“Impressed,” the other sister said.
It really was a slam-dunk win for Taggert Property Management. The Mahoney sisters wanted to hire them to renovate their current properties. Easy as shit and then ka-ching. Computerize their reservation system. Even easier and then ka-ching. And the company could do everything they needed for the bed-and-breakfast. Draw up plans, do a market analysis, check with the township to ensure the property was properly zoned. Constructing a three-story building was nothing compared to the places they usually worked on. The real kicker was that these old broads were willing to pay for all the prep work without even owning the damn land.
“Have you spoken with Mrs. O’Malley about her designated plans for the property? She may have a stipulation in her will deeding it to someone, which would stall your project. We can’t just move the bed-and-breakfast to another location because the geography will be different.”
He could not, in good conscience, let them pay for all these plans without informing them of the realities. Easy money was one thing, but reputation and integrity was another. He didn’t want to get sued if this deal fell through.
June glanced at her sister and then back at him. “The truth is, Mr. Taggert, that Bridget O’Malley is not in her right mind. As you can imagine. She’s almost a hundred and three years old. We’ve offered to buy it from her and let her live there until she decides to move, or until the Good Lord moves her for us, but the old ninny won’t listen to reason. She won’t sell it to us.”
“Did she say why?”
“I already told you she’s not in her right mind, so her logic doesn’t make any sense, but I’m sure if you went and talked to her and left our names out of it, she’d be happy to sell. We’ve never mentioned to her anything about building on the land, so perhaps if you show her the drawings of the new bed-and-breakfast, she’ll see how lovely it could be.”
“So lovely.” Plink-plink-plink.
“I’m not sure how seeing what will happen after she’s gone will inspire her,” Ryan said.
“Rely on her pride, Mr. Taggert. Tell her you’ll be calling it the O’Malley House. She’d like that,” June replied.
The sister tugged on June’s sleeve and shook her head vehemently. June brushed her hand away. “Don’t worry, April, we won’t call it that. It’s just an idea to get that old bitch to agree. Pardon my French, Mr. Taggert. As you can imagine, we’re not fond of Mrs. O’Malley, but we are very fond of her property. We are determined to get that piece of land no matter what it takes. If your company isn’t up to the challenge, then we’ll just have to find another developer.”
Ryan saw the ultimatum in her eyes. If these old broads were so bound and determined to pursue this project, well, then better it be handled by his company than some other builder. It wasn’t as if Ryan hadn’t specifically outlined all the obstacles, so he could now go forth with a clear conscience. He could do all the prep work and get paid for it. If the deal fell through, he could just move on without losing the company any money. Bryce would agree on this deal for certain, even though he’d wanted Tag and Ryan back in Sacramento. This was a good solution. Ryan had to stick around Trillium Bay to keep an eye on his father anyway. At least this way he’d be making the company some money at the same time.
“Mrs. Mahoney, I would certainly hate to see you take your business to any other developer. We at Taggert Property Management would be very happy to work with you. I’ll get the contracts drawn up, and we can meet again in a few days to fine-tune things before you sign. How does that sound?”
June Mahoney reached out to shake his hand, and her bracelet clunk-clunk-clunked on the tabletop. “Mr. Taggert, I believe we have a deal.”
Chapter 15
Friday afternoon was dull, gray, and muggy as Tag, Lilly, Chloe, Ryan, and Emily walked down Blueberry Lane toward Colette’s Riding Stable. Off to their right was Lake Huron and the Petoskey Bridge, and to the left was a cluster of stores and restaurants including Eden’s Garden of Eatin’ Salad Buffet, Judge’s Fudge, and the Go Fly a Kite Shop, which sold, not surprisingly, kites.
“Hey, Mom.” Chloe pointed at the sign. “Can we go in the kite store?”
“Sure. You guys go on in. I need to run to the ladies’ room first, but I’ll be right there.”
Hanging back, she gave a discreet tug to the sleeve of Ryan’s green T-shirt. He turned toward her as the others walked inside the shop.
“Hey, I have an idea,” she whispered, even though the others were far out of earshot. “You said we needed to create negative associations, right?”
“Um, I saw one TED Talk, so don’t quote me on anything I told you.”
“I won’t, but listen. If we want to make sure your dad has a lousy time today, I could help make that happen. Are you with me?”
“How lousy? Not like dangerous lousy, right?”
“No, of course not. Just not fun.”
“Yeah, okay. Do what you have to do.” Ryan heaved a big sigh. “It’s hard raising parents.”
Ryan moved on toward the kite store as Emily quickly made her way across the street and down one short block to find Colette’s Riding Stable. The place looked exactly as it had for her entire childhood. It was a long, low stable painted dark green on the outside. On the inside was a row of stalls, along with all the accoutrements needed for non-horse riders to have an experience. Saddle, tack, helmets. There was a high counter on the right-hand side, next to a bathroom door labeled “Cowgirls.” The smell of hay and horses took Emily back twenty years. She’d worked at this barn once. Not for very long because it turned out that no matter how much she enjoyed riding, she did not enjoy the scooping of the poo, and if you worked in a stable, you really had to be okay with the scooping of the poo. She didn’t mind the smell for the most part, but manure was heavy. She’d lasted about a week, if memory served, before her boss suggested that maybe this was not the place for her. She’d gone to work at the Mustang Saloon instead.
Still, looking around she recognized a few familiar faces that had been there nearly as long as the barn itself, and as luck would have it, there was Percy O’Keefe. Emily used to babysit him back in the day, and she always let him have as many popsicles as he wanted. There was also that one incident when he was about twelve when she’d caught him sneaking a Victoria’s Secret catalogue into his bedroom. She’d never told a soul. He owed her for that, and it was time to collect. His long-standing crush on Lilly might work to her advantage, too.
“Hey, Percy!” she called out.
He turned, his wild black hair going in every direction. Percy never was much for personal grooming. Even scrubbed up for Sunday morning church, he always seemed to have a smudge of dirt on his face.