A Place to Call Home

by Jessica Berg

  Grace crinkled her nose against the odor onslaught. “Stinky.”

  Phoebe inhaled. “It smells good. I’m hungry.”

  Grace grabbed Phoebe’s arm and followed Annie, who pushed through the thick crowd.

  Annie huffed and puffed from the front of the pack. “I told you it was a jungle in here.”

  A few minutes brought them to the area they’d been looking for. An entire section dedicated to the Queen Victorian style stood before them in all its glory.

  “Look at this.” Phoebe pointed to a bedroom set.

  Grace rubbed a hand over the smooth wood of the walnut bedstead before her. “Beautiful.” Its elegantly curved headboard sported intricate carvings and the footboard, with its plain yet graceful lines, would have suited any of the guest bedrooms. She peered at the recommended selling price and gulped. The price for one bed didn’t bother her. It was the price of five of them that had her doing quick calculations in her head.

  “Here’s the deal, Pheebs, we could purchase this bed and put it in the master suite. We were going to charge a little more for that room anyway. We’ll have to be careful in purchasing items for the other rooms. We want the furniture to be authentic, but I don’t want to fleece ourselves in our first auction.”

  Grace wrote the item number, searched again. After two hours, sweat trickled down her back, and her stomach rumbled. Glancing at the wish list, she grimaced. Even with a bank account flush of money from the divorce and a nice little nest egg from her father’s life insurance policy, she didn’t know what the future would hold. The bed-and-breakfast might blow up in her face and take all the cash as well as her pride. Fear of the unknown had her clutching the purse strings.

  Over hot dogs, chips, and funnel cakes, Grace and Phoebe studied the list and crossed many things off.

  “Maybe, my dears, the price won’t go as high as the recommended selling price. You never know with these animals,” Annie chirped around a mouthful of sauerkraut.

  Grace wiped her mouth with a napkin. “I hope you are right.”

  Feedback from a microphone signaled the auction’s start. A chunky man, who had squeezed himself into Wranglers, walked stiffly up the steps and onto the platform in the middle of the arena. With a large white Stetson hat planted firmly on his head, the auctioneer welcomed all the “antique hunters” to the “greatest auction in the tri-state area.”

  The auctioneer started out at a quick ramble. Paintings, from some artist Grace had never heard of, were auctioned off at lightning speed. Being sucked in by the auctioneer’s hypnotic rhythm, she half raised her hand to buy a painting of a cow and calf grazing by a gurgling brook.

  “Next up, folks, we’ve got a lovely Queen Victorian bedstead made from solid walnut with one-of-a-kind carvings.” The auctioneer speed-talked his rhythmic and hypnotic chant. Grace stuck her number in the air. The auctioneer’s assistants pointed her out. A few other people as well stuck their numbers in the air, and she immediately hated them. The price continued to climb, and sweat beaded on her forehead.

  Soon, Grace and a little grey-haired old lady with the tightest perm she’d ever seen were the only ones left standing. No more than five feet tall, the old lady wore a yellow calico polyester dress hitting below saggy, wrinkly knees. Thigh-high nylons sagged around the woman’s varicose-vein infested ankles, white orthopedic tennis shoes completing the ensemble. Grace rolled her shoulders, cracked her neck. She could take this little old lady. No problem. The little old lady glared death rays out of her eyes.

  “Phoebe, if looks could kill, I’d be dead by now.” She tilted her head toward the woman. “Do you see her? She’s freaky.”

  Phoebe studied her sister’s enemy. “Sorry, can’t help you. She looks like she might be like a fly and not stay dead.”

  Grace matched the old lady’s steely glare with a glare of her own. Just like the old Westerns. All they needed were some six-shooters and some chaps. With lightning speed, the old lady raised her number in the air. Grace shot her number in the air as well. This old bat would not sleep in that bed.

  The old lady mouthed the word “hussy” as she hoisted her number in the air again. Grace gasped in shock at the dirty-mouthed, old hag. With a growl of determination, Grace rammed her arm up, something went pop. Sucking in a pained gasp, she switched hands. Sacrifice your body for the game.

