Going All Inn (Faire Island Bride Series Book 1)

by Lizabeth Scott

  A look between the two ladies makes me feel as if I’m missing something. I must have zoned out longer than I realized.

  “Well, you’ll be very comfortable at Melanie and Erik’s house, dear,” Agatha explains.

  With a determined yet polite smile, I reiterate, “I’ll be staying at the Inn. That’s why I’m here.”

  Again the ladies share a look. “Of course you are. Agatha just meant that since it’s so late, it would probably be best to get a good night’s sleep with the Winters, and then bright and early in the morning, you can check out the Inn.”

  Late? It’s not even five yet. “It’s not that late and you did say you had the power turned on.”

  “Yes, that’s correct,” Olivia reluctantly replies.

  Again I feel like I’m missing something. “Well, then, all I need is a ride to the Inn.”

  Agatha bites her lip and shares another conspiratorial look with Olivia, which is beginning to get to me, but I promised myself to have a calmer disposition in my new life. So instead of going all Kimmie on her, I try logic. “The Inn is mine, right? I mean, I signed the papers.”

  Both ladies nod and Agatha agrees, “Yes, yes, of course the Inn is yours.”

  With much hesitation, Olivia opens the door to her truck and I squeeze into the front bench seat between the two. “Is it far to the Inn?” I ask as we all buckle up.

  Olivia turns the ignition key and, after a cough and a puff, the engine sputters to life. “The Inn is located between the east and west part of the island. West Island is where the town is located, along with the marina and ferry.

  Agatha adds, “And East Island is more residential.”

  Once we leave town, the land becomes rolling hills of green. I could easily believe it was the rolling plains of Scotland. Not what I expected. I can see some buildings in the distance. “What is that?”

  Olivia glances over and replies, “That’s Wyatt Donahue’s farm. You’ll find his milk and cheese some of the best you’ve ever tasted.”

  “It’s the sea air that does it. Makes the grass sweeter,” Agatha offers in way of an explanation. I’m just not sure if scientifically that could happen.

  After a good twenty minutes, Olivia turns to the right. This road isn’t maintained as well as the road that we’d just been on. Something else I notice… “There are no road signs?”

  Agatha chuckles. “Why would we need them, dear? Everyone knows where everything is located.”

  I wait for her to laugh and say she’s joking, but she doesn’t. “But what if there’s a fire?”

  Agatha looks at me as if I’m the strange one. “Then you call up Herbert and tell him the Inn’s on fire.”

  Small town life is going to take some adjustments.

  “I really wish you would change your mind and stay the night with the Winters,” Olivia says, as she turns onto a bumpy overgrown dirt road.

  “No, thanks. I’ll be staying at the Inn. I know it’s been vacant for a few years, but it won’t take me long to clean a room to stay in. I’ll be perfectly fine.”

  I have no words. I turn around and watch dust billow from Olivia’s quickly retreating truck. Turning back around to take in my new home, my heart drops to the pit of my stomach. I can’t believe what my eyes are seeing. Just like the pictures I’d seen, the three-story building has a wraparound front porch with white clapboard siding on the ground level and cedar shakes wrapping the top two levels with a round cupola seeming to grow from the third story, making it appear to be a lighthouse topping. That’s where the similarities end. Saying it’s a bit of a fixer upper is a downright lie.

  A lot of the cedar shakes are missing or hanging by one nail, making the house seem to have a snaggletooth smile saying gotcha. Unwieldy shrubbery have overtaken one entire side of the Inn, making it nearly invisible like it’s been eaten by the bush monster.

  I pull my phone out of my pocket, suddenly needing to hear an encouraging word from Lili. No matter how I tilt the phone, I don’t have any bars. Reception on the island sucks. I couldn’t get any bars on the ferry ride over either. In a daze, I pull my case behind me as I navigate through mid-thigh high grass and brambles. I step around a broken old bicycle and squeal when a lizard scurries from beneath the rear wheel and right over the top of my shoe.

