Timber Creek

Page 3

“Is that who—” Laura began.
“Those Interweb people let it go to pot,” Ruby interrupted, and both sisters scowled with distaste and mistrust.
“They bought it and then just left it with a never-you-mind.”
“I heard they paid cash.”
Laura scooted forward in her chair. “The thing is—”
“And now it’s abandoned.” Pearl shook her head in dismay.
“All sorts of critters running around in there.”
“A shame.” Pearl tsked.
“It’ll attract drifters, if they’re not careful.”
Finally, Laura just decided to let the women’s conversation peter out.
Ruby was the first to bring her attention back. “What are our grandnephews up to, then?”
“They’ve got plans to—”
“Oh, I do hope they fix it up,” Pearl said brightly.
“They’re good at that. Eddie and Jack. They have their own business, you know.”
“Are they going to fix it?” Pearl asked. “We can’t allow drifters into Sierra Falls.”
“That’s what I came to talk—”
“Or vagrants,” Ruby said with a gasp under her breath.
“A big hotel hired them,” Laura interjected quickly and loudly. She was trying to keep her cool, but she felt like she’d burst from frustration.
“Isn’t that exciting?” Pearl cooed. “Big-city types coming all the way out here to vacation.”
Ruby agreed. “Exciting.”
“No,” Laura snapped. “It’s not exciting.” She softened her tone. “That’s what I’ve been trying to say. I mean, tourists are good, but they’re going to put our lodge out of business.”
The ladies’ expressions grew grim. “Ohh,” they said in tandem.
Ruby wrung her hands. “Surely our boys don’t mean to do that.”
Laura breathed a quick sigh. They’d finally heard her. “Whether they mean to or not, it’s happening.”
Pearl frowned and looked at Ruby as she said, “Our Eddie and Jack would never try to put Bear out of business.”
Laura sensed their bias wavering and was quick to amend, “They wouldn’t, no, of course not. But this big corporation is powerful—they’re the ones who’ll put us under. They’re making it a resort and could add, well, anything. A pool, greenhouse, gym, spa…” She racked her brain for what might most horrify ladies of the historical society. “It’ll probably be new, modern construction. All steel and glass.”
That got the sisters, and they frowned, aghast.
“How can we help?” Pearl asked.
“The historical society keeps the town records, right?” At their nod, Laura continued, “I thought maybe if the ranch was on the registry, we could halt construction.”
“The registry?” Pearl asked Ruby.
Ruby looked to Laura. “Which registry?”
She forced a calm smile. Patience. “You know, the historic registry.”
Understanding dawned on their faces. “I’m sorry, dear. That ranch is old, but it’s not historic.”
“Not precisely.”
“Well, could you check maybe?” Laura’s jaw was beginning to ache from forcing the pleasant smile.
The sisters disappeared into the records room, and she fought her impatience. She really should’ve been home, working. Discreetly, she checked the time on her phone. She could make a call to the California Historical Society—that was where she should’ve started, not here.
Just as she began to debate whether it’d be rude to find the number while she waited, the women reemerged with a tattered manila folder.
“Wow.” Laura shoved her cell back in her purse. “That was fast.”
“The records were pulled recently.” Ruby settled back in her chair and began to riffle through the stacks of paper. There were yellowed photographs, old survey maps, and notes on scraps from a steno pad that looked to be older than Laura.
She felt a knot in her shoulders begin to release. “So it is on the registry.”
Pearl reached over her sister’s shoulder and plucked a fresher-looking page from the pile. She shook her head, tsking. “Adaptive reuse.”
“What?” She scooted to the edge of her chair to get a look at the paper in Pearl’s hand. It was on Fairview letterhead and bore an official-looking stamp with a signature scrawled over the blurred purple ink. “What do you mean? What is that?”
“Can’t fight that,” Ruby said.
Pearl nodded. “Happened in South Lake.”
“The old Valhalla boathouse.”
Laura interjected, “What did?”
“I hear they put on shows there now.”
“What?” Laura looked from one to the other. “What shows?”
“Plays, dear. In South Lake. One of these days we’ll get out there.”
The sisters shared a smile. “Emerald would’ve loved to see it.”
“We’re not talking about South Lake,” Laura said.
Pearl’s eyes got misty. “There’s no tomorrow. Only today.”