  Phoebe patted Grace’s back. “Go get ‘em, tiger.” She squealed with excitement, “Annie was right. This is a jungle, and these people are crazy.”

  Grace concentrated on the auctioneer’s prices. She hoped yellow-clad crazy lady’s hip would give out. No, she’d still be able to raise her arm. Maybe a small break in both arms? Not good. There would be witnesses, and she was far too pretty for prison.

  Her palms dampened at the price. She and Phoebe had agreed to stop here. Instead of extending her creepy, claw-like hand in the air, the old lady cursed and spat on the floor. With a derogatory name thrown at Grace, she stomped off in her orthopedics.

  “She scared me.” Phoebe quit hiding behind Grace and peeked around Grace’s bad shoulder.

  “Thanks for all the love and support. I couldn’t have done it without you.”

  “Sarcasm doesn’t look good on you. It clashes with your eyes.”

  Annie bustled to Grace, huffing and puffing with excitement. “Oh, my dear, that was like one of the Rocky movies I’ve seen. The one with the Russian. He was hot. Anyway, where was I? Oh, yeah, she had you in the corner, but you kept going and going like the Energizer Bunny.”

  Grace blinked. “Annie, I’m not sure, but that’s the first time anyone has compared me to Rocky and the Energizer Bunny in the same sentence.”

  “Did I offend you?” Annie patted Grace’s bad shoulder. Grace gritted her teeth. “Oh, my dear, those are total compliments. They’re superheroes.” She trotted off to the slushie stand.

  Phoebe leaned over and whispered in Grace’s ear. “She’s a loon.”

  “That’s what happens when you marry a Dick.”

  After several more hours, the hot pink pin-striped Dodge Ram groaned under the weight of antique items ranging from dinnerware to furniture. Grace held on for dear life as Annie lurched into oncoming traffic.

  “Um, Annie, do you mind if I drive? I’ve always wanted to drive such a big truck.”

  Annie gave a toothy grin. “Sure. Why don’t we swing through McDonald’s, and we can switch over.”

  “Can we swing into the mall first? Phoebe and I need to find dresses for Lauren and Bruce’s wedding.”

  “Oh! I love shopping.” Annie clapped her hands, jumping with glee. Grace checked for a puddle under Annie, glad she hadn’t wet herself.

  Two hours later, the three women, armed with new dresses, chocolate milkshakes, Big Macs, and fries, started making their way back to Beacon.

  “I’ve never had this much fun,” Annie mumbled over a bite of Big Mac.

  “Yeah, it was pretty fun. And you were right about the whole jungle thing. Two old men in suspenders had a fistfight over the last hot dog.”

  Phoebe piped up from the back. “Some skinny woman punched out a large lady with a rose tattoo on her shoulder. But that was because the skinny lady caught her husband doing the fat lady in the bathroom.”

  Grace choked on a half-swallowed fry. Taking a sip of Diet Coke, she cleared her throat. “I’m not sure why I’m asking this, but how do you know?”

  “I was unfortunate enough to be in the stall next to the fat lady and cheating husband.”

  “And you say I have all the fun.”

  Chapter 13

  At six-thirty, Grace pulled into the long gravel drive. Her heart stopped. Two cop cars parked in the driveway, their emergency lights reflecting off the newly-painted house. Her eyes darted over to Dominick’s truck, and her heart stopped. What if something had happened to him? Not seeing an ambulance, her heart slowed slightly. She slammed the truck in park and jumped out. Phoebe clutched her hand.

  “Whoa there, ma’am.�
� Grace whirled on a red-faced young cop. His nervous eyes darted from her face to the entrance of the house. “You can’t go in there.”

  “I’m Grace McIntyre, and this is my sister, Phoebe. We own this place.” Taking a deep breath, she asked the question she wasn’t sure she wanted the answer to. “What’s going on here?”

  “Someone broke into your house, ma’am, and well … they did a lot of damage. There’s a lot of blood …” The officer’s complexion drained of all color.

  “Blood?” Bile rose in Grace’s throat.

  Phoebe squeaked.

  “The perpetrators left you a welcome present of a few disemboweled squirrels.”

