The two women disappeared through the swinging door leading into the kitchen. Karol, Aunt Stella, and I sat in silence until less than a minute later when they burst back into the room, Doris carrying the Mr. Coffee carafe and Mother carrying the remainder of Miss Melba’s caramel cake under the glass top of a cake plate.
“Here we go,” Doris sang, then began serving the coffee, beginning with Karol and making her way around the table.
When we’d all settled at the table and taken a bite of cake, Karol praised it to the skies and Aunt Stella said, “Melba’s cakes won blue ribbons back when the county fair was an annual event.”
I only had the vaguest of memories of the county fair.
Karol leaned back in her chair and crossed her legs, then looked up to the ceiling. “Wow. A remarkable fresco.”
“Worse for the wear, I’m afraid, but my hope is that with a good cleaning and a little restoration, we’ll be able to uncover the original pattern.”
“Stunning.” She looked back at the eyes watching her. “Well, why don’t I start the meeting off by telling you a little bit about myself ?”
“We’d like that,” I said.
“Let’s see . . . I’m originally from Fairbault, Minnesota— frigid north in the winter, as I remember it. But I moved to Vegas with my father after he and Mom divorced. I know, I know, you’re probably wondering why I didn’t stay with Mom. Well, I’ll tell you.” Karol sat up, picked up her fork, sliced off another bite of cake, then put it in her mouth and swallowed. “Mom decided two things the year she divorced Dad. One, to divorce Dad . . .” She took a sip of coffee. “And two, to move to Los Angeles and become a really big star.” Karol fanned her hands around her pretty face and cut her eyes upward as she said the last three words. Then she laughed.
“Anyone we know?” Doris asked. “Someone from the movies? Television?”
“Ever hear of Chuck Katz?”
We all paused and pondered. Finally I said, “The game show producer?”
Karol took another bite of cake and nodded. “Mmm. That’s him. He’s stepdaddy dearest. So, while Mom never got her star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame, she did manage to rub shoulders with some of the biggest names Tinsel Town had to offer.”
“Like who?” Doris asked, nearly slipping off the end of her chair.
Karol laughed again. “You name ’em, Mom’s had them over for dinner. Or cocktails.” She picked up her cup of coffee again and curled her little finger properly into the air.
We all laughed then. Except Mother, who added, “You never said where you were staying.”
“Oh. The Southern Hawk . . . that little inn near the university in Raymore. I guess the hawk is the university’s mascot? Anyway, it’s a room. In my job I stay in so many hotels and motels along the way, one begins to look pretty much like the other.”
“What is it exactly that you do, Karol?” I asked. “Maybe you can give some clarity as to what you plan to do for Cottonwood too.”
Karol’s blue eyes danced beneath dark lashes. “I’m so glad you’ve asked me that. Let’s get right to it. I work for a company called M Michaels. Ever hear of it?”
“They’re a land management and investment company.”
“That’s right. You’ve done your homework.”
“No, I just know . . . with my job . . . well, anyway, I’ve heard of them. I can’t really say I know much about them. Please, continue.”
Karol looked at the others at the table. “For those of you who don’t know, M Michaels is based out of Vegas.”
“I’m sorry to interrupt,” Doris said. “But what is a land management and investment company?” She reached over and sliced another piece of cake from the cake plate and plopped it onto the dessert dish before her.
“Good question, Doris. M Michaels—by the way, that’s short for Matthew and Mark Michaels. They’re brothers, co-owners— M Michaels finds properties and cities worthy of a little facelift and brings them back to life. They hire various companies—real estate developers and designers like your Jo-Lynn—who serve in a subcontractor role. I work as a coordinator for everyone in the mix.” She put her focus on me again. “The plan of the company, Jo-Lynn, is this: M Michaels wants to purchase each one of the abandoned houses here in Cottonwood. We’ll offer a good price, a fair price, to the owner and then most likely tear them down. Some of these houses are just begging to die anyway.” She gave a little nod. “We’ll start with the houses, but we’ll quickly move to Main Street.”
“And what about the houses where people live?”
“We’ll offer to fix them up. Get them up to the standard of housing we’ll be building. The look and feel of the newer houses will have the look and feel of an old Victorian, but obviously . . . the older ones . . . well, we’d need to do some work.”
It made sense to me. “And the businesses? The ones—one or two—that are still in existence?”
“Oh, not to worry. No one will lose their business. M Michaels is prepared to renovate and let them keep their property. In the end, it’s a good business decision because it will add to the whole. Does that make sense?”
“Yes. With the total renovation, Cottonwood will draw people, young and eager merchants, families with children. Cottonwood will be booming again in no time.”
“Exactly. We’ll fill the downtown area with antique shops— very big these days—and cafés and things like that.”
Doris raised her hand. “Explain this to me again. What will happen to people who live here already? Like Uncle Bob and Aunt Mae-Jo? When you renovate, will they be kicked out of their home? And, if so, what do you plan to do about them?”