Chapter 17. Dead and Buried #2
A street led from the parking lot to the county road.
It appeared that the street would be the primary entrance to the housing development.
Does the connection to the county road here mean the necessity that gave rise to the easement is gone?
I hoped so. Maybe it was unneighborly of me, but I didn’t like the idea of random people driving through our work area, especially with Tyler Yee’s body barely cold and someone having threatened to end my life, too.
On either side of the subdivision entrance stood fancy white stone walls with a sliding metal gate to control ingress and egress.
Although the gate was currently open to allow anyone to drive through, no doubt it would be closed to keep out the riffraff once the community was completed.
The upkeep of the subdivision’s private streets would be the responsibility of the homeowners’ association rather than the local government, but presumably anyone who could afford one of these lots could also afford a few thousand a year in HOA fees.
No wires were strung between the two closest utility poles on either side of the stone walls.
The developer must have paid to have the electrical and communication lines buried.
Such lines could be an eyesore, and it was common for them to be installed underground in upscale neighborhoods.
Burying lines made them safer, too. They wouldn’t come down during a storm or high winds and pose an electrocution or fire hazard.
Buried lines meant service was less susceptible to outages from storms, too.
To bury the lines, long trenches had to be dug.
The conduits were run through PVC or metal pipes to further protect them from water seepage or damage from digging.
Installing buried lines was extremely costly, as was accessing them in the event of a problem.
For these reasons, most electric providers used overhead lines.
I parked in the paved lot at the building and looked up at the flag. Now that I was closer, I could see that the gray markings on the fabric spelled out RIVER VALLEY RANCH in a rustic font. Apparently, that would be the name of the subdivision.
I climbed out of my SUV and walked into the building.
It was a sales trailer, and the main room featured a map on the wall that showed the layout of the roads and available lots.
So far, only three of the eighty or so lots were marked as sold.
All three were premium lots at the back of cul-de-sacs where there would be no traffic passing by, providing the residents more privacy.
The driver of the Land Rover was nowhere to be seen, though a man’s voice came through the cracked door of an office to the side. The fact that his was the only voice I heard and that he was silent for several beats at fairly regular intervals told me he was talking to someone on the phone.
As I looked around the room, a stack of glossy brochures in a display caught my eye.
I walked over and picked one up to peruse it.
The brochure indicated that all homes in River Valley Ranch would be custom built but, to maintain a cohesive aesthetic, all were required to be designed by a specific architectural firm.
The brochures showed photos of enormous mansions the architect had designed for clients all over Nashville.
Some houses were brick, while others were stone, wood, or some combination of the three.
All of the designs included at least one copper feature—an awning or trim, a chimney topper, or a portion of roof over a window or porch.
Copper seemed to be the architect’s signature design element.
Per the images, the interiors of the homes also contained copper elements.
A light fixture. A fireplace mantel. A vent hood over a stove.
My guess was that the house next door was a spec home, one the developer could use as a model to show prospective residents the type of homes that would make up the neighborhood. I’d have to tour it sometime. Maybe I’d get ideas for later flip projects.
I was looking down at the brochure when the man bade goodbye to the person on the phone. A few seconds later, he emerged from the office. He wore a light gray suit with trendy rubber-soled dress shoes, and offered me a smile. “Welcome to River Valley Ranch.”
His gaze traveled down my coveralls and over the backup pair of boots I’d put on this morning, an old, especially worn pair.
I still hadn’t gotten around to cleaning the dried mud from my newer boots.
They sat in the garage out of sight, and I kept forgetting about them until I went to get dressed.
By then, I was ready to get moving and didn’t want to stop to clean them.
“Looking for a new home?” he asked, though the half-hearted sound of his voice told me he knew these estates were out of my price range and that I must be here for some other purpose that was unlikely to earn him a commission and more likely to cause him a headache.
I folded the brochure, tucked it into the hip pocket of my coveralls, and told him the reason for my visit.
“My cousin and I are remodeling the barn on the Pittman property next door.” I hiked a thumb in the general direction of the horse stable.
“There’s a gravel easement on the property and it’s my understanding that it’s an easement by necessity for this property. ”
The man’s brow formed a confused V. “Run that by me again?”
I explained the concept of an easement by necessity, then hiked my thumb again, this time in the direction of the stone entry gate. “I see the subdivision has county road access. My guess is the necessity is gone now and the easement has ended.”
“I wouldn’t know anything about that. I only handle sales.” The man pulled a business card and pen from his breast pocket. “I’ll give you the number to our in-house attorney. He should be able to advise you.” He jotted down a name and number on the back of the card and handed it to me.
I thanked him and headed out to my car. I wasn’t sure I could find my way back through the development to the gravel easement, so I simply drove out through the open gate and turned left onto the county road to return to the barn.
Buck had yet to show up with the equipment for grading the driveway, and I was all alone at the barn. I didn’t dare venture in. In fact, I parked my vehicle in an open area where I could easily see anyone who might approach.
I pulled the business card the salesman had given me from my pocket and phoned the attorney. When I told him the purpose of my call—that I was trying to determine whether an easement by necessity had terminated—he asked me to identify the property. “Which development are we talking about?”
“River Valley Ranch.”
He put me on hold a moment before returning to the line. “Nothing to worry about,” he said. “Any easement that might have existed is no longer needed. The partnership that’s developing the subdivision bought two large adjoining parcels, and the southernmost plot has county road frontage.”
“Good to know.” A thought crossed my mind, a question really, and I posed it to him. “Do you know if the developer made an offer on the parcel I mentioned? It’s a seventeen-acre piece with riverfront owned by a woman named Gail Pittman. It sits directly east of River Valley Ranch.”
“Can’t say one way or the other,” he said.
“I don’t get involved until after the properties are purchased.
It would surprise me, though. Riverfront is not ideal for a subdivision.
There’s flood risk and erosion, not to mention all sorts of restrictions and regulations on use to prevent runoff and protect the environment.
Insurance is high for homes along a moving waterway, too.
Most folks who want to live on the water prefer lakefront properties.
Lakes have a larger capacity than rivers and are less likely to flood. ”
In light of this information, I figured it was unlikely the developer of the subdivision was the one who’d made the big offer on Gail’s property.
I thanked the attorney for his help, ended the call, and used my thumbs to type out a short e-mail to Gail Pittman to let her know the easement was no longer an issue.
A dust cloud rose down the drive to my right as Buck arrived with the equipment, his van and trailer shaking and rattling as they rolled over the dried ruts. I slid out of my SUV. Time to get to work.
We donned our dust masks, goggles, noise-canceling headphones, and hard hats and got down to business.
First, we cut narrow, winding walking trails through the woods, removing only dead brush and leaving all the living trees in place.
Then, while I graded the long drive, Buck dug shallow drainage ditches on either side.
Ruby ran up to the fence and barked encouragement to us, while the reclusive cow ignored her herd and trod over to stand alongside Ruby.
She lazily chewed her cud and watched us work.
I supposed the dog and cow had nothing better to do, and even if grading a road wasn’t the most exciting thing to see, at least it was something different than their usual routine.
The noise of the machinery didn’t seem to bother either of them. Neither did the dust.
By the end of the day, Buck and I were covered head to toe in dirt, but the driveway and parking area were ready for tomorrow’s gravel delivery.
I only wished Tyler Yee’s murder investigation would make such quick progress, especially now that I seemed to be in the killer’s crosshairs.
I kept a close eye on my rearview mirror and the cars around me as I drove home.