Sarah couldn’t help smiling at Julie’s enthusiasm and even catching a little of it herself. The rather overgrown yard was vast—the listing had said nearly two acres—and although it wasn’t easy to imagine it cleaned-up, she was picturing an expanse of green lawn in front under the ancient trees that desperately needed trimming and maybe a playground out back. The rambling house had a wide porch along three sides where they could put wicker settees and rocking chairs, maybe hang a Boston fern right there in that section that rounded out into a little gazebo at the far corner.
The fact that the house was on the edge of town and yet walking distance to all the shops and restaurants and the harbor made Sarah glad. Neighbors weren’t so close that post-midnight arrivals would be an issue—that was a good thing, because experience had taught her that often victims showed up in the dark of night. Chewing her lower lip, she peered down the drive that curved from the road, wondering if parking was going to be a problem and if there were any outbuildings. Didn’t the ad mention a carriage house or a barn or something?
She tugged on the padlock that held the tall gates together before running her hands over bricked columns on either side of the driveway.
“What are you doing?” Julie asked.
“Seeing if there’s a loose brick where they’d hide a key to the gate.” Sarah tested a couple at eye-level and mortar rained down.
“I’d guess a bunch of them are loose,” Julie said wryly. “This place has been empty for years. I remember Lillian McCartney—the last one to live here. She was ancient, but she died right before the twins were born, so about twenty-five years ago.” She leaned against the front fender of the car to reminisce. “I drove Charlie crazy because I was convinced that old lady’s death was a sign that the babies weren’t going to survive birth.” She shook her head at Sarah’s puzzled look. “Don’t ask—I was weird when I was pregnant. Her funeral was so sad because only about a dozen people from the village showed up; no family came because she was like the last of her line.”
Sarah couldn’t imagine anything more depressing than a funeral where no one came to mourn the deceased. Macy’s service was packed to the rafters. The funeral director had set up chairs in the hallway and into the next room. “She didn’t have kids?”
“No, she never married and, if there were any relations left, they were so distant they didn’t even know she existed.”
“Did she die without a will or something?”
“Oh no, she had a will all right.” Julie’s eye roll made Sarah’s heart lurch. “She left the entire estate in trust to the county historical society with the caveat that we keep the property maintained for her cats.”
Sarah snorted a laugh. “You’ve got to be kidding me. That doesn’t happen in real life.” She gaped at Julie. “Does it?”
“Oh, it does. She said the society was free to do whatever they wanted with the place after the last cat died.” Julie sighed. “Unfortunately, there wasn’t a lot of actual cash left in the estate, so by the time I got on the WBHS board, the only thing they’d managed to maintain was keeping the damn cats spayed and neutered, and don’t think that was easy. The last cat died about a year ago, and we don’t have the budget or the desire to keep this white elephant. About ten or fifteen years ago, they got permission from the court to auction off the contents, which added to the cat care fund. Thank God for the feral cat folks or we’d still be chasing down kittens.”
What a story! Fascinated, Sarah gazed at the house, half-expecting to see a platoon of cats curled up on the porch rails and wandering along the weedy gravel drive. “Where is the realtor? She was supposed to meet us twenty minutes ago.” She was impatient to get inside, her curiosity growing by the second.
“Here she is!” Julie waved as a big SUV pulled up behind Julie’s little BMW and a woman slid out, leaving the car running.
“Hey, Jules, sorry I’m late.” A chipper woman in her late fifties, she managed to give them a sunny smile and look abashed all at the same time. “We had a little paperwork disaster at the office.” She extended her hand. “I’m Mathilda Fry—folks call me Mattie unless they want to irritate me. Welcome to Willow Bay.” Mattie’s handshake was firm and friendly and her smile warm. Her gray hair, shining silver in the noon sun, was cut in a cute pixie style that Sarah envied.
“Sarah Ev—Bennett.” Dammit. Was she ever going to get used to the new name?