  She sank to the ground. The next thing she knew, familiar strong arms led her to the front porch steps. Too exhausted to fight the supportive embrace, she allowed herself a moment of weakness. Just a minute. Who would do this, and why? My house and those poor little squirrels. Her eyes snapped open, and her body sprang to life. “I gotta see it.”

  “Shhh.” Dominick wrapped his arms tighter around her. “It’s okay. I’ve got it all taken care of. You don’t have to worry about a thing.” His finger wrapped around a lock of her hair.

  “Where’s Phoebe?”

  He jerked his head toward the cop car. Sitting on the hood, Phoebe leaned against Annie’s shoulder and breathed into a paper bag. “We all left around five. I got back to my house, realized I forgot my cell phone. When I got back here, the window was busted, so I called the cops.” He threaded his fingers through his hair.

  “What am I supposed to do?” She struggled to regain control. When Dominick gently grabbed her bad arm to pull her toward him, she yelped in pain.

  “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

  “No, I overextended it today.” Facing her house, she straightened her shoulders. She wasn’t about to let some squirrel killers keep her from her dream.

  She ascended the steps, entered the foyer, and burst into tears. Slashes of blood marred every wall in the main room. Ten squirrel carcasses hung from the ceiling by nails driven into furry little tails. Rage replaced fear. When she found the person responsible for this, she’d… she’d… she didn’t know what she’d do, but she knew it’d be painful and long-lasting.

  Dominick’s footsteps sounded behind her. “Whatever you do, do not let Phoebe in here.”

  “It looks like someone is trying to scare you.”

  “Really? What gave you the first clue?”

  ***

  Dominick squelched the hot retort. Her fighting stance and clenched fists trembling in rage broke his heart. His own anger rattled in its cage, shaking the bars for release. All he wanted to do was drive his fist through the perpetrators’ faces. All he could do was take her in his arms. And he did.

  Her body tensed for a split second before melting against him, her arms wrapping around his torso. His body went warm, stress slipped from him, and he tucked her head into his neck and breathed in her scent. If he wasn’t careful, he’d get himself into a load of trouble, but maybe that’s what he needed. Not wanting to break their contact, but needing more of her, he tipped her head toward him, watched her eyes darken, dipped to meet her parted lips. He tasted the salt of her tears, his heart hammered in his chest. He wasn’t sure if he still breathed. He didn’t care. Her lips played over his, hers searching, his answering.

  On a moan, she pulled away. “I can’t do this.”

  Her whisper might as well have been a punch to his gut. “Grace—”

  “Please. I can’t. It wouldn’t be fair to you. You deserve better. I—” She touched her hand over his heart and ran from the house.

  He jammed his fingers into his hair, resting his hands on the top of his head. Only when the taillights of Annie’s pickup disappeared into the darkness did he give in to his rage, punching a hole into a finished wall.

  “Your men aren’t going to be too happy seeing that tomorrow morning.” Noah slapped him on the back. “Why don’t you put two there. Make you feel better.”

  Dominick flexed his sore hand. “Took you long enough to get here.”

  “Didn’t have my phone on me.” Noah paled at the carnage. “Phoebe didn’t see this, did she?”

  “No. Grace wouldn’t let her in the house.” He wished Grace hadn’t seen it either, but that stubborn woman was unstoppable.

  “What do you need me to do?”

  Dominick gestured to the lifeless squirrels and smatters of blood. “Care to be on the clean-up crew?”

  An hour later, the humid night air clung to the house, making Dominick’s job much more detestable. Noah had already removed the tiny squirrel carcasses from the foyer. However, the blood remained, and his shirt, smudged with red, stuck to his body. Wiping his forehead on his forearm, he welcomed the anger. It kept his mind off the kiss they’d shared. And the rejection that followed. If only she’d open up to him, allow him in. He wouldn’t push her away. Couldn’t push her away. If he ever met the man who’d put the walls around her heart, he’d smash him in the face. He slammed the now pink rag into the bucket. Pink bubbles burst and erupted.

  “Almost done.” Noah replaced the dirty bucket with a new filled with fresh, soapy water.

  Dominick grunted and scrubbed at a stain.

  “I don’t want the girls staying here anymore.”

