She felt a knot in her shoulders begin to release. “So it is on the registry.”
Pearl reached over her sister’s shoulder and plucked a fresher-looking page from the pile. She shook her head, tsking. “Adaptive reuse.”
“What?” She scooted to the edge of her chair to get a look at the paper in Pearl’s hand. It was on Fairview letterhead and bore an official-looking stamp with a signature scrawled over the blurred purple ink. “What do you mean? What is that?”
“Can’t fight that,” Ruby said.
Pearl nodded. “Happened in South Lake.”
“The old Valhalla boathouse.”
Laura interjected, “What did?”
“I hear they put on shows there now.”
“What?” Laura looked from one to the other. “What shows?”
“Plays, dear. In South Lake. One of these days we’ll get out there.”
The sisters shared a smile. “Emerald would’ve loved to see it.”
“We’re not talking about South Lake,” Laura said.
Pearl’s eyes got misty. “There’s no tomorrow. Only today.”
“We’ll go and think of our Emmy.” Ruby reached over and patted her sister’s hand.
“What is adaptive reuse?” Laura’s voice came out louder than she’d anticipated, and the older women flinched.
Ruby sat up rigidly, looking offended by the interruption. “Your ranch is historic.”
“But they’ve got a permit,” Pearl added, beginning another back-and-forth between sisters.
“Adaptive reuse they call it.”
“As long as the builders keep the character of the building—”
“Then they can change it and use it for something else.”
Dead end. Laura’s throat tightened, and she went into autopilot, thanking the women, wishing them well, inviting them out to the tavern, all the while barely holding herself together.
This was it. Failure. Again. There’d be no fighting it.
She was halfway out the door, convulsively swallowing back the emotion, when she felt a gentle hand on her arm.
“Wait, dear.” It was Pearl. “If there are any problems with the permit, any problems at all,” she added meaningfully, “they’ll need to go back to square one.”
“What do you mean?” She looked from Pearl to Ruby, who’d appeared at her shoulder. “Are there problems with the permit?”
The other sister leaned in, a conspiratorial gleam in her eyes, and whispered, “Make our boys double-check the property lines.”
Four
It was the annual Fourth of July bash, and Laura should’ve been excited. This year, the Baileys had been hired to cater. This year, it was the Big Bear Lodge that was hosting the chili cook-off, with the Thirsty Bear Tavern providing bottles of beer, soda, and water from several ice chests they’d set up under a tent. Her sister, Sorrow, was a master of comfort foods like four-cheese mac and cheese, grilled corn on the cob, and homemade apple pie. The mouthwatering food was bringing in hungry revelers—and with hungry revelers came cash. Lots of it.
She smoothed some of that cash, shoving the growing pile of ones into the cash box.
No, Laura should’ve been happy, but instead all she could do was think about how next year, it’d probably be Fairview setting up shop on the picnic grounds. Their tent would be giant, some air-conditioned outdoor pavilion that’d dwarf the Bailey family setup and draw all their patrons, too.