A Risky Business Page 2

  'Go ahead, Greg.' She didn't want Leon to get the idea she was possessive of Greg. Besides, it might undo a little of the damage Greg had done by his proprietary attitude if she let Leon know the change in plans didn't bother her. 'Business before pleasure, as they say. I could do with an early night anyway. I've a lot to do tomorrow.'

  She disengaged Greg's arm from around her waist and started away.

  'By the way, just what do you do?' Leon asked blandly before she had a chance to move more than a couple of paces away.

  A jolt of shock shot through her and she hesitated a brief instant before turning back. She could only hope her face was convincingly innocent when she faced him. 'I'm a naturalist. I'm doing some research on the ecology of this area.'

  'Research?' he asked, and Merle shot him a glance. His expression was only mildly curious and nothing else, so she forced herself to relax.

  'That's right. I… I drive out into the countryside and study the life forms.' Why had she hesitated?

  'It sounds very… interesting.' Why had he hesitated? 'Tell me, are you studying any particular life form?'

  Merle wet her lips, her mouth dry. Her knowledge of biology was limited to the information gleaned from watching The Nature of Things on television and a few Reader's Digest articles. Generally she found that to be sufficient: most people were too interested in their own affairs to question her closely about her assumed occupation. 'Not any sp-specific one. I try to look at the situation as a whole. You know, the… uh… interaction of the different species.' She pulled the phrase out from her scanty memory file, shooting a surreptitious look at Crane. There was an odd light in those green eyes, almost as if he were amused by something—or dubious. She shivered slightly, and though it was from nerves she seized on it as an escape. 'It's getting cool out here. I think I'll go in now,' she said hastily. Without waiting for a reply from the other two, Merle turned quickly and left the pool area for her room.

  CHAPTER TWO

  The next morning there was no sign of the black sports car in the motel parking lot when Merle went out to her Blazer to drive into Medicine Hat. She was still angry with herself for almost letting herself get tripped up by Leon Crane at the pool yesterday and had decided to go to the library and take out some books on ecology. She should have done that before ever starting the job. Even if she had to read every book they had on the subject, she was going to be prepared if anyone questioned her about her assumed occupation again.

  It wouldn't hurt to call the company that had hired her, Wild Rose Petroleum, either, and see if one of their town scouts had heard anything about why Leon Crane had been out at the site. From what she had heard about him, it seemed odd that he should visit it personally.

  Her visit to the library yielded several books on general biology and she also bought a field guide to Alberta wild flowers at the local bookstore. She could spend the next few days out on the prairie learning to identify the vegetation. If she were going to pretend she was an expert on life forms, she decided it would be easier to specialise in ones that wouldn't run away.

  Before lunch, she found a phone booth and called Wild Rose. Though the Blazer was equipped with a mobile telephone, it was safer to use the pay phone. On a mobile phone, anyone else in the area who has one can overhear one side of the conversation. Although it was unlikely that she would be able to conceal her identity as a scout indefinitely, the longer she could remain undercover the easier her job would be.

  Her conversation with the contact at Wild Rose was brief. He had no better idea why Leon Crane had been out to the site than she did, but promised to see if he could find out something for her.

  After hanging up the receiver, Merle stared at the phone for several seconds. She had lots of change in her purse, so there really wasn't a good excuse for not calling her mother. She would have to get it over with sometime, and as it was she had already delayed for two weeks. It wasn't going to be an easy conversation, though. Before she could talk herself out of calling, Merle picked up the receiver again and got the operator.

  The phone at the other end of the line rang several times and Merle was just beginning to think she had been given a reprieve, when it was lifted off the hook. Quickly, Merle fed in the coins she had ready and greeted her mother.

  'I was just thinking about you, Merle. I've tried calling you but there has been no answer at your apartment. I was on my way out, so we can't talk for long.'

  'Okay, Mom, then I won't keep you. I just called to…'

  'Wait a minute,' her mother interrupted. 'Why are you calling from a pay phone? Where are you?'

