Songbird Season Read online

  Monday afternoon, however, brought an unexpected visitor. It was the second day of Melinda’s weekend, and she was trying to catch up on her compost orders before a line of thunderstorms moved through in a few hours. It was a sweltering, humid day, more like July than early May, and she was as irritable as she was dirty. She had just parked Lizzie by the garage and dropped the tailgate when she spied an unfamiliar truck humming up the lane.

  “Who is it now?” she asked Sunny and Stormy, who were lounging on the picnic table with their fuzzy stomachs bared to what little breeze was stirring. They didn’t move at the sound of her voice, but Sunny opened one eye long enough to take in what surely was a horrible sight: Her unwashed hair was escaping from its frazzled bun, and her long-sleeved tee shirt and frayed-hem jeans were smeared with scum. Those yellow boots she’d bought at Prosper Hardware were too cute for this job, and had been left on the back porch in favor of a pair of Horace’s black buckle-ups.

  The gray truck seemed to be of no significance to the sheep, who barely looked up from their buffet of lush grass. They didn’t recognize the vehicle, and neither did Melinda. The man gave a big wave as he angled the truck in by the garage. There was a logo on the door, something with an airplane and a sunrise over a field.

  “If this is some salesman, he’s going to wish he never turned up this lane.” She sighed with irritation and tossed away her orange work gloves. “I’ve got no patience for this today. None.”

  A man no more than forty with a friendly grin and overly white teeth stepped out of the cab. His sandy-blonde hair showed only a slight graying at the temples, which lent a distinguished air to his spotless light-blue polo shirt and smartly pressed khakis.

  Oh, no. Melinda groaned inside. I was right.

  “Good afternoon, I’m Chase Thompson. Are you the owner of this lovely acreage?”

  He extended his hand and Melinda reluctantly took it. His grip was strong and confident but when he pulled his palm away, it was no longer clean. He almost wiped it on his pale khakis, but stopped just in time.

  “I am.” Melinda tried to stand taller despite the knot forming in her lower back. The sooner she could get this guy out of her yard, the better. “Can I help you with something? As you can see, I’m sort of busy here.”

  “Yes, ma’am, I can see that. I promise I won’t take up much of your time.”

  He opened the truck’s door and, even though he turned his back to her, Melinda still saw him rub his hands on a towel before he reached for the digital tablet waiting on the seat. She had to give him points for being prepared.

  “My family’s aviation company provides several services to farmers in this part of the state. One of our specialties is …”

  “I’m sorry.” Melinda tried to keep the irritation out of her voice. “I don’t need my crops sprinkled, or dusted, or whatever they call it. I’m not a real farmer. I only have these two acres here, the house and the animals.” The roar of the truck had brought Hobo out of the windbreak, and he now sprinted across the worked-up garden plot to reach her side.

  “Look at that sweet dog!” Chase grinned but made no attempt to pet Hobo, who thumped his tail in greeting. Not all pups were as sweet at Hobo, and Chase had probably learned that the hard way.

  “Well, you’re right, we do provide aerial application of our crop-protection products. That’s most of our business, actually. But we also contract with a photographer to capture from-the-sky images of the homesteads in our area. Wouldn’t you know it, we happened to be out this way late last summer, and I just wanted to show you something really special.”

  He slid a finger across the tablet’s screen. “You have a beautiful little acreage here, Mrs. …”

  “It’s Miss,” she mumbled, hoping her lack of enthusiasm would drive him away. “Miss Foster. Melinda, actually.”

  “Melinda, it’s nice to meet you.” Another blazing smile. “Just a second, and I’ll have this uploaded so you can enjoy it.”

  Aerial photos showcased a farmhouse and its outbuildings, trees and pastures from a unique perspective. Grandpa and Grandma Foster had proudly displayed such a shot of their farm, and Melinda had to admit she was curious at what this crew’s lens had captured.

