face of hers. There was a smile in her dark eyes, just a subtle hint around the corners.
He looked at the model again and admitted to himself that he kind of liked the fact that the architect had gone all out, building a model rather than relying on drawings. He liked the idea that the guy apparently really wanted the job.
But he was no pushover. “Can I afford this?”
“Actually,” said Jim, “you can. The bid’s reasonable, well within what the bank’s willing to go with.”
“I don’t know.” He wasn’t quite sure why he was resisting. “I wasn’t thinking Victorian.”
Hannah broke her silence. “It would fit with the rest of the town.”
It would. It would fit perfectly. Especially with the Main Street improvement project that had resulted in Victorian streetlights and brick sidewalks.
He walked slowly around the table, looking at the model, which was painted in the candy colors so popular on Victorians. “It’s cheerful,” he said finally.
“It’s beautiful,” said Hannah, then clapped a hand to her mouth as if she were talking out of turn.
“That’s why I brought you along,” Witt said. “Talk to me, Hannah.”
“The others are ordinary, Witt. This would be a landmark.”
Surprisingly, Jim nodded. “Might even get you some coverage in the major papers and some magazines. And look at this.” Bending over the table, he swung back part of the model, opening one of the wings for inspection. Inside were the rooms, a few of them even decorated with fancy doll furniture, rugs and fixtures.
“Wow,” said Hannah, a smile curving her mouth. “Can I take this home and play with it?”
Jim laughed, and Witt had to grin. “Some dollhouse, huh? Well, if I decide to go with this guy, you get to keep the model.”
Hannah colored faintly. “I don’t have anyplace to put it, Witt. I was just being enthusiastic.”
“You’ll have a place to put it,” he said with a firmness that had her looking strangely at him.
“Okay,” Witt said, looking at the model again, trying to wrap his preconceived ideas around this unexpected model of his future. Hannah liked it, and that was a big plus as far as he was concerned. “It’s got the owner’s apartments and everything?”
“It does,” Jim confirmed.
“And you’re sure this guy is okay?”
“I checked him out. He’s only been in the business solo for five years, but he hasn’t had any problems. His clients seem to be happy. He has a reputation for keeping on schedule and on budget.”
“Sounds good. And the overall price?”
“Smack between the log cabin and the Tudor style.”
“Hmm.” He couldn’t reject it on those grounds, then.
“Witt?” Hannah spoke. “What’s wrong? Don’t you like it?”
“It’s just not what I had in mind. I’m going to have to think about it.”
“What don’t you like?”
“Nothing. Really. It’s just I wasn’t planning on Victorian.” A silly thing to be resistant about, especially when Hannah seemed to like the design.
“Well,” she said, “it has to be your decision.”
Jim spoke. “If you don’t like any of them, Witt, we can put out requests for more bids. Acceptance is contingent on you liking the designs, as well as on the financial side of it.”
“It’s not that I don’t like it,” Witt said again, feeling a little beleaguered. “Maybe it’s the colors. Wouldn’t all white with black shutters look better?”
“More traditional, certainly,” Jim agreed.
“Let’s take a look at the bids, okay?”
Jim nodded and led them back to his office. He’d pulled out the salient parts of all the bid packages and had them ready for Witt to look at without the boilerplate in the way.
Witt read through the first two slowly, making mental notes about the time lines, about the lists of materials, thinking about all the little details these guys had considered, things he might never have thought about if he’d spent a year working on something like this.
The he turned to the final bid, the one for the Victorian. And he saw the name at the top of it.
“Hardy Wingate?” he said, his voice muffled. Beside him, he could feel Hannah stiffen.
Jim looked at him, his brow furrowing. “Is something wrong?”
“Yeah,” said Witt, tossing the papers down on Jim’s desk. “I wouldn’t do business with that jerk if he was the last architect on the planet. I’ll think about the other two, Jim. I’ll call you in a day or two.”
He and Hannah were in the car climbing back into the mountains before he spoke again. “I’m sorry, I forgot I was going to buy you lunch.”
“Don’t worry about it.”
He nodded once, briefly, then pounded the steering wheel with the palm of his hand. “Goddamn it! How the hell did Hardy get hold of that bid package?”
Hannah spoke uncertainly. “You heard what Jim said. One of the other firms must have passed it along to him.”
“Yeah. Yeah.” But his gut was burning, and he didn’t want to think it was all as simple as that. “Imagine him having the gall to bid!”
Hannah folded her hands in her lap. “He put an awful lot of work into it.”
“And why the hell did he do that? He must’ve known I was going to turn him down.”
“Maybe.”
“There’s no maybe about it.” He glared at her, as if she were somehow at fault, then slapped his hand against the steering wheel once more.
“Witt…”
He hated it when she did that, starting to speak, then checking herself, leaving him wondering what the hell she had decided to say. But he knew from long experience that pressing her wasn’t going to get her to spit it out.
“Damn it,” he said again, and turned off the highway. “I’m getting lunch. Son of a bitch thinks I’m going to hire him to build my lodge after he killed my daughter?”
“Maybe not,” Hannah said quietly.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Maybe he doesn’t expect anything at all from you. Maybe he just has dreams, too, Witt.”
“Well,