  'Mom, I'm in Medicine Hat,' Merle answered quietly.

  'Medicine Hat? Oh, Merle.' Why was it that you never got a poor connection when you really wanted one? Her mother's exasperation came over all too clearly on this line. 'I suppose you've given up your job with the construction company?'

  'You knew it was only temporary, Mom… just something to tide me over until I got another scouting job.'

  'That was a good job, Merle. I thought you liked it.'

  'You know I hate that kind of work—stuck in some office building all day, typing and filing.'

  Her mother sniffed audibly. 'If you had stayed with it, it would probably have got more interesting. It was the sort of job that could have led to…'

  'Look, Mom,' Merle cut in, 'since you think it was so great, why don't you see if it's still open and you can take it? You'd love being surrounded by a bunch of gossipy women all day, hearing all about their love lives and their kids.'

  'Sounds to me like you're jealous. You could get married and have children if you stopped running around the province playing spy.' Merle pressed her lips together tightly to avoid making a retort. She didn't want to get married—though try to convince her mother of that!

  When her daughter remained silent, Mrs Halliday said, 'What about Jack? Is he willing to wait for you until you get back to Calgary? I'm sure he was serious about you.'

  'Mother, I only went out with him a couple of times.' It had been an incredibly bad piece of luck that her mother had happened to be dining in the same restaurant on the night Merle had gone there with Jack Franklin. The next day she had been ready to order flowers for the wedding. That had been the last time Merle went out with Jack; she had been too embarrassed to accept another date. It was so humiliating to be out with someone who was little more than a casual acquaintance and have your mother show up and start vetting him as potential husband material.

  'Well, I'm sure that something could have developed there if you had stayed in Calgary. He seemed like such a nice man; so attractive and with a good job, too. After all, darling, you are twenty-five. You'll be left on the shelf if you're not careful.'

  'I happen to be quite happy "on the shelf" as you put it. Besides, you get married often enough for both of us.'

  'Merle!' The hurt in her mother's voice came clearly over the phone line.

  'I'm sorry, Mom,' Merle apologised hastily. 'That was a rotten thing to say.'

  'Yes, it was. It is not my fault that your father died.'

  Merle forestalled commenting on this remark to avoid further argument. As her mother said, it wasn't her fault that Merle's father had died when Merle was only a baby. However, she had been married twice since then in an attempt to replace him. Her excuse for the subsequent divorces was that no man was able to fill the shoes of her late first husband, though obviously she wasn't going to stop trying to find someone. Secretly, Merle felt that her parents' marriage would have ended in divorce as well, had Jake Halliday not died before her mother tired of him.

  'Merle, I think you are very selfish. You know that I want grandchildren. Besides, I think you'd find that married life can be very satisfying. It's quite pleasant having a man look after you. You just haven't given it a chance.'

  'We've had this argument before, Mom, so let's just drop it,' Merle said sharply. 'I only called to let you know where I am, in case you wanted to get in touch with me.' Merle
went on to give her the name of the motel and its phone number. 'If I'm not there, you can try to get me on the mobile phone.'

  Merle wondered that she didn't get frostbite from the icy silence that followed. Finally, she broke it, saying awkwardly, 'Well, then, if you're on your way out, I'll let you go.'

  'Fine, though I doubt if I'll enjoy my lunch,' she grumbled. 'I'm having it with Marion Wells and you know what she's like. I told you her daughter just had another baby, didn't I? But then…'

  Very gently, Merle replaced the receiver, cutting her mother off in mid-complaint. Just once she would like to talk to her mother without having to listen to her little speech on 'Why aren't you married and giving me grandchildren?' Not that Merle had any illusions as to why Edith Halliday (who always resumed her first husband's name following a divorce) was so keen to become a grandmother. She had reached the age when most of her friends' children had married and started families and she wanted to be able to compete with them. She wanted to be able to brag about the elegant church wedding she would stage, and show off the snapshots of her grandchildren.