  She gasped with delight at what she saw. The acreage’s charm was on full display. The plane had swooped in from the east, catching the little farm from its best angle. There was the house … her house! … in the center of the frame, viewed from high enough up that you couldn’t see how worn the shingles were, or that the paint was starting to peel from the window frames. The barn stood proudly across the driveway and the machine shed and chicken house posed in the back, cozy against their sheltering windbreak. The trees’ canopies were lush and full, the garden a multi-hued patchwork of green behind the garage. Miniature sheep dotted the pasture. And there, along the side of the driveway, was a little blob of dark and white that had to be Hobo.

  How wonderful this print would look in the dining room! She could border it with a cream mat, and get an oak frame that matched the woodwork …

  “Quite the shot, isn’t it?” Like any good salesman, Chase knew when to lay on the charm. “It was one of the best we got that day, for sure. I just love the steep lines of your house’s roof, it has that cottage-like warmth about it. And these trees! I bet this place is even prettier in the fall.”

  “It is. But all that cuteness comes with a lot of upkeep.” Melinda didn’t know why she was telling Chase all this, but was too tired to give it much thought.

  “I’ve been here almost a year now, I rented it at first. I bought it last month, and you won’t believe how much needs to be done. I just love this place so much, but I’ve got a whole list of … wait. If you were in the plane when this was taken, and you weren’t the photographer …”

  “Yep, I’ve got my pilot’s license. Been flying with my dad since I was a kid. It’s a great way to see the countryside, all the fields and the little towns and …” He stopped short and got back on script. “Melinda, you’ll be glad to know we’re running a special right now on these prints.”

  She thought of her cash box in the kitchen, and found herself suddenly enthusiastic. The print was so beautiful, and it would look wonderful on her wall.

  But her shoulders slumped with disappointment when she heard the price. And then, she got mad. Really mad.

  “How much? And that’s a deal? Off of what?”

  “It’s so hard to put a price on the memories captured by these photos,” Chase said smoothly, dodging her questions. “They’re family heirlooms, meant to be handed down …”

  “Let me guess, ‘from generation to generation.’” Melinda snapped off the ends of her words as she finished his sentence. “Forget it! I have a background in marketing, so you can’t sugarcoat this to me. It’s a rip-off, plain and simple.”

  She stomped back to Lizzie, waving Chase away with her hands. Then she turned around again.

  “That much money! For one photo! I can’t believe anyone …”

  “But you’re getting so much more than the photo itself. Our team of editors will spend hours refining your image. We’ll bring out all your home’s best features, clear away any imperfections that might distract from this timeless moment.”

  “You going to put new shingles on my roof, then?” Melinda crawled into the back of the truck and slid the next dirty bucket toward Lizzie’s tailgate, her arms protesting with every push. “Maybe add a money tree, back here by the garage? I could really use one of those.”

  Chase started laughing. “Look,” he lowered his voice. “I can see your side of things. You’re right, that’s a lot of money for just one print. But if you’re handy with certain software, which I suspect you might be, there’s another option.”

  She just glared at him and went back to work. He named the price and this time, Melinda was too stunned to do anything but laugh.

  “But you could make as many as you like, there’s no limit to what you could do! Postcards, calendars, y
ou’d have full rights to the print, forever.”

  “I should hope so.” Melinda set the first pail by the garage with a defiant thud. “Seeing as I’d be paying twice as much and doing all the editing myself, then printing the photos and … what are you doing?”

  Chase already had the next bucket as far as Lizzy’s dropped tailgate. His blue eyes were kinder than she expected them to be. “Let me give you a hand. You look like you’ve been at this for some time already.”

  “I don’t need any help. Hey, watch your pants!” It was too late. “Good luck getting those clean. Do you have any idea what’s in these buckets?”

  “I do, actually.” Chase smiled again, but his tone was defensive. “I grew up on a farm. And I’ve hauled worse before. Like the pig kind, when it still smells. I’m not afraid of a little hard work, and I’m not afraid of getting dirty.”

