by Hagan,Anne
Opera House Ops
Episode 4 – Eagle Scout
A Morelville Cozies Serial Mystery
Anne Hagan
To Mrs. Rotunno for words of praise that sparked a lifelong passion for writing
PUBLISHED BY:
Jug Run Press, USA
Copyright © 2016
https://annehaganauthor.com/
All rights reserved: No part of this publication may be replicated, redistributed or given away in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems without prior written consent of the author or the publisher except by a reviewer, who may quote brief passages for review.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are actual places used in an entirely fictitious manner and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, organizations, or persons, living or deceased, is entirely coincidental.
Chapter 1 - Historic
Wednesday, September 9th
Morelville, Ohio
“Kara still wants to sell, Chloe. What are we going to do?”
“We?” Chloe tilted her head to one side and glanced at her friend quickly then concentrated back on the meat slicer as she thought about her friend’s plea. The turkey slices whizzed through the machine. Jesse liked them thin and he wasn’t opposed to sending Faye back with them if Chloe didn’t get them just right.
Marco called out from his usual spot on the bench, “What could we possibly do? Buy it from her?”
Chloe chuckled at the thought.
“I wish,” Faye said, nearly echoing her own feelings. “She wants far too much for it and it needs major roof work. That tarp she had put up there isn’t going to last through one of our winters.”
Chloe shut the machine down and transferred the pile of meat to a paper liner on the scale on top of the deli case. The readout displayed 1.06 lbs.
“You’re getting really good at judging that,” Faye said smiling, as she looked at the display from her side.
The other woman brushed the compliment off. A thought had come to mind. “Just how old is that building?”
“I think it went up in 1890 or ’91. It was one of the first buildings in the village. That and the old Baptist church that’s practically falling down now were the first ones to be raised according to the village history, aside from a few scattered houses the oil men built, that is.”
“That’s quite a combination,” Marco said, “a music hall and a church.”
“Well the men were probably of one mind and the women of another,” Chloe said. “I asked because if a building is at least 50 years old and it has some sort of historic or cultural significance to the area, we could apply to have it put on the National Register of Historic Places. We did that, a group of us, with an old home that the community wanted to preserve back in McKeesport.”
“Doesn’t the owner have to agree to that?” Marco asked.
“Well, yes; there’s that.”
“Well then,” Faye said, “she’ll never agree because then she can’t sell it at all.”
“On the contrary,” Chloe told her, “she can still sell it. She can do anything she wants with it but getting it on the register can make it far more valuable and it keeps it in the public eye. That could attract an entirely different sort of potential buyer for her.”
Faye thought for a few seconds and then said, “You might have something there. That might appeal to her and, if she could do that, she could probably get some kind of grant money to fix the roof besides.”
Chloe nodded and started to bag the turkey.
“What about the new owner though? What obligation do they have to preserve it?”
“Unfortunately, that’s the same kind of deal. They could do whatever they wanted with it too but they could potentially be paying a lot more for the privilege and take a lot more flak from everyone around here. I will say this though, if she agrees to it and she applies or we do it, it can take several months to go through. There’s got to be a public comment period and such. If she’s in a hurry to get it on the Register and potentially sell it for more money, it’s not going to work.”
“Not anymore,” Faye said as she shrugged. “She wants to sell and get it off her hands but she missed out on the show she wanted to fund. Someone swooped in and scooped up the last producers slot. She’s just waiting for the next opportunity to come along.”
“How often do those pop up?” Marco asked.
“Darned if I know. Hopefully, not that often!”
###
“I’m glad you’ve decided to stick with us Cole,” Robert Hanson said to the teen. “I know Brian is excited about the idea of the two of you working on your Eagle projects together. Have you decided what you want to do?”
“That’s just it; I don’t know. I mean, I’ve read all the…some of the criteria, but I can’t come up with much that would benefit the community…er, Morelville.”
“It doesn’t have to be just Morelville; it could be anything that could be a community service project in the surrounding area. Or, you might consider doing something right here though that the church needs. Brian’s going to put in the memorial garden they’ve been talking about doing for years. You could do something else that’s in conjunction with that or that compliments that. Between us, I think Pastor Scott is getting a little creeped out by the urns of ashes on the book shelves in his office. They need a final resting place.”
Cole seemed shocked by the thought of that and he leaned back hard in his chair, away from Hanson, causing the front legs to rock up off the floor. He was so conscious of his grandfather’s voice in his head admonishing him for sitting with only the back legs touching that he quickly righted himself and overcorrected, pitching forward. He grabbed the Scoutmaster’s desk for support to keep from toppling to the floor.
Hanson jumped up from his chair behind the old wood style teacher’s desk. “Are you all right?”