  And while she's passing around the photos, I'd be the one stuck at home changing nappies and catering to the whims of some man, Merle thought derisively. Only once, about five years ago, had she almost given in to her mother. At that time, she hadn't started her career as an oil scout and she had been working as a secretary for the same firm as Paul Garret. In the beginning, she had thought that she had finally met someone she could spend her life with. She was wearing his engagement ring before she discovered that with his plans for the future it would be more fitting to put it through her nose than on her finger.

  Her mother had never quite forgiven her for breaking off with Paul, though Merle had never had any regrets. It wasn't until the break that Merle realised she had got involved with him more to please Edith than because she actually felt any deep emotion for him.

  A dusty, red Puma Resources pick-up was in the parking lot when Merle returned from her trip to Medicine Hat. She recognised it as the one Greg usually drove and concluded that he had decided to take some time off while he had a chance. When the drillers reached a potential oil-bearing layer he would probably stay at the site twenty-four hours a day to analyse the rock samples coming up in drilling mud. Oil is found in layers of porous sedentary rock where it is trapped in the spaces between the rock particles. Greg's job would be to detect its presence by means of the various methods available to him, such as microscopic study of the rock samples, ultraviolet radiation, fluorescence, even odour and taste. Once having discovered petroleum, he would then conduct further tests to determine whether the oil and/or gas was present in commercial quantities. Only rarely was a reserve large enough and under sufficient pressure to produce the popular image of a 'gusher'.

  After going to her room to change into her bikini, Merle left her room to go find Greg. She found him stretched out on one of the loungers next to the pool. As she walked towards him, she forced down a feeling of depression. His attitude towards her yesterday had irritated her. Greg Larson was just the sort of man that reinforced her determination to remain single. Merle could well imagine the kind of life he would offer any poor misguided woman who was fool enough to marry him. Not that he would object to his wife working. On the contrary, he would probably expect her to keep her job, as well as take care of all the housework, cooking, and laundry—and be grateful to him for his enlightened outlook towards a working wife.

  Settling into the lounger next to him, Merle greeted Greg with a manufactured smile. He immediately started complaining about Leon Crane and his interference in their dinner plans last night. Though Merle knew she should be delighted with his attitude (there was no better source of information than a disgruntled employee with a slight persecution complex) coming on top of the phone conversation with her mother, Merle just wanted to turn him off like a boring television programme.

  'He thinks he can throw his weight around because he's got a few bucks; can walk all over me because I'm only a poor working stiff.' Greg gestured with the cigarette in his hand, spilling ash on the concrete patio. Merle's eyes went to the grey flakes. Smoking at a drilling site was strictly forbidden and consequently, few oil men smoked. Those who used tobacco usually chewed snooze, a disgusting habit to Merle's mind. This was the first time Merle had seen Greg smoke. It had to be a gesture of defiance. No doubt about it, Greg was going to be a veritable gold mine of information. She turned her attention back to the conversation. 'But let me tell you this, Merle, I've got a contract with Puma and nothing in it says I have to let him tell me how to spend my free time,' Greg asserted hotly.

  Suddenly he had all her attention. 'What do you mean?'

  'Crane doesn't think I should be seeing you.'

  She should have expected this, but none the less Greg's words jolted her. With studied casualness, Merle uncapped her suntan oil, and pouring a little into her palm, started spreading it over her legs. 'You must have misunderstood him,' she said, injecting her tone with innocent disbelief. 'What possible reason could he have for not wanting us to be friends?'

  'It's this well I'm working on. It's supposed to be very hush-hush and he's afraid I might be indiscreet,' Greg explained.

  'Indiscreet?' Merle looked up at him, feigning puzzlement. Warning bells were starting to ring in her head. Damn Leon Crane, why hadn't he just stayed in Calgary? She might not enjoy dating Greg, but he could save her hours of lying out in the hot sun. And now Leon was going to muzzle him… damn, damn, damn.

