Remainder

By R.J. Minnick

Wilson Parker has a reputation at Bedlowe Developers. He's Aaron Bedlowe's right-hand man for property acquisition. And Aaron wants property. His financial empire rests on his planned communities, and it's time to place a jewel in the crown of his most recent venture. Aaron's next target is Remainder, Tennessee, a rural community south of Nashville. And he's charged Wilson Parker with the task of getting the land he needs. Parker's already been in touch with a few people eager to make a buck selling land to the flashy company. One in particular, Ray Boone, has not only offered up his own property but is more than happy to help find more. Things look good. But maybe Parker should have spoken with someone besides Ray Boone. Lyle Cummins, for one - de facto mayor of the unincorporated hamlet his grand-daddy founded. Or Ella Mae Knapp - retired teacher and government employee who understands far more about the world she lives in than many reckon. Or even Marty Jensen - the way-ward country singer/songwriter who enjoys raising his girls in this obscure little place. If only Parker better understood what he was taking on when he headed down Highway 70... ...then it might not come down to a race between him and the son of a dying man.

• Language: English
• Publisher: R.J. Minnick
• Release date: Apr 8, 2019
• ISBN: 9780463810958

R.J. Minnick

R.J. MINNICK has spent a lifetime working at various jobs (she even sold Fuller Brush!) and another lifetime raising six terrific offspring with her husband. During both those lifetimes she kept writing - poetry, reviews, short stories, nonfiction, mysteries, mainstream novels, and Christmas epics. She has credentials in national and local magazines and community news publications.Where the Bodies Lie Buried is her first mystery, and the first in her Mackenzie Wilder/Classic Boat mystery series.She grew up the youngest of five girls in upstate New York, then lived in Maryland and Vermont before settling in Nashville, Tennessee where her family spent 24 years before moving to North Carolina. With her children now adults, she has moved from being a full-time mom to being the family's on-call consulting guru. She is also a part-time Parish Administrator and occasional web designer.For 16 of the years they lived in Nashville, RJ coached writing in their children’s schools. She now continues working with people who love to write by being part of a writer's group and by helping with local writing workshops.She writes for a local magazine, ARRAY, but her fiction work is currently focused on novels.R.J. Minnick lives in Fayetteville, North Carolina with her husband, two dogs, five cats and - from time to time - a child or two.

Book preview

REMAINDER

by

R. J. Minnick

copyright 2018 R.J. Minnick

Wingspan Dreamweaver Books

Smashwords Edition

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favorite book retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

TABLE OF CONTENTS

beginning

about this book

Chapter 1 Wilson

Chapter 2 Ty

Chapter 3 Lyle

Chapter 4 Gwanyca

Chapter 5 Ella Mae

Chapter 6 Spenser

Chapter 7 Marty

Chapter 8 Jean

Chapter 9 Rahim

Chapter 10 Teena

Chapter 11 Lynnette

Chapter 12 Sydney

Chapter 13 Little Oak

Chapter 14 Walden

Chapter 15 Branden

Chapter 16 Francesca

Chapter 17 Ray

Chapter 18 Remainder (part I)

Chapter 19 Remainder (part II)

Chapter 20 Ray

Chapter 21 Francesca

Chapter 22 Branden

Chapter 23 Walden

Chapter 24 Little Oak

Chapter 25 Sydney

Chapter 26 Lynnette

Chapter 27 Teena

Chapter 28 Rahim

Chapter 29 Jean

Chapter 30 Marty

Chapter 31 Spenser

Chapter 32 Ella Mae

Chapter 33 Gwanyca

Chapter 34 Lyle

Chapter 35 Ty

Chapter 36 Wilson

about the author

about this book

Remainder is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to real people or incidents, other than historical, is purely coincidental.

References to real places have been made with an attempt at respect due the places and their real-life inhabitants. Characters throughout the book, even those with real-world reference, are fictional

For those who must leave someone behind,

For those who solve the problems,

Make the sacrifices,

And get things done.

For the heroes.

Chapter 1

Wilson

Computer user: Wilson Parker

10/21/2002 logon 07:30:00

Inbox: 57 messages, 4 unread

From: Irene Hazelhurst, VP Acquisitions [ihzlst*bedlowedevmgmt.com]

Subject: Remainder

Date: October 18, 2002

To: Wilson Parker [wprkr*bedlowedevfield.com]

Our most recent information dictates you should attend town meeting. There is one scheduled soon after your arrival.