“I’m fine,” Cole said.
“You didn’t know about the ashes?”
“No.” The boy visibly shuddered. “I was just in his office a couple of weeks ago…when you asked me to go and talk to him. That’s a little creepy.”
The scoutmaster hid a smirk. He was familiar with Cole’s fear of darkness, the annual community haunted house and anything else that seemed remotely eerie, real or imagined. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t trying to be crass. They’re the remains of people that had no means or no desire to be buried in the area, all past parishioners of the church. They’re certainly not a bother where they are but it’s Pastor Scott’s not entirely unfounded fear that there will be more urns as time goes on. The garden will be sorely needed.”
“What could I do that would go along with that? I can’t just help him, can I?”
“No, you have to do your own project. Give it some thought for a couple of days and you can look through this stuff.” Hanson handed him a folder with some paperwork in it. “The end of the fiscal year is coming. That’s the notes from the congregational meeting last week that includes the plans going forward, the church budget for the coming year and so forth. There are several places where funding won’t meet what they want to accomplish. Bet you could find something in there you could do with a tiny little bit of fund raising and a whole lot of ingenuity and elbow grease.”
Chapter 2 – Funding
Sunday, September 13th
Crane Family Farm
“Okay boy, let’s see what you got.” Jesse
tapped the table in front of the chair adjacent to his.
Cole took a seat and offered the folder to his grandfather.
“Open it up and get the stuff out here,” the old man commanded. “Have you even looked at it?”
The boy nodded. “I read those notes from the meeting. I couldn’t figure nothin’ out from them.”
“Anything,” Faye corrected him from her position at the sink where she was wiping the dinner dishes.
Cole wrinkled his nose and looked at Jesse but his grandfather was already rifling through the pages as he flipped them onto the table for him. He watched as he laid the budget numbers off to one side and perused only the meeting notes.
“Ya’ll talked about all of this at the congregational meeting, Faye?” he asked after a few minutes.
She glanced away from her task toward the papers he held up. “Yes and that’s likely the very condensed version, knowing Doris. She’s not one to want to take extensive notes for very long.”
“Boy, am I glad I skipped the meeting,” Jesse whispered to Cole, under his breath.
“I heard that,” Faye informed him.
He waved her off. “There’s lots of stuff here,” he said to his grandson instead. “Reseal the parking lot?”
Cole shook his head no.
“Break up and re-lay the front sidewalk?”
Again, he shook his head.
“Those are both reasonable projects that will be of service to the church and save them money on labor and materials, son.”
“That sidewalk,” Faye added, “is a safety hazard. Most of the older folks come in the side door rather than through the front doors to avoid it. That’s just not right.”
“Those aren’t going to work, Papa.”
“They’re service projects and very much needed. You’d have to round up labor to assist you and lead them. That meets the requirements, as I recall them.”
“The Scoutmaster says it has to be ‘special’, not routine labor. The only thing on there that would be ‘special’ is that Memorial Garden. Brian’s doing that and I really didn’t want to do that anyway.”
“What do you want to do then, boy?”
“I dunno…don’t know; sorry Grandma. Maybe something with my hands, like build something. Remember when we rebuilt the crèche for the Christmas display? Maybe I could do something like that.”
Jesse rubbed the days’ growth of stubble on his chin. “Can’t be that. That one will last a long time.” He picked up the budget and glanced at it. “Why’d he give you this?”
Cole shrugged. “He said Ms. Procter gave him that too. It’s the money they need for the year.”
“The cost for resealing the parking lot should be on that Jesse. We voted on finally doing that at the last board meeting.”
“You actually have the money for it?”
“We will. The board has been earmarking a small piece of each weeks’ collection for it. They need to get on it and do it before November though. When I do count up this coming week after the service, I’m going to remind old Kent at the board meeting the week after that we need to make up any difference and get it scheduled.”
“I’m sure glad I’m not involved in all these committees and the board and such. Too many hands in the pot for me. I say, just do what needs doing. We buy six or eight cans of tar, a few spreaders and Cole and a couple of boys go to work. Done!”
“That wouldn’t have worked for my project anyway,” Cole said. “It’s not special and it has to be approved by the Scoutmaster, Council and the Region. That’ll take months.”
Jesse sighed. “Guess we best keep looking then.” He scanned the budget to see if anymore actual projects were listed. “Says here,” he said, “expected expenses are $141,000, give or take for the year and expected revenue is $129,000. How do they plan to make up that shortfall, Faye?”
“Hmm?” she said. “Give me those numbers again.”
Jesse read them off.
“Let me see that.” She wiped her hands on a towel, walked over to the table and took the papers from his outstretched hand.
