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The list of recent property transactions provided by Kate’s new friend Evan included refinances and transfers between individuals Marge knew—no mysterious corporations, no sinister plots.
Since neither the Missouri nor Delaware agents from Marge’s notes had returned Kate’s calls, she decided a stroll down to the Sammy Lane Resort was in order.
As she passed the cottages next to the pool area, she recognized a man carrying a large toolbox. “You’re Darin Smith. Do you double as the maintenance man?” she asked.
“One of the perks of being an owner,” he said. “I haven’t seen you, Kate, since I was on the Planning and Zoning Commission a few years ago.”
“Don’t you wish you were on it now with all the development?”
“Not on your life.”
“You know, when I was a young girl my family would spend a day or two here in that cottage by the pool. My mom called it our little vacation.”
“Did you want to rent it for old time’s sake? I just fixed the plumbing for the umpteenth time, but it’s ready for occupancy.”
Kate laughed, but considered the idea for a second—perhaps a romantic weekend for her and Tom. She shook off the idea as a bit impetuous.
“Thanks, maybe someday. I do have a few questions, if you have time.”
“Depends. Am I going to read about it in the newspaper?”
“You never know,” she said with the sweetest grin she could muster.
“Let’s go to the office and get out of this blustery wind.”
Kate followed for a short distance, then stopped and turned her attention across Lake Taneycomo. The Candlestick Inn, situated on top of the bluff, was her mother’s favorite restaurant. It seems impossible she’s been gone almost twelve years.
She pulled her sweater close against the cool breeze and caught up with Darin. “Must be amazing to own this resort,” she said.
“Most of the time. It can be a challenge, but Dad’s still around to come to my rescue.”
“I’m writing a series of articles about Branson’s history. Sammy Lane Resort is an important part of that. You should be proud.”
“We are. We’ve been around for a while. We have many regular visitors, but new folks come all seasons.”
“My parents brought us maybe twice a year, even though we lived in town.”
“You probably don’t remember, but I went to school with your brother. RJ was a year behind me, but we played baseball together in middle school. To be honest, I had a crush on his little sister.”
Kate fidgeted in the chair and glanced out the window. She knew without a mirror that the freckles on her face were emphasized by a blush.
“I’m glad you didn’t bring up that fact at the planning meetings. RJ took no prisoners when it came to teasing me about you.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to embarrass you.”
“That’s okay. Good memories. It was hard on our family when he was killed in the boating accident.”
“I know your father blamed himself, but there was nothing he could have done.”
“It was my mother who got us through that tragedy. But we’re okay now, I suppose.”
Darin smiled and said, “I’m sure that’s not what you came to discuss with me.”
“First of all, I wanted to see if the resort was still the same, still in good hands.”
“What’s your verdict?”
“Yes, on both counts. But I also wanted to ask you about a rumor I heard.”
“Must be exhausting to check out all the rumors in a small town like Branson.”
“I rather enjoy it. I hope this one isn’t true.”
“Sounds ominous,” he said, widening his eyes and smirking.
“It is if you’re planning to sell the resort.”
Darin snickered. “That’s the rumor? I can officially take that one off the circuit.”
“But someone did approach you about selling. That’s what I heard.”
“Correct. But this resort has been our family business for decades. We won’t sell.”
“Can you tell me about the person who made the offer?”
“It was more of an inquiry to see if we’d be open to the idea. It was a short conversation. The man was from out of town ... way out of town. I’m talking big city. He gave me a card. I can see if I still have it.”
“That would be great.”
Darin rummaged through a side drawer on his desk then searched the drawer below it. “I know it’s here. I’ve been called a packrat. Never throw anything away. The man was wearing a five-hundred-dollar suit. His nails were manicured. Around thirty-five years old, I’d say. Very not-Branson. He said he represented a potential buyer.”
“Did he say who?”
Darin slammed the third drawer and shouted, “Found it.”
Kate took the card and wrote the information down in her notebook. The company name—handwritten on the back—matched the name Marge had been given. The name on the front was a new one. It didn’t match the agent listed with Missouri or Delaware.
“Thanks,” she said, returning the card.
“To answer your question, no, he didn’t say who the buyer was. He told me he represented some company. I asked him to write the name on the back. I guess that’s the point of using an agent from out of town.”
Darin walked Kate to the north side of the resort at Main Street. She thanked him for his time and asked him to contact her if anything else happened, and then walked toward the marina. The dock owner was tending one of the slips, helping a fisherman cast off.
“My father would say this is a great day to be out on the lake,” she said.
“And he would be correct.” The man in his late forties, Kate guessed, with an outgoing personality and warm smile, offered a strong Midwestern handshake. “Hi, I’m Jake Forester.”
She handed him her card as she introduced herself and explained the series of articles she was writing.
“Nice to meet you. I’m not sure how much I can help. I’ve only been here a year.”
