"For one, he's manipulated half the town council to get zoning regs changed so he can build cheap condo complexes all over town."
"But people need affordable places to live," John said, playing devil's advocate. "Not everyone can live in a mansion." He nodded to Rockgrove as I pulled up in the driveway.
"Just because you live in a mansion doesn't mean you have a lot of money. Look at me. I'm one missed payment away from both personal and professional ruin." I turned off the engine and looked over at him. "Besides, Jack Condor preys on people who can barely make the high mortgage payments on those overpriced condos he builds. There's no way to resell them either. The market isn't strong enough yet. People are stuck in the condo or they walk away and go bankrupt. What kind of choice is that?"
John shrugged. "It's not like he forced people into buying the condos. Any more than you're forced to live house-poor in a mansion."
Something in the way he said that got my hackles up. "This mansion has been our family home for nearly a hundred years. I've spent thousands of dollars and hours of labor restoring it to its former glory. What would you have me do with it?"
John opened his door and looked out at the giant lot overlooking the crashing ocean below. "Develop it. Sell it. It's got to be worth a fortune."
I stalked off toward the door without a word. He followed, apologizing as he went. "Look, this is a wonderful place. All I meant was that if it's too much of a financial burden on you and Janiece, then maybe you should look into all of your options."
I didn't say a word. Just walked into the kitchen, opened the fridge, and took out a beer.
Gram walked in as John said, "Alex, don't be childish about this. You're a business person. Think it through like one."
I turned toward him, bit the cap off my beer, and spit it into the trash can from four feet away.
Gram gasped, "Alexandra, really!"
John laughed. "Now that took talent." He came forward, grasped my arms, and planted a sizzling kiss square on my mouth. His tongue licked my lips before he released me.
"Oh my," Gram murmured, looking away awkwardly.
"Sweet dreams, Alex," he said with a smoky look. "Good-night, Janiece."
I wiped my sleeve across my mouth and took a swig of beer.
"What the devil's going on?" Gram asked.
"Can you believe he had the nerve to suggest we sell Rockgrove to developers? Asked me if I was tired of being house-poor. He needs to find a new place to recover from his amnesia," I huffed.
"Well, dear," Gram began gently. "Perhaps he's right. Maybe it is time to look at all the possibilities."
I stared at her in stunned silence. Why would Gram say something like that? She'd always lived here. Her favorite line was, "I was born in this house, and I'm going to die in this house."
"He got to you," I said furiously. "He's been filling your head with nonsense while I'm out working."
Gram held up a wrinkled hand. "No, Alexandra. I've been thinking about this for a while. I'm not going to be around forever. What's going to happen when I'm gone? You're going to live alone in this giant mausoleum. I can't bear the thought, dear. If you were married with a family to fill these empty rooms, then I'd feel differently." She touched my shoulder lightly.
I shrugged off her touch. "I understand your concern, but I have no intention of spending the rest of my life alone roaming around Rockgrove and living in the past like Dickens's Miss Havisham." I took a drink of my beer and stared moodily out the dark window.
"We don't have to make any decisions right now. But I do want you think about it. Please, dear." Gram gave me a tremulous smile. "Think about what I've said. And by the by, Alice broached the subject of developing Rockgrove. John has never mentioned a word about the place."
I leaned over and hugged her. "Good-night, Gram."
As she walked toward the doorway, she asked, "Did you find a nice home for those bats, dear?"
I stifled a giggle. "Yes, Gram. I found the perfect place."
"I knew you would," she replied with a nod.
I took what was left of my beer and headed into the family room. Everything Gram said made sense, but I didn't want to hear it. I certainly wasn't planning to be alone the rest of my life. I wanted a husband and a family. I'd just been so busy working that I'd put all that on the back burner.
I sighed and slumped onto the couch. I grabbed the remote and switched on the TV. The eleven o'clock news was wrapping up. My eyes started to get heavy as the weather girl droned on about the temperatures dipping. Where was spring already?
