Pike's Folly by Mike Heppner Page A

laughing; she was too busy scrutinizing Pike for clues, wanting to find out exactly why she disliked him so much.
    â€œWhat was Mr. Pike like in high school?” Heath asked. Allison gripped his right leg under the table and squeezed.
    â€œOh, kind of a rebel,” Sarah said. “We were a pretty strange couple, he and I.”
    â€œSo you guys actually dated?” Allison asked.
    Pike took a moment to swallow a bite of ham. “Not really. But I did let her carry my books.”
    Sarah grinned, showing her wine-stained teeth. “Don’t believe a word that he says, Allison. It’s all lies.”
    Pike corrected her. “Not lies, dear—fabrications. Peasants
lie.
Gentlemen
fabricate.
”
    As their banter continued, Gregg began to understand why Pike had kept her as his secret friend for so long. Being with Sarah had freed up a part of him that was less informed by the public persona he’d taken such care to create in Rhode Island. Like she said, the rules were different up here.
    At the end of the meal, Pike made a special announcement, one that he’d been saving all night. This was the first time he’d mentioned the parking-lot project to anyone who wasn’t directly involved with it. That group now included Gregg, Allison, and Heath, whether they liked it or not.
    â€œA parking lot?” Allison demanded, reaching for her wine. “What on earth for?”
    â€œWait and see, my pet, wait and see,” Pike said, pleased with himself.
    â€œHow do you plan to get the equipment up there?” Gregg asked. Being in the mountains had a transforming effect on him, and he found himself open to ideas that would’ve seemed ludicrous back home.
    â€œWe’ll airlift it,” Pike said, “to a staging area about fifty yards from the main site. It’s expensive as hell, but we’ll save in other ways.”
    Allison was less impressed. “But why a parking lot?”
    Pike answered with relish. “The fact that it’s a parking lot means nothing. A parking lot
defies
meaning. That’s the beauty of it.”
    â€œSounds pretty stupid to me.” With a huff, she stood to help clear the dishes, while her father kept asking more questions. She could tell that Pike was reeling him in, and it disgusted her. “Are you finished?” she asked Heath.
    â€œOh, thanks,” he said, glancing away from Stuart just long enough to pass her his plate. He’d hardly touched his food and had spent most of the dinner talking with Stuart, who’d also managed only a half-slice of ham.
    â€œWhat about you, Stuart?” she asked.
    Stuart handed her his plate but held on to his wineglass. The seating arrangements hadn’t worked in his favor, with Heath on one side and Gregg on the other. Both expected more out of him—
the published author
—than he felt able to provide. Heath’s questions hadn’t let up since they’d sat down: about writing, getting an agent and editor, etc. These questions had continued even after dinner, until Stuart finally rose from the table and asked, “Hey, Nate, do you mind if I borrow the SUV? I want to pick up some wool socks. It’s gonna be cold later on.” The excuse sounded forced, but he didn’t care.
    â€œThe Bean outlet’s open all night,” Heath said. “I’ll come along.”
    With a paternal sigh, Pike reached into his pocket, brought out his car keys and said, “Don’t get pulled over.”
    Stuart did what was expected and laughed. He’d driven the SUV before, usually bringing Pike to and from the airport. Every time, he’d heard the same lecture.
    â€œIf you get arrested, remember”—Pike winked, sliding the keys across the table—“I’m your one phone call.”
    Keys in hand, they stepped outside and headed off, Stuart ejecting the James Brown CD from the sound system and tuning the radio to a light