Read Online Razing the Dead by Sheila Connolly - Free Book Online

quiet, apart from the cicadas. But inside the car you couldn’t hear them. Wakeman drove through a couple more town centers, usually no more than a few public buildings, such as local government offices and post offices, and a scattering of stores. Sometimes it was hard to believe that we were no more than thirty miles from Center City. We passed a sign for a stable, and there were sleek horses grazing in a field by the road. A mile or so farther on, Wakeman turned onto a smaller road on the right, which climbed a hill, then he turned in to an unpaved gravel driveway on the left. A hundred feet farther he stopped the car and turned off the engine. “This is it.”
    We all climbed out of the car and stood looking out over the rolling hills to the south. I knew the town of West Chester was only a couple of miles down the road, as was a shopping center, but here all was serene and unspoiled.
    â€œLet me show you what we’re planning,” Wakeman said, after giving us ample time to take it all in.
    I looked down at my shoes. I hadn’t been planning on a hike when I’d dressed in the morning. “Uh, I don’t think I’ve got the right footwear.”
    â€œNo problem. I always carry boots in the trunk—a lot of construction sites are muddy. Let’s see if we can find something to fit you.”
    If Mitchell Wakeman had appeared uncomfortable in the venerable rooms of the Society, here he was clearly in his element—expansive, enthusiastic, talkative. He quickly found boots for both Lissa and me, even if our feet slopped around inside the too-large boots, and appeared ready to walk the entire site with us, outlining each detail.
    â€œBefore we set out,” I said as tactfully as I could manage, “could you tell us about the general layout? How much land are you talking about? Where’s the center going to be?”
    Wakeman pulled a rolled plan from the trunk and laid it out on the hood of the car. “We’re here, at the top of the hill.” He pointed to the center of the map.
    That much I could have figured out for myself. I looked around me: nice old stone farmhouse at the top; a ramshackle wooden dairy barn just down the hill from the house, with an adjoining tall silo; various dilapidated sheds, whose use I couldn’t identify, scattered around. “How much land do you have altogether?”
    â€œAbout a thousand acres, irregular shape,” Wakeman replied promptly. “We plan to build on no more than a third or it in the first phase. We want a mix of housing and open space, plus a buffer zone along the perimeter roads. I’ve got options on some of the abutting properties if we want to expand in the future.”
    â€œA thousand acres?” I said, incredulous. “How on earth did you find a single parcel that big in this day and age?”
    â€œTold you—the Garrett family’s been here since seventeen-whatever. Ezra was a great old guy. One of eleven kids. Ran a dairy operation here all his life. I got to know him through a couple of civic organizations we both belonged to. And he was smart. Some people might have figured he’d be sentimental about keeping the old place in the family, but he knew damn well the land was worth more as housing than as a dairy farm. I’d guessed it would come to that, so that’s why I approached him. I did tell the kids that I’d keep the old farmhouse as a community center—they liked that.”
    â€œThe underlying property must have been part of a Penn land grant, although I doubt that the Garretts were the first owners, but I can check,” Lissa said suddenly. “Either way, it’s amazing that they’ve kept the land together this long.”
    â€œThat’s the kind of information I’m looking for—Melissa, is it?”
    â€œLissa,” the girl corrected him quietly.
    â€œLissa, got it. You dig into all that stuff. Great selling point when