  “Try telling Grace that.” Dominick spared his friend a glance.

  “You picked the more stubborn of the two.”

  “And you, the craziest.”

  Noah rubbed his jawline. “I’ll never be bored.”

  Dominick swiped at the last stain and stood back. “It’s good. What do you think?”

  “I think I could use a beer.”

  “You are a wise friend. Meet you a Willy’s.”

  Noah trotted off, and Dominick circled the foyer, inspecting the walls and floor for any residual mess. Finding none, he drove into town, hoping his beer wouldn’t drown out the taste of Grace.

  ***

  A hunched figure in the tree grove watched the tail lights with fever-pitched hilarity. In silence, Leo watched the police finish their business and leave. Idiot police. He chuckled. They couldn’t catch a criminal if he wiggled butt-naked on their faces. Alone again, he straightened and walked back to his truck. His romance with Delilah Wallace was budding as planned.

  His friends had thought him gross, lusting after older women. The one shrink he’d been forced to talk to lied and said it had to do with his mother. He’d never known his mother. And he never went back to that shrink. Foster mother Six kicked him out after that. He’d been twelve and had tolerated five more foster families until he turned eighteen. A day he had celebrated by stealing father Eleven’s liquor and mother Eleven’s money and lingerie.

  It was erotic to see the black lace teddy on Delilah. If things went according to plan, he’d strip her of it before becoming the last victim. He ached at the thought of using the lacy weapon on Jeremiah’s trophy wife. But first, he had unfinished business with the offspring of the man who’d killed his father. A wolf-like grin spread across his face. He knew the time neared for the ultimate conquest. Throwing back his head, he howled at the moon.

  Chapter 14

  “That looks amazing.”

  Grace blushed, her hands shaking on the last “e” of the word “welcome.” She’d have to remake the welcome sign. Her fingers traced her lips. Warm waves of lava swam in the pit of her stomach. She dipped her paintbrush into a cup of water and stirred. “Thank you. It’s not finished. I want to add some fancy curly-cues or something.” The swirling water filled the silence. “Thank you. For,” she gestured to the house, “cleaning up.”

  He knelt in front of her, laid his hand on hers, stopping her furious stirring. “My pleasure.” He cocked his head, studied her. “You didn’t sleep, did you?”

  “I slept fine.”

  He grunted and released her hand. “Where’s Phoebe?”

  “Oh, Noah stole her away for a day. Let’s just say he didn’t have to
twist her arm too hard.” She scowled.

  “What’s the matter with Noah?”

  Grabbing her paintbrush and art supplies, she walked to the kitchen. “Nothing’s the matter with Noah. Phoebe is —”

  “Phoebe is … ?” He leaned against the kitchen island, his long legs stretched out, boots crossed.

  Opening the fridge, she grabbed a Diet Coke, offered one to Dominick, and took a refreshing swig from the bottle. “Phoebe’s the type of girl who falls in love hard and fast. She’s been hurt before by men who take advantage of her free spirit and open heart.” She held the cold bottle to her forehead, hoping the cooling sensation would demolish her headache. “I’m worried Phoebe will fall hard and fast for your friend only to have her heart broken again.”

  “Isn’t that her problem, though? If Phoebe’s willing to take the risk of loving again, you should let her.” His eyes transformed from regular old chocolate to the yummy stuff buried deep within dark chocolate truffles. He reached out and gently smoothed a stray tendril behind her ear. “Why do you take so much on your shoulders, Grace?”

  Jerking back, she bit out, “She’s my little sister.” She scrubbed her hands over her face. “Sorry, I don’t want her to get hurt again. That’s all.”

  Dominick stuck his hands in his pockets. “I didn’t mean to pry.” A smile lit up his face, his scar crinkling at the movement. She mentally slapped her itchy right hand as if it were going for the forbidden cookie jar. He cocked his head, his eyes lighting with amusement. How long have I been staring at his scar? She cleared her throat. “Sorry, lost my train of thought there for a minute.”

  He rubbed his scar. “I … if you don’t mind … I … ” He massaged the back of his neck, exhaled. “I came to whisk you away as well.” He winked. “You can’t argue, or I’ll quit.”