Page 9 of Snake

That fact had been one of the key elements for choosing to pilot her project here. It was a quaint small town, with history and some cultural capital from that famous movie. It had a small but thriving commercial district, and there was a small-heading-toward-medium new housing development that had recently opened a third building phase. It was both a tourist draw with some moderate cred and a growing and vibrant community. But it did not have the services to sufficiently support that community or its frequent visitors. There were only two bars, only six restaurants (if you included the bars), and one unimpressive supermarket.

Worst of all, the B&B, the only guest accommodations in town? Had ten rooms. Ten. After that, any visitor from farther away than a hundred miles or so had to stay in one of the few very basic roadside motels in nearby towns, or take a room all the way in Springfield or Rolla.

You did not want your tourists leaving your location to sleep or eat.

Autumn envisioned Heartland Homestead to be an extension of what Signal Bend already had, something that would suit the town’s particular aesthetic and enhance its charm. An architectural style in line with its Nordic/alpine trims and wooden walkways. Cute shops and cafes, maybe something like a market/deli that specialized in international foods, and in Phase Two, an attached inn—not a full-size hotel, but something with twenty or thirty rooms, to make the destination ‘stickier.’ So visitors from away didn’t have to leave after a few hours.

Not competition for the B&B, or any other business currently in town, but augmentation.

She’d made that case repeatedly to more town leaders and in more town meetings than she cared to count. They simply refused to believe her. The Horde’s infuriating ‘intelligence officers’ (like a biker gang was an actual government, what an absurd bunch of men) had dropped a pile of ‘oppo research’ on her, detailing past and current projects by MWGP, none of which resembled her Heartland Homestead.

But that was the point. Yes, MWGP had built its empire on small commercial developments in generally small and/or struggling communities. Yes, most of those developments (what non-industry folks called ‘strip malls,’ a term the industry avoided) leased units to downscale businesses like convenience markets, short-term loan shops, and the like. And yes, most of those developments had ‘displaced’—bought out at fair market value—locally owned businesses.

Okay. The bread and butter of MWGP’s commercial portfolio wasn’t shiny and pretty, didn’t get the cover photo on the annual report. But those developments were the ones keeping the lights on. The flashy, pretty, cover-photo projects, the huge skyscrapers or elaborate hotels, were usually deals cut straight to the bone. The little cluster of simple shops on the corner of a rundown neighborhood block made the money.

But Autumn hated that! She was convinced there was a better way to build in smaller communities, a way that preserved profit but didn’t exploit and ultimately contribute to the struggles of people on the bottom half of the wealth chart. That was her inspiration for Heartland Homesteads: shops and services that would support and improve a community, finished with some style and attention to detail.

She’d told the people of Signal Bend that as well. Repeatedly. They simply didn’t believe her. To them, she was nothing but a carpetbagging corporate snake, slithering in to poison their homegrown rebirth.

But that didn’t matter any longer; she now had the property for Phase One of the first Homestead, and she was two deals away from buying out the block that would be Phase Two.

Signal Bend was getting improved whether it wanted to or not.

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~oOo~

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The Keller Acres Bed & Breakfast was a considerably more impressive property than its humble name suggested. Not really a “bed and breakfast” at all. A large, lovely white house centered on beautiful, expansive grounds, with amenities ranging from full-service and in-room dining to trail rides, carriage tours through town, hotel-sponsored picnics and games on the grounds, and a small spa, it really was more of a boutique resort. The rooms were spacious and expertly decorated, the menu top-notch, and the service attentive and friendly. They were also a popular wedding venue and offered an impressively comprehensive and diverse planning service. Every year for the past decade, they’d made Weddings magazine’s top-ten for outdoor venues. In the country.

Autumn enjoyed staying here, and it was the only place in town where she felt welcome. She suffered no delusions that the staff here liked her any more than anybody else in town, of course they hated her like the rest, but they were far too professional to show it. If anything, they went above and beyond to accommodate her, probably to mask their dislike.

Dragging her carry-on wheelie behind her (Pom and Pops had given her a full set of Coach luggage for her MBA conferral), Autumn stepped into the B&B. The lobby was a large, airy space with clusters of comfortable seating—leather pieces mixed in with upholstered pieces in earth-toned damask—throughout. A wide, sweeping staircase toward the back led to the guest rooms. Off to the left, two heavy, glass-paned doors led to the dining room and its stone fireplace. The reception desk stood at the right, backed by an old-fashioned key-and-cubby setup. Yes, the Keller Acres B&B still distributed brass keys on brass fobs, and left messages for guests on paper slips in numbered cubbies.

Today, the lobby burst with bright spring florals, vases and garlands of blooms in every direction; obviously they were as into the ‘Spring Fling’ here as everywhere else in town.

Charm. Everywhere you looked. As sick to death as she was of everything about Signal Bend, she could still appreciate the value of its earnestly quaint aesthetic. It was perfect for her Homestead, even if she could not manage to make them see it.

No one was at the desk, so she tapped the old-fashioned brass bell, and it chimed lightly. The front door opened, and a couple came in, laughing and talking. They were dressed like models for an REI catalogue. If they were in town for the Spring Fling, they’d apparently started their long weekend with some hiking or other outdoorsiness.

They made eye contact with her as they headed toward the staircase, and they and she did the closed-mouth, stranger-greeting smile.

When Autumn turned around again, Shannon Ryan—a co-owner and the executive director of the hotel, but not normally someone who worked the front desk—came from a side door to do just that.

Shannon was in her older middle age, by Autumn’s estimation. Late fifties, maybe. She must have been an absolute stunner, like Rita Hayworth or something, in her youth, because she was still gorgeous. Very tall and on the heavy side, but in the shapely, substantial way that people used to call ‘statuesque.’ Perfectly coiffed, made-up, and dressed, even in this hick town.

She was a redhead, too, but Autumn couldn’t tell if she was naturally so. Shannon’s hair color was different every time Autumn saw her, though it was always in the red range. Autumn had never colored her own red hair, she liked her natural copper, but she’d known a few gingers who habitually traveled through all the hues from auburn to Bozo and back.

“Hi, Ms. Rooney,” Shannon said as she took a spot at the reservation computer. “Welcome back.”

“Hi, Shannon. I told you to please call me Autumn, remember?”

Shannon smiled as she typed on the computer, but she didn’t acknowledge Autumn’s request otherwise. Because she didn’t like Autumn and had no intention of calling her by her first name.

It didn’t matter. Autumn had won her deal, and someday the first Heartland Homestead would be up and full of new businesses. Then it would be somebody else’s problem, and she could never step foot here again.

“We have you in your usual suite, of course, and I had Maggie bring in two extra pillows and two extra quilts.”

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