“What do we do with this?” Tom asked.
“We’ll cut the wall and build the studio out from here. We can build the stairs up to the second floor.”
“Studio?” Butch nearly ran into Kate, he followed so closely. “A studio with a second floor?”
Kate elbowed his ribs teasingly. “And a balcony.”
“I like balconies.”
“Who doesn’t?” Tom considered the walls, the ceiling. “The plaster will come down easily enough. I like the idea of salvaging the wood for the bedrooms, but I think we need to go high tech in here. Do you want a recording studio or just a practice studio?”
Butch blinked once then again. “I don’t know. Both?”
Tom smiled. “Good answer. Can we get into the attic?”
“He needs to look at her bones,” Kate explained.
Butch led the way up the stairs to a panel in the hallway ceiling. Tom pulled a chair from Butch’s studio room. With the low ceilings, the small boost gave Tom enough to poke his head in.
“She looks healthy, Kate. Definitely looks good.” Tom reset the covering panel in place and jumped down to the floor. “The exposed wood is gorgeous, but there’s no insulation. If we don’t want to burn all of Butch’s money heating this place, we need to insulate.”
Butch moved the chair out of the way. “Cooling is harder. We hardly use the heat.”
“Huh. Makes sense, though.” Kate bit her lip. “Is the roof original?”
“No. My dad replaced it about ten years ago. It nearly killed him to have the original slate removed.”
Possibilities filled her mind. “Make my day, Butch. Please tell me he saved it.”
“Every last stone.”
The trio traipsed down the stairs lost in their plans for the great farm revival. Butch flipped through Katie’s crude sketches, but he could see it. His home. It was everything he never knew he wanted. The screen door closed.
“Mama. Dad.” Butch shoved the pad back at Kate and glared at Jeb. “What are y’all doing here?”
“Having dinner.” His mother pointed to her cheek.
Butch obediently kissed her cheek. “Mama and Dad, this is Katie and Tom Riley. These are my parents, John and Emily.”
Butch favored his father with his light hair and sharp features, but he had his mother’s easy smile. Jeb had his mother’s darker features, but his mouth was set in the same stoic position as his father’s.
“Jeb tells me you are living with Butch,” Emily said to Kate.
“It’s more like rooming with instead of living with.”
“For now,” Butch said just to watch her blush. He dragged her under his shoulder. Kate pushed away, but Butch held strong.
“How’s your head, Katie?” Jeb asked.
“Tender.”
Emily looked at Kate, her brows pressed together in question. “What happened to your head?”
Kate unconsciously touched the knot on the back of her head. “Bumped it wrestling with my cousin. Not a big deal.”
Emily felt the knot. “You need ice. Good Lord, John, it’s like a house full of teenagers again. We best stock up on the first aid. I suppose none of you cook either.” Emily sighed. “Butch, Jeb, clear that junk off the table and set it properly. Tom and John, fetch the chairs. Katie, you’re with me in the kitchen.”
Kate looked up at Butch with panic in her eyes.
“Mama, cooking really isn’t Katie’s thing. I’ll help you in the kitchen, and Katie can help Jeb.” Butch pushed Kate to his brother and swept his mother into the kitchen before she could protest.
Kate stacked Butch’s papers and took them up to his room. Her gaze swept through the living room while they moved the table, looking for an escape. Jeb laughed quietly.
“What?”
“You’re scared.”
Kate wrinkled her nose. “I am not.”
“Sure you are. Your hands are sweaty, and you’re fidgety. You didn’t flinch fighting with Tom and me yesterday, but here you are, shaking in your boots in front of my parents.”
“You know what, Jeb? Fuc-functional table. Works as a desk and a table.” Katie patted the table as Emily walked in.
“Oh yeah, it’s a really unique piece. It’s what we locals call a ‘card table.’” Jeb laughed at Kate behind his mother’s back.
Kate followed his lead and flipped him off when Emily turned her back to pin Jeb with a steely look. “When are you going to bring home a nice girl?” Emily asked her oldest son.
“When I find one as good as you,” he said smoothly.
