"Can't you just make a good offer?" I asked.
"Greg's investment company bought as much land as they could, but now all the residents know that if some random LLC is trying to buy your property, it's the Svenssons. The owners either hold out for a lot of money or flat-out refuse to sell," Adrian explained.
"It's tricky," I remarked. "Can you give me the addresses and names of the owners of those properties you would have to buy?"
He typed a crazy formula into his software, and it spat out a table of properties with the acres and the owners. I took the printout from the printer.
"I'm going to pick up lunch," I told the team. I wanted to visit Ida.
* * *
Ida wasbehind the counter at the general store.
"How's the tiny house?" she asked. "Actually I suppose I should ask you how's the giant man. Is he proportionally big all over?"
I mean, yes, but… I shouldn't tell Ida that.
"There's a pool going on when you two will get married," Ida chattered. "I'm betting April of next year. So don't disappoint me!"
"I'll try not to," I said then pulled out the property list. "I'm trying to fix your bird-watcher problem."
"Oh, Bert!" she said. "Yes, that's all he talks about. You try to get a man fascinated in these"—she cupped her boobs—"and all he talks about are the birds."
"The Svenssons would be open to putting the factory somewhere else." I showed her on the map. "They need to buy all of these properties to do it. But they think they can't convince anyone to sell," I explained.
"Let me see that list," Ida said, putting on the glasses that hung at her neck.
"Hmm. Oh, this one is Art's. He goes apple-picking in the forest."
"Do you think he would sell?" I asked.
She pursed her lips. "Unknown. He always had designs to put a brewery on that spot. Though between you and me, the man is in his seventies, and while he makes good cider, he never keeps enough of it to sell. The man drinks like a fish."
"What about the other sites?" I asked.
"One of them belongs to my sister," Ida said, running her finger down the list. "She hates the Svenssons."
"So that's it," I said, feeling demoralized.
"I'll think on it," Ida said and tapped her head. "We'll figure something out, lass."
I had done all that I could do. Hopefully Ida would come through for me. The French café had the bags of soups, sandwiches, salads, and pastries I'd ordered sitting on the counter.
"Lemon tarts, chocolate tarts, and caramel tarts," the clerk said. "We bring them in from the Grey Dove Bistro."
"I can't wait!" I said, taking the bag.
The clerk looked at me. "My aunt said you knew the Svenssons. Since they're all friends with Chloe, do you know if she's opening up a franchise here? That's what everyone's saying," she said in a rush.
"They are?" I squealed. "I would die if she put a bakery here."
"I know!" the clerk swooned. "Her life is so perfect!" We collectively sighed, and I walked out dreaming of having Chloe's perfect life.
My own life was far from perfect. I made terrible decisions, and as I turned the corner to walk back to where I parked my car, one of my problems was walking down the street toward me.
"Anke?" I choked out.
"Darling Josie!" My ex-friend ran to me, hugging me like she hadn't scammed me out of tens of thousands of dollars.
