Final Masquerade

by Cindy Davis

  "Okay, I've seen enough,” Paige told Lou, who grunted.

  Their footsteps echoed down the creaking, uncarpeted stairs.

  "The price is right,” he offered, once they reached the bottom.

  Paige shook her head. “You shouldn't have told me about the little girl."

  "One hundred thousand,” he said, obviously not ready to can the deal until she knew all the facts.

  She looked into his eyes with one hand on the doorknob. “You really shouldn't have told me about the little girl,” she repeated and stepped outside.

  He left her on the porch and walked back through, relocking the doors.

  As Paige dispiritedly strolled along the dirt path toward the gate in the picket fence, she spotted something that changed her entire attitude about the property.

  At that moment, Lou appeared on the walk behind her, a cigarette clutched between his fingers.

  "How much did you say they were asking for this place?"

  "Eighty-eight five."

  "I'll take it."

  A huge grin exploded onto his face and a simultaneous one on Paige's.

  "For sixty-six thousand."

  "Sorry.” He hovered over the word. “That's lower than the owners gave me authority to go."

  "Seventy thousand. You and I both know this place has been available forever.” They had to be dying to dump it on someone.

  "Split the difference. Seventy-nine thousand."

  "Consider it sold.” She stepped through the gate and along the road till she got to the end of the packed gravel driveway.

  "What changed your mind?” Lou asked.

  She pointed to the overgrown, tangled stems of more than three dozen rose bushes lining the inside of the picket fence.

  A grin lit up Lou's stern face. He reached out a hand to seal the deal. She stopped him with, “You realize that's contingent on the home inspection?"

  He nodded, the cigarette bobbing in his mouth like a frog on a lily pad. “We've already had one done, and I know you'd like to have your own done, but because of the results of ours, I feel safe in assuming our deal to be secure. As a matter of fact, I'll go back inside and turn on the heat. Owner replaced the furnace two years ago hoping to stimulate a sale. It was running at 88 percent efficiency."

  "How long has it been empty?"

  "Nearly three years. People left immediately after—"

  Paige smiled and told Lou she'd be in the office in the morning to fill out whatever paperwork was necessary.

  "What bank are you planning to use for financing?"

  "I'll be paying cash,” she said, and turned away.

  His grin lit the way to his automobile. “Didn't think I'd ever sell this place."

  "Sometimes people don't need to know all the truth about something. Remember that."

  As she walked back to town, she couldn't help thinking about Stefano and his thugs, who just might be around the corner, waiting to pounce on her, and this quiet, unassuming, and thoroughly unsuspecting little town. Had she made a bad decision?

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  Forty-three

  Lou's car crunched beside her and stopped. He leaned across to roll down the window. Cigarette smoke poured out as if being expelled by a giant fan. “Can I give you a lift back to the inn?"

  "You know where I'm going?"

  "Everyone in town knows about the pretty lady who's been living in the attic of the Park Street Inn since Christmas."

  "I forgot about the small town grapevines. Is there anything you people don't find out from each other?"

  "Well, none of us knows who you are or where you came from, or why, for that matter."

  Paige laughed. “Thanks for the offer of a ride. I think I'll walk back. I'm too excited to sit still. Am I right in assuming Eva and Alf will know about this before I get back?"

  Lou simply smiled, took a long drag on his cigarette, and drove away.

  After his car was out of sight, Paige slipped her phone from her belt and dialed Harry's number. He answered on the first ring. “Hi, Harry. Guess what? I bought a house."

  "That's great news. I guess it means you're staying put. How much?"

  "Seventy-nine thousand. I'll call you later with the particular."

  "Okay. Take care."

  "Thanks."

  She clicked the phone off and hooked it back on her belt. Paige's step acquired its old lilting gait. At the inn, she was more than surprised to find that her hosts weren't already aware of her intentions.

  "Something must be wrong with the Brandon grapevine,” Eva joked.

