Today's Reading
Desmond began whistling a tune. It sounded vaguely familiar.
I glanced at him out the corner of my eye. "What song are you going for there?"
"The one from that western where the cowboys mosey into town." He puckered his lips and tried again.
Cocking my head, I listened closely. "I think your whistle is broken."
"Probably because I'm still half asleep." Desmond yawned. "Why didn't we remodel the coffee shop or diner first for the home base?"
"Because the saloon is on the corner of Front and Main. It made better sense. Plus it's always been Maudie's favorite building in town, too, so how could I not."
"Ah, the lovely Maudie. When will she be paying us a visit?" Desmond asked, breaking out into another yawn. I'd brought in carafes of coffee for the meeting but he'd have to wait until everyone arrived to get into it.
I checked the time on my phone before shoving it back into my pocket. "I'm sure she'll be gracing us with her appearance regularly. Especially since it's her fault I've been obsessed with this place nearly all my life."
My mother died before I turned two and my father never seemed to know quite what to do with me, so I'd become my grandmother's sidekick by default. Always by her side. Either in the workshop behind her house creating, or in her consignment store selling the creations, or in her old pickup truck on junking trips to pilfer any useful materials—cabinets, windows, doors, flooring, etc.
On one junking trip, Maudie had brought me out here to see this ghost town. We'd spent the better part of that day wandering building to building, and an eeriness had clung to me as heavily as the dust had clung to every surface. Dishes on a lunch counter, unopened whiskey bottles on a shelf behind the bar in the saloon, a pair of glasses folded on top of a newspaper beside the register at the diner. It looked like the residents had just up and left, leaving their belongings behind.
There had been so much there for the picking, but Maudie didn't take one thing, saying it felt too much like grave robbing. Ever since that trip, the little ghost town never completely left my thoughts, and now the time had finally arrived that I could do something about running off the ghosts and breathing new life into the town.
The alarm on my phone went off just as the sound of vehicles drawing closer broke through the surrounding trees.
I shut off the alarm. "One thing about being out in the middle of nowhere is no one can creep up on you. You'll hear them well before they reach the town." I started to make my way toward the saloon where we were to meet.
"Wait." Desmond grabbed my hand, pulling me to a stop. "We've come a long way, darlin'. From flipping little ole homes to entire towns. I want you to know how proud I am of you."
I squeezed his hand. "Aww, thank you."
He gave me a once-over. "But would it have killed you to dress up for the first meeting with the illionaires?"
I scoffed. "I plan on getting some work in after the meeting. Surely the illionaires will appreciate that more than fancy clothes." The investors were a mixture of millionaires and billionaires. Talk about intimidating times a billion. We'd nicknamed the group illionaires to make ourselves feel a little better about that. "It wouldn't kill you to wear something besides three-piece suits. Soon the temperatures are going to get cranked up and your purty self is going to wilt. I can pick you up some T-shirts and jeans from Walmart."
Nose upturned, Desmond shuddered. "No thanks. By the time my talent is needed, the buildings will have brand-new central air systems."
Desmond didn't believe in denim. The man wore a suit most days. Shoot, he probably even had one made out of silk to sleep in. And don't get me started on his outrageous collection of pocket squares and fedoras. Today's square was a hand-dyed blue number that really popped with the light tan suit.
"Let's go meet the illionaires." Overwhelmed and giddy, I waved him on ahead of me as car doors began opening and closing around the corner. As soon as I spotted the group of investors, I realized Desmond and his suit would fit right in with the other suits. And I would not. "Gentlemen, Mrs. Waxman, welcome to Somewhere, South Carolina."
"I really like the sound of that. A much better ring to it than Norm." Jonas Brumfield, the designated spokesperson of the group, shook my hand and then Desmond's.
"If you'll follow me." I led the men and the lone female of the group inside the saloon. "Coffee and breakfast is set up on the bar. Help yourself and feel free to take a few minutes to explore." I stood off to the side and watched their reaction to the restored space. The freshly sanded and stained bar gleamed, stretching the entire length of the left wall.
This excerpt ends on page 15 of the hardcover edition.
Monday we begin the book Everyone This Christmas Has a Secret by Benjamin Stevenson.
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