“Okay. Let’s take a look.” Mattie used one of the keys on a laden keyring to open the padlock on the gate, which swung open smoothly without the creak that Sarah was expecting to hear. “Hop in and I’ll drive us up to the house.”
“We can walk,” Sarah protested. She wanted to get a feel for the size of the property.
“You can if you like, but I’ve got a bum knee.” When Mattie headed for her open car door, Sarah detected a slight limp, although the bad knee didn’t seem to affect the amount of pressure she could apply to a gas pedal. The realtor spun gravel as she careened up the driveway and came to a hard stop right in next to the wide front steps.
“She’s a bundle of energy,” Sarah observed as she and Julie trotted up the drive.
“She’s a hoot,” Julie said. “A little scattered sometimes; however, she knows her stuff and she does a mean karaoke at the Harbor Bar. You should catch her act some Friday night.” She stepped carefully around a small pile of tree branches that someone had raked up on the side of the drive. “I see the beautification committee has been out.”
“Beautification committee?” Sarah scanned the unkempt yard. The grass was green, and from this vantage point, apparently it had been cut in the last month or so in spite of the tall weeds growing along the fence. The gardens were overrun with weeds, and Virginia creeper vines hung from the tall trees that shaded the house. A pair of Michigan’s famous black squirrels scampered away as Sarah and Julie approached. A few late spring flowers added a little color, as did the peonies blooming up by the porch. Those could be saved. And was that wisteria growing up over the porch rail?
“Oh, about four times a summer, a group of retired villagers head out here with their riding mowers and make a run around the property. Sometimes they pick up sticks and, usually in the fall, they have a bonfire out back to burn them.”
Sarah stopped for a moment to take in the scene before her, which wasn’t so daunting close up. A wide porch almost seemed to welcome her and cockeyed shutters lent an air of whimsy rather than neglect. This could work—if the inside was halfway decent and the ceilings weren’t falling in and the floors weren’t covered in cat crap or reeking of urine.
Yeah, this could work.
“C’mon”—Julie gave Sarah’s shoulder a little nudge—“let’s go look inside.”
* * * *
Almost two hours later, an exhausted but exhilarated Sarah stood in the expansive foyer gazing up at the ornate ceiling fixture and shaking her head. “Un-freakin’-believable,” she said for what seemed like the hundredth time.
“Right?” Julie agreed, brushing her hands together in a futile attempt to remove the grime she’d picked up as they wandered the property. “So what do you think?”
Sarah turned a complete circle and took in the double parlors, the dining room beyond, the wide staircase with its glorious carved walnut bannisters, and the sun shining through the filthy stained glass window on the landing. How had that thing survived?
Somehow, the historical society had managed to save the house from vandals and scavengers. All the built-ins—the corner cupboards in the dining room, the glass-front cabinets built into the walls around the fireplace in the east parlor and the floor-to-ceiling bookcases in the library off the west parlor—although dusty and in need of refinishing were still in good condition. Only a few panes of cracked glass would need to be replaced in the solarium that opened from the east parlor, and all the gorgeous painted tiles around the dining room and parlor fireplaces were intact. Hell, even the rolling ladder in the library was still in place.
“H
ow did the society keep this place pristine for so many years?” Sarah asked Mattie, who’d settled with a thump on the second-to-the-bottom step of the ornate staircase, heedless of her black pants and the dust. “I mean there isn’t even any graffiti anywhere in here or any broken windows.”
Mattie leaned against the newel post, her face streaked with dirt and sweat. “We’ve kept an eye on things, fed the cats, made sure the windows and doors were locked up. As you saw, the house is alarmed, although it’s an ancient system that will need to be replaced. Every year, a group comes out and makes a run through with mops and buckets and dust rags.”
“And there is the fact that the old place is haunted,” Julie said with a twinkle in her eye.
“Seriously?” Sarah shivered, half-expecting to see a shadowy shape float by, which was ridiculous because the house had welcomed her from the moment she’d stepped on the porch. It most certainly wasn’t haunted or if it was, she’d bet they were friendly ghosts.
