“Yeah, I heard Herb’s wife died. So sad.”
“Did you know her?”
Noreen shook her head. “Never met her. But Herb is kind of a regular here. More so in the winter when it gets pretty dead in these parts.”
Kathy nodded. “They’re kind of reeling since Mrs. Cannon’s death and the discovery of that body on their property.”
Noreen shook her head. “Poor Michael.”
“Did you know him?”
“Oh, sure. He was a gifted carpenter. He did odd jobs for us on a regular basis.”
“Was he a customer, too?”
“No,” Noreen said succinctly.
Kathy decided to play dumb. “Oh?”
“Michael was a great guy, but….”
And then Kathy understood. Racism was alive and well in rural New York, but she got the idea that Noreen didn’t hold such views. She turned to eye the guy with the crew-cut. He looked the kind who might not welcome someone several shades darker.
“Tori—Mr. Cannon’s granddaughter—remembers Mr. Jackson’s daughter, but not why she was no longer in her father’s life.”
Noreen shook her head. “Don’t look to me for answers. I’ve only been a part of The Bay Bar for the last five years when I married Paul.”
“How did you meet?” Kathy asked.
Noreen sighed wistfully. “I used to ride a Harley and came out here on a poker run.”
“Poker run?”
“Yeah, a charity motorcycle ride event. You check in at several destination points, play a round of cards, and end up at a bar for a barbeque. They’re loads of fun. I came here, met Paul and—” She looked down the bar at her husband, a quirky smile forming on her lips. “It was love at first sight.” She looked back at Kathy. “Of course I didn’t know then that I’d be giving up a life in an office to stand behind a stove ten hours a day.”
“Would you go back to that life?” Kathy asked.
Noreen positively grinned. “Not on your life. I gripe about the hours, but I love being my own boss. How long does your friend plan to stay with Herb?”
“Indefinitely. She lost her job. She wants to help him get his business back in the black.”
“Would she reopen the Lotus Lodge?” Noreen asked.
“It would take some work. How would you feel about having direct competition?”
“Ecstatic. Our rooms have a ninety percent occupancy rate in July and August. It wouldn’t hurt our bar business if five or six of the rooms across the way were filled every night, too.”
“How do you do during the winter?”
“Ice fishing fills our rooms on weekends, which helps the bottom line. But the real money comes from snowmobilers. They get hungry—and thirsty—after hours out in the cold.”
“That’s good to know. I work in the hotel industry, myself. I’m an assistant manager at a motel in Batavia, but my goal is to someday open my own bed and breakfast.”
Noreen shook her head. “It’s a tough life. Not only do I cook, but I keep the rooms clean, too. And let me tell you, some of our guests are real pigs—and they’re not all men.”
“I hear you,” Kathy said, taking a sip of her neglected drink. The ice had melted, leaving it watery. “We’re starting with the bait shop. We’ll scrub the outside walls and start painting it tomorrow.”
“We’ve got a power washer. We’d be glad to loan it to you guys.”
“That’s very generous of you. I’ll take you up on it. Thanks.”
“Anything to help out Herb,” Noreen said. “I’ll be back in the kitchen about eight in the morning. Knock on the door and you can pick it up then.”
“Great. Thanks.”
Noreen downed the last of her ginger ale. “Time for me to call it quits for the day.”
“Do you live above the bar?”
She shook her head. “Too noisy. We own the house next door.”
“The one that’s for sale?” Kathy asked. She’d noticed the wreck of a house that had probably once been a very nice home.
“No!” Noreen declared and laughed. “For years that place was a rental. It was split into a bunch of apartments, but the last tenants moved out in the spring. They really trashed it. I suggested the local fire department burn it down to the ground as a training exercise, but the owner is convinced he can get at least ten grand for it.”
“Why so cheap?” Kathy asked.
“As I said, it’s been trashed. It needs an electrical upgrade and a new roof, too. Nobody in their right mind would plow that kind of money into that old hulk.”