Kate coughed into her hand. “Kiss ass.”
Jeb flicked the table cloth at Kate, and a tug of war broke out. Jeb yanked and pulled Kate halfway across the table as they both laughed.
“Take it easy, Clyde,” Butch reprimanded. “She’s half cracked as it is.”
“The hell I am,” Katie denied.
Tom slapped her hip. “He meant your head.”
Kate pulled Butch aside, and Jeb and Tom followed. “I can’t be here. I’m going to say something stupid, and they’re going to hate me.”
Butch ran his hands up and down her arms. “You’re not going to say anything stupid, Katie.”
“She usually does,” Tom said. “She opens her mouth and shoves her whole foot in it.”
Kate pulled down on Butch’s shirt, bringing his face to hers. “You see? I’m a fucking disaster.”
Jeb flinched. “Don’t say ‘fuck.’ Goddamn it, Jesus Christ, and holy shit are also no-nos with Mama.”
“Are you kids hungry?” Emily called. “Soup’s on.”
Kate managed to get the shirts of all three men in her grip. “If I go down, we all go down.”
They walked like a gaggle of geese to the table. Jeb sat at the head with Kate next to him and Butch on her other side. Tom sat across from Kate, within kicking distance. John sat at the other end of the table, and Emily settled in between her husband and Tom.
“Well, this is nice.” Emily reached out her hands to her husband and Tom. Her sons followed suit.
Tom jumped when Emily grasped his hand. Kate slapped at Jeb when he did the same. Jeb locked his fingers with hers. Kate looked at Tom who shrugged his shoulders at the circle that was made.
“Dear Lord,” Emily began. “We thank you for the new friends you have brought to our table this evening. In these trying times, we rely on you, dear Lord, to help us find our way. We ask for your blessing for our meal here this evening. Amen.”
“Amen,” Jeb, Butch, and John answered in unison.
“Amen,” Katie and Tom muttered a half-second behind.
Katie raised an eyebrow at Tom. He shrugged his shoulders again. He didn’t know what they were supposed to do any more than she did. Emily took charge of Tom’s plate and loaded it heavily with ham, creamy potatoes, and buttered peas. Butch served Kate a much smaller portion, for which she was grateful.
“So,” Emily began as she served her husband. “Where are y’all from?”
“Michigan,” Tom answered. “Detroit.”
Emily shimmied in her seat. “The motor city. What was that like? Growing up there?”
Katie’s brows pressed down. “Just normal?”
Tom kicked her and glared.
“What do y’all do?”
“Tom is a structural engineer,” Kate said with pride.
“Katie is an architect. A damned good one,” Tom said and got three kicks in the shin.
Kate smiled at her cousin. He called her Katie.
Emily’s eyebrows disappeared above her bangs. “Oh, well. That’s very interesting. What are y’all doing down here?”
Butch shook his head. Katie and Tom shut their mouths tight, leaving Jeb to answer. “Now, Mama, you need to keep an open mind.”
Emily tapped her fork on her plate one, two…five times. “About what?”
Jeb sighed. “It’s their building going up on the Parsons farm.”
Emily picked up her napkin and touched it dain
tily to her thin lips. She closed her eyes and just held the napkin in place. The room became very quiet, the tension stretching out until it was as tight as a drum. Butch and John kept their eyes on their plates and filled their mouths with dinner. Tom glanced at Kate, looking as clueless as a man can when a woman is upset. Katie shifted in her seat; she never could stand an elephant in the room. If it stood there, she poked it.
“You object to the Cicada project?” Katie asked carefully but got kicked anyway.
“I do.” Emily replaced the napkin in her lap. “I object to our farmland being bought up cheaply, raked over, and turned into a fresh pile of concrete.”
Kate put her silverware down, set her elbows on the table, and linked her fingers to cradle her chin. She looked at Emily, giving her full attention. “I can see why you would object to that. But that isn’t what happened.”
Emily crossed her arms over her chest and leaned away from the table. “Just how would you know what happened?”
“Katie and I negotiated the deal.” Tom turned toward Emily.
