"Fascinating." She sets Pickles back on the floor and settles into the client chair I haven't yet used, making herself comfortable while her dog attempts to mark my filing cabinet. "And you're working with Henry Kingston on this community development business? The Morrison Center project?"
"The James Morrison Preservation Center, yes."
"James was a good man," she says, her expression softening. "Always said this town needed someone who understood both business and heart. Seems like he knew what he was doing, bringing you boys together. Sure, understanding business is one thing. Understanding River Bend..." She trails off, eyes twinkling.
From below comes the sound of what I can assume is Maddy testing a sound effect. It's either church bells or she's installed an actual bell tower in the last ten minutes.
"That Maddy sure is something," Mrs. Patterson says. "She's got more energy than a hummingbird on espresso, and twice the commitment. I wouldn't bet against her."
"She's certainly dedicated."
"Dedicated is one word for it." Mrs. Patterson's eyes twinkle. "Of course, dedication and organization don't always go hand in hand. Good thing she's got someone nearby to balance things out."
I recognize a fishing expedition when I see one. Before I can redirect the conversation, Maddy's voice carries up from below.
"Mrs. Patterson! Perfect timing. I need an objective opinion about whether this looks more like enchanted garden or craft store explosion."
Mrs. Patterson rises. "Well, I suppose I should go provide my expertise. Nice to see you, Mr. Kincaid. Don't be a stranger now." She pauses. "River Bend's a good place for people who need a fresh start. But it requires a certain flexibility."
She disappears down the stairs. Maddy's voice floats up, mentioning synchronized fountains and doves in tiny bow ties.
I return to my desk, but my mind keeps wandering. Every few minutes, a new sound rises from below. Music, whirring machinery, cheers and groans.
My phone buzzes with a text from Henry.
Henry
Haven't heard back from you. I hope you're playing nice.
I type back:
Me
Define nice.
Henry
Don't intimidate her with your furniture.
Me
How is my furniture intimidating?
Henry
Mason. Knowing you, you've installed what's basically a corporate boardroom in a barn. In River Bend.
He has a point. I glance around my workspace—neat, spare, surgical—then down at the floor below, where fabric swatches and proposal displays are scattered like joyful confetti.
Another sound drifts up. A mechanical whine followed by cursing in three languages. I'm on my feet before I realize it.
Maddy stands in the center of the pandemonium. White foam covers half the barn floor, her hair, and what used to be a romantic gazebo display. She grips a foam cannon like it might bite her.
"Everything under control down there?" I ask.
She looks up, foam speckled across her face and streaked through her hair.
“Under control,” she calls back. “This is what I intended. Atmospheric. It’s a winter wonderland theme. Avant-garde.”
