Chapter 33
Maggie Valley, NC
THEY WERE SITTING in the gazebo at the house when a somewhat battered pickup truck began to descend the driveway and eventually stop on the parking pad. The driver exited the truck and walked across the footbridge. Randy Jamison was as George had described him—a quintessential good old boy, complete with beer gut, scruffy goatee, and baseball cap.
They stood and introduced themselves when the man reached the gazebo.
“So, you guys have bought this old place?” he said.
“Yes, Sir,” Chris said. “And as you can see, it desperately needs a new driveway.”
“That’s for sure. I told my buddy Horace that cheap asphalt wouldn’t hold up, but he wouldn’t listen to me.”
“What happened to him?”
“He started building this house bit by bit and was just about to fix up the