"And in other news," the anchorwoman said, "it seems Halloween is off to an early start this year. Check out this footage from downtown Danger Cove shot earlier this evening. It appears a colony of bats is following a pest control truck. Our producer spoke to the owner of Critter Ridder, the service that was transporting the bats, but he declined to comment, citing client confidentiality. Witnesses on Main Street claim the bats were attacking one of the historic homes in town, Marlton House. You'll remember this is also the house where the body of a murdered tourist was found last week. Court records show the house was recently purchased by Finials and Facades Renovation Services."
The other anchorman leaned over. "Whew! I think I'll keep my distance from that place," he said with a cream-cheese smile. "Talk about having bats in your belfry, eh Sheila?"
"If you say so, Bob," she replied. Sheila kept a professional smile plastered to her face, but I pictured her stomping on Bob's foot under the desk.
Unfortunately for me, most of my potential buyers would probably be more like Bob—scared off by stories of dead bodies and bat colonies. I sighed and took another sip of beer, wondering if Marlton House was going to be my first flip to flop.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
I awoke to Smitty screaming, "Bad boy! Bad boy!"
I rolled over with a groan and opened one eye. John sat in the armchair across from the couch. He set a steaming cup of coffee on the table in front of my nose. I sniffed appreciatively.
"Peace offering," he said.
Smitty continued to squawk at him, throwing in "bloody fool" every once in a while.
"Any advice on dealing with him?" he asked with a sigh.
I sat up and rubbed my eyes. "He likes grapes." I touched my hair and realized it was sticking up all over my head. Static from the leather couch. Nice.
"Does it look as bad as I think it does?" I asked John, patting my hair.
"Well, I don't want to get in any more trouble than I'm already in, but I'd say you and Smitty are running neck and neck for best bedhead."
I threw a pillow at him.
"Bad boy!" Smitty squawked in agreement and shook his cage bars with his beak.
"Don't encourage him," John said with a laugh. "I'm going to see if we have any grapes."
I pulled my hair into a ponytail using a spare rubber band from my pocket and sipped the coffee. It was heavenly. I stood up and stretched. Poor Smitty.
I walked over to his cage and peered in. I opened the door and reached in to give him a stroke on the beak. John came back in with a handful of grapes.
"Will this do, Your Majesty?" he asked the bird.
Smitty hissed and backed away from the door.
"Let me feed him one first. He'll get your scent without being scared." I handed Smitty a grape, and he snatched it out of my fingers.
He chewed it up greedily, saying, "Pretty bird."
"He means me," I said to John.
"Yeah, didn't think he meant me."
"Give it a try. He's in a good mood now," I said, opening the cage.
John reached in. Smitty hissed and ruffled his feathers but took the grape. After he was done, he cooed, "Bad boy."
"Aw, come on!" John said in mock agitation. "Give me a break, bird."
"Hey," I said, "at least he said it nicely."
We both laughed, our eyes meeting and lingering a moment too long.
"Where are you off to so early?" I asked, squinting at my phone. It
was a few minutes before eight.
"I have my doctor's appointment in Seattle this morning. I hope I make some kind of breakthrough. I can't keep living off of your grandmother's kindness forever." He shook his head.
"Well, it's only been a few days," I said consolingly. "Besides, the social worker said she'd have some emergency funds to you by Friday. We can float you a couple of bucks and a tank of gas until then." I gave him a warm smile.
"How about I help out with the renovation to work off some of my debt?" he asked suddenly.
"Well," I paused to think about the idea, not entirely comfortable with it. If John was somehow involved with the missing diamonds or the dead tourist, then giving him access to Marlton House was not a good idea. On the other hand, he seemed genuinely interested in helping, and he was a guest at Rockgrove, after all. "I guess it would be okay. We could definitely use the help."
His face beamed. "It would make me feel useful instead of like dead weight. Hey," he said brightly, "I just might be good with a hammer."