Rem: $2000 limit. Deadline: February 14. 80% local compliance.

You may be our youngest salesman, but you’re also our best. Do not let us down. We expect the Wilson Touch.

Irene

Wilson Parker didn’t know if it was the pain from his small toe chafing inside his new shoes making him uncomfortable, or the intimate scene unfolding at the front of the cafe. He’d come in here to meet up with a guy about some land, and here he was standing witness to the exit of a potential hero. The young soldier pulled his shoulders back, gave his mother a smile, and exited to roar off in the bright black pick-up truck he’d pushed past Parker’s Camry a half hour earlier.

Seeing men younger than himself going off to war always made Parker feel guilty, as if he ought to be suiting up to go fight terrorism, too. Guilt, he figured, born of his own feelings of inadequacy. Who wouldn’t feel inadequate next to the clean-shaven young man with his green T-shirt stretched over solid trained muscle? His eye was steady and his grip firm. There was an overall air of just-scrubbed strackness about him and his conduct that told you exactly who he was.

His departure left a vacuum in the diner. The two elderly men who told him good-bye shuffled back to their seats. From farther back in the room, Parker could hear the mountain men pull up their chairs as they sat, clinking silver against plate. Parker himself – moved to standing by the actions of the others – sat down as the young African-American woman patted the waitress’ shoulder and spoke soft reassuring words to her. At least, that’s what Parker assumed she was doing. What else? Given that the young woman had been waiting at the cafe expressly to see off her friend’s son.

The women had been deep in conversation when Parker arrived, walking in behind the young soldier, catching the jingling door on its backswing. The young woman, Gwanyca he thought they called her, was hugging the boy. Already tears shone above her broad smile.

You behave yourself over there, Pablo. Do your Mama proud, or she’ll be worryin’ us to death and I won’t never calm her down.

Yes, Ms. Gwanyca. Mamacita will not have to worry. Pablo released Gwanyca and turned to hug the short, plain-faced waitress tight. Then they’d taken stools and started talking quietly while his mama served them pie and milk, tea for the woman Gwanyca.

Wilson chose a seat a few stools down from the conversation. The waitress, Francesca, cast a professional glance his way. As he read the price of the very last item she slipped a cup of coffee under his menu, saying, The pecan pie comes in extra large slices.

I’ll take the coffee first, thanks. Is the pie fresh?

Warm and good as your mama made. She swept a plate in front of him and handed him a spotless fork. What brings you to my Leftover Cafe so early in the day? You have heard of my food?

I should have, he mumbled through his pie. This is wonderful! Actually I’m supposed to be meeting someone here. Ray Boone?

Francesca nodded, swiping at streaks along the counter. Pablo snorted. You’ll be lucky if he shows up. Boone’s not known for his punctuality – or his reliability.

He’s the one who said to meet here.

Good luck with that. Mamacita? He set down his empty glass with a clatter. I’d better shove off.

Gwanyca stood with him and hugged him again. Francesca ducked out from the counter and held up her arms for an embrace, her head barely visible above Pablo’s shoulder. You told your sisters good-bye when you took them to school, yes?

Yes. And I made sure they had their ride for while I’m away. He shook his head at her fussing,

You’re a good boy, Pablo. Stay that way. Keep out of trouble, she added, her voice muffled in his chest.

I will, Mama.

Obey orders. Be careful.

I can’t do both, Mama, he joked, and ducked when she swatted her hand at him.

Two old men dressed identically in shirtsleeves and suspenders came to the front of the cafe. The pair of hefty scruffy-looking men he’d seen in the back stood up, dropping their napkins on their plates. Wilson felt compelled to get to his feet.

Pablo’s mother blinked furiously. Write to me when you can. I know better than to ask for every day. But tell me how you are, what you need.

I will, Mama, I will.

I love you, Pablo. She snuffled one more time, clapped him on the shoulder, then released him.

I’ll look out for her, Gwanyca told Pablo.

He settled his cap on his head, then turned to face the two old men, one slight, one large and pear-shaped. They each held out a hand.

Good luck, Pablo. You’re a good soldier, said the tall one, his over-sized body at odds with his high-pitched voice.

