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said. “So my little granddaughter gets bussed forty miles to Geneva to go to fourth grade. That works out to two hours on a bus every day.”
    Adam nodded solemnly and wondered if Vegas was hideously hot this June.
    â€œBut there’s somethin’ missing,” the mayor declared when Adam produced the charcoal sketch of the school with an asphalt circular drive for dropping off pupils. “By the way, we’re not from the city—kids walk home. Except, of course, for the kindergarteners who don’t have an older brother or sister.”
    Adam scribbled a note to get rid of the drive, and wondered if Ryan Jennings was getting a chance to spend a few hours at any of the casinos. He wondered if Ryan’s wife liked casinos, concluded she didn’t, and decided that not only was he being wasted on Deerhorn but Vegas was being wasted on Ryan.
    â€œMoms usually just pay a neighbor’s kid five dollars a month to walk the little ones home,” the Village Council president said.
    Adam erased the asphalt drive. He remembered that the Luxor hotel had sent him a coupon for a free weekend. Wasted. Utterly wasted.
    â€œStill looks too hard,” Lefty Pincham said.
    â€œHard?” Adam asked.
    â€œHard.”
    â€œYou took the word right out of my mouth,” the Village Council president said. “It’s not soft at all. It’s stark. Cold. Unfriendly-like. What kind of materials did you say you were using?”
    â€œGranite. Brought in from Utah,” Adam said. “Finest granite available outside of Italy. And you’ll be paying just a fraction of its cost.”
    At the word cost, the council members opened their presentation folders.
    â€œI mean a fraction of its retail value,” Adam amended.
    The folders closed.
    â€œGranite,” Lefty said, nodding wearily. “There’s the problem right there. The school looks too stone-cold…like a prison. Not that I’ve ever seen a prison. That must be it. Don’t use granite.”
    â€œWhat about glass?” Adam asked, producing one of the earlier drawings the Village Council had rejected. “J.P. thought you might like this one if we made a few changes. Perhaps putting a steel beam across the roof so the glass could extend up to the peak.”
    The mayor looked as if he had bitten into a particularly sour apple.
    â€œMeaning no disrespect to Lasser,” the Village Council president said, and all the council members ducked their heads at the mention of the man who had made this project possible. “But maybe we could use a softer material for the exterior walls?”
    Adam rubbed his temples.
    â€œYou were thinking cotton, perhaps?”
    â€œWell, that’s a possibility,” one of the council members said.
    They nodded in unison, carefully considering what the school would look like cocooned in a layer of soft, fluffy cotton.
    It was twenty minutes before Adam could convince each of them that it was a stupid idea, even if it was his.
    By the time he put his plans in his briefcase and strode quickly past Betty Carbol’s desk outside the mayor’s office, it was four o’clock.
    Two hours. Two hours!
    Didn’t these small-town folks understand how to get things done?
    The meeting had resolved nothing and in fact, as soon as the mayor had located his gavel in the middle drawer of his desk, he slapped it hard on his desk protector and announced an adjournment until the next week.
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    â€œT ANGLEWOOD ,” the secretary said.
    Adam stopped short of the Deerhorn Township flag draped near the office door. He stared at the pert older woman behind the front desk. She had sky-high hair and an impressive collection of bangles around her wrists. She was applying a strident shade of coral to her lips in preparation for getting off work.
    â€œBeg your pardon?”
    â€œTanglewood,” she said, scribbling an address on a Post-it note. “It’s the only