  With my heart still racing, I pick my way carefully as I approach what should be four welcoming steps to the front door of the Inn, but totally isn’t. Welcoming, that is. The beautiful porch where I could just see a lineup of rocking chairs is missing planks and in some areas is melting into the ground. I can literally see the dirt beneath the decayed boards. The Addams Family house has nothing on my Inn.

  I lift my eyes to the front door and cringe. If the outside is this bad, what is the inside going to be like? That’s why Olivia and Agatha wanted me to stay somewhere else. I lift my foot to climb the stairs, but then reconsider and test the stability of each step with my toe before adding my weight.

  Cautiously I mount the stairs and find the closer I get, my impression only worsens. Stepping over two missing boards, I stand in front of two screen doors that are tilted on one side. Only one screw holds the door at the top. The wooden front doors behind the screens are in much better shape. None of the wavy glass panes are broken and I hope the thick sturdy doors have protected the inside. Please, please, please let the inside be in better shape than the outside.

  Pulling the four-inch-long key from my pocket, I insert the only antique key Hershel said exists into the lock and turn. The door creaks open and I’m met by a cloud of dust. I cough and wave my hand in front of my face when a stale smell hits me in the face, initiating a coughing fit. My eyes water and I’m not entirely sure it’s from the dust. It could be frustration from the situation I’ve gotten myself into.

  No. I stop that train of thought. I knew there would be a lot of work involved in reopening the Inn. Granted, I didn’t expect quite so much work, but I can do this. The Inn has great bones and I see potential. With my motivating speech to myself finished, I look at the lobby with different eyes. Instead of its dust covered, sheet draped, paint peeling condition, I see a gleaming wood registration desk and beautiful flowers on the antique table in the middle of the foyer. The shiplap walls painted a bright white with the original wood floors buffed and polished to a natural sheen.

  Slowly, I pull the sheets from the furniture to keep the dust from further infiltrating the musty air. The upholstered chairs aren’t what I would have chosen, but they are sturdy with only a few timeworn threadbare areas. I’m sure I can find a video on how to reupholster and they will be gorgeous. Maybe in a blue and white nautical stripe. Just the thought of how the room will look makes me giddy.

  To the left is the dining room containing a huge wooden table with twelve chairs. A stacked stone fireplace with a thick wood mantle and antique green tile surrounding the firebox is between two floor-to-ceiling windows. Pulling more sheets off, I find a warm brown buffet with plenty of storage beneath. It’s perfect.

  The room is pretty large. My mind goes wild with the possibilities. I think that instead of one large table, half a dozen four-seaters would be better. I plan on offering a breakfast buffet with snacks and beverages available throughout the day. With multiple tables, couples can have a bit more privacy and with families, several tables can be pulled together when needed.

  Stepping through an arched doorway, I find the kitchen and it almost breaks my heart. One of the windows is broken with leaves and limbs covering the wood floor. I imagine I’ll find water damage as well. I run my hand lovingly over a six-burner professional grade gas stove with a huge vent fan over top. I’ll have plenty of counter space and there’s even an island with a white porcelain farm sink. I’m far from an accomplished chef, but I can offer breakfast and simple snacks. Maybe a charcuterie board and a sweet tray of cookies and cupcakes.

  I turn the cold faucet on and other than a groan, nothing happens. I try the hot and another groan is the only result. I grin, my
first official project. I open the cabinet doors beneath the sink. Maybe the water has been turned off. I turn both water valves wide open and jump up, proud of myself for figuring that out.

  Beaming smugly, I listen as the groans get louder and closer together. I put my hand under the faucet, my heart beating wildly in anticipation of the cool, clear water falling on my hands. And then…

  I scream, turn my face out of the direct spray, and hold my hands up, blocking the gush of ice-cold water that shoots out from around the hot and cold taps. Not a single drop comes from the faucet.

  Dropping back down on my knees, I wipe the water from my face and work to turn the valves off. And wouldn’t you know, one of them won’t budge. “Damn!” I shout and pull one of my shoes off and stick the high heel into one of the metal cogs of the valve. I say a fond goodbye to my black Jimmy Choo’s and brace my feet on the cabinet base to give me more leverage. Finally it turns and the cascade of water stops.