I nodded, imagining George's reaction to this development.
"You know what really bugs me about all this?" he asked in a low, intimate tone that made me think about his lips on mine.
I shook my head and couldn't help staring at his lips.
"Here I am with amnesia, no money, no job, no idea where my family is or if I even have one." He raked a hand through his hair. "And all I can think about is you. Taking you out on a date, getting to know you, all that. Am I crazy?"
"Maybe your priorities are a little mixed up," I said gently. "But I get it. It could just be that I was the first person you saw when you woke up, and somehow you're drawn to me because of that."
"Like a mother duck or something?" He laughed.
I thought about it for a second. "Yes, just like it. You should ask the doctor about that."
"Will do," he said. "In the meantime, how 'bout that date tonight?"
I took a step back. "I'm not sure that's such a good idea. With everything going on and all."
He nodded. "You didn't say no, so I'm taking that for a yes."
"How about I take you to a couple of my favorite spots around town, just as friends? And that's my final offer," I said firmly.
"Deal," he replied. "Guess I'd better go get Janiece's car out of the garage."
"Keys are on the board by the back door." The car was in perfect shape. Its only problem being that it was a twenty-five-year-old boat on wheels. A baby-blue Lincoln Town Car with white leather seats.
I waved good-bye and turned back toward Smitty. "See, he's not a bad boy," I said. "He's a good boy."
"Bad boy!" Smitty sniped.
I shrugged. Sometimes bad boys were fun.
* * *
I met George at his flower shop at ten. There was a young woman I'd never seen before working behind the counter.
"Ruby, this is Alex," George said turning to me. "Ruby's my new intern from the community college. She's studying horticulture."
Ruby smiled, and I saw she had perfect white teeth in a perfect little mouth. She was dressed in a florist apron. Her toned, tan legs and arms made her look like she was wearing nothing underneath. I felt a flash of unexpected jealousy.
"Nice to meet you, Ruby," I said pleasantly.
As we walked to my truck, I cast George a sidelong glance, saying, "Some intern you've got there."
George gave me a big grin. "Is that jealousy or sour grapes I'm hearing?" He held a hand to his ear.
"It's neither," I replied tartly. "It's just fun to see a stereotype personified."
"You mean smart, successful man attracts lovely, charming lady?" he asked.
"Uh, no. I was thinking more like co-ed meets dirty old man."
He gasped as we reached the truck, arms outstretched. "I'm neither dirty nor old."
"Which begs the question, why are you wearing white pants to dig around in a dirty old house? Did you forget what we were doing today? This is how you dress for renovation work." I pointed to my flannel shirt, jeans, and work boots.
He grimaced. "There's got to be a better way. I know there's a womanly form hiding under all that flannel." He shook his head sadly.
"Hey, you don't need to worry about my womanly form," I huffed, climbing in my truck. George got in next to me.
"Anyway," he said, slamming the door and moving the conversation into smoother waters, "I really hadn't given it a thought when I dressed this morning. I'm sure I'll be fine."
I shrugged. "Don't blame me if your clothes get ruined. Old houses are unpredictable. Look at the bat situation."
"Oh, I've learned my lesson about old houses. And that was more than unpredictable," George laughed. "I'd call that other-worldly."
I nodded in agreement. "The professional cleaners will be in at noon to start on the attic. After they're done, we can access the actual damage. Big Ron thinks we'll have to replace all the flooring in the attic."
George whistled. "Bet that's going to be a pretty penny."
"Definitely." So the endless list of extra expenses began. This was how it was with every one of my renos. After my first flip, I'd started adding an extra 20 percent to all of my estimates.
"So let's talk about our plan, since we have a few minutes," I said as I pulled onto the street. "Obviously, today we search Marlton House for the box and anything else that might turn up."
"And I have a call into my source at the police station to see if any new information is available on our dead tourist," George interjected.