  Paige told them the address of the cottage she intended to buy. Alf nodded in remembrance of the event that presaged the owner's abandonment of the property.

  That night Paige couldn't sleep. At two a.m. she sat on her bed with her computer in her lap. She logged onto the Internet, accessing eBay with the intention of purchasing a book or two. Unfortunately, there was nothing worth her while.

  She thought about calling Harry but knew he'd be sleeping. She'd been so excited about her house, she'd been unable—in their short thirty second phone call—to ask if he'd found Max. She'd also wanted to tell Harry of her fear for Max's life. Although it was nearly four months ago, Paige worried he lay dead in his house. His lack of friends or family meant that no one would find him, perhaps for years.

  In the morning, a bleary-eyed Paige walked into the smoky real estate office. She wiped her boots on the mat. Lou waved her to a seat and finished typing something into the computer.

  "I've lined up a firm to do the home inspection. They'll meet me there tomorrow afternoon,” Paige said.

  "That's fine. When did you want to finalize the deal?"

  "I don't see why we can't do it by the end of the week, unless something holds us up."

  He leaned on his elbows and made a tent with his fingers. “The money?"

  "Will be arriving today via pony express."

  Lou's eyebrows made a vee down into the bridge of his nose.

  "Never mind. The money will be here. Can we get on with the paperwork?"

  "Sure.” He turned back to the computer, punched a few keys, and raised his eyes to her. “Name?"

  "The house will be in the name of the Genesis Trust, trustee Harry—Harrison T. Berkeley, Esq. Details will arrive in the overnight mail."

  On the way back to the inn, Paige stopped at Sew & Sews to purchase fabric for her next project, a throw quilt and matching drapes for the living room of her new home. Toting a slippery plastic bag of material, Paige found Eva raking mulch from the tulip bed. Eva leaned the rake against the porch and rubbed the base of her spine. “I see you've been to Colette's."

  "I got fabric for my living room. I'm going to use that template we worked on."

  Eva smiled. “It's so nice to know you're staying around town."

  At least until Stefano's men caught up with her again. “Have you got a minute? There's something I need to talk to you both about."

  "All right. I'll go put on some coffee. I think Alf is out back somewhere working on the lawn mower. Why don't you go find him and bring him in for muffins?"

  * * * *

  "Hi,” Paige said to Alf's ample rear end.

  He dropped the tool with a clang against the upside down body of the riding mower. “Trying to get this thing ready to go."

  "I don't think you'll be needing it for a while yet."

  "Be surprised. Once that first blade of green shows through the snow, it isn't long, and once it gets started..."

  Paige placed her hands on her hips and bent, deliberately squinting at the ground. “Have you seen the first green yet?"

  "Yep, right over here.” Alf walked to the sunniest corner of the house and kicked aside a layer of sodden brown maple leaves, a brutal contrast to the colorful beauty they'd exhibited a few months back. Beneath the leaves was a small clump of yellow-green spikes.

  Paige laughed. “I'm glad spring is coming. I've had enough of snow, slush, and mud. Eva s
ent me out to see if you're in the mood for a muffin."

  "Be right in."

  Settled at the kitchen table with coffees and corn muffins, Alf and Paige watched Eva as she stood at the window, looking out at the upended mower. She said offhandedly, “Spring's coming. I saw daffodils poking through."

  Paige said, “I have something I have to tell you two."

  "I smell bad news coming,” Eva said.

  Alf was silent. His bright blue eyes roved from his wife, who took the chair across from him, to Paige, who concentrated on spreading butter on her muffin. He continued to look at her, waiting until she'd finished her delaying tactics.

  She still hadn't looked up when she spoke, “My name isn't Cassidy Larson."

  Neither Eva nor Alf said anything. She finally raised her eyes and gazed from one to the other.

  "That's your news?” Alf inquired.

  Paige nodded guiltily. “I am sorry to have deceived you, but telling you my real identity may have been—may be—dangerous for you. That's all I can really say about my past. My biggest wish is that I hope you'll forgive me for lying."

