Sintown Chronicles I: Behind Closed Doors (39 page)

“Are you saying I'm not beautiful, Victor Kimel?” joked the petite young lady seated to Tim's right.

“Susan, honey, you're absolutely the most beautiful attorney in Dot,” Vic replied sheepishly.

“What a compliment, seeing as how I'm the only attorney in Dot,” Susan sarcastically responded, pretending to pout. Turning her eyes away from her boyfriend she asked, “Sandy, have you changed your mind yet?”

“Changed my mind about what?"

“About finding out the sex of your baby."

“Only your sister, the good Doctor Mary Louise Honneycutt, knows, and if she tells anyone I'll evict her from that new clinic she loves so much."

“Not Honneycutt anymore,” reminded Tim. “It's Dr. McGee now."

“Why can't I remember she and the preacher are married? The ceremony was on my birthday. Looks like that would be easy to remember."

“I imagine you're hoping for a boy, Tim,” Susan suggested.

Tim's face turned very serious. “Not true. I do hope it is a healthy baby, and, if not, that God will help me be an exceptional father to an exceptional child."

Sandra didn't like the serious turn the conversation had taken. “Tim,” she said, “if you don't get on with it, I'm going to have to pee before you even get started."

“Okay,” Tim laughed. “The important item on the agenda this morning is the golf course, but does anyone have something else we need to discuss first?"

“We are fast approaching the time when we absolutely must begin to work seriously towards incorporating Dot,” Susan offered. “As more and more people move to our community we are going to need many services that Dollar Enterprises simply cannot afford to offer, and the more valuable Dot becomes as a tax base, the more likely it is that Charlotte will stretch out its greedy arms and annex us. They can do that without a popular vote, you know."

“That balloon won't float,” Sandra laughed, locking eyes momentarily with Tim.

Tim rolled his eyes toward the ceiling, then focused on the lovely attorney. “Susan, the first town meeting we held almost ended in disaster. Many of the people thought Sandy and I were going to propose incorporation. They were dead set against it."

“Hell, for a while I thought they were going to lynch Tim,” Sandra added.

“I know. I was present. Remember? I still insist we need to begin seriously planning for it. Education of our neighbors would be a major part of the plan,” Susan insisted.

“Now is not..."

Sandra interrupted Tim, knowing she would hear about it later. “Susan, go ahead and put together a position paper for us, but be sure to include a benefit comparison between incorporation and annexation by Charlotte. It might not be all that bad to become a part of the state's largest city."

“Tim,” said Bobby Elliott, the ebony-skinned former handyman turned trusted confidant to both Tim and Sandra Dollar. “Before we got onto the incorporation thing, Sandy mentioned the clinic. I made a tour yesterday of the building. I think it's beautiful. Carl did a great job with that remodeling effort, even if he is my brother."

Carl stood and made an exaggerated bow as those assembled applauded.

“I certainly agree,” Tim said. “I never thought that ancient hotel building could ever look so good."

“Last week we started cleaning up the old tobacco auction warehouse across from the church,” Carl said as he seated himself. “Most of the stuff in there is clearly trash, but there must be a dozen boxes full of old stamps. Was your uncle a stamp collector?"

“Not that I know of,” Tim replied. “As far as I know he spent all of his time making money for me to inherit. The only hobby he seemed to have was chasing skirts, and that didn't happen until my aunt died of cancer."

“You want us to throw the stamps out?"

“I don't think so. I'll get down there later today and take a look. We might find a collector who would like to buy them."

“Tim, I want to welcome Matt Dilson to our weekly meetings,” Sandra said.

Matt nodded in recognition of the applause. “Forgive me for not being able to stand and bow,” Matt laughed, “but it's just too damned hard to get out of this wheelchair."

“You and the Missus all settled in?” Tim asked.

“Yeah, thanks to Bobby. I'll tell you this. If all the houses in your development turn out as nice as the one you are letting us use, you won't have any trouble selling them."

“Sounds like another compliment for Brother Carl,” laughed Bobby.

“I'm also glad you have these meetings in your home, Mrs. Dollar. It's a much more relaxed atmosphere than meeting in some stuffy office complex,” Matt continued.

