sense. There he’d not been building true luxury homes. He thought back to the first house he’d worked on with Tate Luxury Homes in Springfield, Illinois. It had been a fourteen-thousand-square-foot split-level mansion with marble floors and two elevators. The master bedroom had a fireplace and a waterfall! Two of the bedrooms were for little girls and had castles with stairs and a tower, jutting from one wall.
For show.
There’d also been a two-tiered Jacuzzi with a flat-screen television and its own bar.
“And you build tree houses.” A young boy spoke right in Donovan’s ear before pulling a chair over to sit next to him. Excitement emphasized each word.
“My nephew, Timmy. Eva’s stepson,” Emily introduced.
Here was the type of future homeowner Donovan wanted to build for. The boy promptly set some Legos on the table and started creating as he spoke. “Emily found some pictures of your tree houses. Grandpa saw them, too, and he wants you to build us Tinytown.”
Tinytown?
Emily had looked at his personal website?
“Timmy, I hadn’t had a chance to get around to discussing business with Mr. Russell,” Jacob chided without sounding the least bit perturbed.
“You searched for me on the internet?” Donovan asked Emily.
“Elise did,” Emily said. “But my motto’s always been Know Your Friends but Know Your Enemies More.”
“What?” Donovan couldn’t help but laugh. He had a few proverbs he’d like to spout, too.
Emily didn’t seem to appreciate his mirth.
“I’m not your enemy. I’m a custom-home builder hired to do a job. As I told you the first day you introduced yourself, the property is paid for, the permits are up to date and the inspections are either finished or arranged for.”
She didn’t appear to have a response.
“Never a dull day in the Hubrecht clan.” Elise stood and started gathering plates and glasses from the table. She gave Emily a look that clearly said, You plan to help? but Emily shook her head and frowned at Donovan.
“So,” Jacob interjected, “about the tree houses we saw on your website. Your blog said that a typical tree house takes a week and that you do small jobs between big projects?”
“Sometimes,” Donovan allowed.
Jacob’s eyes lit up.
“I didn’t see any trees around here big enough for a tree house,” Donovan remarked.
“Don’t want a tree house, exactly,” Jacob said. “Timmy and I were talking, and we want a child-size village, you know, with houses the size of small sheds, perfect for our guests in the age range of three to maybe twelve. Not just houses, mind you. We’d want a child-size fire station, a store, a movie theater, a school and a hospital. It could be a little bigger. Not only could Timmy and his soon-to-be little brother use it, but many of our guests bring children—”
“Whoa.” Donovan appreciated the man’s enthusiasm, but the picture he was painting would take a lot of time. Time Donovan didn’t have. “I’m not sure you’ve thought about the real time and cost of such a project. I’m booked solid for the next two years. And if I do it when I have a free week, you’ll be getting a new building once every six months, plus paying travel.”
Donovan was now a week late on the Baer house, which was okay because he always calculated in extra time, but come the beginning of August, he was heading for California and his next job. Building a child-size village wasn’t on the schedule. “Plus, you’re a builder, too. You built this place.”
“I was a lot younger then. And, I never did the detail you put into some of those houses. Timmy was quite impressed. I don’t figure the cost would be much different than the tree house you made over in Colorado last year,” Jacob said.
Donovan knew the exact one Jacob spoke of. It was connected to two trees, had two porches—front and back—and was made of cedar. Much bigger than a shed.
“I figure you’ll charge me a little less, as it’s easier to build on the ground rather than in a tree.”
“You’re still talking about five or six buildings,” Donovan responded.
“Give me a ballpark figure, thinking maybe six structures?”
Donovan shook his head. “The tree houses are a passion of mine and I love building them. Unfortunately, I don’t...”
Timmy’s lips pursed, making him resemble his aunt from a few minutes ago.
“No.” Jacob only said one word and Timmy stopped pouting.
Donovan figured this would be a good time to head for the buffet and fill his plate. When he returned, he quickly took a bite so he wouldn’t have to say anything else right away. He thought about the offer. The tree houses weren’t exactly what Donovan would call small jobs. They were intricate and had personality, and he wished he could build them full-time. Their owners, usually between the ages of six and sixteen, appreciated them in a way a wealthy seventy-something, like Baer, couldn’t.
Jacob waited until Donovan’s plate was almost empty before suggesting, “Could you maybe work in just two small houses between the end of this job and your next one? Emily is handy with a hammer. She’s responsible for the good condition of our fencing and the remodels in the barn and bunkhouse. If she helped you, she might be able to finish the job.”
“No.” Emily sounded a lot like her dad.
No way did Donovan have time. But working with Emily...might prove very interesting. Maybe, just maybe, he could manage one.
Before any more discussion, Sam Miller walked in. He didn’t look around, just headed to their table.
“Go find your mother,” Jacob told Timmy. “Tell her we just might have an idea that works. Then, build me two houses out of Legos, so I can see your design ideas.”
“Okay, Grandpa!”
Sam took Timmy’s place, even going so far as to finish the lone cookie the boy left behind. From the look on his face, Donovan figured he’d need more than a cookie to put him in a good mood.
“Have you found out anything new?” Emily didn’t wait for Sam to stop chewing.
“The medical examiner said there was no sign of trauma on our victim but his bones showed deterioration from arthritis. He thinks that’ll make identification easier,” Sam shared after swallowing. “He hasn’t found proof that the man died from a stab wound, but he admits the skeleton has eroded so much that it might not be possible to establish the cause of death.”
“How long has he been buried there? How old is he?”
“Nothing definite, but the ME thinks we have a Caucasian male who’s been buried there for around thirty years, give or take a few, and who was between twenty-five and forty when he died.” Sam never took his eyes off Jacob while he talked. Donovan glanced at Emily.