After scanning through it herself, she said, “There must be some mistake.”
“Higher or lower?” Jesse questioned.
“On the income. It’s always based on the previous year, exactly. We always hope to take in more in weekly offering and other donations and never less. This is off by over $6,000.00.”
“It’s off by nearly double that,” Jesse reminded her.
“No,” she shook her head, “Our finance committee report for the year shows total intake of $135,000 plus so far, not $129,000.”
“You’re still off six grand.”
“From the expected expenditures, yes. We have to either collect that in offerings by the end of the fiscal year or try and make that up in other ways. We still have Seth’s salary and Doris’s pay, building upkeep, utilities…all of those things, to take care of. This is off $12,000 though and that’s wrong.”
“Maybe Doris didn’t record the last month of offerings or something,” Jesse said.
“I report the exact amount to Kent every week and make out a deposit slip which we both countersign. He writes it in his ledger and reports right from that at the board meetings. It galls me sometimes that he’s the treasurer because I have more background in bookkeeping than he does but he does seem to be pretty meticulous about keeping the church’s books.”
Cole looked back and forth between them. “I’m confused. What does all of this mean?”
Jesse turned back to him, “It probably just means that ole’ Doris typed something up wrong or was looking at the wrong weeks’ or months’ numbers when she did this. Who knows. No big deal.”
“This is hopeless. Maybe I should ask at school about a project I could do.”
“I just had an idea,” said Faye. Her husband and grandson both looked at her expectantly. “It’s perfect. You could do a little fundraising, get materials donations too, hire a qualified carpenter as a foreman and you and your scouting buddies could put a new roof on a historical building that needs one. That’s a service.”
“And just what building might that be?” Jesse asked.
“Why the old opera house, of course. Chloe and I talked to the owner today. She’s going to let us try and get it listed on the National Register of Historic Places.”
“It’s privately owned,” Jesse said. “How’s doing anything to that a community service project?”
“It is now but we’re also going to form a 501c3 to buy it for the community. Aiden Quinn told me about that when we got to talking over at the bakery the other day.”
“I don’t like the idea of you going and getting involved in all of that mess. You’re busy enough here, and with the bakery and the church…”
“It will be community operated Jesse and besides, think of Cole. That will be good experience for him and it’s got to be a shoe-in for Eagle Scout project qualification.”
They both looked at the boy. “Yeah, except that I’m afraid of heights,” he admitted.
###
Tuesday, September 15th
“That sounds like a fine project Cole; provided you’re sure there is community involvement?”
“My grandma said to show you this.” Cole handed a sheaf of paperwork over to his Scoutmaster.
Robert Hanson picked up his glasses and slid them on. Before he could even peruse the copies the boy had given him, Cole started talking excitedly.
“The lady that owns the building right now agreed to have the power turned back on there if the village pays the bill. Mr. Quinn said he would do that while my grandma and Mrs. Rossi and some others work on that stuff.” He flipped a hand toward the paperwork. “That’s a copy of some applications to make it all official, like.”
“Yes,” Hanson nodded, “It’s an application to have the building declared to be a historical landmark.”
“Um, keep looking through there. Grandma said there was’ two applications. The other ones som
ething about Morelville or…well, about the people in the village buying the building or something. I don’t explain it too good. Anyway, once the power is on, we can get in there and start cleaning up the place. It needs a lot of work inside too. The old doors are there…we can, we can put them back on and…there’s just so much.” He looked at Hanson hopefully.
The leader skimmed through everything Cole had given him and then looked back up at his charge. “Okay, I think I’ve got the thrust of the whole thing now. The community is trying to form what’s called a 501c3 which is a non-profit organization sort of like the Scouts are. I’m assuming they intend to buy this building once that status is granted and they’re raising the funds to do so?”
Cole nodded. “They’re going to hold a community meeting about it real soon and see if they can get people to pledge to it.”
“I have to tell you; you’re personally playing with a thin timeline here. Your project has to be completed before you turn 18 so you’ve got, what, about 10 months?”
Cole nodded.
“It can take a few months or more, according to the application for the historical designation, for that to happen – if it does at all – and it can take twice that for them to be able to get their non-profit status and to raise the necessary funds to buy the building. That might not leave you any time to complete your project.”
The teens’ face fell. “I guess I really hadn’t thought of that.”
Hanson stared off at the wall over Cole’s shoulder for a minute as he sat, his head hung, looking dejected. Finally, he asked, “Is this what you really want to do?”
Cole looked up. “Yes. The more Papa and I talked about it, the more I like it. I mean, I know that guy died in there and all and that scares me a little but, still, it’s a cool old building that would make a good museum or, like Grandma said, a little playhouse or something for shows and concerts.”
