Landon shook his head. “It might be historic, but I think it’s a goner.”
“Oh no!” I’d had romantic ideas about the gazebo. “I thought this would be perfect for parties and weddings and stuff.”
“Oh, I think you need a gazebo, but the most efficient thing will be to get a brand new one delivered and installed, made of marine-grade lumber and thoroughly anchored against hurricanes. Don’t worry. We’ll make it retro.”
“Cha-ching,” I said.
“Already got someone lined up,” he said. “I know a guy,” he added just as I said, “You know a guy.”
He laughed, and I smiled, though mine was on the thin side. “I worry that I owe too much. Owe you. Owe everyone else.”
“No one is donating who doesn’t want to. In fact, I’m starting to get calls from people I haven’t even tried to contact. Word is getting out. Everybody wants to be a part of this project.”
“That’s pretty cool, but — hey, who’s that?”
A hot little red convertible had turned into the lane and was now parking next to all the other vehicles in the drive. A woman with short, dark hair climbed out wearing a business suit as red as the car. She had a big bag, short skirt and heels that were not meant for this Florida jungle. She looked around, decided we were a better bet than the bug guys and made her way toward us.
“You know her?” I asked Landon.
“Jealous?” he teased.
“No! I mean, why? Is she your girlfriend or something?” I looked over at him in alarm, struck by how much I wanted him to say no.
He was choking back a laugh, the rascal. “I don’t know her at all. Honest.”
The woman, in her mid-thirties, I reckoned, approached with a red-lipstick smile. “Kayla Fetherole?” she queried.
“That’s me.”
“You own the house, right? I’m from the tourism office for Bohemia and Bohemia Beach. We wondered what we might do to help get the word out about the renovation and the haunted house. People are really excited.”
“Uh, really?” I asked.She’s from the tourism office!All I could think about was the job I applied for there, and she was here about the house. “This is Landon Putter. He’s — he’s managing the project.”
Landon glanced at me in surprise, but he also seemed just a little bit pleased.
“I’m Marla Lyon. Pleased to meet you,” she said, reaching out and shaking hands with both of us. “Putter? From Putter Homes?”
“Unofficially, yeah,” Landon said.
“Pardon me for asking, but why is the tourism office interested, since the city doesn’t own the house?” I asked. “We’d love to get some push for the fundraiser, but —”
“Because this place is atreasure,”Marla gushed.All these people calling Milkweed Mansion a treasure have never actually been inside.“Plus you are doing the city of Bohemia a tremendous favor by turning it from an eyesore into the historic gem it’s meant to be. Especially if it’s going to be an event space. It could be a tourist attraction as well. We heard you might need a little…” Marla paused in her enthusiastic monologue, looking embarrassed.
“Money? Help? Therapy? Publicity?” I said. “Yes to all of that.”
“We can’t provide money, per se, at least not yet. Though I understand you’re applying for one of our historic preservation grants” — I looked at Landon in puzzlement, and he gave me a little smile that suggested he’d done me yet one more favor — “and this kind of project is an obvious candidate for those funds. But in the meantime, we can get the word out to the usual outlets, do some PSAs for you, maybe even—”
“We’d love the help, but you should know I actually have degrees in video production and marketing and plan to shoot some promo,” I interrupted her. “In fact, perhaps you saw my resume cross your desk?”
Marla’s eyes expanded in surprise. Her brow furrowed. Then the light of recognition dawned.
“Yes!” she said. “Oh my God!Kayla!You had a really lovely resume and some very nice footage! But I’m sorry to tell you that another candidate blew us away with his reel. He’s hadsomuch experience in tourism, we’ll be lucky if he says yes.”
“So you haven’t offered him the job yet? Does that mean I have a shot?” I sounded desperate, but it’s not like I looked professional anyway in my grimy T-shirt and shorts.
“Well, no, we haven’t offered it to him yet, though he knows he’s the leading candidate. Chain of command, you know. Everybody has to sign off on the hire. In fact, it’s kind of a funny coincidence, but his dad used to own this place.”
I cocked my head at her.
