Meet me at the Roost at 5:00 tomorrow afternoon. I’ve got something you will want to see.
Had he found another clue? She had spent the past two days searching online British archives for anything about a mysterious woman named Helga who left England for Virginia in 1672. She refused to be discouraged by her lack of progress. This would take weeks or months, and might require another trip to England, but if Jack found another clue, it might help.
Jack sat on the Roost’s front-porch rocking chair, a muddy boot planted on the railing and a devilish grin on his face as she parked her car, then approached.
“Did you find something?” she asked, desperately trying to rein in her expectations.
He got to his feet and braced his hands on the railing to grin down at her. “I didn’t find anything, but I won something.”
She tried not to let her disappointment show since he seemed so pleased with himself. She pasted a polite smile on her face. “What did you win?”
He held up a document. “The Roost. As of ten o’clock last night, the Roost, the spring, and the five acres they sit on belongs to me.”
She gasped. Why hadn’t the Tuckers announced they were selling the place? The college might have offered a better price if they’d known. This seemed . . . well, this was simply awful.
“Why would you buy the Roost?” she asked, dreading the answer. It would be easier to tear it down if he owned it outright.
“I’ve got plans for this place,” he said. He pointed to the barren area beside the Roost where he’d already ripped out trees and leveled the ground. “A modern kitchen and outdoor dining area could be built on that spot and attached to the original structure. I can take off the roof and dismantle the walls, then lay plumbing and electrical behind it. I’ll be able to raise the ceiling, get the place up to code, and turn it into the most expensive tavern in Virginia. Top of the line!”
He continued rambling on about his vision for the Roost, but her brain quit processing the moment he saidtavern. He might as well have said “fast food joint.” Or “convenience store.” The Roost was a time capsule of immense value, not a tacky bar for golf course customers.
“I’ll still build the amphitheater a few acres farther north, but the Roost can be a one-of-kind tavern. It’ll drawfolks who appreciate historic character blended with modern conveniences. What do you think? It’s brilliant, right?”
He actually looked pleased, like a little boy presenting a frog he found to his mother and expecting hugs and kisses.
“I don’t think it’s brilliant,” she said. “It’s an abomination. A cheap way to earn a buck—”
“Trust me, there won’t be anything cheap about this tavern.”
Everything he proposed was appalling. Take off the roof? Tear down the walls? “You can’t contaminate the Roost with modern technology. It would destroy the historic integrity of the building.”
He folded his arms and scowled. “Tons of old buildings in America have been renovated. Last week I toured Mount Vernon. Do you think it had electricity and air-conditioning back when George Washington lived there? The place was completely gutted and reconstructed, but they still boast about being one of the best representations of eighteenth-century architecture in America. By spiffing it up, people can actually visit the place and appreciate it. That’s what I want for the Roost.”
She couldn’t even look at him. “The whole idea of capitalizing on a piece of history is tacky.”
“Why?”
Her mouth dropped open, ready to launch a firestorm to defend the Roost, but no words came out. What was so awful about what he proposed?
“Give me a moment,” she said, gathering her thoughts. He had a good point about the renovations at Mount Vernon, but it was a far larger building than the Roost. And what Jack proposed sounded so . . . so mercenary. Like he was trying to cash in on a piece of history. When she said as much, he fired back.
“I paid thirty bucks to tour Mount Vernon,” he said. “I paid when I toured houses in Colonial Williamsburg and the Old North Church in Boston. And guess what, Professor . . . all thoseplaces were renovated with water and electric and brought up to code. Why is it wrong to do the same with the Roost?”
The derelict building loomed before her. The roof was beginning to slant and the porch had a three-inch gap where it was pulling away from the building. That porch was probably a nineteenth-century addition, anyway. Could the building survive being taken apart and reassembled?
Of course it can. Last year her father had an operation that required taking his kidney out to remove a tumor, then they put the kidney back in his body and patched him up. She’d been terrified during the eight-hour procedure, but now her father was in better shape than before.
Maybe this could happen after all.
She gazed at the Roost with new eyes. Her impulse had always been to preserve things rather than gutting and rebuilding them. Such an act was so much riskier, but potentially better.
“Well?” Jack prompted. He stood on the porch with hands propped on his hips. He looked tanned and strong, excitement beaming from his eyes. The boldness of his dream made Jack irresistibly attractive, and his excitement was contagious.
“Can I help?”
He did a double-take and looked stunned at her quick capitulation. “I can’t pay you anything. Fixing this place up will probably take my last dollar.”
“I don’t need to be paid; I just want to help.”