  He stepped back and, with a dramatic flourish, wiped his blackened hands down the front of his shirt. “There. See? I didn’t even flinch. Will you let me help you now?”

  Melinda closed her eyes for a moment. Either Chase carried a spare sky-blue polo on his sale rounds for such theatrics, or this was his last stop of the day. She was really too tired to care.

  “OK, look,” she sighed. “There’s eight more buckets there. You grab half, and I’ll be grateful for the help. I’m sorry I snapped at you like that. But you can see why I can’t buy that print. I’m selling sheep poop to make ends meet around here.”

  “You might as well make some money off of it.” He reached for another bucket. “There’s a reason why they call it black gold.”

  CHAPTER 17

  Melinda was adding a selection of Mother’s Day gifts to the store’s display window when a Lexus SUV carefully angled into a spot along Main Street.

  She set aside her stack of floral garden gloves to get a better look. Luxury brands of any kind were rarely seen in little Prosper, and it was the only vehicle in sight that didn’t carry an underbelly of gravel dust. Even more unusual was the young woman stepping down from the driver’s seat.

  Her blush-toned skirt suit was very of-the-moment, and her beige heels were a little too high to easily navigate the crumbling asphalt along the concrete curb. She tossed her heavily highlighted blonde hair over her shoulder and reached for a sleek leather tote that made Melinda sigh with admiration before curiosity took over.

  Where was she going? Or, even more interesting: Why was she in Prosper in the first place?

  It seemed Melinda might find out, as the young woman was carefully tottering toward Prosper Hardware’s front door.

  Melinda glanced down at her clean jeans and barely wrinkled knit top, and wondered if she should hurry to the entrance or keep it casual and stay where she was. She decided on the latter, but sensed something was about to happen.

  The bell above the door seemed to startle the woman, who clutched her expensive tote to her chest as if it were a shield. She glanced around the store and down at the floor mat, then quickly moved one of her cute heels away from a threatening blob of dried mud.

  “Oh, good afternoon,” Melinda called over her shoulder as she fanned the garden gloves over the dresser’s open drawers. “Can I help you with something? We have some wonderful specials going on this week and …”

  “Yes. Well, I mean, no thank you.” The young woman pushed her hair behind her ears and put on a generic smile. “I’m not going to be purchasing anything today. I’m looking for Miriam Lange. Might that be you?”

  The hope in her voice was so obvious, Melinda had to smother a laugh. This well-dressed visitor couldn’t wait to get out of here.

  “Sorry, that would be my aunt. She’s upstairs, in the office,” Melinda added quickly, as the woman looked so disappointed. “I’ll just run up and get her.”

  At the sound of footsteps on the stairs, Miriam looked up from her computer’s screen and over the glasses perched on her nose.

  “Miriam! There’s someone here to see you!”

  “Me? At this hour of the afternoon?”

  “Yes.” Melinda tiptoed closer. “Some woman came in and she’s … we’ll, she’s not from around here.”

  “Melinda.” Miriam leaned over the desk. “Why are you whispering? What’s going on?”

  “I don’t know. But something is, for sure.”

  “My goodness,” Miriam sighed. “What now? Come on, let’s get to the bottom of it, whatever it is.”

  The young woman was now by the register, gingerly poking through the display of garden seeds as if the packets might soil her hands. She jumped back when she spotted Melinda and Miriam, and put on another bright smile.

  “Miriam Lange?” She had her hand extended before Miriam could get close enough to grasp it. “I’m Rachael, a Realtor with a firm in Mason City. I just wanted to stop by and let you in on an amazing opportunity.” The smile grew in width, if not in warmth. “I didn’t want you to miss out.”

  Miriam stood there for a moment, her scuffed sneakers squeaking on the hardwood floor as she shifted her weight from one foot to the other, evaluating the situation and studying the woman’s attire. Then she started to chuckle.

  “Oh, don’t tell me, some millionaire wants to buy our family business! Melinda, guess what? We can all retire, right now! No more money woes for us!”