“Let’s start with why you chose a boat dock in Branson, Missouri.”
“You might say it’s been a dream of mine for a while. When this business became available, we grabbed it.”
“How’d you hear about it?”
“Like a lot of people who’ve moved to Branson, we vacationed in the area for years.”
“Timing’s everything,” Kate said. “Any plans to change the name?”
“Nope. Scotty’s Trout Dock suits it.”
“I don’t suppose anyone has approached you about selling.”
“Funny you mention that. Some big city lawyer-type spoke to my wife when I was out one afternoon several weeks ago. She told him it was no longer available.”
“Do you remember his name? Maybe he left a card.”
“If he did, we tossed it. Like I said, this has been a dream for a while. I don’t intend to sell it any time soon.”
Kate continued walking along the lakefront and spoke to several business owners. They told similar stories about turning down offers to sell. She considered knocking on doors of private residences but decided to discuss it with Marge first.
Commercial Street was bustling with tourists and locals, alike, visiting crafts fair booths. She stopped by Connarde Realty and was surprised to see a poster-size blowup of her first article, complete with Etta’s picture. Etta and her volunteer friends were positioned in the entryway behind a display table covered with memorabilia. Small space heaters blazed at either end of the table.
“You ladies seem cozy,” Kate said.
“Looks can be deceiving,” one of the older women said.
“Lots of people milling around,” Kate remarked.
“We’ve had lots of drop-ins who want to meet the famous lady you created in your articles,” Etta said. “I told them she was run out of town on a rail.”
One of the volunteers pointed her finger at Etta. “Now, don’t be modest. You did after all have the idea. And you did nurture this event every year for many decades.”
“Well, if this year is a success, we can thank Kate for all the publicity,” Etta said.
“Amen to that,” Marge said, emerging from the back room with a large thermos.
“Just doing my job, ladies. And speaking of that, do you have a minute, Margie?”
Margie’s office was small but tastefully decorated, including several personal awards and family pictures. A framed photo of Roger and Marge at a recent Chamber of Commerce event sat next to the phone. It was good to see her father having such a good time. Marge smiled toward the photo, and then handed Kate a mug of coffee before sitting in a nearby chair.
“Great picture of your dad.”
“You know, he whistles all the time now. I remember when I was a kid he was always whistling, and it really annoyed me. He resumed the habit when you two started dating. Now he’s in this persistently happy mood.”
A rosy blush bloomed across Marge’s cheeks.
“Yes. It is all your fault. But I forgive you.”
“So, what did you want to discuss?”
“I spoke to a few of the owners on the lakefront. None of them knew about others being approached. The mysterious out-of-towner ... his name is Kyle Henderson ... didn’t press the issue, merely asked if they were interested in selling. He didn’t reveal who the actual buyer was, although he did tell Darin Smith the name of the company he represented. It was the one that we checked out in Missouri and Delaware. Incidentally, neither registered agent has returned my call. I got Henderson’s voicemail too.”
“Maybe one of them will call you back.”
“I didn’t leave a message for Henderson. It occurred to me I might want to bend the truth a bit when I talk to him. You know, keep the newspaper out of the conversation.”
“Sounds devious. Good idea though.”
“I wanted to ask you about the residential owners in the area. Have you heard anything? What’s the best approach to find out about offers?”
“I suppose that would be for me to do my job. Any good realtor is constantly looking for listings. The only way you find out if someone wants to sell is to ask. People will be much less suspicious of my inquiries. Nothing personal, dear. I’ll see what I can find out.”
“Something bothers me about Larry Allen,” Kate confided.
“Jack Brighton’s grandson?”
“He cleared that lot where the skeleton was found but won’t say why. He claims his grandfather was going to replace some buildings for Etta. But when I asked Brighton about the lot, he was clueless, not to mention angry, about the clearing.”
“Sounds like a bit of miscommunication. But I agree with your misgivings about Allen. I’ve had some bad experiences with him on previous sales. One was so ugly, I had to ask for Jack’s help.”
“Jack?”
“We’re acquaintances.”
“Very mysterious,” Kate said.
“My former husband was involved.”
Kate nodded, even though she had no idea what Marge meant—the subject of a future conversation, perhaps. “I’m not sure what’s going on, but if folks are interested in buying lakefront property, there has to be a reason.”
“Maybe they’re simply checking things out,” Marge offered. “Branson has been in the news lately. Most of the attention has been for the land on West 76 with all the new theaters and hotels. Could be some sharp real estate tycoon wants to see what else is available.”
“You may be right, but I’m going to see what I can find out at City Hall in the morning, not that they’ll tell me anything willingly. But the rumor mill is always abuzz with something.”
Marge walked Kate to the front of the building. “This is exciting. You investigative reporters must be on a constant adrenalin high.”
“It comes and goes, trust me.”