Secret of the Painted Lady

by Christina A. Burke

  In the light of day I could see that this room had beamed ceilings and a carved mahogany mantel around the black iron fireplace. "That's unusual," I said, nodding at the cast-iron fireplace box.

  Big Ron nodded. "Custom made when the place was built, I'm sure. Is that gold leaf on the mahogany?"

  I stood on tippy-toe and rubbed at the mantel's finish. Soot and dirt came off on my hand. Underneath, gold sparkled. "Score!" I cried. "It's gold leaf. It really is. This is amazing." I stepped back, taking in the whole mantel. "We're going to need to have this professionally cleaned." I held up a hand in George's direction. "Do not cha-ching me."

  George made a lock-and-key sign in front of his mouth.

  I turned to Ron. "With the one-of-a-kind, high-end features like this, I can charge a premium for this place."

  "You're going to need to with damage like that." He pointed up at the watermarks dotting the ceiling. "You got enough credit to float this project until closing?" Big Ron asked.

  "It'll be tight, but I think I can swing it after closing on Sticks and Stones," I replied thoughtfully.

  "You're going to have to tap into some more resources," he said. "Anything can and will go wrong with a place like this. How about your Gram?"

  Gram had no real money left, and we'd mortgaged Rockgrove to pay for its extensive renovation and to buy my first flip house. There was no money left there.

  "Perhaps the bank will extend you a bridge loan based on the appraised selling price of Marlton House," George suggested.

  Possible but not probable. But I was genuinely impressed by his financial knowledge. The economy was still not very friendly to small businesses. Banks were the worst. "Let's get started on what we can control. If we go over budget, I'll go to the bank. I need to finish the work list first."

  The second floor, with the exception of the two bathrooms (we avoided the one with the crime scene), which were a total gut, was surprisingly clean. Some paint, polish to the wood floors, and crown molding repairs were all that was needed.

  "You doing central heat/AC on this place?" Big Ron asked.

  "Let's check the attic. If there's room to mount a unit and run ductwork, then it's a go. Otherwise, I might have to use those low-profile wall units for upstairs." We trekked up the narrow attic stairs with Big Ron leading the way.

  "Holy moly!" Big Ron yelled as he opened the door to the attic.

  George had his hand over his mouth. "What's that smell? Don't tell me you've found another body."

  I was gasping for air as I reached the top step. It took my eyes a few seconds to adjust to the gloom. The acrid smell was overpowering. "No way!" I almost shrieked. "Impossible." Please don't let there be another body, I prayed.

  Ron shined the flashlight across the cavernous space. Relief flooded me. No body. My brain started ticking away with possibilities. Game room, in-law suite, hmm…

  "What's the problem, Ron?" I asked, watching him gingerly tap a supporting beam. "This is a great space despite the smell."

  I looked around the floor. "What's all that white stuff?"

  "That's what I'm trying to tell you if you'd both quit jammerin'. You've got bats in your belfry."

  "Bats?" I said, and Big Ron shined the light up to the pitched roof. The ceiling seemed to move slightly like a gentle wave.

  "That's not just bats," George cried. "That's a whole colony."

  "The ceiling is covered," I whispered. "What're we going to do?"

  "Well, I say we back away slowly and head downstairs," replied Big Ron, switching off the light.

  I followed his advice with George and Big Ron close behind. When we were at the landing, with the door closed securely behind us, I let out a long breath.

  "Oh my god. This isn't good," I cried. I could feel my professionalism slipping away as full-on panic set in. "How do you get rid of a colony of bats?" I screeched. I stared at George.

  He shuddered. "Don't look to me for help. If I owned this place, I'd burn it down and start over."

  "Thanks so much, George," I replied sarcastically and turned to Big Ron.

  He was scrolling through his phone. "There's a guy I know who catches critters—you know, skunks and raccoons—and relocates them. Probably to his Crock-Pot. The crazy SOB'll eat anything," he added with a laugh.

  I made a face. "Do you think he can get rid of the bats?"

  Big Ron shrugged. "If Tommy Two Fingers can't handle it, we might need to go with George's plan."