  'It's a test well and he thinks I might let slip some information about how it's going.'

  Merle shrugged, slipping on her sunglasses to hide her eyes. To date, Greg had let slip very little on the well, but then, so far, there wasn't much he could tell her that would be interesting. However, it wasn't long before he would have valuable information on the status of the drilling and Merle knew she could extract it without his even realising it. Merle felt a surge of resentment against Crane. The carefully cultivated friendship she had established with Greg would be all for naught if he shut Greg up now.

  Deciding that changing the subject at this point might appear suspicious, Merle decided on a role of well-feigned ignorance. 'A test well? What's that?'

  'Our surface tests have indicated there might be petroleum in this area. We're drilling this well to find out if there is and how much,' Greg elaborated.

  With an air of nonchalance, Merle said, 'So what? Why should I care if you find oil?'

  'You might not be interested, but a lot of others would be,' he answered, a note of braggadocio entering his voice. 'The exploratory lease we got from the government only guarantees us half the rights to the development. The rest of the leases are up for grabs. If we find something, and can keep it secret until after the lease auction, we can tie up the whole field because the other guys won't know how to bid.' He looked over to her, obviously enjoying his role of teacher. 'Have you ever heard of an oil scout?'

  Merle frowned and shook her head. This conversation would be quite amusing if she wasn't so worried about Greg clamming up on her.

  'They're spies sent out by rival companies to find out about exploratory wells.'

  She forced herself to laugh. 'And I suppose Mr Crane thinks I'm one of these spies. How melodramatic—and ridiculous.' With languid grace, she stretched supine on the lounger, aware that Greg was following her every movement. Merle had never had trouble attracting men. It was a useful asset in her job and she knew how to exploit it. At times she wondered what they saw in her, but as long as it worked she wasn't going to question it. Right now, she had better get Greg's mind off oil scouts before he started wondering about her.

  Merle rolled on to her stomach and turned her head to smile at him. 'Would you mind oiling my back for me?'

  'Of course not.' Greg eagerly scrambled up from his seat and picked up the bottle of suntan oil. As he smoothed the warm liquid over the skin of her back, Merle closed her eyes, revolted by her harlotry.


  When his hands began to linger overlong, massaging the flesh on her midriff, Merle shifted uncomfortably and said, curtly, 'Thanks a lot, that should do it.' He removed his hands and she twisted her head to look at him. His face was flushed, a faint frown line forming between his brows. Greg was angered, and a little puzzled, by her continuing resistance to his advances. Merle wasn't too worried about it yet; she still had the upper hand in their relationship. None the less, she knew she would have to offer him some sop to his ego after rejecting him. 'Tell you what, I'll treat you to dinner tonight as a reward.'

  'That would be great.' His face cleared and he beamed at her.

  'Good,' Merle rested her head on her crossed arms and closed her eyes, smiling slightly. Leon Crane might want to gag Greg, but for the time being Merle was one step ahead of him—and she intended to keep it that way.

  When Greg saw her at lunch five days later and told her that they wouldn't be able to see much of one another over the next few weeks due to job pressures, Merle wasn't surprised. She had been out to survey the well earlier that morning and could tell by the rate the 'kelly' was dropping that they were through the chert and into the softer, more porous rock below it.

  The kelly was a long, square pipe located at the top of the drill stem where the drill mud was pumped in, and moved down slowly as the bit moved down. By timing the rate of descent, one could judge the type of rock the bit was moving through; the faster the kelly dropped, the softer the rock formation being encountered and the greater the likelihood of finding petroleum.

  She had learned something else by watching the kelly. Although Leon Crane might have some suspicions about her, he didn't seem to be overly worried about someone watching the well. It wasn't uncommon for the driller to fake the dropping rate of the drill in an attempt to fool the scout watching the site. By slowing down the operation, he could try to make the scout think they were still in a non-oil-bearing formation and not in a potentially productive zone.