But what if someone was expecting to come into a substantial inheritance in the not-too-distant future? Someone who wanted to convert an old house into a charming, upscale B and B? Kathy had been thinking of converting an old Victorian home. The house next door looked like a plain box with peeling blue paint. There may have been a covered porch on the front, but it was long gone.
Kathy took another sip of her now very watery drink. I must be out of my mind to even consider it.
“I’ll see you in the morning,” Noreen said as she untied her apron, screwed it into a ball, and tossed it under the bar.
“Good night,” Kathy called, watching as the short order cook moved to stand with her husband. She spoke to him for a moment before she left the building via the front door.
Kathy turned back to her drink.
She couldn’t buy that old wreck of a building. It was positively ludicrous to even think about it.
She shook away the mental cobwebs clouding her thoughts and glanced down at the bar.
“I came down at the weekend to fish. Some old black guy told me strange things were happening around here,” one of the bikers told the bartender.
“Nothing strange ever happens around here. Nothing ever happens around here,” said his companion, who laughed.
Kathy toyed with the stir stick that had come with her drink. Strange happenings. Had Mr. Jackson seen a UFO?
“What else did he say?” the bartender asked.
“Just that he wasn’t going to take his boat out on the bay at night anymore.”
“Makes sense if he docked at Cannon’s. They haven’t had a light on at night for a couple of years.”
Kathy tuned out the conversation and glanced at the neon clock next to a lighted Coors beer sign on the wall. It was always five o’clock in this bar—but the time was actually about nine-forty. Again she wondered about the house next door. The price was right, but if what Noreen said about its shortcomings were true, it would be a money pit to try to restore it. And what would Tori say about the possibility of Kathy opening a B and B directly across the street from the Lotus Lodge? They’d be in direct competition. Well, not really. The Lotus Lodge was a glorified fish camp, and it catered to fishermen. Kathy wanted to attract honeymooning couples, serve afternoon tea, and with a decidedly higher per-night price tag than the Lotus Lodge.
Still, what could it hurt to make a call to the listing real estate agent? A walk-through might be enough to deter her. A discussion with a general contractor was sure to discourage her.
But what if …?
#
The weatherman from Channel 10 news in Rochester had promised sunny skies, but the air was cool and damp when Kathy arrived at the Cannon compound the next morning just after 7:30. Of course, she’d gotten up early, dressed in work clothes, and hiked across the way through the knee-high grass to inspect the butt-ugly house that was for sale next to The Bay Bar. As Noreen had said, it was trashed. Kathy could see that just by looking in through the grimy windows that probably hadn’t been washed in a decade or more.
From what she could see of the damage near the foundation, there had once been a substantial porch on the front of the house. She wondered if there was a historical society nearby that might have pictures of the house from the previous century. The windows had been replaced, probably in the 1970s or 1980s for what someone had mistakenly thought were more energy efficient models, but they hadn’t weathe
red well and she could see signs that at least the ones in front had leaked at some point. Add all new windows to the restoration, which would be a small fortune in and of itself.
The more she thought about it, the worse the idea of restoring this ugly duckling into a swan became. With a heavy heart, she’d trucked across the road.
Tori opened the door in her PJs, looking sleepy.
“Have you got coffee?” Kathy asked.
“Yes. That—and iced tea—is all Gramps seems to drink.”
Kathy entered the neat and now-inviting kitchen. Daisy sat in the corner eating from a pink bowl decorated with paw prints. “Where’s your grandfather?”
“In the shop. He was there before I got up.”
“How did you sleep?”
“Not good. I had a nightmare about finding Mr. Jackson, and then I didn’t get back to sleep until almost six. How about you?”
“I didn’t sleep well, either,” Kathy admitted, but it was thoughts of the derelict house across the road that had preoccupied her thoughts.