Go get the bastards, said the shorter man, but be careful. He clasped both hands over Pablo’s wiry brown one,

Yes, sir. Thank you, sir. I’d appreciate it if you’d help Gwanyca keep an eye on Mama.

We will, son, we will.

And then, with a smile, young Pablo was gone. They all remained standing, watching as he jumped into the truck, gunned the engine and swung north onto the highway towards Nashville, I65, I24, and Clarksville. Fort Campbell, supplying the world with young people who believed in country, duty, and serving others; ready, they believed, to die for their way of life.

The large man paused beside Parker as he was returning to his seat. That’s one of the finest young men you’d ever want to meet. Pablo ‘Picasso’ O’Hare. Goin’ off to fight terrorists. That’s his mama, he added, nodding toward Francesca as she stepped back behind the counter. You be nice to her. Don’t be givin’ her a hard time.

He ain’t here to see her, Thomas. His companion spoke to him sharply. He’s a-waitin’ on Ray Boone. Ain’t that what you said?

Yes, sir. He put out his hand. Boone said to meet him here. My name’s Wilson Parker.

The big man squinted at him, stepping back a pace. Don’t know no Parkers. Know Boone all right. He’s from around here. Don’t know no Parkers.

Sit down, Thomas. His companion sighed. Sorry about that.

No problem. They moved on, and Wilson resumed eating his pie, keeping an eye on the clock, watching as Francesca kept on with her duties, noting the woman named Gwanyca had slipped out. She reminded him of someone. Even though she hadn’t spoken to him, had not, probably, even noticed him. There was something in her that was apparent the minute you saw her. A nurturing sort of quality that not every woman had anymore.

He set that thought aside to ponder how difficult it was to be in Francesca’s situation, the parent of a soldier, reflecting that there had to be thousands of them now. Another new role created in this past year.

He couldn’t go fight himself. He had no interest in disrupting his own career for a military one, and he hadn’t the skills or the temperament either. What he could do was to keep working here, helping to find the land and broker the deals that put up new, secure homes for those whose freedom was being protected. Ultimately his customers would include those doing the protecting as well.

His job with Aaron Bedlowe was to procure land necessary for the developments Bedlowe Developers built. To Wilson, however, it was more than a job. Like those soldiers, Parker had a mission, a ministry even, to find homes for people who needed them and to fit the communities to the people. He knew the designs of the communities inside and out. He should; he helped plan them. He knew how much land and what type of topography suited a Bedlowe community. He knew how to assess a parcel of land and purchase it for a fair price. Bedlowe communities were known for their quality and their enhancement of property values in general. All this knowledge and ability had earned him his reputation for the Wilson Touch. And he was set to bring it to bear on the Middle Tennessee community of Remainder.

If Ray Boone ever got there.

His cell phone buzzed. He checked the I.D. Already?

Boone there yet?

No, Aaron I just got here. Well, almost. No need to mention the patriotic departure.

Well, where is he? Look, never mind. I’m nearly there.

"Wait, what?

I don’t want to waste any more time. We need to move.

Then let me get to work. You don’t need to come -

I want to see what this place looks like. Get a feel for the people - they could be employees, you know. Besides, I want to see the great Wilson Parker in action.

Wilson flushed. This was unexpected. Look, Aaron, wouldn’t it be better if I just report in , call you back after -

Be there in ten minutes. Order me some breakfast. He cut off.

Bedlowe made Parker antsy. Where was Boone anyway?

Can I get you anything else? The waitress seemed to have regained her composure.

Um, how about another coffee? Someone’s joining me - besides Boone, I mean. Food’s great by the way. He smiled at her, open-faced, friendly, all those things Wilson Parker had to be to gain people’s trust and exercise the Wilson Touch. Tell me about Remainder.

Okay, so he’d been in town a couple weeks, but so far, outside of Boone and one or two others, no one really knew why. He’d set up a store-front office, but he hadn’t ordered any signage. The words ‘developers’ or ‘real estate’ did not appear inside or outside his office. He’d avoided socializing, not even coming into the café until today, although he’d studied it enough to know it was a central hub of the erstwhile ‘downtown ‘ of Remainder. Up ‘til now he’d looked at things externally. Now it was time to dig deeper. Discreetly.