  "Tommy Two Fingers? Really?" I asked, raising my brows.

  "The man's in a dangerous line of work," Big Ron replied as he listened to the phone ring.

  While Big Ron made arrangements with Tommy Two Fingers, George said, "Once the bats are gone, you're going to have to call in a hazmat team to clean up that mess. It's got to be an environmental hazard."

  I pinched the bridge of my nose. "Ya think?" I replied. "I just hope I can keep working in the rest of the house while they're doing the cleanup."

  What a mess. Don't get me wrong, every flip had its flop moments. It always cost more. There were always hidden problems, and the timeline was always blown. But I'd never had to deal with a colony of bats before.

  "Okay," Big Ron said, tucking the phone back into his pocket. "He'll be here at four. I'll meet him since you've got Sticks and Stones closing."

  "Has he ever done a bat abatement before?" I asked.

  "Not a whole colony. Just one or two in an attic. He thinks he might be able to wait until the colony goes out to hunt and then seal up their entryway."

  That sounded smart to me. "How much is this going to cost?" I asked warily.

  "He usually charges by the animal, but since you've got a whole colony, he said he'll give you a special deal."

  I sighed. It could've been worse. "Can you get Clean-Pro in and see if they can handle the clean-up? I want to be able to keep working on the other floors while they're here."

  "Will do, Boss." Big Ron headed back to his truck.

  I turned to George. "I've got at least another hour of measuring to do, so unless you're here to help—"

  He held up his hands. "I can see lunch isn't going to happen today. I'll grab a sandwich and get back to my shop. Let me know how it goes with Bat Man."

  I was disappointed to miss our working lunch, but the bat problem had completely ruined my focus and my appetite. I spent the next hour measuring each room and making a detailed list of repairs as well as design ideas.

  A knock at the front door startled me. I was surprised to see John. He gave me a small wave and a smile as I invited him in.

  "Didn't expect to see you here," I said, giving him my best quizzical look.

  "Janiece asked me to drive her into town for a few things. She's at the Anderson Gallery checking out the new quilt display," he said with a nod down the street.

  "Good luck getting her outta there any time before nightfall."

  "Yeah, she barely glanced up when I told her I was coming down here to see you." He laughed then looked around. "This is some house."

  I moved aside, motioning him in. "It sure is," I agreed. "Unfortunately, I just found out we've got 'bats in the belfry.'" I launched into my latest tale of woe. He tried valiantly to keep a straight face, but when I got to Tommy Two Fingers, critter catcher extraordinaire, he burst into laughter.

  "Go ahead—yuck it up," I said, stifling my own laugh.

  "It's just so ridiculous," he said, drawing a deep breath. "Whew! It's like you're on some kind of reality show."

  "Hey, you're part of the show too," I reminded him.

  "You got me there." He wiped his eyes on his sleeve. "Do you have time to give me the grand tour?"

  "Sure," I said with a smile, "but we won't be going to the attic."

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  I finished the closing for the Sticks and Stones house by 5:15. Surprisingly, there had been no problems. No last minute fixes. No snags with the mortgage company. Today had been a good day despite the problem with the bats. I ha
d enjoyed my time with John. He'd stayed and helped me measure the whole downstairs before taking Gram home. He was also a pleasant, well-mannered man who wasn't a bit hard on the eyes. He seemed hopeful that starting therapy twice a week with a doctor in Seattle would help. Gram had graciously offered him the use of her car.

  I checked my phone and saw two missed calls from Big Ron. I called him back.

  "Hey, Boss Lady, how'd closing go?"

  "Perfect. Not one problem. Good work."

  "That's what I like to hear," he said with a smile in his voice. "So Tommy was by, and he thinks he can handle the bat problem."

  "What's his plan?" This ought to be good.

  "He's coming back tonight to see where they're getting in and out. Kinda like a bat stakeout. Once they take off to hunt, we'll close up the hole, and he'll go up in the attic and cage up the leftovers. He didn't think there'd be too many."

  "What time's this bat stakeout taking place?" I asked.

  "Dusk. We're starting at seven. You in?" he asked.

  "Wouldn't miss it," I said with a laugh. "So where do the bats go if they can't get back into the attic?" I asked curiously.

