Renee Simons Special Edition (31 page)

Using the second key, she went inside. Her boot heels thudded on the marble floor of an entry hall large enough to hold a formal reception. Ahead, the carved and paneled mahogany staircase wound around to the upper floors.

"How could you have built this place, Great Grandfather, only to leave it without a backward glance?" Her voice bounced off the walls, shattering the silence.

Only Grandmother had yearned to see her old home vibrating with life again. She’d made Callie the guardian of her dream, filling her adolescent head with visions of cotillions and tea parties, of beautiful ladies and handsome gentlemen, of tapestry and brocade and lace at the windows. Never had they considered the dream might not come true. Callie refused to give in to that possibility, and moved on.

She opened the double doors to her right and stepped into the emptiness of what had once been the formal dining room.

"I do hope the French doors are still in place," Grandmother had said. "In spring, they lent a lovely, shimmering light to the room."

The floor-to-ceiling panels with their hand blown glass panes had survived intact, although after years of disuse, they needed some gentle persuasion to open. Callie went out onto the veranda and looked past a sandy meadow dotted with creosote and mesquite bushes to the piñon trees growing on the distant hillside. The dusty red desert choked a once luxurious garden that had taken years to establish and daily watering to maintain. Reclamation would have to wait until later on. If there was a later on.

On the second floor she went from room to empty room with pad and pen, making notes of needed repairs and imagining how each would look after being furnished. As she backed out, each door seemed to slam closed on another dream.

"Stop it,
Cal
," she muttered into the silence. "You'll make it happen." She had to. Too much depended on her success. Most specifically, her future.

Downstairs, she glanced at the entrance to what had been an enormous ballroom. She left the house without looking inside, simply securing the outside lock as she went.

She turned to find the sheriff leaning against his vehicle. The muscular arms folded across his broad chest strained the sleeves of his uniform, adding to an image of power despite his relaxed stance.

"How does the old girl look?" he asked.

"Why do you care?"

He shrugged. "Just curious."

"There's been a lot of damage," she said, "but nothing that can't be repaired."

"Seems like a waste of time."

"Not to me."

Just as she was beginning to resent his cocky attitude, some ghost of a thought tightened his lips. His forehead wrinkled and he rubbed the bridge of his nose as if in pain.

"Is there something wrong, Sheriff?"

He seemed to shake off whatever had troubled him and looked at her, a little vaguely at first, as if he'd forgotten she was there. Finally, he removed his sunglasses and focused his deep brown eyes on her. "Nope."

But there was obviously something she couldn’t quite put her finger on. She made a mental note. Here perhaps was something to be watched that might provide an edge.

She shrugged. "Then I guess you don't need me hanging around."

She climbed aboard the bike again and started the engine. Famished, she decided to use the remaining time to find a place for a leisurely dinner.

At seven o'clock, she knocked on the open door of a meeting room in Town Hall. Elvira whispered something to a portly man seated to her right, who motioned Callie inside. Three men and another woman completed the group at the table. The sheriff sat in an otherwise empty row of chairs. Callie took a deep breath and let it out slowly, welcoming the calming effect it brought. She couldn't afford to give in to jittery nerves. This meeting was too important.

"Evenin', Miss Patterson," the heavyset man said. “I’m Dex Chandler, mayor of this little detour through the
Land
of
Enchantment
. Elvira tells me you have some business with us.”

"Good evening, Mayor Chandler. Thanks for letting me speak to all of you.”

After introductions, the mayor asked, "What's on your mind?"

"I'm here to restore The Mansion and turn it into an inn for area tourists."

"We don't get ‘em in Blue Sky, Miz Patterson. Nothin' much to see here, frankly, and even if there was, I'm not sure we'd want a lot of strangers traipsin' around."

"Here, here," said one of the men.

Callie noticed a couple of heads nodding in agreement. Other board members listened without any apparent reaction. She continued despite the lack of encouraging signs.

"I've spoken to nearby artists and crafts people who are forced to compete in existing markets either up north in
Santa Fe
or down in
Albuquerque
. If we provided a supportive atmosphere in Blue Sky they would gladly exhibit here. Establishing such a market would give tourists a reason to patronize our galleries and boutiques, spending time and money before moving on to other tourist areas."

"Don't have no galleries or boutiques, either,” another voice countered.

"In the beginning, I'll provide space in The Mansion for graphic arts or sculptures." She glanced at Elvira. "And maybe we could find room in the Mercantile for crafts like weaving, pottery or works in glass. Later on, we could look at other buildings to restore.”

Callie glanced over at the sheriff. His arms had been draped over the backs of chairs to either side of him. Now he leaned forward in his seat with his arms resting on solidly muscled thighs and his hands clasped in front of him. A tiny smile turned up one corner of his mouth. Pleasure sparkled in his brown eyes. Wonder what that's all about, she thought, attributing her wildly erratic pulse to the prospect of finding room for negotiation. His cooperation could be as important as winning over the town fathers. More important, if he had any influence with the rest of his family.

"What if you can't develop a — what didya call it — a market?" The question came from a man whose name she'd heard but couldn't recall.

"My main goal is to restore the building and make it livable again. If we can’t stir up a tourist trade, I'll turn it into an artist's colony. In time, we could add storage and work spaces, maybe even a forge or kilns for potters and ovens for glass blowers.”

"But there's nothin’ here, not like
Santa Fe
or other cities. What makes you think the artists will choose Blue Sky?"

"The town will provide inspiration for them. Its place in this state’s history and the surviving ruins afford wonderful possibilities for the creative mind. And we'll make them feel welcome. In addition, we can piggyback on the success of other former mining towns that have found a way to bring in new business. Like
Madrid
has done, or Cerillos.”

"So you think you can get the public to stop, look and stay awhile," the mayor said.

"If we can capitalize on what's already here I believe we can bring new life to the town. And with a carefully planned advertising campaign we can attract the public. That's one of the things I did successfully in my other life."

Callie looked from face to face with a tiny sense of relief. The blank stares had been replaced by something more like interest. Only one woman seemed unmoved.

"Before we vote, I have something to say."