Francesca wiped and straightened as she talked, her hands never resting. Remainder is a good place, Mr. Parker. Not very big, not even a town, officially. That is all right with us. We like our independence.

So it’s mostly residential? Homes? Something he already knew. He needed more; he’d get to it.

Pretty much. Some farms. A few businesses, like mine. She spread her arms and beamed. And I think I would say we are a community with a heart. We don’t have any churches, or even our own school, but we meet every month to talk over what is going on and to see if anyone needs anything.

The smaller of the two shirt-sleeves edged along the counter and paused to settle his bill. That’s somethin’ I was meanin’ to ask you about, Francesca. Tonight’s meeting. You reckon Lyle’s gonna open up about what’s goin’ on with him?

I don’t know, Mr. Reiser. She ran his payment. He did ask me to remind anyone I saw. Seven o’clock. My girls and I are providing the food.

We’ll be there. And don’t you go worryin’ ‘bout that son of yours. Pablo will be fine. He eyed Parker. Young man, you asked Francesca about Remainder. You saw her son leave here. Well, he’s the third person from this small community to respond to 9/11. One young man went up and joined his fiancée’s family in New York City. He stayed up there to help with clean-up and rebuilding. One of our young women joined the Air Force right out of high school. And then there’s Pablo.

Francesca crossed herself, tears filling her eyes. Bless them all, she whispered.

Amen that, said Reiser. I don’t know what your business is, young man, but you couldn’t find a finer place to do it.

Thomas came up behind his brother. Can we go now, Sydney? I need to feed the chickens.

Yes, Thomas. We’re ready. Come along. We’ll see you tonight, Francesca.

Thomas followed along in his brother’s footsteps, a giant penguin mincing behind a darting sandpiper.

Hey, thanks, guy. A tall balding man grabbed the door behind Thomas. He yanked it wide and burst into the cafe.

Parker? There you are! Oh hey, thanks, he called to Francesca, who returned him a bewildered look. Got my coffee? Where’s this Boone character? What else is there to eat?

Will you bring us another piece of pie, Francesca? Aaron, calm down. Quiet down for God’s sake. I’m trying to keep a low profile here.

Aaron glanced about them. Why?

Because that’s how it’s done.

I repeat, ‘Why’?

Wilson sighed. He liked Aaron. Really, he did. The man was ambitious, believed in quality, and had a dynamic drive born of a passion equal to Wilson’s own. But their personalities differed vastly, and Wilson knew with conviction and from experience that his personality was the right one for this job. That was why it was his job. Aaron would be, simply, disastrous.

Aaron, he began, wondering how he was going to say this and finish unscathed.

Francesca brought a wide wedge of the rich pecan pie over, placing it in front of Aaron with a smile.

Excuse me. Mr. Parker, perhaps you would like to know about that meeting tonight?

The interruption startled Wilson, giving him pause, but not so Aaron.

Meeting? What meeting is that - Francesca? He leaned over to read her name tag and then turned on his charm.

We hold meetings here in Remainder whenever Lyle calls them. There is one tonight over at Independence Hall. Mr. Parker was asking about our community, so I thought he would like to know.

So who is this Lyle person that he gets to call the meetings? The mayor? Or is this like a lodge or something?

Wilson sighed again. This was another runaway freight train. He could just tell. Francesca was wearing that bewildered expression again. He couldn’t blame her. He frequently found Aaron hard to follow.

Lyle is a sort of community leader. It is nothing official. We are not a town , and he is not our mayor. But he provides some organization, maybe some guidance. And he is a good man. Everybody loves him. When we all need to know about something, he calls a meeting.

And you have a meeting tonight? Aaron pressed on. What’s this one about?

I do not know. It may be that Lyle wishes to let everyone know about his illness. He has cancer.

Cancer? Is he dying?

Wilson groaned.

Francesca glanced from one to the other, wiping the counter with a hand that moved slower and slower. I do not know.

She moved away, and Aaron turned to Wilson.

Maybe you can take advantage of this. At least this time he lowered his voice.

No, said Wilson shaking his head. That’s not how it’s done. Look. Aaron. Coming into an un- he searched for the word, unsuspecting community - I mean one that is unaware of your intentions - is delicate business. Bedlowe Developers have a way of changing the face of entire communities, and making that come about peaceably is, I repeat, delicate business. It’s why you hired me.