Tori retrieved a bag of bread from the top of the fridge and stuck two pieces in the toaster, then poured a mug of coffee for Kathy. The words LOTUS LODGE were emblazoned in green with a drawing of a white lotus below.
“That’s cute,” she said, accepting the mug.
“Grandma had a case of them made way back when. I guess she thought people might buy them, but I don’t think it worked out too well. There must be ten of them in the cupboard.”
“It’s a great idea, but she didn’t have the address printed on the backside.”
“I never even noticed.”
“You could do the same thing and add a web URL.”
“Gramps doesn’t have a website for the bait shop. Hell, he doesn’t even own a cell phone.”
“You could set up a site cheap.”
“That’s a good idea,” Tori said as the toast popped up. She put each slice on a plate and reloaded the toaster. She handed Kathy a plate.
“Thanks.” Kathy took a seat at the table where napkins, knives, butter, and a jar of raspberry jam awaited. “I’ve got good news.”
“I could use some about now,” Tori admitted, still standing by the counter.
“Your neighbors at The Bay Bar are loaning us their power washer so we can prep the bait shop.”
“Hey, that’s great. Have you ever used one?”
“Yep. Once the walls are dry, we can start painting. We might even finish the job today. Then we can start tackling the Lotus Lodge.”
“I don’t know, Kath. That’s a pretty tall order. Even if we get it in shape, we’d have to get a certificate of occupancy and heaven only knows how many other permits to reopen.” She nibbled on the corner of her toast. “You didn’t tell the people at the bar about possibly reopening the lodge, did you?”
“Noreen asked about it.”
“Who’s she?”
“One of the owners. She mans the kitchen.”
“What did you tell her?”
“I asked how she’d feel about it reopening.”
“And?” Tori asked, sounding nervous.
“Happy as a pig rolling in poop. She thinks it would add to their bar trade.”
“She might be right.”
“She said things are pretty dead in winter, but mentioned the same as you—ice fishermen, and even better, snowmobilers—help the bottom line.”
The second batch of toast popped up. Tori placed one slice on her plate and doled the other out to Kathy, then sat down at the table.
Kathy spread jam on the toast and cut it into triangles, all the time wrestling with her conscience. Should she mention that old wreck of a house to Tori? She’d never lied to her friend before—not even a lie of omission. “What do you know about that house across the road that’s for sale?”
“It’s a real mess.”
“Was it ever pretty?”
“Not that I remember, why?”
“Noreen said the asking price was only ten grand.”
Tori studied her face. “I hope you’re not thinking what I think you’re thinking.”
“I am,” Kathy admitted.
Tori laughed. “Are you out of your mind?”
“I like to think I’m on a quest for knowledge.”
“To find out it’s a potential money pit and totally unsuitable for a B and B?”
Kathy nodded. “You got it.”
“Shouldn’t you do a feasibility study to see if the area can handle that kind of traffic?”
“Definitely. To tell you the truth, it’s the price that caught my attention. I’ve seen wrecks like that in Batavia for a heck of a lot more money.”
“Yeah, but it would probably take a hundred grand or more to bring it back to a habitable state. It might be better to just find a chunk of land and start building from scratch. And, as much as I’d love it if you were going to be near here, I think you’d do better to find something in Batavia or Rochester.”
“Who goes to Batavia? It’s just a pee stop on the Thruway.”
“The race track is there.”
“That’s about it.” Kathy polished off the last of her toast. “I’m not saying that wreck is the place for me, but I sure wouldn’t mind taking a walk through it. Would you come with me?”
“To be the voice of reason? You bet.”
Kathy decided to change the subject. “The conversation at The Bay Bar was all about the murder.”
“There’s probably not much else to talk about around here,” Tori said reasonably.
“Did the guy who died keep his boat here?”
Tori nodded. “Gramps said it was tied up to the dock, why?”
“The dead guy told one of the bikers that he wasn’t going to take his boat out on the bay at night anymore because strange stuff was happening.”