  There was a pause on Ron's end. "I'm not really sure. Guess we'd better ask Tommy when we see him. I'm sure they just find a cave or something. We got plenty of those over on the cliffs."

  I hung up and started my truck. Maybe I should do an Internet search on this bat abatement thing. I wouldn't want to get in trouble now that things were finally going smoothly.

  * * *

  I arrived home just a few minutes later. John and Gram were working away in the kitchen. "Something smells wonderful," I said, grabbing a cookie out of the cookie jar Gram always kept on the counter.

  "John just remembered he can cook," Gram said with a big smile.

  "I walked into the kitchen and thought, 'I'll whip up some chicken cordon bleu.' Seriously," he said, shaking his head. "I remember all the ingredients."

  "Well, this is going to be quite a treat, isn't it Gram?" I asked with a smile.

  "Oh no. I told John that Alice is picking me up for the monthly quilting social and potluck. Dolly made me a tuna casserole to bring. So I suppose it'll be just the two of you."

  I looked closely at Gram. Her face was innocent, but I knew she'd had a hand in this.

  "Sounds lovely," I said. "If you don't mind, I'm going to go wash off the grime."

  "Dinner's at six," John said as he sautéed onions and mushrooms in an iron skillet.

  I took a quick shower and then found myself actually agonizing over what to wear. In my own house for dinner—ridiculous! I ended up picking a pair of jeans and a soft buttery-yellow sweater. I also left my hair down and applied a swipe of mascara and bit of lip gloss. The overall effect was good. Maybe too good, I thought as I turned sideways in the mirror. I had never been comfortable showing off my curves.

  John had set the kitchen table and lit two candles. It was cheerful and intimate without being overly romantic. Good.

  John did a double take as I walked by. "I barely recognize you out of uniform. You look wonderful."

  I felt myself blushing. "Thanks—I'm not so comfortable 'out of uniform.' But it's not every day that a mysterious Mr. X makes me a sumptuous meal, so I decided to dress the part."

  He laughed. "Mr. X. I love it. Like I'm a spy or something." He poured me a glass of wine, and his fingers brushed mine as he handed it to me.

  "You are mysterious," I reminded him. And who knew what else? I reminded myself sternly. This wasn't the time to get caught up in candlelight and wine.

  "Yeah, even to myself," he laughed. "I don't think that's how it's supposed to work," he continued. "But sometimes it's good to be Mr. X. I'm sure there are a million things I should be worrying about, but I'm living in the moment instead." He clinked his glass to mine, and we sat down at the table.

  The chicken was amazing. He'd also made mashed potatoes and green beans. I'd had two helpings of chicken when I happened to glance at the kitchen clock.

  "Shoot," I muttered.

  "What's wrong?" he asked, putting down his fork and taking a sip of wine.

  "I forgot I was supposed to meet the bat guy at seven. I hate to eat and run. I'll help you clean up first," I offered, gathering my plate and heading for the sink.

  "How about I go with you to meet the bat guy, and we'll clean up when we get back?" he suggested. He continued to clear the table and pile the dishes in the sink.

  "You really want to go?" I asked.

  He shrugged. "Don't think I've ever seen bat abatement or a guy with two fingers. So it ought to be interesting."

  I nodded. "It won't be boring. That's for sure."

  I pulled on my Carhartt work jacket and a pair of steel-toed work boots. As we got inside my truck, I said, "I really appreciate the dinner. It was so delicious. Really, you don't have to go with me if you don't want to." I was turned facing him, and his big blue eyes met mine.

  "I can't think of anything else I'd rather be doing or anyone I'd rather be with." He leaned over and kissed me lightly on the lips. "But I wouldn't mind trying a real date that didn't include bats."

  I nodded but didn't commit. I was still reeling from the kiss. It was a nice kiss, but I didn't have a butterflies-and-rainbow reaction. Which was my usual judge of how attracted I was to a man. It hadn't worked so great in the past, so maybe I should reconsider my system and go with the flow for now.

  We pulled up to Marlton House right behind Big Ron's truck and a ramshackle station wagon pulling a homemade trailer. Critter Ridder was spray painted on the side of the trailer in bright orange.

