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“Yes,” I said.
“This is an Elizabeth Magnolia tree. What a coincidence.” He was not the sort of person who enjoyed the perks of his job. “This place is hard to find. Harder to get to. Lucky I found it. Here are the instructions. Sign here.”
He shoved everything at me at once, so I put the tree down on the porch, stuck the planting instructions and invoice under my arm, and signed the delivery slip.
The guy nodded and went down the steps to his van, leaving me alone with the tree I’d been named after. I checked the invoice, and sure enough, there was a note from my mother:Plant this out in front of your new house. Your father and I can’t wait to see it.
A mattress and a tree. Tomorrow she’d probably send me a small child to raise. MaryBeth was making sure I stayed rooted in Burney, just like my new tree.
I left the tree on the front porch, went inside and got a Diet Coke from my ancient refrigerator, and sat down in one of the armchairs, shifting to move my butt off the aggressive spring.
I thought about my plans for the house which Olivia would make happen. I could do the painting. I thought about the copy edits that were almost done; all I’d have to do is talk Anemone off the ledge when I told her we weren’t using her changes, talk Olivia into at least letting us mention her. And then I thought about the factory.
It was huge. And it could be so many good things: low-income housing, a community center, maybe a community theater, Molly would love that. Will had been talking about classic cars, saying he was trying to talk Cash into an antique car museum. Classic cars would draw a lot more people than the cardboard factory had. Good for Burney. Cash had talked about me helping him, maybe I could do a deal. I’d help if he’d let me work on the projects I wanted. They’d all be good PR. He might go for it.
Then there was the secret ledger. What accounting had Cleve found so important that he’d used some sort of code? Yet he’d hidden it pretty much in plain sight. Illegal stuff, no doubt. I was pretty sure Vince would be happy to see it.
I packed up my stuff, locked my new front door, and drove back to the factory.
* * *
It wasafter five so the factory was almost deserted when I got there. I ran up the stairs to Cleve’s office, slowing when I saw there was a light on, but I when I went in, it was Cash, looking through the papers I’d organized.
“Hey, Lizzie,” he said as I walked in.
I pointed at the boxes. “There is nothing here that I could write any kind of history on.” I was annoyed about that, but I wanted something from him, so I smiled. “So my work here is done unless you were serious about us working together to reclaim the factory.”
He looked up from the papers, startled. “What?”
“I want the factory to be a good thing for Burney,” I said, pouring it on, “and good PR for you. If we make this place into a community center, a community theater, low-income housing, and Will’s car museum, you’ll be the Golden Boy again, the favorite son helping the town, the adult way of bringing home the football trophy. Or whatever. It would be good for Burney and good for you.” And then, even though I knew it was probably a mistake, I said, “We could do it together. Just like old times.”
He shook his head. “That would great, but it’s not cost-effective. Face it, Lizzie, this place is an eyesore.”
“We could fix it,” I said, possibly more intensely than I’d meant to.
“It’s too late,” he said, no regret in his voice at all. “I got an offer from a development company, a good one, a solid offer, and I’m going to take it.”
“Is that who you were talking to at the country club?”
“Sure.”
I was angry, which was ridiculous. It was his factory. Then I remembered him staring through the door at Peri. “Why’d you come over to the pool?”
“Chill out, Lizzie. I was just looking in. Listen, they’re going to tear this place down and build retail outlets. Burney’s a great investment now—”
He kept going, but I really hadn’t heard anything after “tear it down.”
“How could you sell it?” I said.
He seemed puzzled by that. “Why not? It’s a wreck. I’ve got a crew ready for demolition next week. I’ll clear a lot from the deal. There’s just some paperwork stuff to clear up first.”
“How can you sell this building to be torn down? It’s beautiful. It’shistory. . .” I stopped because expecting Cash to value something on the basis of history was ridiculous. Cash saw one kind of value: anything that made him richer, more famous, more powerful. No other aspects need apply.
He smiled at me, all teeth. “Tell you what. Let’s go to dinner and we’ll talk about it.”
“Can I change your mind about selling?”
His smile faded. “Be reasonable, Lizzie, they’re offering top dollar.”