  I sit back on the dirty tile floor, my ruined shoe in hand, and glare at the sink. That will need to be the first thing I tackle. But not now. It’s almost dark and I need to find some place to sleep. I stand up on my now bare feet and water drips from my blouse and skirt. I have a feeling if I could see my butt, it would look like I sat in mud.

  I find some tissues in my bag and dry off as best I can before I finish my bottom floor exploration. I find a den with another fireplace, this one larger than the one in the dining room, a double set of French doors that open onto the ocean side of the wraparound deck, an office, a large pantry, and a half bath under the stairs.

  I could turn the den into a master suite so my residence would be separate from the guests. That would require a contractor—I know my skills—but the idea is interesting. I’ll ask around town.

  I peek out one of four French doors on the back of the house and all the doubts that had been filling my head evaporate. The wraparound porch continues and beyond that is a fire pit surrounded by Adirondack chairs and then beyond that is a million-dollar ocean view. This is why I’m here.

  Eventually I end up back in the lobby after making a circle of the ground floor.

  I’m actually rather pleased that other than the water damage from the broken window, I should be able to put things right with just a good cleaning, a few cans of paint, and learning how to upholster. Once the Inn starts making a profit, I’ll consider a complete remodel. The outside, however, is way past my abilities. Surely I can find someone to hire for landscaping and repairing the siding and shakes, along with a fresh coat of paint.

  I pick up my suitcase and climb the stairs, fingers crossed the second level is in the same redeemable shape. There are twelve bedrooms, all with ocean views and en suites on the second floor. I wheel my case into the room on the end, which has a clawfoot tub that has my name on it. Just as soon as I scrub it, sanitize it, and throw my ruined skirt and blouse away.

  I say a silent thank you to the universe for a brass double bed with a plastic-covered mattress. Beside the bed are two bedside tables that probably once held lamps and a clock, and there’s a big cushy chair by the windows that would be ideal for curling up in to look out over the ocean.

  First things first. I open the window to air the room out. The view is breathtaking. If I weren’t so uncomfortable in my ruined clothes, I could spend a lot of time with that view.

  My wet clothes end up on the floor and I kick them into the hallway to deal with tomorrow. They are beyond repair. I grimace as I start to put clean clothes on my dirty body. I’m only going to be getting dirtier while I clean the bathroom. There’s nobody but me here, so I shrug and just leave on my bra and panties. I dig around in my handbag, fish out my phone, pull up a playlist I saved on a memory card, and crank up the sound. While Kelly Clarkson sings about being stronger, I head to the hallway hoping the previous owner left behind what I need.

  I score big. I find a linen closet and, as luck would have it, it’s stocked with folded bedding sealed in plastic wrap. There is also a stock of towels, washcloths, and hand towels. All white, which is what I would have chosen. In another closet, I find quilts in rainbow colors and patterns. Everything is wrapped in plastic. And I find cleaning supplies and rags. Bingo.

  Taking my finds with me, I start with the bathroom and scrub every surface until it shines. After two hours, my fingers look like prunes and my nails are beyond saving, but I stand back and admire my handiwork with a feeling of accomplishment.

  Growing up, we had maids to do all the cleaning, but once I went off to college, I learned many things. I even surprised myself enjoying cleaning and organizing.

  I place clean towels out because I will be back for a long soak shortly and then start on the bedroom. I mop the floor and use furniture polish to clean the tables. I use glass cleaner on the inside of the windows. The outside is in need of a good cleaning as well, but that will have to wait until I can figure out how. It’s two stories up and I don’t do heights.

  Using the clean sheets and quilt from the linen closet, I make up the bed and fall back on it exhausted. Checking my phone, I see it’s after midnight. No wonder I’m so tired. I roll my head and eye the bathroom. I’m dirty and I stink, there’s no way I’m sleeping in clean sheets without taking a bath first.

  I roll to the side and push up off the bed with a groan and a yawn. I strip my bra and panties off and drop them on the pile in the hall. I grab my toiletry bag from my case and while the water runs in the tub, I brush my teeth and clean my face.