“We’ll go and think of our Emmy.” Ruby reached over and patted her sister’s hand.
“What is adaptive reuse?” Laura’s voice came out louder than she’d anticipated, and the older women flinched.
Ruby sat up rigidly, looking offended by the interruption. “Your ranch is historic.”
“But they’ve got a permit,” Pearl added, beginning another back-and-forth between sisters.
“Adaptive reuse they call it.”
“As long as the builders keep the character of the building—”
“Then they can change it and use it for something else.”
Dead end. Laura’s throat tightened, and she went into autopilot, thanking the women, wishing them well, inviting them out to the tavern, all the while barely holding herself together.
This was it. Failure. Again. There’d be no fighting it.
She was halfway out the door, convulsively swallowing back the emotion, when she felt a gentle hand on her arm.
“Wait, dear.” It was Pearl. “If there are any problems with the permit, any problems at all,” she added meaningfully, “they’ll need to go back to square one.”
“What do you mean?” She looked from Pearl to Ruby, who’d appeared at her shoulder. “Are there problems with the permit?”
The other sister leaned in, a conspiratorial gleam in her eyes, and whispered, “Make our boys double-check the property lines.”
Four
It was the annual Fourth of July bash, and Laura should’ve been excited. This year, the Baileys had been hired to cater. This year, it was the Big Bear Lodge that was hosting the chili cook-off, with the Thirsty Bear Tavern providing bottles of beer, soda, and water from several ice chests they’d set up under a tent. Her sister, Sorrow, was a master of comfort foods like four-cheese mac and cheese, grilled corn on the cob, and homemade apple pie. The mouthwatering food was bringing in hungry revelers—and with hungry revelers came cash. Lots of it.
She smoothed some of that cash, shoving the growing pile of ones into the cash box.
No, Laura should’ve been happy, but instead all she could do was think about how next year, it’d probably be Fairview setting up shop on the picnic grounds. Their tent would be giant, some air-conditioned outdoor pavilion that’d dwarf the Bailey family setup and draw all their patrons, too.
“Earth to Laura,” said the kid in front of her, and she tuned in to see the line that’d appeared in the several seconds it’d taken for her to zone out. “Come in, Laura,” his small, dirt-encrusted companion shouted.
“You’re Helen’s kids, right?” She handed the older one a few bottles of water and took his money with narrowed eyes. “Okay, smarty-pants. Just because your mom works at the tavern doesn’t mean you can sass me.”
“A little help here?” Sorrow said from behind her. She was balancing a foil-covered tray of corn, hot off the grill, and a handful of cold beers, the bottles sweating with condensation. “I’m losing it.”
Billy swept into the tent, snagging the bottles and hot tray before it all crashed to the dirt. “That’s what fiancés are for.”
Sorrow wiped her hands on her shorts, a broad grin instantly brightening her face. “Hey, Sheriff. Where’d you come from?”
“I sensed a maiden in peril.” He peeked under the foil and smiled. “I thought Sierra Falls was all about barbecue.”
“That’s what we serve at the spring festival,” Laura said distractedly. Though next year, Fairview would probably have something fancy, like…quiches or something.
Sorrow tucked the foil back in place. “For Independence Day, it’s all chili, all the time.”
“Babe, if you’re the one working the magic, it’s all good.” He planted a firm kiss on Sorrow’s cheek and a loving pat on her rump.
Laura turned away. She was happy for her sister, really she was. Not jealous at all. She’d sworn off men. Men were a recipe for disaster and failure.
So why the pang in her chest?
“I’ve come to rescue you,” Billy said, then smiled Laura’s way. “Both of you. I brought backup.”
Helen Haskell, their tavern waitress and bartender, ducked into the tent, slinging her purse atop one of the coolers.
“Hey, Helen.” Sorrow greeted her with a smile.
Laura, though, was feeling a little more impatient. “That’s not a great spot for your bag.”
She credited her mom with keeping the woman employed despite the fact that she was an inveterate flirt who was a bit scatterbrained, with a cranky attitude that was sometimes only thinly veiled.
It was clear Helen had more problems than she let on. But Laura didn’t want to hear it—work was work. Her mom disagreed, though. Edith Bailey wasn’t one to judge, nor would she stand by as another woman struggled alone.