Chapter 2
Chapter Two
Alice set off the following morning to investigate the Roost. Her body was still on UK time, so she awoke early enough to wash and blow-dry her hair before styling it into a French twist. She ironed the wrinkles from her blue damask skirt and used spray starch for a crisp white collar on her blouse.
Just because she was going into battle didn’t mean she shouldn’t look feminine.
She completed the look with low wedge espadrille sandals and a single strand of pearls around her neck.
Most of the drive out to the Roost was on a lovely road that passed through miles of tall switchgrass rustling in the breeze.
She had to avert her gaze while passing the acres of destroyed, scraped-over land that would soon be a golf course.
What had once been flat, marshy land was drained and reshaped with rolling hills and ponds.
Nothing had been planted yet, just flat, reddish dirt as far as the eye could see.
That was all. Who was the Widow Santos, and who was Reid? Those details had been lost in the fire, but Alice had found some clues to their identity in London and needed time to unravel the mystery.
She slowed her car to turn onto the gravel drive leading to the Roost. What had once been a lovely drive through a tunnel of apple and pear trees had been badly abused.
Heavy equipment left gouges in the path and dislodged gravel pinged the undercarriage of her Prius as she drove beneath the scraggly tunnel of overgrown trees.
Photos from the late-nineteenth century when people still lived here showed a graceful arch of fruiting trees lining the avenue, welcoming visitors to the homestead.
Those days were long gone. Whatever monstrous vehicles gouged the ruts into the dirt path had also damaged the trees.
Some of the branches had been knocked down, while other limbs still clung to the trees, dangling at haphazard angles.
They’d probably snap off when the next oversized truck barreled down this path.
The Roost looked grungy and dilapidated beneath the shade of ancient sycamore trees.
The two-story building was constructed of half stone and half rough-cut timber.
Mismatched gables and a porch across the front gave evidence that the Roost had been expanded and modified many times over the centuries.
It was hard to know what the original building had looked like, but she could clearly see Jack Latimer’s influence on the place.
A Baltimore Ravens flag mounted on the front post wafted on the weak breeze.
A satellite dish was clamped to the top of the chimney.
A car with no wheels sat beside a moldering trailer parked in the yard.
A pair of crows hopped in and out of a trash can on the front porch, scattering popcorn and empty bags of potato chips.
She clenched the wheel, willing her breath to slow. It was essential to remain poised and respectful if she was to win Jack Latimer’s cooperation to vacate the Roost and find somewhere else to live while the golf course was under construction.
She resisted the urge to slam the car door, letting it close with a deliberate click instead, then made her way toward the house. The front door was a massive slab of old walnut that always hurt her knuckles if she tried to knock, so she called out instead.
“Hello? Anyone home?” She wiggled the heavy brass handle to generate a little noise, but no signs of life stirred inside.
She walked to the nearest window. The first-floor windows featured small, diamond-shaped bits of wavy glass soldered into lead panes that were original to the house.
Alice squinted to peer through the window.
It was dim inside, so it took a while for her eyes to grasp the horror.
It looked like vagrants had made themselves at home.
Sleeping bags and pizza boxes littered the floor.
A clothesline dotted with filthy rags was strung before the yawning pit of the fireplace.
The creak of the front door opening caused Alice to rear away from the window.
A man shuffled outside and yes, he looked like a vagrant … skinny, weathered, and not particularly clean.
“Are you Sophie?” he asked. His voice wasn’t the friendliest Alice had ever heard.
“No, I’m not,” she answered. “I’m looking for Jack Latimer.”
Relief spread across his leathery skin. “So long as you’re not Sophie, you can find Jack down at the golf course. He’s working on the waterfall today, so he’ll either be there or at the clubhouse.”
Alice nodded and turned away, frightening the crow wrestling an empty bag of Cheetos from the trash can. A discarded bag of microwave popcorn had already scattered un-popped kernels across the porch, leaving greasy pockmarks on the weathered boards.
She tamped down frustration as she retrieved the lid of the garbage can. The burden of being compulsively tidy meant she simply couldn’t ignore this.
“Covering the can will attract fewer pests,” she said apologetically, but why should she apologize? The Roost was a historic treasure; Jack and this homeless man were the ones who ought to be apologetic.
She secured the bungee cords to anchor the garbage can lid in place while the vagrant chuckled. “There’s no point,” he said. “The raccoons will pull it off tonight to get at whatever is inside.”
All the more reason nobody should be living here. The Roost still held secrets, and discovering them was Alice’s only hope of resurrecting her moribund career.
Alice returned to her car and drove the half mile to the clubhouse.
As much as she disapproved of the golf course, the clubhouse was spectacular.
It had opened two years earlier, a Colonial Revival mansion with magnificent white columns supporting porticos and balconies.
Every bride within fifty miles wanted to get married at the Tucker’s Grove Clubhouse.
A man in khaki shorts and a grubby T-shirt sat on the front steps of the veranda. Sunlight glinted off the golden tones in his unkempt hair. He was a good-looking man, no question—broad shoulders, easy confidence, but … was he eating pudding with his fingers?