Tom never let Kate take the heat alone for a decision they made together. The resolute commitment they built as children had grown as they became adults, professionals, and partners. Where Kate was, Tom stood behind her as her second and vice versa. Individually, they were impressive. Together, they dominated and succeeded.
“All right,” Emily said. “Explain to me how that monstrosity you are building is not destroying our way of life.”
Katie took her time, selecting her words carefully. She’d heard too many smart people say really stupid things because they weren’t thinking. “Tom and I have been working with Cicada for over a year on the type of building they wanted for their world headquarters. They wanted a place that reflected their principles and their priorities. They’ve had a presence in central Tennessee for over fifty years. They started in Chicago, but they found a home with the people here in Tennessee, and it was their first choice for where to invest in their future. When we found Mr. Parsons, his farm had been on the market for over a year.”
“You lowballed him,” Emily accused, her narrow gaze darting between the cousins.
“We did,” Tom agreed. “And he countered with a figure that was overpriced. That’s part of negotiating. In the end, the price was fair to both parties.”
Emily huffed. “Four hundred acres of farmland are gone.”
Kate nodded. “How much did you offer Mr. Parsons for it?”
Emily’s chin jerked up. “Us? We have all we can handle already.”
“How about your neighbors? The ones that like to yell when they drive by. How much did they offer Mr. Parsons? Why did he turn them down?”
“They don’t want his farm,” Emily admitted uncomfortably.
Tom leaned forward, speaking in a gentle voice. “Do you know why Mr. Parsons wanted to sell his farm?”
Emily nodded. “His wife passed on, and his arthritis is bad. His kids didn’t want the farm.” Her voice was only a shade above a whisper.
Kate lifted her head and held out her right palm. “So on one hand, we have a man who wanted to retire but couldn’t afford to. His children didn’t want his farm. His neighbors didn’t want his farm.” Kate flipped her over left palm. “On the other hand, we have a company who felt a deep connection to central Tennessee and wanted to make it a showpiece for the world.” She clasped her hands. “Together we have a good fit. We’ll employ over two dozen local laborers for nearly a year and then two hundred people will work there. That doesn’t count the local subcontractors and suppliers we’re using. All of that tax money stays right here. Yes, the farmland is gone, but there are good things, too. Mr. Parsons can retire and nurse his knees, the buildings won’t become dilapidated and the land overgrown. In terms of jobs and money for the community, the land is going to be more productive under Cicada than it ever was producing soybeans. I’m not saying every project is a win-win or it isn’t important to protect a way of life that has helped you raise such a wonderful family. I’m just saying this isn’t one of those projects where the land is being raped to dump a pile of concrete.”
Emily looked around the table at the averted eyes.
Eventually Jeb cleared his throat. “It’s true, Mama. They’ve hired county boys. They’re doing good work.”
Emily stood with her plate in hand. “Well, it seems you’ve given me something to think about.” Then she silently slipped into the kitchen and out the back door.
Morning had yet to break when Kate stumbled into the kitchen in stockinged feet.
Tom sat at the kitchen table sipping coffee while playing on the computer. “How’s your head? I worried you might have a concussion.”
“Please. My head is harder than that. And it is better today, so don’t lecture me.” Kate poured herself a cup of coffee but knew in the silence her cousin gave her one of his “bullshit” looks. With an exaggerated sigh, she conceded. “I’ll keep it light. I won’t swear at anyone.” When Tom chuckled, Kate amended her statement. “Well, I won’t yell.”
“Completely reasonable.”
Kate ran her fingers through her hair and twisted the mane into a braid. “Did you see my hair brush? I thought I left it in the bathroom, but I can’t find it.”
Tom turned the laptop toward Kate. “Haven’t seen it. Maybe it’s in Butch’s room. Look, I found it.”
“Found what?” She bent over to see the screen without the glare.
“The Grand Ole Opry. It’s a live radio show with different acts. Every Friday and Saturday night.”
The webpage contained images of happy people with guitars and cowboy hats. “What kind of music? Opera? He hasn’t played any opera since I’ve been here. When did cowboy hats become an opera thing?”