Sandy smiled broadly. “Tim loves this study and never passes up an opportunity to use it."

Tim chuckled. “She's right, Matt. When Sandy and I first saw the house we inherited, she fell in love with my uncle's library and I fell in love with this huge study. I've done very little to change it. We're glad to have you on board, Matt. Sandy and I think you are the perfect person to oversee our recreational complex."

“Yeah. Twenty odd years chasing crooks was great preparation for this job,” the former sheriff joked. “Seriously, I've been doing my homework. I think I can make a real contribution, and I appreciate the opportunity."

“I hate to rain on Carl's parade,” Sandra said, shifting in her chair and patting her stomach to calm the active fetus, but the idea of log cabins as rental units around Sunset Pond was mine, and I'm not at all pleased with the boxes that are currently being thrown up."

Carl looked shocked. “Mrs. Dollar, you went with us to Knoxville and approved the demo units. What they are putting up is exactly what we ordered."

“Not true, Mr. Elliott,” Sandra replied with an icy emphasis on the word “mister.” She opened the folder in front of her and held up a large photograph. “Please note, Mr. Elliott, that the foundation in the photograph is made of mountain rock. The material they are using on our units is concrete blocks. The chinks in the photograph are clay. God only knows what they are using on our units. It looks like wood putty. While the photo doesn't show it, the internal fireplace on the model was also made of mountain rock. I know they haven't started building the fireplaces yet, but judging from the huge delivery of bricks, I would guess they are planning to use brick instead of rock."

“I'll check on it as soon as the meeting is over."

“One more thing, Mr. Elliott. If you don't start calling me Sandy, as I have asked you to at least a dozen times, I am going to continue calling you Mr. Elliott."

“Sorry."

“Carl, I don't like the logs they are using,” Tim said. “They're too perfect. They look more like huge dowels than tree trunks."

“I asked about that. They tell me they'll look better after they've weathered a bit."

“I think weathering may solve the appearance problem of the chink material they are using too,” Matt volunteered. “The clubhouse was the first log building erected, and if you'll notice, the chinking on it is beginning to look like clay, except that it's not pulling away from the logs the way clay would."

Carl nodded, more in appreciation for help in getting off the hot seat than in agreement.

“I think that is a good lead-in to today's main topic of discussion. The clubhouse is nearly complete and I believe that the grading of the courses is right on schedule. What did you folks learn on your trip to Tanglewood Park in Winston-Salem?"

“I learned that I can consistently add twenty yards to my drives by shifting my weight from my left foot to my right during the swing,” Vic volunteered.

Susan leaned forward and with a big grin on her face said, “Ever since I started playing golf I have heard the adage, ‘It's not how you drive, but how you arrive.’ Big Willie made a believer out of me. He forced me to back off on my swing and concentrate on placement rather than distance. I tied you on the back nine you know, Vic."

“Luck,” Vic laughed.

“Wait a minute,” Tim interrupted. “I thought you guys were meeting with the greens-keeper, not the pro."

“Big Willie is the greens-keeper,” Matt replied. “He's a hell of a golfer too. Said he tried the pro tour for a while but couldn't keep up with the big boys."

“I was amazed at how much is involved in daily maintenance of a golf course. I had no idea,” Susan commented. “If we don't find someone as good as Big Willie for our operation, we're in for a heap of trouble."

“I agree,” Matt added.

“Tim,” Vic offered. “We did a lot of thinking out loud on the trip back. Big Willie has a twenty-acre grass nursery at Tanglewood where he grows both fairway and putting green grass. Instead of seeding damaged areas on the course, they transplant sod. If we start a similar nursery in the next month or two, we could sod our fairways and greens and open the courses a year earlier than planned."

“What we decided to recommend to you and Sandy is that we do exactly that. We should hire somebody like Big Willie to come to work for us now, get that nursery started right away, and oversee the major building of the courses,” Matt said.

“We have a turnkey contract with Golf Design, USA. I don't think we need anybody to oversee their work,” Tim commented.

“Where's your memory, Tim?” asked Sandy, raring back in her chair for emphasis. “If Bobby hadn't stopped them, they would have cut down five acres of timber needlessly, and Carl stopped them from using metal pipes that would rust in the irrigation system. If people who know nothing about golf course construction can catch major errors like these, what errors would a man like this Big Willie catch?"

