“And your husband?” It’s not my business, but I can’t help asking.
“A professional scoundrel,” she says with a loud, throaty laugh. “But he was rich, which is really what matters.”
I smile and nod. “Apparently so.”
“Darling, what do you need from me right now?”
“I’d like to explore a little bit, get some photos and measurements, then take all of this back home and come up with some numbers for you. Do you know if the city has any of the original plans?”
“The little real estate man said something about it, but I didn’t get them.”
“That’s fine. I’ll swing by and see what they have.”
“Wonderful, darling. If you have any trouble, you call me.”
“I will.”
She disappears down the long, dusty corridor and stands by her car, talking on the phone, while I take extensive photos and measurements of the exterior and interior. An area of the south wing has a lot of decay. It will have to be completely ripped out, but on the whole, I’m pleasantly surprised at how well the building has stood up to decades of neglect. Even when I go upstairs, the carpet is rotten but the boards beneath my feet don’t give way as much as I expect. Most of the windows have been boarded up, which kept the rain out after the glass shattered or was removed, but that’s an easy fix. I’m not able to get onto the tiled roof, but considering how well the structure has held up, I’m betting the roof is in pretty good shape.
I have some coveralls in my SUV, so I go outside, remove my jacket, and put those on over my dress pants and button-down shirt, then shimmy under the hotel, carefully dodging spiders. The foundation is made of massive wooden beams that show typical signs of age, but are relatively solid, with the exception of the problem area in the south wing.
I brush myself off after I crawl out and approach Mrs. Caxton, who is watching me and smoking by her car.
“Well?” she asks, smiling.
“I’m quite pleased,” I say. “There are a few trouble spots, but nothing that can’t be fixed. Is there a specific contractor you’re interested in?”
“No, darling. I figured I’d let you handle that.” She reaches forward and brushes cobwebs out of my hair. It’s a strangely intimate gesture and makes me a little uncomfortable.
“What kind of budget do you have in mind?” I ask, clearing my throat.
“Don’t you worry about money.”
I stand there for a moment with my mouth open. I’m stunned this woman is handing this project to me sight unseen. I’m stunned she doesn’t have a budget. I’m stunned she’s flicking cigarette ashes into a pile of dry, dead underbrush that could light this place up in seconds.
“Do you mind asking how you decided on me as your architect?” I ask. “Have you seen my work, or did someone refer you?”
“I looked you up on the Google.”
I pause, staring at her with what I know must be a dumbfounded expression. “That’s it?”
“Well, I liked your picture. You’re handsome, and you have an honest face.”
I have no idea how to respond. I have no doubt I’ll do a phenomenal job, but she literally knows nothing about me.
“You need to work on your poker face, Rhodes.” She laughs again with a hearty, deep voice. “My instincts have never failed me. You’re the right man for the job.”
“Thank you. I’m thrilled to be a part of it.”
“When do you go back to Birmingham?” she asks before taking a long drag from her cigarette.
“Saturday. I thought I’d stay a few days to get a feel for the town and find out as much as I can about the hotel.”
“How about you and I go down to that little steakhouse for dinner?”
This…is awkward. There’s no way I’m letting this relationship be anything other than business, despite how hungry I am for this project.
“I’d like to get started on my proposal and make some phone calls, if you don’t mind.” I look at my watch. “If I hurry, I should be able to get to the courthouse today.”
