public will eat it up.”
Everyone, even her own father, seemed to regard the plane crash and the life-threatening experiences following it as a grand adventure, a melodrama starr
ing Cooper and herself in the principal roles—The African Queen set in a different time and locale.
Carlson was too caught up in his plans to notice Rusty’s negative reaction to them. “I could make a few calls and by dark today put together a group of investors who would love to build condos in that area. There’s a ski lift at this Rogers Gap, but it’s ill-managed. We’d modernize and improve that and build around it.
“We’d bring Landry into it, of course. That would smooth the way with the other locals. He’s not a mixer, but my investigators reported back that he wields a lot of influence. His name means something up there. Once the condos are under construction, you could start selling them. We’d all stand to make millions.”
Her objections to his proposal were too many to enumerate, so she didn’t even try. She had to shoot down the idea before it even took off. “Father, in case you didn’t get the message a minute ago, Mr. Landry isn’t interested in making money.” She picked up the two halves of the check and shook them in front of his face as a reminder. “Making money off a real-estate venture will be anathema to him. He loves that country up there. He wants it left alone, kept the way it is, unspoiled by land developers. He loves the way nature developed it.”
“He might pay lip service to that Walden Pond philosophy,” her father remarked skeptically. “But every man has his price, Rusty.”
“Not Cooper Landry.”
Carlson stroked his daughter’s cheek. “Your naivete is endearing.”
The twinkle in his eyes was familiar and alarming. It indicated that he was on the scent of a Big Deal. In a community of capitalist sharks, her father was among those with the most deadly jaws. She grasped his hand and squeezed it hard. “Promise me, promise, that you won’t do this. You don’t know him.”
“And you do?” The glint in his eyes dimmed and the lids narrowed. Gradually she released his hands. He backed away from her suspiciously, as though he’d just learned that what was confining her to the hospital bed might be contagious.