She couldn’t believe it, but even as she approached and locked gazes with him, he continued scooping chocolate pudding out of a plastic cup with two fingers. Dunking and licking. Her raised eyebrow must’ve tipped him off, because he chuckled softly.
“I forgot a spoon,” he said, shrugging. “Gotta make do.”
She smoothed her skirt and assumed a pleasant expression. “I’m looking for Jack Latimer. Is he here?”
“You found him,” he said, running his index finger along all four sides and the bottom of the disposable pudding cup for a final clean-up before sucking the last of it off his finger. He stood and tossed the cup into a trash can, then met her gaze with a heart-stopping grin.
“I’d offer to shake your hand, but I don’t think you’d accept,” he said with a wink.
His easy charm caught her off guard, and she took a step back. “I’m Alice Chadwick. I was surprised to hear you had taken up residence in the Roost.”
He made a low noise, a cross between a grunt and a scoff. “Yeah, me too. But hey, it’s free so I’ve got no complaints. Doc and I have been living there since February.”
“Doc” must be the man she mistook for a vagrant. She didn’t care who he was, she didn’t want anyone living in a rare and fragile historic building.
“I have an academic interest in the Roost,” Alice said. “The building is at least three hundred years old, and there are well-defined protocols for the preservation of such a property.”
His eyes narrowed. “Are you from the state?”
“No.”
“The county?”
“No, I’m a history professor at William & Mary, but I’ve always been fond of the Roost. Any building with such a storied past shouldn’t be subjected to the wear and tear it’s currently receiving.”
Jack set his hands on his hips, probably to show off the corded muscles up and down his arms, but at least he had a hint of sympathy in his expression.
“Yeah, sorry about that. I asked the Tuckers for a room in the clubhouse, but something about it not being permitted for residential use won’t let them do it.
So I’ll be at the Roost for the next couple of months. ”
“It doesn’t even have running water, does it?”
“Nope,” Jack confirmed. “I set up a porta-potty out back and I use the locker rooms in the clubhouse for a shower. A generator provides electricity if I need to run the microwave or power up my laptop.”
He was going to live in squalor for months? “I’m sorry, but this isn’t acceptable. Why can’t the Tuckers put you up at their hotel? They own a very nice hotel in town and it’s quite comfortable for long-term stays.”
Jack shrugged. “They’re flat broke. I guess they need to squeeze every dime they can get out of the hotel.”
“They’re not broke! The Tuckers are one of the wealthiest families in the state.”
“Maybe they were rich once upon a time, but they don’t have enough money to meet their bills.”
There were a couple of construction workers fiddling at a nearby pump, and they glanced over, eavesdropping. She took a step closer and lowered her voice. “None of that is true, and you shouldn’t start that sort of rumor. It’s tacky and damaging to the Tuckers’ reputation.”
Jack threw up his hands, even though he seemed more amused than threatened.
“Fine, have it your way,” he said. “The Tuckers are rolling in dough and lied when they begged me to accept a thirty-percent stake in the golf course in exchange for funding the construction. I’m too cheap to pay what they wanted for a room at their overpriced hotel in town, so Kyle is letting me stay at the Roost for free. ”
A sickening feeling began to grow in Alice’s gut. Why would anyone choose to live with no water and only spotty electricity unless what Jack said was true? The Tuckers must have a short-term cash flow issue. Even millionaires and billionaires could have problems accessing immediate cash.
“I don’t like seeing that satellite dish on the roof.”
“I need internet access,” he said. “I’m bringing in another dish next week. A bigger one, so you’re going to have to get used to it.”
She took a steadying breath. Not everyone respected history and tradition as much as she, and that was okay. It was different skills and interests that made the world so vibrant, but she couldn’t avert her gaze while a treasure was in the process of being destroyed.
“I have an academic interest in the Roost,” she stated again.
Jack gave a friendly nod. “Come on over and poke around if you like. Take pictures, whatever. I’m probably going to tear the place down pretty soon, so don’t wait too long.”
“You’re going to what?” She must have misunderstood.
“The land it’s sitting on has great views. I’ll tear down the Roost, get rid of those scraggly fruit trees, regrade the land, and put in an amphitheater. Those places can make a mint if managed properly.”
She reached for a column to steady herself, struggling to get her breathing under control.
First a golf course, now an amphitheater?
He kept talking, spinning big dreams about hosting concerts and attracting golf tournaments.
The amphitheater would be a huge draw for the PGA, and television rights would be icing on the cake.
All of it would require the demolition of the Roost. Did Daisy and Kyle realize what their golf course architect had planned?
No. It wouldn’t happen. She couldn’t stand aside while an outsider casually demolished the irreplaceable heritage that belonged to all Virginians. It would be a race against the clock to win legal protection for the Roost, but she intended to do it.
“There are rules about destroying historic landmarks,” she said, then took a step back when Jack shot to his feet.
“Whoa, stop right there,” he snapped. “That old ruin doesn’t have landmark status. Trust me, I already checked.”
“Not yet, but that can be remedied,” she said. “The Historic Preservation Board takes our heritage seriously, and they will protect the Roost.”
The blue heat in Jack’s gaze turned incendiary, and it was a little disconcerting. Alice turned to leave and felt his glare burning two pinpoints between her shoulder blades until she reached the safety of her car and drove away.