“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 towhat?” 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. Theamphitheater 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 theywillprotect 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.
Chapter Three
Historic preservationist busybodies were the bane of Jack’s existence. They were strict, joyless, and unyielding when it came to stopping progress on anything that might introduce a bit of fun into the world. He’d spent months working with the local planning commission to be certain he was abiding by all the local rules before he broke ground on the golf course, and there weren’t any stumbling blocks surrounding the Roost.
He wouldn’t waste time going on bended knee to the Historic Preservation Board. He was going straight to the top, and gave Kyle Tucker a call.
Kyle was just as eager as Jack to get the golf course completed on time, and agreed to meet him at the country club at later that afternoon.
Precisely on time, Kyle’s E-class Mercedes rolled to a halt on the circular drop-off at the front of the country club. The parking lot was only a stone’s throw away, but nobody would tell Kyle Tucker he couldn’t park his snazzy car at the front door.
The forty-something heir of the Tucker family unfolded himself from the sedan, an effortlessly cultured man of the world as he adjusted his white linen sports jacket. He was a good-looking guy, with a preppy haircut and a Robert Redford vibe, but it was hard to look past that monocle clenched over one eye. Kyle claimed it was because his LASIK surgery failed in that eye, though it was probably an affectation. Who else besides the Monopoly guy and Mr. Peanut wore a monocle?
“Thanks for coming,” Jack said as Kyle approached the steps. “I don’t know where that lady gets the notion she can issue edicts about the Roost. There’s no record of it ever having been granted protected status.”
“Don’t worry; it’s not a problem,” Kyle said with the confidence of a man used to getting his way.
Jack could never afford to be so nonchalant when it came to historic preservation boards. The old gentlemen and white-haired ladies might look as harmless as kittens napping in the sun, but they could scheme and swarm like angry wasps if you took your eyes off them for a split second.
“She was running her mouth about kicking me out of the Roost.”
“Don’t worry about Alice,” Kyle said. “She’s a gem. Just be nice to her and you’ll be able to sweet-talk her into anything. Besides, my family owns the Roost lock, stock, and barrel. The historic preservationists can’t worm their way in and issue edicts. Mywife is a member of the commission and Daisy won’t let it get out of hand.”
That ought to be reassuring, but he’d spent two years haggling with the locals about this golf course. Before he even arrived in Virginia he was battling petitions, protests, and injunctions. The biggest concern had always been protecting the environment, especially the wetlands that abutted the proposed golf course. The only way to get the environmentalists off his back was to agree to enlarge the protected wetland area and consent to regular testing to ensure no golf course runoff would contaminate the water.
The biggest part of the wetlands was the improbably named Saint Helga’s Spring. It was a pretty spot, surrounded by bald cypress and crepe myrtle trees. Most importantly to the environmentalists, it was a sanctuary for endangered waterfowl and migratory birds. Protecting and enlarging the area was a challenge, but it also brought Jack a tax break, so he considered the struggle with the locals a win-win.
“I’ve already spent a couple thousand dollars taking out trees to clear the view around the amphitheater,” he said. “If there’s going to be any trouble, I need to know now.”
“Daisy won’t let the board get out of hand,” Kyle reiterated. “Hey, show me the view from the waterfall. I’d like to see these 360-degree views you promised.”
Jack grinned. “Follow me.”
Jack set off for the 4th hole, which was destined to be the signature hole for the entire course.