  “Ahhh,” I sigh as I sink under the warm water. I could easily fall asleep in the tub, so I soap up and rinse and get out much too quickly. Tomorrow I’ll have a long soak. I think about calling Lili as I pull on my sleep shorts and tank, but a big yawn convinces me I’ll have a much more lucid conversation with her after a good night’s sleep. If I can get reception.

  Slipping between the sheets, I lie there listening to the waves hitting the shore from the open window. A gentle breeze keeps the room cool, perfect for sleeping under a cozy quilt. I come up with a work schedule for tomorrow as I drift to sleep. However, sleep doesn’t come. Instead, sounds throughout the house keep me on alert. A knock here. A shuffle there. A scratching from above.

  My nana would say it’s the old house settling, but that doesn’t make it any less frightening. I toss and turn, trying to ignore the mysterious sounds and I almost achieve sleep when my eyes shoot open. There’s a knocking sound that’s much too close. Like, in my room close. My eyes shift left and right in the darkness. I squeak and pull the covers over my head.

  The knocking comes again. Louder this time and in a constant repeated pattern. I peek over the top of the covers and see nothing but the moonlight coming in the window. Slowly I reach out and flip on the wall switch flooding the room with light. The knocking starts again and I can now pinpoint its location. It’s coming from the closet.

  What could it be? “Hello…” I call out and the knocking stops for a few seconds, but then starts back. Okay, not a living being. “If you are a ghost, go away. You’re not welcome here.” Somewhere, I’d read that works. There, that takes care of the living and non-living. However, the knocking continues.

  It has to be a loose piece of wood being blown by the wind. Right? That sounds plausible. I should probably open the closet and fix it so I can get some sleep. Yup. That’s what I should do. I pull the cover up under my chin and don’t move. My eyes shift around the room. I’m not stupid. I know there’s no wind in closets. Whatever it is has hands or claws to make that noise. And a pretty good beat.

  I’m being ridiculous. I’m a grown woman who can take care of herself. I throw my feet over the side of the bed and stand up with my focus on the closet door. Just open the door and find the loose board. I take a step closer. Then another. I reach for the closet doorknob and take a deep breath before yanking the door open and...

  A brown blob attacks me, going for my face. I scream and run into the hallway, flailing my arms to save myself from disfigurement
. My heart is threatening to beat out of my chest. I’m so scared, I’m shaking uncontrollably. I slam the bedroom door closed just in the nick of time.

  “Ohmygodohmygodohmygod. What was that?” I ask the empty hallway. Whatever it is, it’s now in my bedroom. With all my stuff. I bite my lip, but I know I have to at least find out what I’m dealing with. A raccoon or a mountain lion. No, probably not a mountain lion on an island. I crack the door open just a smidge and peek around the corner and find…

  “A chicken,” I say out loud and sigh. It’s just a chicken. A chicken now sits on the chair looking at me as if I am the interloper. I suppose in its beady little eyes, I am.

  “Shoo!” I shout, resulting in no movement from the roosting bird. Maybe it will fly out the window and then I can get some sleep. I sit in the hallway determined to wait it out, but after a long time, the chicken hasn’t flown its coop. Or whatever the saying is. How dangerous can a chicken be?

  I’ll just go in there and shoo it out. Chickens don’t even have teeth. Do they? I could Google it if I had internet access. I don’t really know. I decide to look at it this way. If chickens were dangerous, we wouldn’t have eggs to eat. But…is this a boy chicken or a girl chicken? How do you tell? Man, I miss the internet. I take a broom from the utility closet, brandishing it in front of me as I inch into the bedroom. My heart is pounding out of my chest.

  “Nice chickie. You’re a very good chicken, but you don’t belong in my bedroom. So if you wouldn’t mind, I would appreciate it if you left.”

  The chicken turns its head and gives me the eye without budging an inch. “Okay, I understand you were here first, but I did a lot of work cleaning this room and I’d really like to get some sleep. So if you could just fly away, there won’t be any hard feelings.”

  The chicken tilts its head, peering at me with a smug expression on its face. I puff my chest out and stand up as tall as my five-foot-five allows, hoping to make myself appear frightening… to a one-foot tall chicken with an attitude.