Well, if you say so. Still, this Lyle guy - man in that situation is bound to need money. Give him a fair deal. We always do. If he’s needing cash, and he sells to us, you can bet it will lead some of these others to do the same. And - hey, you know this pie is good. Wonder if the owner would sell us the recipe?

I think Francesca is the owner.

Well, maybe we can let her stay on here. People would love this!

I thought this was an all-or-nothing proposition, Aaron. You told me you needed all the land for your project.

Aaron nodded, chewing on pie. Basically I do. But there’s always room for an exception. Like Jello. He winked then, swallowed the last bit of pie, and stood up. Look, I just remembered an errand I’ve got ahead of me. I’ll come back to see the site another day. Once you’ve gone over it and made damn sure it’s the right one. No need jumpin’ the gun. He grinned a little sheepishly and threw down his napkin. Good-bye Francesca. The pie was wonderful. Thank you!

The door swung shut behind the tornado that was Aaron Bedlowe.

A table-leg scraped the floor as Wilson turned his fork through the pie, admiring the combating textures of chewy nuts and velvety filling. A thick broom handle of a finger was laid along his shoulder, and a brown face leaned in close while a sheet of hair blacker and straighter than Wilson’s own swung down between him and the exit, creating an intimate little cell. The man’s face was smooth, and his skin glowed with a strength and health that rivaled Pablo’s. His voice was thick and low, with a sing-song quality.

Be careful what you bring with you into Remainder. A man must be careful what he carries. The man drew his hand away and followed his silent companion out the door.

What the hell was all that about?

He’d dismissed the pair from consideration when he walked in. Mountain men were not known for owning property, or for their cooperation with established businesses or procedures. Even if they were part of the local populace, he didn’t anticipate having dealings with them. So what was with the mysterious message?

He pulled out his wallet, finding bills to tip Francesca. She’d been truly helpful. She was about to be helpful again.

Is that, uh, common? He jerked his thumb over his shoulder as the door swung to.

You mean Little Oak?

Yeah. He’s Indian - Native American, right? And his buddy? Are they from Remainder?

Little Oak is Cherokee. Walden Mott is his friend. There is a Cherokee reservation that backs up onto the land of Walden Mott. Walden has a cabin on the land, and a mosque on a parcel he rents out. Little Oak has a tipi on the property, too. Their friendship goes back almost as far as their ties to the land.

Wilson’s head came up sharp. Ties to the land?

Yes. They feel very strong ties to Nature and to the property they tend. Many people feel like that. I find it especially so here, Mr. Parker.

Yeah. Hunh. He looked over his shoulder again, frowning. This wasn’t how Boone had described the setup here.

It’s a small little holler, Boone had told him over a beer. People’ll be so glad to get out at a profit, they’ll be linin’ out yer door to sign up. You won’t have to offer but half the profit you been talkin’ ‘bout. ‘Course there’s a couple old-timers might expect little more, but we’re all reasonable men, ain’t we? Boone slapped him on the back.

That was when Wilson developed a distaste for the scrawny little man.

Now here was Francesca telling him how much people here loved their land! Great.

Thanks again for the food. What your son said - is Boone likely to show up?

I’m afraid my Pablo has no patience with others’ flaws. Ray may come or he may not. But it is nearly 9 o’clock, and if he is coming in to town, he is usually here by now. I’m afraid you may be out of luck for today. Do you want me to tell him you were here? I may see him tonight.

At the meeting?

Yes. she smiled shyly. The one Lyle called She shrugged and resumed her perpetual cleaning of the counter. "I really do not know what this meeting is for, but I think it is about this illness. I will let everyone know Pablo has left for Fort Campbell. Maybe you should come tonight and introduce yourself. If you have business here, it would be a good way to meet people. And perhaps you will see Ray Boone."

She fussed with the sugar and realigned the salt and pepper shakers on the counter. Lyle has said he’d like to see us all get on computers so that we could communicate more easily. It would be nice.

"He sounds like a very generous man." And rich. So much for Aaron’s ideas about Lyle needing money. Francesca. Tell me a little more about Lyle. If I’m doing business here, is he someone I should get to know?

For once Francesca’s hand lay still, clutching its ubiquitous sponge.

