Griffith Tavern (Taryn's Camera Book 2) (3 page)

Chapter 3

T
aryn had met with her clients in a variety of settings–from swanky boardrooms with secretaries who brought coffee and sandwiches to penthouse suites in casinos. This was the first time, however, she’d ever met with one (or a group to be more accurate) in a storage unit.

“Sorry about the space,” Daniel apologized. “Usually we meet at Moe’s, the bar, but it doesn’t open until 4:00 p.m. and I have to get to work. We rented this out to store some of our files and equipment in and it’s the only real place we have to meet.”

“I didn’t think you’d want to meet in my dorm room.” This came from a slightly overweight young man with shocking red hair who was busy rooting through his knapsack. “I’m a grad student and share a room with two other guys. They’re a little noisy. I’m Joe, by the way.”

The rest of the group nodded in agreement. They were a ragtag ensemble consisting of four women and three young men. Daniel appeared to be the oldest.

“So are most of you in college then?” This was also a first for her. Definitely the youngest crew she’d worked with.

“Yeah,” a pert redhead in Army fatigues answered as she blew out a puff of smoke. She was sitting on a stack of boxes. “Some of us met in our historic preservation class. We’re all different majors: art, history, econ…”

“We’re a real organization, though, 501 (c) and everything. We have a board of directors,” Daniel boasted hurriedly. “One of them is my old professor. He teaches historical landscaping at the university. Stand-up guy! You’ll meet them eventually but I wanted you to meet the real gang, first.”

Man, where were these kids when I was in college
, Taryn wondered.

A small blond with tight jeans and a lot of eyeliner was perched on a metal filing cabinet and studied Taryn with interest. “We’re real glad you’re here,” she finally said. Her voice was smooth and silky and when she talked Taryn noticed the guys gave her their full attention. “I’m Willow, by the way. The group’s official photographer and Daniel’s fiancée. I know we probably don’t look like the people you’re used to dealing with, but we’re totally serious about what we’re doing.”

“I can see that,” Taryn conceded. “You’ve gone to a lot of work. Even getting the paperwork filed for the nonprofit part is a big deal. I’m not sure I understand what’s going on, though. Have you already made a down payment on the tavern or what?”

Willow tucked a long strand of hair behind her ear and blew out a stream of air between her apple-red lips. “We have an option to purchase. It was good for ninety days. The good thing about it is that nobody can buy it out from under us before we get the funds…”

“And the bad thing?” Taryn sensed there was a “but” coming.

“It expires in less than a month and we haven’t secured the funds yet,” Daniel explained. “And to answer the rest of your question, we’re hoping to find the money. We’ve applied everywhere.”

“Everywhere,” the redhead echoed. “Joe here even wrote Oprah and Bill Gates.”

The heavyset, redheaded young man nodded grimly. “It was worth a shot. Why not?”

Taryn resisted the urge to tell them finding the funds, even through grants, to buy the place and renovate it would be difficult under ordinary circumstances with all the time on their hands they needed. In that short amount of time it would probably be nearly impossible. From the looks on their faces, though, she could tell most of them were feeling pessimistic about their remaining weeks, and she didn’t want to encourage that. They needed to remain hopeful.

“We’d like to get the community involved,” Daniel added. “Do some fundraisers, you know? We started a Kickstarter fund over the weekend. We’ve already raised almost $500. Joe here is our social media marketing expert. He’s been on Twitter and Instagram and everything, just trying to get the word out.”

“Just seems like nobody cares much about their own history anymore,” a guy with shaggy auburn hair and a black Pearl Jam T-shirt said. “What’s the
matter
with people? This tavern is one of the biggest things in the county and everyone’s just letting it fall down around them.”

Taryn smiled. “You guys are after my own heart. If I was rich, I’d already be poor because I would have spent all my money buying all the beautiful old buildings to fix them up.”

The group smiled and a couple laughed.

“The couple that owns it? The guy is a descendent of one of the original owners, the one who bought it after the turn of the century. They’re real sympathetic to us and want us to work it out, but they got hit hard in the recession. They need the cash,” Joe explained. “Like, now. I think they’ve got a bunch of debts.”

“I hear that,” Taryn mumbled. “So if someone else comes along and tries to buy it after your option expires…”

“They’ll have to sell to them. And that’s already happened,” Daniel muttered, studying his shoes. “A development company wants to buy the land, tear down the tavern, and build a shopping center there. It’s a good location because in a couple of weeks they’re going to start working on a new exit ramp off the interstate and then it will be prime real estate. We won’t have a chance.”

