The Billionaire Bid. Leigh Michaels

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СКАЧАТЬ suit—but it was unlikely the winner was the type to donate money to a historical museum. City councilman challenges mayor—nothing unusual about that. Tyler-Royale expected to close downtown store—five hundred jobs at stake—formal announcement expected today…That kind of blow to the community’s economy wouldn’t make raising money for a museum expansion any easier.

      Gina turned the page, then turned it back and sat staring at the picture of the Tyler-Royale department store building. There were two pictures, in fact—one of a group of clerks beside an old-fashioned cash register, taken when the store was brand new nearly a century before, and a shot from just yesterday of shoppers at the front entrance.

      You’re thinking too small, Anne Garrett had said. And then Be sure you read the newspaper.

      Had she…could she have been…thinking about the Tyler-Royale building as a home for the historical museum? It seemed the only explanation of that cryptic comment. But why hadn’t she just come straight out and said it?

      Because if the announcement wasn’t going to be made until today, not just everybody had known about the store closing—and the last thing the publisher of the Chronicle would do would be to take a chance of the local television station beating her newspaper to the story.

      Gina closed her eyes and tried to picture the department store. It had been a while since she’d shopped there, but if her memory was accurate, the space could hardly be better suited to house a museum. Areas which had been designed for the display of merchandise would be just as good for showing off exhibits, and a soaring atrium in the center of the building brought natural but indirect light to the interior of every floor. The store was big enough to house not only every exhibit the museum currently displayed but every item currently in storage as well. The stained-glass windows from St. Francis Church would be no problem; they could have a gallery to themselves.

      In addition, the building sat squarely in the middle of the downtown area—an even better location for a museum than Essie Kerrigan’s house was. There was even a parking ramp right next door.

      But best of all, in Gina’s opinion, was the fact that nobody in their right minds would pay good money for that building. If Tyler-Royale couldn’t run a profitable store in the center of downtown Lakemont, then it was dead certain nobody else could. No, Tyler-Royale couldn’t sell it—but they could donate it to a good cause and save themselves a wad in taxes.

      And why shouldn’t that good cause be the Kerrigan County Historical Society?

      The newspaper said that the CEO of Tyler-Royale had come up from Chicago to make the announcement at a press conference scheduled for ten o’clock that morning. Since she didn’t know how long Ross Clayton would be in town, Gina figured that would be her best opportunity to talk to him. All she needed, after all, was a few minutes of his time.

      Not that she expected the man to make a spur-of-the-moment decision. This was hardly like making a contribution to the United Way; he couldn’t donate company property without the approval of his board of directors. And even if he was in the mood to give away a building at the drop of a hat, Gina couldn’t exactly take it. She didn’t even want to think about the fuss it would create if she were to call a meeting of the museum’s board of directors and announce that—without permission or consultation with any of them—she’d gone and acquired a new building.

      But a few minutes with the CEO would be enough to set the process in motion. To give the man something to think about. And to give her a hint about whether he might act on the suggestion.

      Her path toward downtown took her past Essie Kerrigan’s house. Gina paused on the sidewalk in front of the museum and looked up at the three-story red brick Victorian. The building looked almost abandoned, its facade oddly blank because most of the windows had been covered from the inside to provide more room for displays.

      Gina had spent the best hours of her life inside that house. As a teenager, she had visited Essie Kerrigan and listened to the old woman’s tales of early life in Kerrigan County. As a college student, she’d spent weeks in the museum library doing research. As a new graduate, her first job had been as Essie’s assistant—and then, eventually, her successor.

      In a way, she felt like a traitor—to the house and to Essie—even to consider moving the museum away from its first and only home. The building was a part of the museum; it always had been.

      But in her heart, she knew Anne Garrett had been right. She had been thinking too small. She simply hadn’t wanted to let herself look too closely at the whole problem, because she had thought there was no viable alternative.

      Putting a roof over the garden and the driveway would be a temporary solution for the cramped conditions, but if the plan was successful and the museum grew, in a few years they would find themselves stuck once more in exactly the same dilemma. And then they’d have nowhere to go, because the building was already landlocked, hemmed in by houses and commercial buildings.

      If the museum was ever going to move, now was the time. Before they had invested hundreds of thousands of dollars in new construction. Before they tore up Essie Kerrigan’s house. The house was salvageable now—a restorer would have no trouble reversing the few changes which had been made to accommodate the museum. But as soon as the work started, knocking out walls and adding a couple of wings, the house would be even more of a white elephant than the Tyler-Royale store was.

      “It’s all right,” she whispered, as if the house were listening. “It’ll be better this way. You won’t be carved up after all, because a family will buy you and make you truly beautiful again.”

      Why the CEO had chosen to hold his press conference at the city’s premiere hotel instead of in the store was beyond Gina’s understanding, until she walked into the main ballroom and saw the final preparations under way. Cables and power cords snaked underfoot; lights and cameras formed a semicircle around the lectern set on a low stage at one side of the room, and people were milling everywhere. No wonder he’d wanted to keep this circus out of the store. Even though it would be closing soon, there was no sense in driving the last customers away with all the noise and confusion.

      It was not exactly the place for a confidential chat, of course. But she didn’t have much choice about the place or the time, so she edged into the crowd, watching intently.

      Almost beside Gina, a reporter from one of the Lakemont television stations was tapping her foot as she waited for her cameraman to finish setting up. “Will you hurry up? He’ll be coming in the door to the left of the podium—make sure you get that shot. And don’t forget to check the microphone feed.”

      Gina, hoping the woman knew what she was talking about, edged toward the left side of the podium. She was standing next to the door when it opened, and she took a deep breath and stepped forward, business card in hand, to confront the man who came out onto the little stage. “Sir, I realize this is neither the time nor the place,” she said, “but I’m with the Kerrigan County Historical Society, and when you have a minute I’d like to talk to you about your building. I think it would make a wonderful museum.”

      The man looked at her business card and shook his head. “If you mean the Tyler-Royale store, you’ve got the wrong man, I’m afraid.”

      “But you—aren’t you Ross Clayton? Your picture was in the Chronicle this morning.”

      “Yes,” he admitted. “But I don’t exactly own the building anymore.”

      Gina felt her jaw go slack with shock. “You’ve sold it? Already?”

      “In a manner СКАЧАТЬ