I suppose you should. Lyle is a sort of leader, mostly because he is fair and everyone likes him. Although it is said his ancestor founded Remainder. She nodded. Lyle is a good man to know, but his family is preoccupied right now with his sickness.

You said he has cancer?

That is the rumor. And usually, in Remainder, that means it is true.

Wilson picked at a corner of the mat beneath the cash register. Who else - I mean who - well, who takes over if Lyle dies, or is really sick? Who’s another community leader?

Francesca smiled. I did not mean to mislead you, Mr. Parker. Remainder has no leader, exactly. We are each independent, and what you might call ‘quirky.’ Most of us are in business for ourselves. We do what we wish. Lyle keeps us organized and informed. That’s all Remainder needs. If he is not here to do that? She shrugged. Maybe his wife Jean or their son Ty will do it. They have always been that sort of team, you know? It is not so much Lyle as a leader that we are concerned about. It is Lyle as a man. You see, we don’t want him to die. Her eyes turned moist, her voice broke. It was as if all the emotion she’d pent up was pressing for release.

Wilson gestured towards the register, clearing his own throat.

If you had a computer, you could email Pablo.

Oh! I could, couldn’t I? That would be wonderful.

You must be very proud of your son.

I am proud of all my children. I must get busy. I will tell Ray Boone that you were here. Maybe he will call you, or maybe you will stop by tonight?

I don’t know about that. Maybe. Thank you.

Dismissed. Just like that - and without ever seeing Boone. Shit.

He returned to his car and sat behind the wheel, easing off his inexplicably undersized right shoe to massage his toes.

Now what?

It didn’t matter, really, not seeing Boone. Especially with Aaron there. Those two hadn’t met, and Wilson wasn’t exactly anxious for them to.

His day had started around five: setting out from his Nashville apartment, driving down Route 70A, easing his way along the Harpeth in some places ‘til he pulled off the road at the Bedlowe site. The morning invited deep inhales, plunging untainted country air into the deprived inner reaches of his city lungs. If the hills and the trees weren’t in the way, he’d be able to see clear to Nashville. Slightly below where he stood pale sunlight glittered off the river to dance among the overhanging leaves, entirely too merry for seven a.m.

He grinned at a spot where the water curved in. A boat ramp there. Some docks. Over by that glade of poplars, which would probably have to go, there’d be a series of shops, first-run boutiques featuring designer clothes for these new residents motivated back to the land by the threats of urban crime, stress, or terrorism.

His people. The people he served by finding these sites. It was for them he was out here staring at river, field, and tree instead of sipping Starbucks at his computer. Not that Wilson didn’t appreciate Nature. Except maybe not so early in the day.

He yawned. This was definitely the prettiest site he’d ever assessed. It lay adjacent to one of Tennessee’s minimally staffed state parks and in the same historic tract as Ray Boone’s property.

Ray Boone. After hearing about the deal his buddy Buck Baylor got in Bedlowe’s last construction, he’d called Parker’s office. He wanted in on the action, he said. His land was in the same general area as Baylor’s, and there was a lot more of it. He’d sell Bedlowe all of it for the right price. Help get some of his neighbors to sell, too. That comment and the coordinates of the property got Aaron’s attention.

One more development, located right where Remainder met the Harpeth River was the final piece Aaron Bedlowe needed to achieve his dream. With a development there his loosely scribed circle in Middle Tennessee would be complete. Then he could add the crowning jewel: a country music theme park to replace the now-defunct Opryland.

Parker swatted at the gnats storming his pants leg. Yep, Ray’s desire to sell was all the opportunity he and Aaron Bedlowe needed. Now he was in Remainder laying groundwork to begin purchasing the land needed to make this project a reality. It was going to take an awful lot of the land making up Remainder to complete Aaron’s project.

A bird called across the river. The West Harpeth and its tributaries provided attractive recreation areas. Nashville was literally just up the pike with its self-proclaimed world-class library, Printers Alley boogie bars, Music Row’s recording studios, and theaters, symphony, museums and universities. Shopping, too, of course, although every Bedlowe development featured their own shops.

Wilson hitched a pantsleg and paced off waterfront, making notes on his clipboard, tally marks and comments using his own personal grading system. He smiled as he wrote. Docks, paddleboats, canoe rental. Mixed housing, detached single-family residences and zero-lotline condos. What else?