“Not opera. Country music.” Tom clicked a link and a tinny, twangy song rang out.
“Oh. Okay. That makes more sense.” Kate straightened up. “Do you think we have to wear something? You know, like cowboy hats or boots?”
Tom stopped the sample and gaped up at her. “God, I hope not. Look at all these sparkly things they’re wearing—and those are the guys.”
“What are y’all looking at?”
At the sound of Jeb’s voice, Kate stepped in front of the computer. She heard the click behind her back as Tom hastily closed it. “Progress schedule. Work. Nothing interesting.”
Tom poked her in the back, and Kate shut up.
Jeb poured a cup of coffee and leaned against the counter. “Are you working today?”
Kate nodded. “Light duty. Nothing too heavy or too loud.”
“And no driving, just to be safe”
“Yes, Sheriff. No driving.”
Kate kept her day light. She would have lied to anyone who asked and said it was because she promised to take it easy. The truth was she wasn’t one hundred percent. She knew it when she didn’t mind sitting at her desk and catching up on paperwork. Paperwork was a necessary evil—emphasis on the evil. Kate poured through the daily reports, submittals, invoices, and emails, and by early afternoon could see the top of her desk.
Paula rapped twice on the doorway as she poked her head in. “Kate, the sheriff is here to see you.”
Kate met Jeb in the middle of the trailer. “What happened? Did you find something?”
His face an iron mask, Jeb gave no indication of his agenda. “Is there somewhere we could talk?”
“Hold my calls, Paula. All of them.” Kate led Jeb into her office where she shut the door and both the windows.
Jeb paced back and forth in the small space, like a rat caught in the maze. Kate stood behind her desk, facing him with crossed arms. The anxiety he radiated tripped her own radar. She shifted her weight between her feet, waiting for Jeb to talk.
“I found her cell phone. The last call came from Butch’s house.”
All the color drained from Kate’s face. “You don’t think that… No, of course you don’t.”
“Someone is setting my brother up. That’
s what I think, and I’m so…I’m not thinking straight. I needed to talk to someone. I’m getting in my own way, and I know it.”
“You can’t talk to your staff, can you? Sheriff McCormick, brother of the leading suspect.”
“I have to preserve some semblance of objectivity if I’m going to stay on the case, but I’m not in the least bit objective.”
Katie took a step back at the fierce look in his eye. Something dangerous lived inside Jebediah McCormick, something he did a damned good job of keeping under wraps. A man like Jeb didn’t ask for help lightly. Butch needed Jeb to survive his ex-wife’s death, and it looked like Jeb needed Katie to beat back his own monster.
“What’s bothering you the most? Let’s just get it out in the open.”
Chapter Eight
Those cold, gray eyes settled on her face. “Someone went into that goddamned house while he was asleep. Asleep! When I think about what they could have done.” Jeb struck at the desk that stood between them.
Angry men didn’t faze Kate. Twenty-nine years of living with it desensitized her to the raw emotion that was a symptom, not a cause. She ratcheted down her own response, leaning casually against the file cabinet behind her. “It’s a Steelcase desk. It’s been kicked more than a few times and has never dented. Have at it.”
His mouth curled into an ugly sneer, his eyes focusing on the desk as though it was his mortal enemy. Jeb reeled back and kicked the desk again. Thunder roared in the small room, giving voice to Jeb’s hostility.
“Is it helping?”
Jeb didn’t look at her but kicked the desk again. “No. Damn it, no.”
Despite bragging about her desk, Kate wasn’t sure it could take this kind of punishment. Fortunately, a construction site offered options. “Come with me.”
Outfitted with a hard hat and safety glasses, a bewildered Jeb followed Kate out into the yard a short distance away from the productive construction. She stopped at an equipment trailer and selected a twelve-pound sledgehammer before continuing to a pile of excavated rock.
“Take off your shirt, you don’t want to get it sweaty.”
Jeb scowled and crossed his arms. “This isn’t going to help.”
Lost in Tennessee Page 12