“Like what?”
She shrugged. “I was wondering about UFOs. Have you ever seen one?”
“No, but I’ve seen shooting stars. Gramps has seen the northern lights, but I never did.”
Kathy looked up at the clock. “You’d better get dressed. I can’t lug that power washer across the street by myself.”
Tori pushed away from the table and got up. “Okay. Thanks for getting them to loan it to us. It’s going to save us half a day of scrubbing. I’ll be back in a minute,” she said and headed out of the kitchen toward the back of the house and her room, with Daisy following close behind.
Kathy kept staring at the hands of the clock. The real estate office probably didn’t open for another hour. Once they got started on power washing the bait shop, she’d suggest they take a break halfway through and then she’d call. Was it possible she could see the place today? She found her gut tightening with anticipation. That house wasn’t likely to be the one she could successfully turn into a gorgeous bed and breakfast, but just what if it was?
CHAPTER 5
The power washing went better than Tori had expected. True to her word, Kathy did know how to use it. Unfortunately, it not only removed the dirt from the paint, but it removed most of the paint from the cinder blocks, too. It was going to take more than one coat to cover them and make the place look welcoming…that is if you could use that word to describe a bait shop.
Herb came out several times to criticize the job, but he didn’t fool Tori. He’d also been suppressing the beginnings of a smile. Maybe he thought they could bring the business back, too.
They had to wait for the blocks to dry before they could start painting, and thanks to a stiff breeze off the bay, they hoped to start within the hour. They’d already distributed a drop cloth around the north side of the building, and were assembling cans of paint when the Dumpster arrived. They watched it get unloaded, and before the truck had even left the driveway they started heaving the trash bags into it.
A green Honda Civic pulled into the gravel lot and parked. An older woman, probably in her late sixties, got out. She opened the back door to her car and took out a cake carrier with a tra
nsparent dome. Inside was a chocolate frosted cake.
Tori recognized the lady as someone who had been at her grandmother’s funeral.
“Victoria!” she called.
Tori walked up to meet her. “Tori,” she said amiably, taking in the woman’s pale blue cotton-knit shirt with pink embroidered flowers around the neck, dark slacks, and black mules. She wore a triple string of pearls and matching earrings. “Hello. What can I do for you?”
“We met at Josie’s funeral the other day. I’m Irene Timmons. I heard you were staying with Herb for a few days. That’s so thoughtful of you. He must be terribly lonely with Josie gone.”
Tori frowned at the woman’s simpering tone. “He’s doing okay.”
“I’m so glad to hear that. Is he around?” she asked, her gaze straying to where Herb’s truck was parked near the house.
“He’s in the bait shop. It was so thoughtful of you to bring Gramps a cake. Would you like me to take it inside?”
Irene wrinkled her nose, but shook her head. “I think I’ll just take it to him, dear.”
Tori shrugged. “Be my guest.”
Irene headed for the bait shop. Kathy had finished tossing the trash into the Dumpster and was checking her phone for messages. She pocketed it when Tori joined her. “A neighborly visit?” she asked.
Tori nodded. “A friend of Grandma’s. She wanted to check up on Gramps.”
“I’ll bet.”
They headed back to the bait shop. Tori glanced inside. The cake sat on the counter, which seemed to be a buffer zone between Herb and his visitor. Irene was leaning against it, but Herb had retreated until he was standing with his back to a fishing lure display.
Tori picked up a screwdriver, intending to open one of the paint cans, when a battered blue pickup truck pulled up in the Cannon compound’s parking lot, coming to a halt in front of the Lotus Lodge. A tall and stocky black woman dressed in overalls, with foot-long dreadlocks, got out of it and stood before the building, just staring at it. She wasn’t fat; her taut, chiseled arm muscles hinted of hours of weight training and/or heavy physical labor.
“Why don’t you go see what she wants,” Kathy suggested. “I can get things going here.”
With Baited Breath Page 5
