yelling, “Those old bitches lied. I know they lied!”
“What did they do to you?” he asked. If he knew, he was the greatest actor on the planet.
“They never did anything to me. We were talking generally. Is this interrogation over?”
“Nah. Tell me about the Garrison family.”
“You’re staying at the lodge at Garrison Gardens, right? Well, there’s a brochure under the Bible on your nightstand with a picture of Miss Lucy Garrison’s chapel on the front. It’ll tell you all about the family.”
“But I want to hear it from you,” he said, smiling, like he was settling in for a really good show and knew he wasn’t going to be disappointed.
She wondered if he knew how sexy all that attention was and decided yes indeedy, any man who strutted his stuff the way Josh did knew exactly how sexy he was. Which didn’t diminish his sexiness. So what with one thing and another, she decided to hell with her warning bells. It was probably just a coincidence that he had picked her up, and she wasn’t going to ask him about it. It wouldn’t be the first time she’d decided to trust a man for reasons that had little to do with her better judgment.
“O KAY ,” L AUREL BEGAN , “this is the version of the Garrison legend you won’t get from the tour guides at the Gardens. Your big hotel started out in the twenties as a private lodge for the Garrisons to entertain their friends—many of whom were the financial barons who brought us the Great Depression, incidentally, but we don’t mention that around here. The original lodge was a rustic retreat where the Garrisons entertained in simple style and demonstrated to the world what humble Christian folk they were. Then the Depression hit and local farmers started going belly-up. The Garrisons sent out their agents to buy up the farmers’ land for a fraction of what it was worth, business being business after all, and to hell with all that subversive Commie stuff in the Bible about being your brother’s keeper.”
It was a soapbox she’d been on before, but no man had ever looked quite so fascinated while she was on it.
“By the time the Depression was over, the Garrison family had collected thirty thousand acres that used to be homes and farms. Somebody got the idea that the private lodge could turn a profit if it became a resort. For reasons having to do with the government’s unreasonable application of the income tax, the Garrison accountants tucked most of the newly acquired land into a charitable trust that was to be used in a manner loosely described as being for the public good. Several golf courses were put in, and facilities were built to house an annual steeplechase that put Charles Valley on the map worldwide. How this benefited the public was never made clear; the golf courses were kept private, and tickets for the steeplechase cost as much as the average family earned in six months. But these goodies made the resort into one hell of a draw for the exclusive clientele the Garrisons wanted. Are you with me so far?” Josh’s pale eyes were warm; by now Ed’s would have glazed over.
“Oh, yeah, you’re very clear,” Josh said softly. “You deliver this riff often?”
“Only to total strangers who will soon be leaving town.”
“Smart move. Go on.”
“The land that was not developed reverted back to forest and became hunting grounds for resort guests and Garrison family and friends. The farmers watched the rich people play on what had once been their cotton and sweet-potato fields and tried to tell themselves they were grateful for the resort because without it to provide jobs they would have starved—all but one drunken old cuss, who didn’t like progress and refused to sell, mostly because he enjoyed watching the Garrison agents go nuts trying to con him. And he never had given a damn if his kids were hungry.”
“And this old cuss would be?”
“Don’t get ahead of the story. Right now all you need to know
“What did they do to you?” he asked. If he knew, he was the greatest actor on the planet.
“They never did anything to me. We were talking generally. Is this interrogation over?”
“Nah. Tell me about the Garrison family.”
“You’re staying at the lodge at Garrison Gardens, right? Well, there’s a brochure under the Bible on your nightstand with a picture of Miss Lucy Garrison’s chapel on the front. It’ll tell you all about the family.”
“But I want to hear it from you,” he said, smiling, like he was settling in for a really good show and knew he wasn’t going to be disappointed.
She wondered if he knew how sexy all that attention was and decided yes indeedy, any man who strutted his stuff the way Josh did knew exactly how sexy he was. Which didn’t diminish his sexiness. So what with one thing and another, she decided to hell with her warning bells. It was probably just a coincidence that he had picked her up, and she wasn’t going to ask him about it. It wouldn’t be the first time she’d decided to trust a man for reasons that had little to do with her better judgment.
“O KAY ,” L AUREL BEGAN , “this is the version of the Garrison legend you won’t get from the tour guides at the Gardens. Your big hotel started out in the twenties as a private lodge for the Garrisons to entertain their friends—many of whom were the financial barons who brought us the Great Depression, incidentally, but we don’t mention that around here. The original lodge was a rustic retreat where the Garrisons entertained in simple style and demonstrated to the world what humble Christian folk they were. Then the Depression hit and local farmers started going belly-up. The Garrisons sent out their agents to buy up the farmers’ land for a fraction of what it was worth, business being business after all, and to hell with all that subversive Commie stuff in the Bible about being your brother’s keeper.”
It was a soapbox she’d been on before, but no man had ever looked quite so fascinated while she was on it.
“By the time the Depression was over, the Garrison family had collected thirty thousand acres that used to be homes and farms. Somebody got the idea that the private lodge could turn a profit if it became a resort. For reasons having to do with the government’s unreasonable application of the income tax, the Garrison accountants tucked most of the newly acquired land into a charitable trust that was to be used in a manner loosely described as being for the public good. Several golf courses were put in, and facilities were built to house an annual steeplechase that put Charles Valley on the map worldwide. How this benefited the public was never made clear; the golf courses were kept private, and tickets for the steeplechase cost as much as the average family earned in six months. But these goodies made the resort into one hell of a draw for the exclusive clientele the Garrisons wanted. Are you with me so far?” Josh’s pale eyes were warm; by now Ed’s would have glazed over.
“Oh, yeah, you’re very clear,” Josh said softly. “You deliver this riff often?”
“Only to total strangers who will soon be leaving town.”
“Smart move. Go on.”
“The land that was not developed reverted back to forest and became hunting grounds for resort guests and Garrison family and friends. The farmers watched the rich people play on what had once been their cotton and sweet-potato fields and tried to tell themselves they were grateful for the resort because without it to provide jobs they would have starved—all but one drunken old cuss, who didn’t like progress and refused to sell, mostly because he enjoyed watching the Garrison agents go nuts trying to con him. And he never had given a damn if his kids were hungry.”
“And this old cuss would be?”
“Don’t get ahead of the story. Right now all you need to know
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