Julie tossed her a wry smile. “Of course not, I’m kidding. Everyone got to come through the place when we auctioned off all the contents a few years ago, so curiosity has pretty much been held to a minimum.”
“It’s off the beaten path enough that tourists don’t even know it exists,” Mattie added from her perch on the stairs. “And frankly, I haven’t advertised it since we got the listing a few months ago because Julie here asked me to hold off. When she told me what she wanted to do, I was happy to oblige.” Her eyes darkened and she cocked her head to one side. “My daughter was in an abusive relationship when she was a teenager—some punk from Traverse City that she met at a football game. If I could’ve cut the kid’s balls off, I would’ve done so with glee the night she came home with a black eye.”
“How is she now?” Sarah asked, suddenly seeing the gruff realtor in a new light.
“Happily married with two kids and another one on the way.” Mattie grinned. “We saved her early, got her into therapy. I wasn’t about to let violence become a pattern for my baby girl.”
“You were smart,” Sarah said. “She’s lucky to have you.”
Mattie pushed up off the step. “She’s the light of my life, and those grandkids… You got grands?”
“No.” Sarah wandered through the wide arched doorway to the east parlor and beyond to the solarium that looked out on the backyard.
“I guess you’re a little young for that yet. Got any ki—” Mattie’s questions cut off so quickly that Sarah was sure Julie had given the realtor a signal to shut up. A few muffled words behind her made her smile—good ol’ Jules always had her back.
Surprisingly, the questions hadn’t bothered her. She was too wrapped up in the house. Julie was right—it was perfect and Sarah’s mind ran riot imagining the walls stripped of the old faded paper and gleaming with fresh paint. Once the trees were trimmed and the dead ones taken down, sunlight would stream into all the windows. The hardwood floors would shine again. She and the Posse could haunt secondhand stores and discount places for bright rugs and comfy furniture.
She pictured a huge table in the dining room—one that would seat fifteen or twenty—and white wicker furniture with flowered cushions for the solarium. All the wallpaper could be removed from the bedrooms and each one made bright and cheerful with paint and curtains. No doubt the whole place would need to be replumbed and that behemoth of a furnace in the basement had to be at least seventy years old, so there was another huge expense. Maybe new ductwork, unquestionably new electric throughout. “New bathroom fixtures in four and half bathrooms.” Sarah didn’t realize she’d spoken the words out loud until Julie’s voice behind her made her nearly jump out of skin.
“Yeah, definitely all new tubs, stools, and sinks. Do you think the jack-and-jill bathrooms between those four bedrooms will work or do we need separate bathrooms for each bedroom? Right now only two of the bedrooms have en-suites.”
Sarah blinked, wishing like crazy she’d brought a notebook and pen with her. That she’d fall immediately in love with the old house had never occurred to her. She had come along just to mollify Julie. Lunch in town and a trip to the yarn store were next on her agenda. This morning, the idea of opening a shelter in Willow Bay had seemed far-fetched at best, in spite of all the plans Julie had shown her when they’d gotten back from the cruise.
Sarah had been impressed with how well Julie had done her homework—how she’d already set up the nonprofit and registered it with the state of Michigan. How she’d gotten the grant to get started and even had an intricate budget that included everything from staplers to paper towels.
An attorney was in place, fundraising events had been discussed, and costs of renovating the old house had been projected. Will was in the thick of everything, bringing his financial expertise to the mix. Henry Dugan’s company had pledged a million dollars to the project, so Sophie had been right about his interest. This wasn’t some pipe dream. In spite of everything, Sarah hadn’t been able to picture herself as a viable cog in the works—until now. Until this house had gripped her imagination.
Julie touched Sarah’s shoulder. “So what do you think? Do you think the shared bathrooms will work?” She peered into Sarah’s eyes. “Hey? Are you okay?”
Sarah’s full-to-bursting heart suddenly overflowed into her tear ducts, and she swiped at her cheeks. “I’m fine,” she choked out.
