She extricated her hand from his. “Thank you, Matt. I certainly hope your spirit guides are correct.” She looked around. “Is this everyone then?”
The sound of a bike tire pealing out on gravel hit her ear, and she turned to see a disheveled man hopping off a rusty Schwinn and running up the steps, two at a time. One of his plaid shirttails was tucked in while the other flapped in the wind, and he appeared to be wearing two different shoes.
“Hi! Hello! Hey there! What’d I miss? Sorry I’m late, Peach!” He jabbed his hand forward, grabbing Emily’s and pumping it up and down.
Horsey Davidson. They’d gone to school together, and like her nickname, his had stuck. He’d had some big yellow teeth as a teenager, and when he smiled, she saw they were still big and still yellow, and now they seemed to protrude forward even more than she remembered.
Garth leaned toward Matt. “He thinks we call him Horsey on account of his teeth, but my cousin Alma says otherwise.”
The men chuckled, Georgie made a retching sound, but Horsey shushed them all with a glare. “Behave yourselves, you hogs.”
“That’s everyone now,” Tiny said, and Emily didn’t know whether to laugh or cry or just crawl under this front porch to hide. This was a team of mutants, to be sure. Hopefully they had some hidden superpowers that would help them band together and get this cottage renovated in record time, but either way, it was going to be One. Long. Summer.
DUDE, ANY PROGRESS?????
Ryan read the text from his brother and responded, WORKING ON IT. CALL U LTR.
“For goodness’ sake, Ry. You’re just like a teenager. I can’t keep you off that damn phone long enough to enjoy the view,” Tag said, walking five feet ahead of him on a rocky ascending path. They were on their way to something called Bent Rock. Ryan had at least convinced his father that they didn’t need to do it before sunrise, so it was midday, sunny, but windy as hell high up on these bluffs.
“Some of us work for a living and have emails to check, but I guess you wouldn’t know anything about that, now, would you.”
“You’re hilarious, son. I got up at six this morning and worked for two hours before you even called me. You’re the one who didn’t want to drag his ass out of bed. We can head over to the Clairmont Hotel this afternoon and I’ll show you what I’ve done so far.” The Clairmont was the twelve-guestroom hotel that Tag was working on. As of yet, Ryan hadn’t gotten him to say much about the other project.
“I read the portfolio and saw the status updates. Sounds like you’re making good progress with the new interior designs.”
His father nodded and pulled his baseball hat down, adjusting the brim. “I have some ideas to show the owners, but I was hoping you’d look them over and see what you think. It’s my opinion that we should go for a boutique hotel feel, but they’re worried that if they spend too much on the upgrades, they’ll have to raise their rates and will lose customers.”
“Time for a little rebranding lesson, I take it?”
“Exactly. That’s where you come in, since you’re so good at convincing people to spend money to make money. I’ve done the market analysis and the island can support the business, but so far their marketing plan has been a static website with a phone number to call to check on reservations. I wonder how many customers they’ve lost just because of that antiquated method?”
“I guess that goes with the horse-and-buggy mentality. Nothing too modern.” This was just about the time he wanted to ask his father, again, why he’d taken on that project in the first place, but he didn’t want to start another fight. Arguing with Tag about Lilly was the only battle he could handle at the moment.
“The Clairmont definitely needs to move into this century with their systems, even if we decide to keep the décor timeless. And speaking of timeless, this sure never gets old. Come on up here and check out this view.”
Ryan made his way forward and reached the plateau where his dad was now standing, and looked around.
“Well, shit, Dad. You’re right. This is an amazing view.” The fresh blue water went on all the way to the horizon, and off to the left was the Petoskey Bridge, a suspended structure that connected Michigan’s upper and lower peninsulas. From both an esthetic and an engineering standpoint, the thing was impressive.
Tag pointed. “That’s Petoskey Bridge, of course. According to the locals, it’s five miles long and weighs over a million tons. Impressive, right?”
Ryan chuckled because the very same word had been in his head. He and his father shared a similar appreciation for design and functionality. “Very.”
“Link, down at Link & Patty’s, told me there were four thousand engineering drawings and eighty-five thousand blueprints. Can you imagine? With that many drawings, they could have built the damn thing out of the paper they used.”
“Makes me pretty damn glad we build hotels and condos instead of bridges.”
“No kidding, but speaking of building, turn and look that way.” Tag pointed off to the east. “See that area over there? The hilly spot with the pink cottage?”
Ryan shielded his eyes from the sun. It was far from where they stood, but he could just barely make it out. “I think I see where you’re talking about.”
“That’s the spot I talked to Bryce about. It has amazing potential. There are a few hoops to jump through for this one, but I think it would be worth it.”
“What kind of hoops?”
“Well, for one thing, the investors don’t actually own the land.”
“Is it for sale?”
“Not exactly.” Tag hesitated, smiling and looking off toward the little pink cottage.
Ryan was feeling his patience thin. “Dad, I can’t do whatever it is you want me to do unless you tell me what you want. What’s the story here? Who are the investors?”
His father actually chuckled, and Ryan wasn’t sure if that made him feel more annoyed or slightly less annoyed.
“April, May, and June Mahoney. Three sisters, well into their seventies, who have apparently been saving their pennies for a very long time. They want Taggert Property Management to buy that place for them and design a three-story bed-and-breakfast, but there are two issues. First, no one on the island can know that it’s them trying to buy it.”
“Why?”
“Apparently there is some bad blood between the Mahoneys and some of the other local families, and our investors are worried that if anyone finds out it’s them trying to secure the place, they’ll lose it to another buyer.”
“Okay. We should be able to work around that. What’s the other problem?”
“They’re waiting for the owner of that pink cottage to die.”