“Is this all legal?” I asked, having never before had anyone do all the work for me.
Another flash of teeth. “As legal as it gets. I’m using a local attorney as well, although I’m licensed in this state.”
That relieved me until I wanted to know if it was Binkie he was using. “Ms. Enloe-Bates?”
“No. Mrs. Allen suggested the Carson Hanover firm on the basis that Ms. Enloe-Bates is too closely associated with you. Two and two could be put together. My understanding was that you both wanted to remain anonymous. Was that incorrect?”
“No, that was correct,” I said, wondering how I was going to explain to Binkie our failure to use her.
Chapter 45
For the rest of the morning and into the afternoon, I was too restless to sit still, worrying over the fact that Mildred and I had committed ourselves to financial combat with Ridgetop Corporation. How would they respond to our sneak attack? And what would we do with three empty houses, none of which was the one we wanted? We still had time to call off Tom LaSalle and try another tactic—should we do it? It was now or never, for once money changed hands, there’d be no turning back.
After checking the want ads again to see if I’d missed anything, I walked into the library, where Sam was resting with a cup of hot tea after his visit downtown.
“Sam, honey,” I said, “how’re you feeling?”
He cocked one eye at me. “About as well as you’d expect with a head cold that’s settling in my chest. But I’ve been waiting for you to settle down to tell you the latest from the Bluebird. There’re some real doozies floating around town.”
“Well, hold on for a minute. I need to ask you something first. You know I told you that Mildred and I have been thinking of what we could do to keep Hazel Marie’s family from moving away? Remember that?”
“I thought you were thinking of what you could do to move the group home.”
“Same thing. Anyway,” I said, taking a deep breath and plunging in, “we’ve definitely decided to buy up everything on the block. Except the Pickens house, of course.”
Up went the eyebrows. “Uh-huh, and the Cochran house, too?”
“Actually, we’re hoping it’ll fall in our lap when Ridgetop can’t proceed with what they want to do—whatever that is. Anyway,” I said again, nervously rubbing my arm, “I’m feeling a little antsy about it. It’s all of a sudden moving along at a rapid pace, and it’s an awful lot of money—to be spending at one time, I mean.” Then I told him about Tom LaSalle and how I’d thought I’d have weeks but now realized that I had only days, even hours, to think about it.
“So, what do you think? Could I be biting off more than I can chew? I know it’s a little late to have second thoughts, but I’d like to know what you think.”
“Well,” he said, straightening up in his chair and putting his mind to the problem, “property in that area is a good investment, and you have the funds to buy it. But what’re you going to do with it when you get it?”
“We haven’t thought that far.”
Sam laughed. “Empty houses deteriorate, you know, but the owners might want to rent them back.”
“Mildred thinks we should tear down two of them.”
“Really?” Sam asked, raising his eyebrows. “As much as she likes to redo and redecorate?”
“The problem with that,” I said, “is if we restored them to resell, we’d be right back where we are now—unable to control who buys them. For all we know, Ridgetop could slip back in and buy them from us. If they wanted them bad enough.”
“They want them pretty bad now,” Sam said, cocking one eyebrow. “I really got an earful down at the Bluebird today. Word is that they’re planning to build something like a boutique hotel.”
“A boutique hotel! What in the world for?” Of all the harebrained ideas, that took the cake. “And what makes a hotel boutique, anyway?”
“As far as I know,” Sam answered, “it implies small, expensive, and exclusive. The rumor is that it’ll be one story of lobby, meeting rooms, and spa and two upper floors of luxury rooms and suites. And an upscale restaurant on the roof for the view.”
“Oh, for goodness’ sake,” I said, “what view? Mr. Pickens mowing his lawn? And what kind of people would come to Abbotsville for a luxury vacation? Hikers and bikers and backpackers?” Then I answered myself. “Not likely.”
Sam smiled in agreement. “Sounds a little far-fetched, doesn’t it? But Joe Higgins—you know him? He heard they’ll plant mature trees all around the block so there’d be treetop dining.”
I rolled my eyes at the thought of having dinner with squirrels, birds, and a few bats and mosquitoes. “And what about parking? That’s a large block, but not that large, even with every house on it bulldozed to the ground.”
“Well, there’s a rumor that they’ll petition the commissioners to close off the side streets and extend the block that way. If they did that and got rid of Pickens, they’d have plenty of space for whatever they wanted to do.”
“And who are they?” I asked, springing to my feet in agitation. “That’s what I want to know. And where’s the money coming from for something like that? I mean, who is Ridgetop, anyway?”
“Well, according to your friend Callie, and from what I heard today, it seems that Pete Hamrick is in it up to his neck.”
I could attest to the truth of that, but chose not to, not wanting to reveal where and how I’d come by the information.
“And,” Sam went on, “I’m guessing a whole lot of small investors—all with fingers in the pie from the sound of it—with one or two outsiders with deep pockets. Maybe a hotel chain as a primary backer.”
I whirled around to stare at him, struck by one possibility. “Small investors? Like the county commissioners?”
Sam nodded.
