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“I dunno. Maybe they just make plans in case nothing better comes along.”
“I also believe people assume they’re connected because there is always the internet, phones, and social media. But it’s an illusion. Mea culpa. I, too, should make more real plans to see people.”
Izzie looked over at Zoe and raised her eyebrows. “Any particular person you have in mind?”
Zoe folded her arms and smirked. “Maybe.”
Izzie drove for about twenty minutes until they came upon the large parcel of land soon to be the centerpiece of the town. The backhoes were already on-site.
“Going by your drawings, it should be spectacular,” Zoe commented.
“Thanks. It’s a great space in a great location. We didn’t remove any trees. Just relocated them where necessary. It was a hefty bill, but the town agreed to share the expense, which made all of us happy.”
“Don’t you just hate it when people come along and raze everything to the ground? When I lived in Brooklyn, I had neighbors who were building a new house. They removed every stick, branch, and trunk. Another neighbor made a comment about the yard going bald, and the contractor building the house, who was also the owner, told us he had a permit to remove the trees. Neither of us wanted to question him. That would not have been the neighborly thing to do. Why would he lie? Turned out the guy was a big, fat, lying jackass. You should see what he did to the property. Surrounded it with a cheap, white plastic fence. Then he put up a half dozen signs stating there was twenty-four-hour surveillance. Such an ass. It’s probably the safest neighborhood in the borough. Then he installed motion-detector lights that shined onto everyone’s property. So glad I moved away from him. He was totally unhinged.”
“And now? How are your neighbors in the big city?” Izzie asked.
“Funny thing. I live in a prewar, twelve-story building, and I can count on one hand the people I know by name. I think it’s a New York thing.”
Izzie chuckled. “I am so happy to be surrounded by woods. When Abner and I bought the pickle factory, we ripped up all the asphalt and planted all those evergreens.”
“You did an amazing job. No one would ever know what came before.”
“Oh my gosh! I just realized I have the real gherkin building!” Izzie howled with delight.
They walked over to Doris’s Diner and sat at a table on the sidewalk as Rufus wiggled his way underneath. The jolly, pink-cheeked owner came out and greeted the two women and the dog. Doris pulled a piece of ham from her apron. Izzie shook her head. “You are going to spoil him.”
“I think someone beat me to it.” Doris handed Rufus the usual treat he got when he visited.
“Doris, this is my friend Zoe. We went to school together. She’s consulting on our project.”
“Nice to meet you, Zoe. Welcome to my humble establishment. Coffee?”
Izzie and Zoe groaned. “I think we’ve consumed more than our share of caffeine today,” Izzie explained.
“Tea, then?” asked Doris.
“Chamomile?” Izzie queried.
“Sure thing. Zoe?”
“Yes, please.”
After lunch, Izzie drove Zoe to the train station. Izzie gave her friend a few more words of encouragement before they parted. “You got this, girl.”
“We’ve got this,” Zoe replied, feeling completely connected to this group of wonderful people she’d met by chance. Or was it? She thought of the words divine intervention as she descended the escalator to the awaiting Acela.
Chapter Seven
Malcolm Fielder
Considered one of the most eligible bachelors in Miami, Florida, Malcolm Fielder was living the high life in South Beach. In the early 1950s his grandfather, Herbert Watson, was one of the first to declare South Florida the new frontier. He opened a bottle-and-keg shop on A1A just below Key Biscayne near Coral Gables. The Gables was one of the wealthiest communities in the country and the nearby university proved a great source of underage drinkers with fake IDs. But Herbert was quite careful and scrutinized those customers who looked like they’d barely begun to grow facial hair. With the influx of “snowbirds,” business flourished and Herbert opened several more liquor stores, always on the fringe of future property developments.
By the mid-1960s he had over two dozen stores and decided it would be worth his efforts to open his own distribution center, which eventually became the largest in the Southeast. Not only was he making a huge margin on his retail establishments, he was also making tremendous profits across the state as towns, golf courses, hotels, motels, and condominiums filled their need for alcoholic beverages. Truly being in the right place at the right time was a boon for Herbert. By the time he was thirty-five, he was one of the richest men in Florida. His keen business acumen not only made him the libation king, but he also parlayed much of his money into real estate, purchasing penthouse apartments on Miami Beach and leasing them for the winter crowd in search of sun and sand.
Herbert was not a flashy dresser, nor was he a bon vivant. He considered himself a simple man with good business sense. Despite his wealth, Herbert and his wife Marsha lived in a modest home in Coral Gables where they raised their two children in a beautiful, banyan-tree-filled neighborhood. They sent their children to top-notch schools. Rather than join the family business, Herbert’s daughter Andrea wanted to become a college professor with a degree in international studies. Her sister, Lisa, moved to Bar Harbor, Maine, where the family spent their summer vacations. She met her husband there and put down roots. After Andrea got her PhD, she married Raymond Fielder, also a college professor in the engineering department.
Andrea had two children, Malcolm and Daisy. Malcolm was Herbert’s hope for continuing the family legacy. Because of Raymond’s and Andrea’s tenure at the university, Malcolm’s tuition was free of charge and his grandfather encouraged him to study business management. After graduation, Malcolm took a year off to travel abroad, spending a lot of his time in the South of France, learning about wine, and spending his trust fund as if it was a bottomless pit. His father constantly reminded him that “one hundred thousand a year doesn’t go very far.”