He eyeballed the heights of the trees and scribbled down numbers. Twisting around for a better look, he added ‘boat shop.’ What about tent sites? Not a requirement, but this area seemed to call out for them. It might be a good addition. Maybe in a riverside park with the paddleboats and swimming area.

There was a time when Wilson Parker looked at a tent as just another place to live. Back when his father was sent to jail, before his mom developed her own understanding of numbers and how to play them. Once she’d earned her degree and built a reputation as a crack accountant, he’d never had to consider even setting foot near a tent again. Until now.

Okay. Enough thinking about his morning. He needed to call Aaron and make sure he understood how important it was to do this his way. If any deal required the Wilson Touch, this one did., However, he wanted to be at the site when he made the call. It would help him keep his focus.

Replacing his shoe, he headed back up route 70A the way he’d come in this morning. Past the giant maple he’d already made up his mind to preserve. Past the signpost, a sturdy plywood board mounted on two equally sturdy pipes cemented in the ground, painted white with the name and population – a thousand something, he noted – in black letters. Past the bend that snaked into a double curve embracing a faded barn, its yawning door ready to catch whatever cars didn’t make the curve in time. A window box of pansies hung off the barn wall, and dried cornstalks leaned against it. A mountain of pumpkins loomed just beyond, a staked cardboard sign offering ‘punkins’ for sale.’ On out route 70A until he was back at what he knew was the site of Aaron Bedlowe’s new development.

He rolled to a stop at the flat area just off the pavement. The evaluation sheet, a big circled 91 at the top, screamed at him to call Aaron. He got out and leaned against the car, fingering his cell, glancing back at that blaring 91. Why was he hesitating?

He savored the quiet of a site before the frantic activity began. At the same time the back of his brain was fighting the disquieting news Francesca had shared that hinted this might not be as simple as he’d assumed. It really wasn’t that big a deal; he’d dealt with reluctant sellers before. He’d just counted on Boone’s and Baylor’s eagerness to sell as being representative of the area’s inhabitants. This could be such a good place.

He heard a bird of prey overhead, screeing. Was that a falcon? Or a hawk? The cry was a lonely one. It suited the scenery. He wondered if it would remain. Sometimes the birds stayed, adapting to more urbanized habitats.

Parker liked loners. Animals like falcons. Wolves. Tigers. He felt a certain kinship with them, because he’d always been one, it seemed.

Never one to pal around with the guys. High school girls overlooking him, shamelessly discussing their crushes with him, oblivious to the ardor he felt towards any of them. The few he’d dated had dropped him, sometimes without notification. The exception was Leeza. She at least had the fortitude to tell him that they could no longer date, and why. Thankfully it had less to do with him and more to do with her own future plans. They’d parted friends, Wilson no nearer to having a lasting relationship, but at least able to respect her.

Leeza! That was who Gwanyca reminded him of. They shared the same smile and something else, that nurturing sort of quality. That was it. Funny.

He wondered what their reaction, either of them, would be to his mission here. Would Leeza appreciate what he was doing with his life? What would Gwanyca say as he started buying up property? Did she have any to sell?

Which brought him back to the question: who had a more accurate view of the situation, Francesca or Ray Boone? And that brought him right back to Aaron. He opened his phone.

Aaron! It’s Parker. I wanted to get back with you before the day was out.

What about?

I didn’t get to meet with Boone. He never showed. I still have to see what leads he may have on other -

Never mind that. What else?

Wilson could hear the pencil-tapping, the buzz of Aaron’s suppressed energy. There seemed to be some anger under it this time.

Aaron, I just hope you understand how I go about this. It will help our long-term advantage to take our time, build up good will, before we start trying to buy up too much land at once.

Parker. What about my theme park? What if we start work on that right away? Give the locals something to get excited about?

Oh, they’d get excited all right.

If Wilson didn’t know what made Aaron Bedlowe tick, if he didn’t have his own passion about making homes for people, he’d think Aaron was a greedy bastard instead of just an impatient one.

Well, I don’t think there’ll be any extraordinary expense in putting the theme park here, he began slowly. The land comes up from the river immediately, out of reach of the floodwaters, but it’s still nothing the earthmovers can’t handle. It’s actually better than the old Opryland site on the Cumberland.

