Page 48 of Mending Fences
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Daniel woke feeling disoriented. Were the steps going up or down? What kind of designer put an M. C. Escher knockoff on a bedroom wall? The same designer who had done his entire apartment over in black and white with construction-worker orange accents. The couch was at least comfortable, even if it did resemble a huge, smashed toilet-paper roll. And the desk was pure Ikea, plain and functional. He could live with it for another week. At least he didn’t have to go to court today. There had been a jury issue over the weekend, and they’d needed to choose new jurors. His phone rang. Odd. Mr. Hastings almost never called.
He tried not to sound too blurry. “Crawford here.”
“Sorry to bother you, but we have a problem at the Indiana property.”
Fully alert now, Daniel sat up. “Is Amanda okay?”
“At the moment, yes, but her chameleon-haired roommate and lawyer boyfriend have set up a rally at the mansion this afternoon.”
“Protesting what?”
“The sale of the property for a refinery.”
Daniel collected his clothes from the closet. “There isn’t going to be a sale. We put out a press release.”
“Well, they missed the local paper. We started finding flyers for the rally late last evening.”
Daniel ran his hands through his hair and pulled his phone away from his ear to check the time. 7:43. “Let me think. Colin is en route from Japan, so he can’t help. If I can get a ticket, I should be there around two or three.” He’d talk with Candace, then he could spend an hour with Amanda.
“We could talk to them, or you could call ...”
“No, the trial was postponed until tomorrow. And I want to see for myself how Amanda is doing.”
“I suggest you charter a plane. Then you won’t have the drive from the airport to deal with.”
“Probably right. I’ll let you know the details when I do.”
Daniel stared at his phone and wished for a split second he had a New York office, but Father hated the Big Apple. Getting the apartment must have made him roll over in his grave. Daniel laughed. Perhaps the designer was karma.
Too early in Chicago to call Bonnie, Daniel found a charter company they’d used before and hoped the last-minute flight didn’t cost him as much as he thought it would. What time did Amanda need to go to work? After he met with Candace, should he call her or go see her?
Mandy had forgotten she had an art-department meeting. She pulled up the lane just after four to find about fifty people there, mostly college students. But she recognized a few of the older locals, too. Candace was shouting something unintelligible through a bullhorn.
She pulled the poster board sign out the back of the Golf Ball. Keeping the sign low, she moved toward the crowd. Candace wore a cheap red-white-and-blue wig, the type a clown would wear on the Fourth of July. She started them chanting.
“No gas here! No gas here!”
She came over to Mandy. “What do you think?”
“I think that is the worst wig you have ever worn and I made a mistake coming here. Look, Candace, it’s only us and some cows across the street. Did you ever talk to Colin?”
Candace blanched. Apparently not.
Just then, three vehicles came speeding down the road. Two had satellite equipment and network logos on the side. The third was an all-too-familiar truck. No. Mandy couldn’t see the inside clearly, but the driver who passed the access road to the main gate wasn’t built like Mr. Alexander or his crew. Mandy felt her heart sink a little lower. She moved away from the crowd. One of the news vans had boxed in her Golf. Mandy turned around—better to hide in the middle of the crowd. Maybe the cameras would miss her.
The camera crews unloaded their equipment out of the van, a reporter questioned various protesters. Someone pointed toward Candace. Mandy moved to the other side of the crowd, closer to the fence, wishing it offered more protection.
Dust rose from the road near the house.
The truck.
She froze for a moment, then turned her back to the fence and hunched down behind the picketers, hoping not to be seen.
Candace’s voice rose above the crowd. “Anyone see Mandy?” Several people answered. Candace found her and tugged on her sleeve. “They have got to see your sign.”
“No. You show it. Do you see who drove up?”
