Red Clover (12 page)

Lee’s expertise wasn’t in agricultural crops, so he figured it was some grain or vegetable to which he had never been exposed. Curious as to how much had been planted, he kicked at the snow until all four edges of the field were revealed—roughly an acre. He reexamined the roots he had pulled up and then stuck them in his back pocket.

5. Identify crop in northeast corner.

Instead of driving home, Lee headed west, to the inn. When he walked in, he heard a song by Heart, a band that was starting to grow on him, playing on the jukebox.

In a wood full of princes

Freedom is a kiss

But the prince hides his face

From dreams in the mist

“Hey, Soc, what’s crackalackin’?”

“Not too much, CJ.”

“Regular brewski?”

“Sure,” he responded, feeling like one of the guys...until he almost missed catching the beer CJ slid down the bar.

“Nice save, goober.”

Very funny.

Thirty minutes passed before CJ got back to him. “Another one?”

Lee responded with a nod.

When she returned with the beer, he asked, “Do you know anyone from Harvard?”

She stared at him for a few seconds. “Next question.”

“Just asking.”

“I know some people.”

“By any chance, do you know Sheriff DeRam?”

CJ looked past him, at something far off...way far off.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to—”

She walked away before he could finish his sentence.

Lee slipped out of the bar without drinking the rest of his beer, wishing he hadn’t asked her the question. The last thing he wanted to do was alienate his only friend.

* * *

It didn’t take long for Lee to discover he didn’t have much choice in architects if he was to stay local. In fact, the closest one who would even consider a small project like the one he had in mind was in Rockford, and he wasn’t thrilled about coming all the way to Harvard to see the property. It was only after Lee said he would pay him for his travel time, gas, and any other expenses he incurred that he agreed to do it.

Dennis Freborg, President of Freborg and Sons Architects, met Lee on his property the following week. He brought with him his grown son, David; five-year-old grandson, Duane; and his German shepherd, Gunther.

Lee led them to the northwest corner of the property where he pictured building the house. “What do you think?” he asked Dennis.

“I like the location. It has high elevation, and there’s the stream and all. It could be quite charming, but have you thought about water, your septic system, and utilities, not to mention a long driveway. One good snow, and you could be grounded for a while.”

Lee hadn’t thought about any of those things.

“Look, I can produce plans for any type of house you want, but you’ll have to figure out all these other things before you decide where to build it.”

“Can you recommend a good builder?”

“That I can do. Earl Lundberg is one of the best in the area. He’s reasonable, and he takes on small projects. I’ve worked a few jobs with him.”

They were heading back toward the road where the cars were parked when Gunther started running off toward the woods near where Lee had discovered the gate a few days earlier.

“Gunther!” Dennis shouted. The dog kept running.

“I’ll get him,” his son said. “C’mon Duane.”

Little Duane thought it great fun chasing after the dog, laughing his way through the tall grasses and shrubs, many of which were as tall as he was. Lee and Dennis followed them, walking more slowly.

“I haven’t seen Gunther run like that since he was on the force.”

“The force?”

“Gunther was a K-9 on the Chicago police force for five years. I took him in when he was ready to retire.”

“Really? What did he do there?”

“Search and rescue. Sniffing out bombs, dead bodies, drugs, accelerants, stuff like that.”

“Pretty impressive.”

When they reached the edge of the wooded area, David, Duane, and Gunther emerged from it, heading back toward them. David had Gunther by the collar.

“I’ve never seen him act like that,” David said. “He went berserk. Like maybe his training kicked in.”

“Gee, I hope there aren’t any dead bodies back there, Lee.”

Lee laughed. “I hope not!”

* * *

Lee met with the builder three days later to talk about the issues Dennis had raised. Lee liked him from the start, and after he answered all the questions Lee had gleaned from the book he had borrowed from the library, he felt Earl would be a good choice.

Lee asked him what he thought about building a log cabin.

Earl shook his head. “You’ll have nothing but problems, believe me. I wouldn’t recommend it. If you want something simple and different, how about an A-frame?”

“What’s an A-frame?”

Earl held up both hands, fingertips together, wrists apart. “Steep roofline that comes down close to the ground, like the letter A. Some would say they’re no longer in style, but I like building them. Not much living space, but what’s there is cozy. Ask Dennis about them.”

“Thanks, I will.”

When Lee got home, he was just entering the house through the garage when he heard the phone ringing. He waited to hear either Shaneta or Sonya’s voice but instead the phone continued to ring. When he reached the kitchen, he answered it.

“Winekoop residence.”

“Lee?”

“Mother?”

“Why are you answering the phone?”

CJ’s face appeared in his mind’s eye. “‘Cause I live here?”

“Where are Shaneta and Sonya?”

“I have no idea, Mother. I just walked in the door.”

“Where were you?”

He didn’t answer right away.

I’m twenty-six years old, almost twenty-seven, and I have to answer to her as to where I’ve been?

“I just got back from drinking all afternoon in town where I blew all my money in a poker game and then wound things up with a real nice hooker.”

“Lee! What’s gotten into you?”

“Sorry, Mother. That was just my attempt at a little humor. I was out, that’s all.”

“Why don’t you call me back when you can be a little less offensive.”

“I’m sorr—” Click. She had hung up.

11 | “Ditch the Rich Boy”

After considering several scenarios as to how he could pull off developing his land in complete secrecy, none of which seemed plausible, Lee decided he had to tell his parents about it. He called Stonebugger for guidance.

“Hello, Mr. Stone...bugger,” he stumbled over his name, pulling him back to his awkward teenage years when talking to adults made him so nervous he couldn’t always get the words out.

“Yes, Mr. Winekoop.” His voice sounded even more stilted than usual.