  Eva laid a warm, soft hand atop hers. “Alf and I have talked about this many times since your arrival. We knew there was something wrong. We had faith that you'd get around to telling us sooner or later. Neither of us condemn you for your secrecy. Apparently, you felt you needed to do this and we understand. Can you tell us your real name?"

  "Paige. Paige Carmichael."

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  Forty-four

  Within a week, Paige's new home was inspected, signed for, and officially owned by the Genesis Trust. Spring had sprung. Crocuses and daffodils had popped their purple and yellow heads into the chilly air. As Alf predicted, the grass was greening up all over, bright yellow forsythia decorated yards all over town.

  During dinner on Tuesday evening, Paige said, “Can either of you recommend some painters?"

  "What are you painting?"

  "Everything. I want a fresh coat of white on the house, the garage and the shed. And I think light blue or tan trim instead of that faded brown. Red for the barn. Indoors, I think I'll put white on all the walls, then do some stenciling as wainscoting or around the ceilings and—"

  Alf and Eva cast a conspiratorial grin at each other.

  Paige interrupted her own oratory, “What's that look for?"

  "We know exactly the right painters for you. They work fast and nearly for free. We'll tell them to meet you at the house at eight in the morning."

  * * * *

  The following morning Paige roamed from room to room in her new home waiting for the painters to arrive. At 8:10 three vehicles pulled into the driveway. The first was Eva's ancient Dodge. Paige didn't recognize the other two, which both had ladders tied to their roofs. As she watched, frowning, ten people debarked from the cars and began to remove the ladders from the roof racks and haul painting supplies from the trunks.

  Paige met them in the driveway, finally noticing that both Eva and Alf wore patched, stained clothing.

  "Like my painting duds?” Eva asked.

  "You mean you—?"

  "Yes, we're the crew. We work fast and efficient and, best of all, we're free."

  Paige raised a finger to protest.

  Alf grabbed hold of it. “There will be no argument. Look, we're dying to get you out of that room. We've got a throng of people waiting to rent it."

  Eva's laughter interrupted Alf's monologue. “Honey, don't listen to him. We don't want you to leave. You are about to get a first glimpse at country folk in action. We help each other out in times of need. Of course, you'll be expected to participate the next time a woman on the run moves to town and needs her new house painted."

  "We brought all the paint and supplies. All you have to do is keep the coffee, tea, sandwiches, and cookies flowing."

  "Am I expected to cook anything?” Paige asked, recalling a similar conversation with Chris a while back. This time she received a completely different reply. Laughing, Paige inquired if she could borrow Eva's car. “I'll go get the things I need."

  Alf handed her the set of keys. “Knock yourself out."

  Paige returned in less than an hour to see the entire front of the house already painted a fresh gleaming white. Eight people had disappeared around the side, while two continued to work on painting the trim a pastel blue.

  "Very nice,” she called to a tall man at the top of an aluminum ladder. The dark man, who'd been introduced as Chuck Ingman, lived two houses away with his wife, Darla, and three teenaged sons.

  "Thanks."

  "I can't believe how fast it seems to go with so many working on it. I thank you all."

  "You're entirely welcome. You are expected to repay, you know.” Chuck stepped down the ladder. Paige followed him to the side of the house where he began washing out his paintbrush.

  "In what way?"

  "When the snow is ten feet deep in my driveway, I'll expect you to help shovel."

  "All right,” came a timid reply. “But, just one thing. If there's ten feet of snow in your driveway, won't there be ten feet in mine?"

  "Uh-huh,” he said with a smile. “You'll need to be up extra early to shovel yours first."

  "I see.” She fumbled her packages into one hand and shoved a hand to him, to seal the deal.