“Simmer down, little mother,” Tim grinned. “I know when to eat crow."

“Then you agree we should consider this approach?” Matt asked, looking at Sandra Dollar.

Before his wife could respond, Tim asked, “What does this Big Willie you're all so impressed with look like?"

The three who had met Big Willie looked at each other for a moment. “If his hair was white and he wore a beard, he would look something like Santa Claus,” Matt volunteered.

“Yeah,” Vic laughed, “if he had white hair, a beard and his skin were white."

Susan chimed in, “Think of a clean shaven black Santa with black hair and who chews on an unlit cigar instead of a pipe."

“Thanks for nothing,” Tim replied. “You all seem favorably impressed with Santa Claus. Do you think there is any chance we might steal him away from Tanglewood?"

“I wish,” said Susan.

“He seems to be content where he is,” agreed Vic.

“Maybe,” said Matt.

All eyes turned towards the former sheriff.

“Before the, uh, accident, I used to play a little golf,” he continued. “Every course needs a professional. Big Willie made a point of telling us that when he left the tour he tried to get a club pro job. A club pro looks after tee times, a retail golf shop, cart rentals, lessons and in general butters up the customers to keep them coming back. We saw that Big Willie is a good teacher, he's personable, and, hell, anybody can do the rest. I think we might have a chance at Big Willie if we offered him the club pro job, and make course maintenance part of the job description."

“What would we have to pay him?” Tim asked.

Bobby laughed. “I remember when Tim thought he had so much money he didn't have to worry about costs."

“You can blame that on me,” Vic joked, patting himself on the back. “The name of the game is profit, and you can't make a profit unless you control costs."

“Yes,” Tim smiled. “I'm learning, but I remind you all that the cheapest way is not always the most profitable way in the long run. If this Big Willie fellow is as good as you say he is, he's worth top dollar, whatever that is."

“I don't honestly have any idea,” responded Matt, but I'll find out and make a recommendation next week."

“Lady and gentlemen,” Sandy said as she pushed back from the table, “Tim Junior here is using my bladder either for a drum or a football and I can't stand it much longer. You'll have to excuse me."

Everyone understood that this was the signal that the meeting was over and they stood as Susan helped Sandy to her feet.

“When's the baby due, Mrs. Dollar?” Carl asked.

“The doctor says on or about July 15
^th
, Mr. Elliott,” Sandra replied.

“But that was last week."

“Tell me about it,” Sandra laughed.

“How's the novel coming, Sandy?” Susan inquired.

“I sent it off to a prospective agent last week,” Sandy answered, rubbing her extended stomach. “His brochure says he will respond in six to eight weeks. Keep your fingers crossed."

“I knew Sandy wrote book reviews for the
Dot Courier
and the
Charlotte Observer
, but I didn't know she wrote novels,” Matt commented to Susan as Vic pushed his wheelchair towards the study door.

“It's extremely good, I think. She let me read the second draft of the manuscript. Men should really like it."

Before Matt could ask, “Why?” Tim, who had caught up with them said, “She won't let me read it. She says I'm too young and innocent."

“You missed a spot,” Big Willie growled.

Following his boss’ pointing finger Bo aimed the high-pressure water hose at the offending spot and shouted, “Take that, you dirty rat,” as water and grass splashed off the axle of the center reel in the last row of the huge fairway mowing machine.

Bo caught the towel tossed by Big Willie and began wiping down the front end of the expensive apparatus. “I was concentrating so hard on learning to swing a golf club last night that I forgot to ask how the tour turned out."

“Nice people,” Big Willie responded as he began the drying process on the rear of the mower. “They certainly have big plans. You were right about letting them see course maintenance in progress. I hope they haven't bitten off more than they can chew."

Bo wiped perspiration from his forehead with the now damp towel. “What do you mean?"

“Well, they have all kinds of projects going. They're in love with ideas, but as far as I can tell they don't have anybody with practical experience and know-how. Damn, it's hot this afternoon."

“Humdidity's high too,” Bo joked. “Makes it feel worse than it really is."