He could feel Aaron’s pleasure, and rushed on

According to my figures, there should be over a thousand acres to purchase. Did I tell you before, part of the area is bounded by a state park, not to mention a Cherokee reservation? That means no one can take away the scenery, or get in the way of it either.

See, that’s what I’m talkin’ about! Now if we get busy and get some equipment down there, everyone will see we mean business -

Aaron, not yet.

What? Why not?

Just, not yet. I need to reach these people, make them feel confident in what we’re doing. We can’t just show up on their doorstep ready to roll. It won’t go well.

Hey, I know you’re the expert, but I can’t wait forever.

It won’t be forever, Aaron. Just give me some time to maneuver. I’ve made some purchases already, kind of quietly. We just have to be discreet. Wilson made a face even as he said that. Discretion was not Aaron’s strong suit.

Aaron grunted. We’ve been saying you’re the best around here for a long time. Now’s your chance to prove it. You get me all the land in Remainder, and I’ll let you head up your own division. Put you ahead of everybody else, and you can pretty much run things the way you want. By February. Deal?

Wilson laughed. You’ve got a deal, Aaron. Of course, that was the deal anyway. I mean, I was going to get you the land regardless. Besides, what happens if I don’t? Do I lose my job?

There was a moment of hesitation. Aaron’s voice was far dryer when he spoke.

I’d say that makes a fair bet. You don’t deliver? You lose your job. You give me what I need? You’ve got your own division. Deal. Now, it sounds like I need to get to know these people. I’ll be at that town meeting or whatever it is tonight. He clicked off.

What the hell just happened here?

He snapped his phone shut, and headed back to his car, breathing deeply again, only this time it was to settle his nerves.

Without much effort, Aaron could manage to blow everything. Hell, at the rate he was steamrolling along, it wouldn’t take him any effort at all. And what was that deal thing about? Aaron Bedlowe didn’t make deals over people’s jobs.

He has to be kidding, right? Isn’t he?

Parker leaned against the hood of his car, taking one more look at the sweet clear sky, the trees beginning to take on the golden hue of fall, the long grass and rippling water.

I can make it happen, he thought as he climbed into the Camry. Despite Boone’s drinking and Aaron’s pushiness, I can make it happen.

He knew he was an outsider. If Francesca was right, he might have to work doubly hard.. He was going to have to get Remainder to accept him. That took prep work, and time. Aaron wasn’t leaving him much, and now his showing up at tonight’s meeting might be disastrous if Wilson didn’t get him under control. But he would. If he had to wrestle him to the ground and stuff some of Francesca’s pie in his mouth.

He backed out his car, smiling. He wouldn’t have to worry about whether Aaron was serious about his job or not.

Remainder had choices, but he knew it couldn’t resist. Ultimately it would succumb. First to the charm of the Wilson Touch, then the blade of the Bedlowe bulldozer.

Nah, he wouldn’t have to worry at all.

Chapter 2

Ty

Computer user: Ty Cummins

10/21/2002 logon 07:42:00

Inbox: 1 messages, 0 unread

From: Cara [goldCarat*yahoo.com]

Subject: homework assignment

Date: October 21, 2002

To: Ty Cummins [littleguy*yahoo.com]

Hey Ty,

Here’s the link for my stuff. It’s not too great, but tell me what you think. Is it okay?

5raiders8.comcast.org/artgallery.html

I’ll be so glad when we get our own computer. It’s so nice of your dad to buy them for everyone. Mama almost didn’t accept. I’m so glad she did. I got in trouble the other day when I checked email in the library. It’ll be so great when I can email from the café.

See you tonight. We’re bringing food again.

Cara

There was a clatter from the hallway. A door waggled and slammed, and thirteen-year-old Ty Cummins clomped into the room, a science book in one arm and a lop-sided model in the other. Both things hit the kitchen table with the rush of jetsam washing ashore on the incoming tide. Ty slid into his seat with the same motion.

Breakfast, he announced.

Good morning to you, too, son, Lyle said from his seat at the head of the scarred maple table, a mock frown on his brow.

Hi, Dad, Ty mumbled.

Science project?

Well, yeah. Ty’s eyes went to his mother – who was also his teacher. Many of Remainder’s children were home-schooled.

You want eggs this morning? Jean asked, headed