place?” Bob said, trying to find some way to get into the conversation.
Debbie proudly held up the family heirloom above her head with much gusto. “How about Murcat Manor? We’ll be honoring my great-great-grandfather who made this blessed cross that has survived all these years.”
Bob had to refrain from rolling his eyes as he observed Erma’s face melting into teary eyed gratitude. She looks like she might swoon, wilt, and pass out from all the schmaltzy melodramatic emotion, he figured.
Erma laid a hand on Debbie’s shoulder and said, “Bless you my child. I’m sure my grandfather is looking down from heaven and smiling on you.”
Chapter 12 Thirteen Kittens
Bob pulled Ross and Erma’s Winnebago into the driveway of their new property on Oak Hill Road, cutting a swath through gigantic renegade weeds, gravel crunching under the weight of the RV. On the lawn close to the street was a large white sign with blue letters: DeShawn Hill Construction.
Debbie pointed at two men on the other side of the concrete slab. “The architect and general contractor are already here. They’re not wasting any time.”
A dozen pickup trucks of various makes and sizes were parked close to the existing foundation. The usual serene quietness of the peaceful countryside was broken by sounds of men hard at work. A crew of a dozen people with bulldozers, wheel barrels, and shovels were filling ten green, thirty yard contractor’s containers with debris and rubble from the previous house.
Michael Fronteria waved and smiled as he walked toward them, blueprints for the bed and breakfast rolled up in his hands.
“This is incredible,” Bob said as he helped Debbie step out of the RV. “We’re actually breaking ground on Murcat Manor. I have to admit, I was leery of becoming business partners with your grandparents. But they got the loan docs to go through and helped sell our house in just thirty days.”
Debbie beamed at him. “They’re great. Now, I know Grandma can be cranky toward you. But she has accepted you into her clan.”
“You could’ve fooled me by the way she talks to me.”
Fronteria stopped in front of them, smiled, and smacked his blueprint roll with one hand into the palm of the other. “Mr. and Mrs. Stevens, welcome to your new property. Let’s go around back,” he said, using his plans roll as a pointer. The three walked a ways and he pointed again.
“As you can see, DeShawn Hill has begun the demo work, clearing out all the debris from the previous house and barn. They’re also clearing out all the dead trees and shrubs. He’s one of the finest general contractors around. I’ve worked with him several times. You’re in the best of hands with him.”
Hill stopped giving orders to his crew and shook Bob and Debbie’s hands. He looked every bit the general contractor. Early forties. Big guy with a growing belly. Blue jeans, Keen Tacoma steel toed leather boots, and a collared blue shirt with his name stitched in white on his left pocket and the company logo on the back.
His crew all wore the same color and style, company logo’d T-shirts with their names stitched on them, but his had the distinction of being a collared polo shirt with a pocket—which held two pens and a pencil clipped in it.
Fronteria unrolled the blueprints and flipped to the foundation plan. “We’ll have this place cleared by the end of the afternoon. Tomorrow, we’ll demo the foundation. Then we’ll dig the basement. The full basement area won’t be the entire footprint of the house—just under the kitchen.”
DeShawn Hill swung his forefinger in a circular motion around the large kitchen floor plan. “The rest of the house will be supported on a forty-eight inch deep, sixteen inch wide, steel rod reinforced concrete footing with a full thirty-six inch tall crawl space. But trust me, the basement will be plenty big to store all the things you need and provide shelter in the event of a
Debbie proudly held up the family heirloom above her head with much gusto. “How about Murcat Manor? We’ll be honoring my great-great-grandfather who made this blessed cross that has survived all these years.”
Bob had to refrain from rolling his eyes as he observed Erma’s face melting into teary eyed gratitude. She looks like she might swoon, wilt, and pass out from all the schmaltzy melodramatic emotion, he figured.
Erma laid a hand on Debbie’s shoulder and said, “Bless you my child. I’m sure my grandfather is looking down from heaven and smiling on you.”
Chapter 12 Thirteen Kittens
Bob pulled Ross and Erma’s Winnebago into the driveway of their new property on Oak Hill Road, cutting a swath through gigantic renegade weeds, gravel crunching under the weight of the RV. On the lawn close to the street was a large white sign with blue letters: DeShawn Hill Construction.
Debbie pointed at two men on the other side of the concrete slab. “The architect and general contractor are already here. They’re not wasting any time.”
A dozen pickup trucks of various makes and sizes were parked close to the existing foundation. The usual serene quietness of the peaceful countryside was broken by sounds of men hard at work. A crew of a dozen people with bulldozers, wheel barrels, and shovels were filling ten green, thirty yard contractor’s containers with debris and rubble from the previous house.
Michael Fronteria waved and smiled as he walked toward them, blueprints for the bed and breakfast rolled up in his hands.
“This is incredible,” Bob said as he helped Debbie step out of the RV. “We’re actually breaking ground on Murcat Manor. I have to admit, I was leery of becoming business partners with your grandparents. But they got the loan docs to go through and helped sell our house in just thirty days.”
Debbie beamed at him. “They’re great. Now, I know Grandma can be cranky toward you. But she has accepted you into her clan.”
“You could’ve fooled me by the way she talks to me.”
Fronteria stopped in front of them, smiled, and smacked his blueprint roll with one hand into the palm of the other. “Mr. and Mrs. Stevens, welcome to your new property. Let’s go around back,” he said, using his plans roll as a pointer. The three walked a ways and he pointed again.
“As you can see, DeShawn Hill has begun the demo work, clearing out all the debris from the previous house and barn. They’re also clearing out all the dead trees and shrubs. He’s one of the finest general contractors around. I’ve worked with him several times. You’re in the best of hands with him.”
Hill stopped giving orders to his crew and shook Bob and Debbie’s hands. He looked every bit the general contractor. Early forties. Big guy with a growing belly. Blue jeans, Keen Tacoma steel toed leather boots, and a collared blue shirt with his name stitched in white on his left pocket and the company logo on the back.
His crew all wore the same color and style, company logo’d T-shirts with their names stitched on them, but his had the distinction of being a collared polo shirt with a pocket—which held two pens and a pencil clipped in it.
Fronteria unrolled the blueprints and flipped to the foundation plan. “We’ll have this place cleared by the end of the afternoon. Tomorrow, we’ll demo the foundation. Then we’ll dig the basement. The full basement area won’t be the entire footprint of the house—just under the kitchen.”
DeShawn Hill swung his forefinger in a circular motion around the large kitchen floor plan. “The rest of the house will be supported on a forty-eight inch deep, sixteen inch wide, steel rod reinforced concrete footing with a full thirty-six inch tall crawl space. But trust me, the basement will be plenty big to store all the things you need and provide shelter in the event of a
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