“What is it?” Julie draped an arm over Sarah’s shoulders. “Oh, babes, I’m pushing too much, aren’t I? I’m sorry. Let’s go. We’ll get some lunch in the village and—”
“I’m okay, really.” Sarah realized she was okay as she laughed through her tears and dug in her pocket for the tissues that had become a part of her everyday wardrobe accessories. Tears threatened frequently, and Dr. Benton had told her to let them come. Sarah wasn’t a weeper by nature—crying was cathartic, just sometimes inconvenient. However, these weren’t her usual tears of fear or sadness or anger or desperation. These were the good kind. “I’m just…a little stunned by how much I want this.”
“Yeah?” Julie’s lovely face lit up. “Really?”
“Yeah.” Sarah nodded and took a deep breath. “I’m in, Jules. I’m all in.”
TEN
The knock on the door came just as Sarah got her hair pulled up into a ponytail. Alarmed, she peered over the loft rail trying to get a glimpse of whoever was on her deck. Unfortunately, the half-open shutters hid the view, so she hurried to the nightstand, grabbed the little .22 pistol, and stuck it in the pocket of her jeans before heading downstairs. She’d told Julie she’d meet her at the Grind. Who else would knock on her door at eight thirty in the morning?
When she pushed aside the curtain on the door, her heart beat a little faster. Tony Reynard’s big frame filled the window glass. “Hello,” she said, pulling the inner door open without unlatching the screen door.
Tony was in uniform and, dammit, he looked good. His tan shirt was crisp and the crease in his pants so knife sharp that she wondered if ironing was another of his many skills or if he sent his uniforms out to be laundered. He wore the same quiet smile he’d charmed her with on the boat.
“Hey, Sarah.”
She was struck again at the unusual honey-brown color of his eyes. He had the longest lashes she’d ever seen on a man.
“We need to talk.” His tone and expression told her he wasn’t here to shoot the breeze.
“We do?” Sarah was mystified. She and Tony had crossed paths in the three weeks since the boat ride—they’d waved at one another on the dock and exchanged smiles and casual greetings in line at the Grind. Just last night, he’d represented the sheriff’s office at the first official meeting of the shelter’s board. They’d even had one short, official, and rather uncomfortable conversation about why she hadn’t gotten her gun registered with the state—something she’d put off doing, even though she’d assured him she would.
He’d been very pleasant, and fact was she’d been half-expecting him to ask her out after Memorial Day wee
kend. He’d clearly indicated interest and Julie told her he’d asked questions about her. Sarah had enjoyed their mild flirtation on the boat. Dr. Benton was frustratingly neutral about the possibility of dating again, neither encouraging or discouraging it. In spite of being attracted to the burly deputy, Sarah hadn’t pursued it. The house on Eastern Avenue occupied every moment of her time, every corner of her brain, and her heart.
“It’s about your gun.” Tony’s expression turned solemn.
She bristled. “What about it?” If he thought she was going to leave the apartment alone without it, he was crazy.
“You still haven’t been in to apply for a permit to carry—I checked—and I saw the gun in your pocket last night at the meeting.” He took a step back and squinted at her through the screen door. “It’s in your pocket right now, and I know you’re meeting Jules and Carrie at the Grind before you head to the shelter. You’ve been here almost two months; you need to get the thing registered if you’re going to carry it.”
“You here to arrest me or confiscate my little ol’ pistol, Deputy?” Sarah smiled, deciding playful might be the way to go. No way was she turning her only means of protection over to local law enforcement.
“I’m here to take you down to the office to register the gun with the state of Michigan and fill out an application for a permit to carry,” he insisted. “The process takes about forty-five days, so while you’re waiting, I’m going to take you to the shooting range and teach you to use the damn thing.” He blew out a frustrated breath. “You can have the gun here at the apartment once it’s registered, but you can’t carry it around anymore—not until you’re legal.”
Saving Sarah Page 8