  Inside, Paige set up her new coffeepot. While it dripped into the carafe, the aroma of coffee filled her kitchen. Listening to the laughter and camaraderie from outside, she popped two trays of ready-made cookie dough into the oven and set the timer. While the cookies baked, the smell of chocolate joined with the coffee smells and her stomach began to growl. Paige spread slices of bread across the counter and covered them with mayonnaise, cheese, ham, roast beef, and salami.

  As the food was ready, she set it on the porch table, not that she had much choice, since except for the kitchen table, which had already gone to the dump, the wicker set was her house's entire collection of furniture. Paige slipped on her paisley jacket and ambled outside. To her astonishment, another wall was completed and the crowd was joyfully working on the third.

  "Food's ready,” she announced.

  "Okay,” came several replies.

  Eva made her way around the house carrying a can of paint. She set it on the ground and opened it.

  "What can I do?” Paige inquired.

  "Just keep the food flowing,” Eva said, stirring a wooden stick inside the can.

  Darla Ingman, Chuck's perpetually happy-go-lucky wife, laughed, “You won't believe how much this crowd can eat. It'll be a full time job to keep the trays full, wait and see."

  Paige strode around the front of the house. The pair who'd been working on the trim now held navy blue coated brushes and were painting a narrow strip around the edges of the flower boxes.

  "Whadya think?” asked the bearded man on a stepladder.

  "You all are the most incredible people I've ever met."

  The man's cheeks attained a flush of red that matched his shirt, and he turned away to continue his task.

  As Eva predicted, Paige had a hard time keeping up with the demand for food. By dusk, the outside of every building was complete and Paige had to make another run to the store. This time she hit the deli on Spring Street, arriving back with bags of sandwiches in every imaginable combination. Cookies baked continually in the oven and the musty scent of the unused house began to smell lived in—like home.

  The crew moved indoors and instead of packing up and heading for home when darkness fell, they set up spotlights and attacked the downstairs walls with a vengeance. By midnight, the entire job was complete.

  Everyone rested on the hardwood living room floor with arms wrapped around bent knees, staring tiredly into the fireplace, watching the energetic flames licking at each other, casting an amber glow in the otherwise dark room.

  Paige rose, teary-eyed. “I am speechless."

  "And that doesn't happen often,” Alf interrupted, causing an erupt
ion of laughter from the group.

  After each person had received a hug and special thanks from Paige, she moved around her kitchen piling the remains of the food, of which there was very little, into the refrigerator.

  Eva washed and rinsed the tired coffee maker and left it on the sideboard. Alf busied himself with dousing the embers in the fireplace.

  "When did you plan on moving in?” Eva inquired.

  "I guess I should get some furniture first."

  "Uh, er, ah, what ... I was just wondering ... I didn't know how to ask what sort of furniture you're wanting. I mean, are you financially able to get new things or ... I know of a few places that sell nice used things."

  Paige laughed. “I want to furnish it in Colonial style. I guess new, but I wouldn't mind a few antiques if we should run across them."

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  Forty-five

  Paige glanced at Eva then placed Spirit's carrier on the braided rug gracing the center of the newly polished living room floor, and opened the door. “This, my little cat, is the last time you'll have to be locked in this crate,” she said as Spirit raced out, hopped onto the back of the sofa, and curled into the fetal position. “Well, I guess that settles that!"

  Both women laughed. Paige started a pot of coffee, then stood gazing out the window over the sink watching a robin poke his beak into the ground, pull and yank until he came up with a fat, juicy worm. Behind her, she felt Eva's gaze as she waited patiently for Paige to answer her question.

  Finally Paige turned, leaned on the counter and folded her arms across her chest. Then she sat in one of her new maple captain's chairs and waited for Eva to follow suit. She took a pair of deep breaths. “I wanted to tell you and Alf the rest of my story but haven't had the courage.

  "I assume you know I've been on the run ... since late last summer,” she said as if that were all there was to her saga. Paige told Eva of her relationship with Stefano Santangelo.

  "Gosh, it's just like in the movies."