  Rachael’s face started to turn red under her artfully applied foundation.

  “My dear, I’m sorry to disappoint you.” Miriam’s tone turned apologetic. “You’ve obviously … come a long way in your quest to find new clients. But I’m not in the market for a real estate agent these days. My family’s owned this store for more than a hundred years and, God willing, many more to come.”

  She patted the flustered woman on the arm. “Please, Rachael, help yourself to some coffee before you go. Now, I need to get those purchase reports finished.” Miriam started for the stairs, then turned back and smiled. “Thank you for stopping by.”

  “Mrs. Lange, wait!”

  Rachael took several quick steps forward, as if preparing to chase Miriam down but hoping she wouldn’t have to. When Miriam didn’t slow her steps, Rachael squared her shoulders and planted her expensive tote on the oak showcase’s counter with a determined thunk.

  “Mrs. Lange, you may need my services more than you think. I’ve been sent down here to put a ‘for sale’ sign up next door.”

  Miriam’s foot hesitated on the first step. She whirled around, the color draining from her face.

  “Mrs. Lange … Miriam.” Rachael tried again, her voice now gentle. “Why don’t you come over here and we’ll talk this through? I wanted you to hear this from me. As you know, in a town this small,” she tried to hide her derision, “it’s going to be all the talk by tomorrow morning, if not before.”

  Melinda put a hand on the counter to steady herself. Suddenly, it all became clear. The landowners next door were well aware of the surveying problem, but had ignored Frank and Miriam’s requests to settle the matter. Out of state and out of touch, they had probably held on to their inherited parcel out of financial neglect and indifference. Now that there was trouble, they couldn’t wait to wash their hands of the whole mess.

  Miriam did as Rachael suggested, moving as if in a daze. “What did you say?”

  “The property next door is for sale.” Rachael spoke slowly, letting her words sink in. “As of noon today, actually. The paperwork was finalized this morning.”

  Melinda pulled out Frank’s new counter-height chair and motioned for Miriam to take it. Rachael leaned in as if she had a thrilling secret to share.

  “Now, I hear there was some little mix-up with the survey years ago.” She waved it all away with one of her manicured hands. “And I thought that you, Miriam, of all people, would know the value of expanding your holdings in this … charming little village. Why, think of all the storage space you’d have, and right next door! Or, you could open that wall up with a beautiful cased opening, and offer so many more wonderful items to your loyal cust
omers. Think of the opportunities, Miriam!”

  “We already carry everything from light bulbs to groceries to apparel,” Miriam said in a low, calm voice Melinda knew signaled trouble. “I’ve no interest in expanding our business.”

  Rachael reached into her tote. She pulled out two flyers and handed one to Miriam and the other to Melinda, who fought hard to keep a straight face when she saw the price. There was no way the parcel was worth that much, even if its “historic commercial structure” could, by some miraculous transformation, “offer the perfect income opportunity in the business district of one of the area’s most vibrant, charming communities.”

  Miriam’s jaw was set in a hard, furious line. Her lack of response caused Rachael to change tactics.

  “I’m sure you can see the value of the property,” she said to Melinda. “Why, a parcel like that, with a well-built structure and mechanicals already in place? It would three times that expensive in Mason City.”

  “That’s because in Mason City, you’d get six times the foot traffic.” Melinda pointed out the window. “There’s not two hundred people in this town. Did you see how many other vacant buildings we have along Main Street?” She flipped the flyer over and found the back was blank. “Do you have a seller’s disclosure? That building’s been empty for years, I’d bet those mechanicals aren’t in the best of shape.”

  “Of course.” Rachael snatched her tote off the counter but didn’t open it. “It’s the law, you know.”

  “I sure do. And a current assessed value is also helpful.” Melinda pulled her phone from her back pocket. “Let’s see if I can bring it up on the county assessor’s website.”

  “Oh, now, there’s no need for that.” Her sudden nervousness told Melinda all she needed to know. The asking price was even more inflated than she thought.