Taryn could see the disappointment and stress lining everyone’s faces. She felt it, too. It seemed like there was always something in the way. “Then I guess we need to find money, huh?” she smiled. “A lot of it.”

“Too bad the legend isn’t real,” Willow sighed. She stared off into the room, looking wistful.

“What legend?”

“There’s a story that Permelia, the owner’s wife, was really wealthy. He bought her from Boston. You know, a mail order bride?” Daniel let the question trail off as everyone nodded. “Well, supposedly she didn’t have a family or anything but had inherited a ton of cash. Or gold. Whatever. Anyway, she brought it with her and hid it on the property. Nobody’s ever found it.”

“A buried treasure?” Taryn laughed. “That’s awesome!”

“A few pieces of gold were found back in the eighties when they were doing some digging,” Willow explained. “I can’t remember what for. Anyway, it was in the ground. Probably just someone lost it somewhere along the way and it got buried in the dirt. They had metal detectors out for weeks. Never found anymore. Added fuel to the story, though.”

“I bet,” Taryn agreed. “Damn. Too bad that story
isn’t
real. Gold would help. A lot.”

D
espite the good day she’d had, Taryn was feeling down. It was late and since most of the music channels had ceased playing actual music on television anymore she felt restless and annoyed. Music was her stress reliever but all her CDs were in the car and she was too lazy to go out and get them. Everyone was into Spotify and things like that these days but she didn’t get those sites. Most online technology confused her, unless it had to do with photo editing. Even that had taken awhile for her to learn.

Fall was hard for Taryn. Her husband, Andrew, had died in October. They’d just been to a festival the day before. He’d eaten three caramel apples, the kind loaded with peanuts, chocolate, and Oreo shavings. She’d bought a handmade clock. The day felt so normal, no indication her world would come crashing down around her in less than 24 hours. Now she couldn’t even smell caramel or listen to the song “Amazed’ by Lonestar (they’d sung it at the top of their lungs on the drive home) without feeling panicked.

Funny how sometimes the good memories hurt worse than the bad ones.

She would feel much better once the air got colder, the skies darker and moodier, and fall was over with. A lot of people hated the cold weather and snow it brought with it but she didn’t mind it. It cleared out the sad memories for her, froze them.

Griffith Tavern was the first inn she’d worked at since Andrew died. Together, they’d worked at a handful over the years. There was one in South Carolina they had worked at and even stayed in together, but it wasn’t a stagecoach inn. That one wasn’t in bad shape; the owners wanted to renovate and restore it and needed some renderings for the architect, contractor, and decorator. It was a short, fast job but the inn itself was amazing and gave them the chance to stay near the beach and eat all the fresh seafood they could handle. On some nights they’d wander back to their room, stuffed and a little drunk, and would laugh and sing all the way there. Andrew couldn’t carry a tune in a bucket and could get loud when he wasn’t watching it so Taryn was constantly “shushing” him and giggling at the same time. They’d fall onto their canopied bed and roll around like children, priding themselves on being able to do something they loved, and doing it together.

She missed him.

Sitting alone in the middle of her bed, staring out the window in the dark night, Taryn cried a little. She hated fall.

A
short burst of rain left the ground moist and knocked down the temperature by a few degrees. The wet grass tickled Taryn’s toes inside her sandals. It was easy enough to find a good, level spot to set up her easel and with several hours of daylight left she was hopeful she’d be able to get a lot done.

It had taken her forever to fall asleep the night before. No more spooky visitors but she was still on edge. And, sometimes, the depression hit her and kept her awake. She hadn’t wasted her insomnia, though. She’d used it to study her photographs now she knew what she wanted to work on first–the porch–and had even made a few sketches. Her hands were still streaked from charcoal.

There was nothing like a good late-summer storm to leave everything feeling fresh and clean. Soft light filtered through the dark clouds still scattered in the sky and a hush fell over the tavern, giving it a wistful appearance.

It was a proud edifice and even with its broken windows and caved-in roof it still stood regally, unaware of its imperfections and brokenness. She could almost imagine it shouting out, “I don’t care what you do to me! I’m not going down without a fight!” There would be no white flag for this one.

Taryn felt a sense of pride for the ragtag group and their confidence and nerve. She also felt a little bit of jealousy. She’d never had close friends like that, or even belonged to a group with a common cause. Her years at the university were spent either studying or working. She didn’t join any clubs or organizations and didn’t go out to listen to music or drink with the others (a fact that depressed her, considering the amount of good live music Nashville boasted).

She was awkward around people her own age and always felt like she was trying too hard with them–too hard to be funny, too hard to be likable, too hard to be interesting…to be noticed.