It’s not even for sale, I remind myself. And yet that doesn’t seem to matter. The humming refuses to subside.
An idea forms in my mind as I make my way back through town, where I stop at a café for a drink. When the woman behind the counter hands me my juice spritzer, I hesitate for a moment. Avalon Bay is a small town. If we’re going by the small towns I’ve seen on TV shows like Gilmore Girls, that means everyone knows everything about everyone and everything.
So I take a wild guess and ask, “What do you know about the old abandoned hotel on the boardwalk? The Beacon? Any idea why the owner hasn’t done anything with it?”
“Ask her yourself.”
I blink. “Sorry, what?”
She nods toward a table by the window. “That’s the owner.”
I follow her gaze and spot an elderly woman wearing a wide-brim hat and huge black sunglasses that obscure most of her face. She’s dressed more like a beachcomber than a hotelier.
What are the odds? The humming intensifies, until my entire body feels wired with a live current. This has to mean something.
Carrying my drink, I slowly approach the table by the window. “Excuse me, I’m sorry to bother you. I wondered if I might talk to you about your hotel. May I sit down?”
The woman doesn’t look up from her coffee cake and cup of tea. “We’re closed.”
“Yes, I know.” I take a breath. “I hoped I might change that.”
She picks at her cake with brittle fingers. Pulls tiny crumbs, placing them slowly, gently, in her mouth.
“Ma’am? Your hotel. Can I ask you a few questions?”
“We’re closed.”
I can’t tell if she’s putting me on, or not all there. I don’t want to be rude or upset her, so I try one last time.
“I want to buy your hotel. Is that something that would interest you?”
Finally, she lifts her head to look at me. I can’t see her eyes because of the sunglasses, but the thoughtful purse of her lips confirms I’ve captured her interest. She takes a long sip of her tea. Then, setting down the cup, she pushes out a chair for me with her foot.
I sit, hoping I don’t appear too eager. “My name is Mackenzie. Cabot. I’m a student at Garnet College, but I’m sort of an entrepreneur too. I’m really interested in discussing your hotel.”
“Lydia Tanner.” After a long beat, she removes her sunglasses and places them on the tabletop. A pair of surprisingly shrewd eyes laser into mine. “What do you want to know?”
“Everything,” I answer with a smile.
For more than an hour, we discuss the hotel’s history. How she built it with her husband after the war. How it was practically demolished and rebuilt three times since then, before her husband died two years ago. Then after the last storm, she was too old and too tired to rebuild again. Her heart wasn’t in it, and her kids weren’t interested in salvaging the property.
“I’ve had offers,” she tells me, her voice sure and steady. Not at all the timid old lady she might appear. “Some generous. Some not. Developers who want to tear it down and build some hideous high-rise in its place. People have been trying to tear down the boardwalk for years, turn this place into Miami or something. All concrete and shiny glass.”
Her derisive sniff reveals exactly how she feels about all this. “This town will never be like Miami. It has too much charm,” I assure her.
“The developers don’t care about charm. They only see dollar signs.” Lydia picks up her teacup. “My only terms are that whoever buys my hotel has to preserve the intent. Maintain the character. I want to move closer to my grandkids, spend whatever time I have left with my family.” She sighs. “But I simply can’t bear to leave without knowing The Beacon is well cared for.”
“I can make you that promise,” I say honestly. “It’s the charm of the place that made me fall in love with it. I can commit to restoring everything as close to original as possible. Update the wiring and plumbing. Reinforce the bones. Make sure it survives another fifty years.”
Lydia examines me, as if gauging whether to take me seriously or write me off as a silly college girl who’s wasting her time.
Several seconds tick by before she gives a slow nod. “Well, then, young lady, write down a number.”
A number? I know nothing about the hotel real estate market, so I’m completely flying by the seat of my pants as I type a figure into the Notes app on my phone. It’s my best estimation of how much a property like this might cost, but also not enough to clean out my entire business account.