  John looked over at the contraption and back at me. "You sure this guy is a professional?"

  "Do you know of anyone else to call to remove a colony of bats from an attic?"

  "Good point," he said with a nod and opened the door.

  As we walked up the front steps, I heard someone calling my name. I looked down the street, and there was George, waving his hand. We waited for him at the front door.

  "What are you doing here?" I asked.

  "Well, a howdy-do to you too," he said in mock offense. "I heard there's going to be a bat wrangling tonight. I was hoping for a front-row seat."

  "You're not exactly dressed for bat wrangling." I shook my head at his starched white shirt, khaki slacks, and Sperry boat shoes.

  "I wore my casual clothes and brought gloves," he said, waving a pair of leather driving gloves under my nose.

  "How is any of that going to help you in the event of a bat attack?" I asked.

  "Let's hope it doesn't come down to him defending us from a bat attack," John said with a laugh.

  George glared at him but addressed me. "I understand you've hired a professional." He glanced over at the dilapidated station wagon. "A licensed 'critter ridder.' What could go wrong?" He wiggled his eyebrows at me.

  I laughed. "Okay, you can stay."

  We walked in to find Big Ron hauling equipment up the attic stairs. A scrawny man with a ponytail and a handlebar mustache sat on the windowsill smoking what I hoped was a home-rolled cigarette.

  "Could you refrain from smoking in my house, please?" My voice was calm, but my hackles were up.

  He looked startled. "Sure, sure, no problem," he said, dropping the butt on the wood floor and crushing it with his heel. "You must be Alex." He stuck out a hand that was missing the last three digits. "I'm Tommy."

  Awkward shake to say the least. "This is George and John."

  George and John got an opportunity to shake Tommy's hand.

  "Great, great. More hands to get the job done. Got any experience with bats?"

  George started to say something, but I stilled him with a look. "None of us do. What's the plan?"

  "Well, I got Big Ron putting the equipment at the attic door so I can move right in after the colony leaves. I 'spect to find a few stragglers. Now them would be yer most dangerous. Could be sick, might even have the rabies." I shuddered as he continued. "
We'll go out and watch the colony leave and then find their hole in the attic. It's probably the old chimney."

  "So then we just board up the hole, get rid of the remaining bats, and then a clean-up crew can come in tomorrow?" I asked.

  Tommy made a face. "That's how it's supposed to work. Bats are funny critters. Hard to predict. You better tell that clean-up crew to show up in hazmat suits. Oh, and bring axes, 'cause you ain't cleaning the floor up there. You gonna have to replace it."

  I groaned as dollar signs flashed before my eyes. Big Ron came down the stairs. "All ready."

  "Okay, folks," Tommy said, "let's get outside and start the stakeout."

  The stakeout consisted of Tommy telling us stories about his most difficult critter catches. There was a wild boar that had kept attacking a farmer's sheep. There was a twenty-foot python who'd gotten stuck in the dashboard of an RV. And of course, the most ferocious critter that had cost him his fingers—a gray-and-white tabby cat.

  We all turned to stare at him at that one. "A regular old house cat ripped your fingers off?" John asked dubiously.

  "It sure sounds bad when you put it like that," Tommy said.

  "Were you knocked out when the starving cat gnawed your fingers off?" George asked.

  I elbowed George. "That's disgusting."

  Tommy waved his hand. "Naw, naw, nothin' like that. I was reaching into a basement window—the cat was right there—but she wouldn't come out. I reached a little farther and bumped the casement window. Old glass came apart in shards. Fell like a guillotine across my knuckles. Whap!"

  We all jumped.

  "And just like that I was Tommy Two Fingers."

  "Life's a funny thing, isn't it?" George said, giving Tommy a pat on the back.

  "Did you rescue the cat?" I asked.

  He nodded. "Yep. Got the cat in one hand and my fingers in the other. What a mess!" He lit a cigarette and shook his head at the memory.

  I didn't say anything about the smoking. We were outside, and this dude had earned it.

  "Kept the cat, ya know," he said into the silence that followed.