Lee asked him if it was permissible to tell his family about the inheritance of the land.

“Did you check to see what the trust document says?”

I wouldn’t have called you if I could decipher it myself, Scrooge.

“Yes, I did, but I would like your interpretation, if you don’t mind.”

Lee waited patiently while he listened to the sound of papers shuffling.

“Since the manner in which you acquired the land is not part and parcel to the terms and conditions of the trust, it would be permissible to tell others how you acquired it.”

A simple “yes” was all I needed
.

“And what about putting a house on it? Same thing?”

“Yes.”

His next call was to his mother.

“Hello, Mother?”

“Lee?”

“Yes, it’s me.”

“It is I.”

“It is I.” He pictured CJ rolling her eyes. “There’s something I need to get off my chest.”

“Are you in a less sarcastic state of mind today, dear?”

“Yes, and I’m sorry about the other day. I don’t know what got into me.”

“I’m listening.”

“After Uncle Nelson died, as you know, we all inherited a piece of his estate.”

“Yes, of course.”

“Well, I never divulged everything I inherited from him. I didn’t know if Bennett’s and Nelson’s inheritances were similar to mine, so I just never said anything.”

“What are you getting at, Lee?”

“Uncle Nelson left me some land not far from here, in Harvard, Illinois.” He waited for her response. It took several seconds.

“How much land, dear?”

“It’s 684 acres.”

“I wondered what had happened to his promised land.”

“His what land?”

“His promised land. That’s how he referred to it, but he never did reveal its exact location or what he was going to do with it. But I do remember the acreage for some reason. When he died, and it wasn’t mentioned in his will, I thought maybe he had sold it somewhere down the line.”

“What about Bennett and Nelson?”

“What about them?”

“Did they get anything beside the money?”

“No, just the five hundred thousand. That’s a large piece of land.”

“Yes, I know.” He paused. “I’ll make good use of it.”

“I hope so. Have you done any more thinking about what you want to do?”

“No, Mother. I’ve been thinking about the land.”

“Mm-hm.”

After they hung up, Lee wasn’t sure how to interpret his mother’s reaction to his telling her about the land. At the very least, he had expected her to comment on his receiving more from his uncle than his brothers had.

Lee went to the dictionary in the study and looked up “promised land.”

A longed-for place where complete satisfaction and happiness will be achieved.

The definition was a little too lofty to fully comprehend, but it did seem to fit in with the letter, Lee thought, especially his uncle’s statement about Lee’s doing something worthy with it. It surprised him to think Uncle Nelson had put that much thought, any thought at all, into giving him a piece of property he called the promised land, when he didn’t really know him. And why him and not his brothers?

He created a mental list of additional questions to ask Stonebugger.

* * *

Lee had never been inside a hardware store nor had he ever pushed a shopping cart. He felt lost strolling up and down the aisles, observing one foreign object after another, each aisle with a different unfamiliar look, feel, and smell.

After wandering the store for ten minutes, a salesman approached him and asked if he needed help finding anything.

“No, thanks.” He picked up a foot-long tool that had a jaw-like thing with teeth at one end and weighed a ton. The man didn’t go away. Lee turned the tool over to view the other side. The man still didn’t go away. He wondered if perhaps his Ivy League-style button-down shirt, khaki pants, and loafers gave off an
I really do need help
message, and that was why the salesman didn’t leave.

“Here’s the situation,” Lee said. “I have a couple miles of fence line with small signs attached every hundred feet or so. I’m not sure how to remove them.”

The man glanced down at the tool Lee held in his hands. “Well, for starters, not by using a pipe wrench.”

Lee put the tool back on the shelf.

“How are the signs attached?” the man asked.

“They have holes in each corner and a heavy metal thread has been twisted into them and attached to the fence.”

“Chain-link fence?”

“Pardon me.”

“Follow me.” The man led the way to the next aisle to a display of sample fencing. “Does it look like this?”

“Yes.” Chain-link. He would have to remember that.

“If you have a sign every hundred feet on two miles of fencing, that’s going to take a while to remove them by hand. Why do you want them removed?”

“I just acquired the land, and I want to remove the previous owner’s name.”

“May I make a suggestion?”

“Sure.”

“It would be a lot faster to paint over the name. Are the letters raised?”

“I’m not sure.”

“If they’re not raised, then the right color paint will cover the lettering so no one will be able to read it. And then you could always paint your own name on the signs if you want.”

“I could do that?”

“Wouldn’t be that hard. You could use a stencil.”

Lee’s expression must have screamed
I have no idea what you’re talking about.

“Follow me,” the man said.

They reached the ready-made stencils located on the other side of the store. The man picked up one that read PRIVATE PROPERTY.

“You could have something like this made with your name or whatever it is you want painted on the signs. One swipe of a paintbrush and you’ve got yourself a new sign.”

“Where would I go for that?”

“Let me ask you this. Do you like the idea of putting something new on the signs or would you rather remove them altogether?”

“I’m not sure.” The idea of branding his property appealed to him, but replacing his uncle’s initials with his, LOW, was out of the question, and the thought of painting
Winekoop
on all the signs seemed too...something.

“Know what I would do?”

Lee shook his head.

“I’d buy a pair of heavy-duty pliers, and then try removing the metal ties from one sign. See how long it takes and how it looks, and then do the math to estimate how long it would take to remove all of them. That could be your deciding factor. If you decide to leave them on, check to see if the letters are raised, in which case you can’t do much with them except cover them up with a coat of paint. But if they’re not, come back here, and by then I’ll have a contact for you to get a stencil made. Make sense?”

“Yes.”

They walked over to a display of pliers. The man picked up a large one and handed it to Lee. It was heavy and unwieldy. He was too embarrassed to ask the man how to use it.

“Is there anything else you need today?”