Chapter 2

“That feels good,” Eric said, “but it’d feel a whole lot better if your hands were further south.”

“Later,” Rusty said.

Eric dropped Rusty off at his own mower, then returned to finish his part of the job. They’d decided to do the job themselves, rather than call in one of their crews.

* * * *

An hour later, they’d loaded their equipment into the trailers behind their identical F-150s and were on their way to The Folly. The Savannah River flowed almost due south at that point, and the rural highway ran about a quarter of a mile west of, and roughly parallel to, the river during most of its length through their county. The first thing they saw when they drove up the long rambling drive that led from the highway to The Folly was a truck not unlike theirs. It was parked next to a good-sized Airstream Classic trailer.

The trailer’s occupant had evidently heard them drive up, and they saw a very attractive man step out of the Airstream. He looked to be better than six feet tall, had what appeared to be a swimmer’s build, and when they stepped out of their trucks and got a closer look at him, they saw that his jet-black hair framed an attractive face and a pair of intense green eyes.

“Gentlemen,” the man said, “what can I do for you?”

“Are you the new owner of The Folly?” Rusty said.

“I work for the owner,” the man said, and handed each of them a business card.

Eric read out loud, “Folly Enterprises, LLC; Carlton Perry, Operating Vice-President.”

“What’s an operating vice-president do?” Rusty said.

“It means,” Eric said, “that while he may or may not own shares in the corporation, for all practical purposes, he’s the man. I’m Eric Slade, and the ignorant redhead is my best friend, Rusty Seever.”

“Carlton Perry,” the man said. “Pleased to meet you. Now, what can I do for two guys from—he looked at the signage on the two trailers—the Rusty Sod Landscaping and Sprinklers Company. The play on words is great—Rusty for one of your names as well as the color of sod around here—and I love your motto: ‘You grow it, we mow it’ is kind of catchy. Rusty’s a nickname, isn’t it?”

“No, sir,” Rusty said. “When my daddy saw me in the delivery room, he said something like, ‘with that red hair and blood and stuff all over him, he looks like a little rusty nail’. And Rusty is the name on my birth certificate.”

“Now that we’ve got that out of the way,” Carlton said, “what’s up?”

“We figured if you’re gonna renovate the house, you’ll be wanting the grounds taken care of, as well,” Rusty said.

“And you’d like to get in on the ground floor,” Carlton said.

“Exactly,” Rusty said.

“Well, it’ll be a while before we get around to the grounds, at least as far as any formal landscaping is concerned,” Carlton said. “On the other hand, I do need someone to inspect them now, and tell me what can be saved, and what can’t be saved. The owner wants this house put back together in record time, and in a very few days there will be contractors and their helpers crawling all over the place. It would be good to have the best parts of the gardens and grounds flagged so they won’t be disturbed or trampled over by anyone but you guys. I believe the fenced area around the house covers about ten acres, more or less.”

Does that mean we’ve got the job?” Rusty said.

“It means look the place over, and bring me some numbers tomorrow morning,” Carlton said.

“We’ll look the place over right now, if you don’t mind,” Eric said. “I have to go home and change in a bit.”

Carlton looked a question at Eric.

“I teach English Literature at the local junior college,” Eric said. “And before you ask, I don’t want to teach full-time. Anywhere. Full Stop.”

“Then why do it at all?”

“Because, by teaching the minimum required hours, I’ll qualify for a state pension in twenty years or so, and my days are still my own. Besides, I like to work in the great outdoors, using my hands.”

Carlton looked at Rusty. “What about you?”

“What do you mean?” Rusty said.

“Neither of you sound even remotely like country bumpkins, so I’m guessing you’re as well educated as your friend.”

“Guilty, as charged,” Rusty said. “Eric has a well-earned Doctorate, but I stopped my schooling when I got my Master’s degree. At this point in my life, I have no desire to teach either math or algebra. Maybe when I’m too old to do what I’m doing now, but not at the moment.”

“Very good, gentlemen,” Carlton said. “Do you need stakes? I happen to have a supply of them in the toolbox of my truck.”

“We’ll take you up on that,” Eric said, “and thank you, sir.”

“No sirsaround here,” Carlton said. “Please call me Carlton.”

“Thanks, Carlton,” Eric said. “Meanwhile, we’d best get to work.”

Carlton retrieved a supply of stakes from his toolbox, handed them to Rusty, and they got to work. By the time Eric and Rusty left The Folly, they’d investigated the roughly ten-acre parcel around the house, pounded numerous stakes in the ground, and had made copious notes concerning their findings.