Read Online Grave Intent by Deborah LeBlanc - Free Book Online

again. Maybe the bank would
view his ability to turn the company around as a positive sign when
they considered all the risk factors. Maybe it would be enough for
them to at least consider a loan. Then again, maybe all he was
doing was slow dancing with wishful thinking. But Wilson was right
about one thing. What would it hurt to ask? “All right,” Michael
said. “I’ll go on Monday and talk to the loan officer.”
    “Why Monday? Why not Friday? That’s tomorrow.
You could do it tomorrow.”
    “We’ve got the Stevenson service tomorrow,
and as soon as that’s taken care of, I’m going up to the cabin with
my family. I won’t be back until Monday.”
    Wilson wrung his hands and looked about
nervously. Suddenly, his eyes brightened. “So you take a few
minutes in the morning, slip out, go to the bank. I’ll cover for
you while you’re gone.”
    “I’m not doing it tomorrow,” Michael said
firmly. “I have too much to do. And if we’re going to do this sale,
I want it done right. No screw-ups. Going tomorrow won’t make that
big a difference anyway. It’s not like the bank’s going to give me
a check in an hour. Loans take time.”
    “Yeah, but at least you’d get the ball
rolling quicker.”
    “I said no.”
    Wilson turned sideways in his chair, picked
up the tumbler from the table, and brought it to his lips. He
tongue flicked across the dry rim. With a grunt of frustration, he
returned it to the table and faced Michael again. “I thought you’d
be more excited about this.”
    “I’m a realist. When and if it happens,
great.”
    Wilson tapped an anxious foot on the
floor.
    “Why are you so nervous all of a sudden?”
Michael asked. “You didn’t actually think you’d be walking around
with a million in cash tomorrow, did you?”
    “Of course not. Not at all.” Wilson stood and
pressed a hand to the small of his back. He walked around in a
tight circle for a moment, then said, “Tell you what, son, I’ll
sweeten the pot. You give me the cash you got from the Stevensons
earlier, and I’ll lower the sale price to a million even. That
should make things even easier for you at the bank.”
    The kitchen suddenly felt the size of a
breadbox, and Michael got to his feet. “Forget it,” he said, and
headed for the living room and the front door. “Your ten minutes
are up.”
    “Wait!” Wilson caught up with Michel and
followed alongside him in a lopsided gait. “I’m just trying to help
you, lowering the asking price and all.”
    “The sale’s a ruse,” Michael said, not
looking back. “All you’re after is that cash. I should’ve known,
goddammit. I should’ve seen it coming.”
    “No, no! I really want to sell the business
to you,” Wilson insisted. “Really!”
    “Bullshit.”
    “I could just take it you know. I still own
the funeral home. So theoretically, it’s mine anyway.”
    Michael reached the front door but before
opening it, he turned to Wilson and jabbed a finger at him. “Stop
playing your games! The fucking cash isn’t yours, Dad. The
bank’s in possession of all receipts and even if I could give it to
you, I sure as hell wouldn’t!”
    Wilson grabbed his arm. “Listen, please—son—I
gotta have that cash. I promise—I’ll go through with the sale. You
have my word.”
    “Which means about as much as dog turds in
the rain. Runny—and floats off in any damn direction. The answer’s
no. It belongs to the bank.” Michael shook his arm free and opened
the door.
    “Y-you don’t understand,” Wilson said in a
broken whisper. “If I don’t give the investors some kind of good
faith offering, they’ll . . . they’ll do something terrible to me.”
He let out a little sob. “Really terrible.”
    Michael clutched the edge of the door until
his hand hurt. Something inside of him seemed to be ripping in two.
One half wanted to shove his father out the door and scream,
“That’s your problem, you dumb fuck!” The other half hung numb.
    Wilson’s body