I nodded. "I feel like I missed something when I went to see Condor. He's up to something, but I just can't put my finger on it. I'd like to track him down today too." I had no idea what I would say or do, but my gut just told me something was going on there.
"You need to tail him," George said with a snap of his fingers. "Going in and facing off with him was one thing, but you'll find out more if you follow him in his natural habitat."
I giggled, picturing Jack Condor strutting around a chicken coop.
As we pulled up to Marlton House, I felt a thrill of excitement. Despite the body in the bathtub, the mysterious wooden box, the bats, and everything else that had gone wrong so far, I still loved this house. The details were simply spectacular.
"Some place," George said, looking up admiringly.
"It certainly is," I murmured.
We started in the main living room, checking all of the wood floors. After fifteen minutes, George asked, "What were the measurements for the box again?"
"Six by four," I replied.
"I don't think the box is part of the floor," he said. "It wouldn't fit, and if the tourist hid it under the floorboards, what difference would the size make?"
He had a point. I fanned myself with my ball cap and thought about it. "So because of the very specific dimensions of the box, we're assuming the box is out in the open. Or fits inside of a space in plain sight."
He nodded.
"I think we should be looking at trim work. Or cabinetry." I pointed to the intricate moldings along the ceiling and baseboards.
"And we should look for an area that has been disturbed," he added with a snap of his fingers. He headed to the dusty corners of the room.
"This whole place has been disturbed. There's been all of us, plus the police, and Tommy Two Fingers," I reminded him.
George thought for a moment. "Okay, let's walk around and take in the bigger picture. Focus on the rooms that have more nooks and crannies."
"The kitchen is one possibility. The library is another. Lots of shelving and cabinetry in both," I said.
"Let's start with the library," he suggested.
"This way," I said, leading him away from the main living room and down a long hallway.
The scrolled door of the library opened with an eerie creak. Heavy moth-eaten drapes hung over two large windows, offering only tiny slivers of sunlight.
"Looks like something right out of an old gothic novel. Young governess goes to live at the spo
oky old manor house." George flipped on his pocket flashlight and swept the room with the beam.
I was impressed he'd brought one. "Lots of shelves, but I don't see anything out of the ordinary."
I took out my own flashlight and moved the light slowly around the empty room. Despite the shelving, there wasn't much else. My light touched the fireplace, and I gasped. Beautiful blue-and-white Delft tiles picturing Dutch countryside scenes trimmed the mantel and the floor in front of the grate. "So gorgeous! And in perfect condition."
George came to my side. "Very nice," he said, stroking the tiles.
My flashlight followed his hand and then down to the grate. "Look," I said. "Footprints in the dust."
George stepped back and then peered down. "I think you've found something. They go that way." He pointed to an empty bookshelf.
We walked to the bookshelf and looked it over with our flashlights. The footsteps seemed to stop suddenly. A rolling library ladder stood next to the footsteps.
"Guess he went up," I said, stepping onto the bottom rung of the ladder.
"Maybe I should go up there," he suggested.
I made a face. "Why? Because it would make sense to send the heavier person up the rickety old ladder, or because you're the one with the testicles?"
"I have to say, I'm thrilled to hear you acknowledge the presence of my testicles," George said. "There's hope for us yet." George's phone beeped, and he turned away.
"I'm done talking about your testicles," I snapped, climbing up the ladder. I carefully checked each shelf on my way to the top. "They're all empty," I called down in frustration.
I leaned my head against the ladder. Where was the box?
He was on the phone less than thirty seconds. "That was Mrs. Simpson. Her daughter says to tell me she wants white orchids in her bridal bouquet and that they aren't releasing the name of the tourist yet because they are still locating family back east. She did, however, give me a nickname."
I turned to look down at him. "A nickname?"
He nodded and replied, "Reggie the Fence."
"Wow," I said.
"Yeah," George agreed solemnly. "Looks like my diamonds started all this."
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