Jackson stood straighter. “Miss Carol, this is Cash Diamante. He has some questions about his application for a historical landmark.” Jackson motioned for Cash to start speaking and then practically ran away.
Jackson wondered if Miss Carol had built this space for herself, or if the other city workers had boxed her in here over the years as one would a dragon who threatened to wreak havoc.
Miss Carol laced her fingers together and rested her elbows on the desk. “So you think Thomas Jefferson stayed in your little house, do you?”
Cash blinked. He didn’t want to admit to anything. If he confirmed the information, then he’d also imply that he wanted landmark status. Which he wasn’t sure he wanted yet. “I’m not certain.”
She frowned so deeply her chin dipped.
“To be honest with you, I didn’t fill out this application.”
“That’s ridiculous. I have it saved in my files. I don’t get the applications unless the homeowner sends them in. They don’t appear out of thin air.” She pointed to her screen.
“I have no doubt you have an application.” There was that word again. He was starting to hate it. “However, I’m not the one who sent it in.”
“Your name is on it.”
He glanced down at the sheets in his hand. “But there’s not a signature.”
She snapped her teeth together several times. “That can be remedied.” She handed him a pen.
He took it to be polite. “Thank you. But you’re misunderstanding me. I think someone else filled this out in an effort to trip me up and cause delay on my restoration project.”
“Trip you up …?”
“How long would the investigation take, and what would it mean for my current permits?”
“Well.” She stood and grabbed a pamphlet off the desk behind her. There were several laid out in orderly stacks. Most of them had a layer of dust that dimmed the shiny paper. “As you can see on this chart—” She flipped to the back side. “—the process can take anywhere from three months to a year, depending on the evidence you have. If historical documents have to be dated, then it could be longer than that.”
“Right.” He rubbed his thumb along his chin. “And would I be able to continue working on the house?”
“Oh, heavens no. You’d need to wait until a certificate is issued, and at that point, your building materials and contractors would need to be approved in order to maintain your status.”
“Upgrades?” Maggie’s kitchen came to mind. She loved it—including the pastel-blue fridge from the ’70s that weighed twice as much as the behemoth stove he’d moved in for her.
“Minimal. Basic. Nothing too modern. You’d want to keep to the original as much as possible.”
“That’s what I thought.” He was actually on the list of approved restoration contractors, but he didn’t feel like this was a good time to point that out. “So what do we do about this?” He held up the app.
“You sign it, and I can continue my research.”
“And if I don’t sign?”
“Why wouldn’t you?”
“Because I didn’t fill this out.”
She put both hands on her hips. “Mr. Diamante, I don’t know what kind of game you’re playing here, but I’ve already invested a considerable amount of time in researching your home. My time is taxpayers’ money, and I consider wasting it an insult to the town of Moose Creek.”
Cash swallowed back the first comment that came to mind: not all city employees felt that way. “When I find out who did this, I’ll let you know.”
She harrumphed.
“In the meantime—” He ripped up the papers. “—consider this withdrawn.”
She gasped, splaying her hand across her chest as if he’d sworn the biggest of swears at her.
He lifted an eyebrow. “You know that was just a printout, right?”
