by Leslie Caine
Ironically, Steve and I had planned to sit down today to finalize our Twelve Days design. What fun to discuss what “my true love gave to me” with the true love who thinks you’re a fool. Sullivan would be presenting his ideas to me for the odd-numbered days in the song, and I was showing him the even numbers.
Not eager to enter into an all-day design discussion that was bound to devolve into a quarrel, I took an exceptionally long time to shower and get dressed before coming downstairs, my folder of themed Christmas decorations in hand. Sullivan was waiting for me at the kitchen table, seated behind his notebook computer. Our floor plans were spread out to one side of him, and pictures of figurines, birds, and whatnot were spread on the other. I tried to shore myself up. We’d worked together for a long time before we’d become a couple, and we could be detached professionals today. We would make no mention of previous disagreements and definitely steer clear of discussing Cameron Baker. I breezed past the table and headed straight toward the coffeemaker.
“Good morning, Erin.”
“Morning.”
“Did you sleep okay last night?”
“No.” I poured myself a cup and added a splash of milk, then turned to give him the briefest of glances. “Is this decaf?”
He shook his head. “Industrial-strength.”
“Good.” Although tempted to sit across from him, I instead grabbed the adjacent seat. Wounded feelings aside, we needed to look at plans and pictures at the same time.
“Are you ready to pay homage to the all-time worst gift giver in the history of the world? Most people get it wrong once or twice, but this guy gave lousy gifts twelve times in a row.”
I couldn’t help but smile. “Well, he did get one of the days right.”
“The five golden rings, you mean?”
“Yes, and it’s surprisingly out of character. He could have given his love ‘five cawing crows,’ yet for some reason, he gave her jewelry on day five. Maybe his sister was visiting him on that day and intervened.”
Steve chuckled. “If so, it was a short visit. The very next day, he goes back to the birds, and two days later he resorts to gifting the poor woman with whole sets of people behaving bizarrely.”
“I like to think that he took her to the ballet for his dancing ladies and his leaping lords. And maybe the drummers and pipers were trips to listen to a pair of symphony orchestras.”
“In addition to taking his true love on an outing at a dairy farm?” Sullivan asked with a grin, his dreamy hazel eyes sparkling as he gazed into my eyes.
“Your guess is as good as mine. I’ve always found the milkmaids baffling. And you’re dead wrong about Cameron, by the way.” It was weird how that slipped out. Maybe Sullivan was less at fault for our spat than I wanted to believe.
“I hope so. Except for the dead part.”
I adjusted his floor plans for the three main levels of the house so that we could both see them. “Let’s start by figuring out which room goes best with which day of Christmas.”
“We should base our selection for each room on our original vision for that space. The Christmas decoration should enhance what we’ve already created.”
“Right. And our original vision for the lobby was that it’s going to be the first room guests will see.”
“Which means it should have the partridge in the pear tree.”
“Yes. Which also means our pear tree is going to be competing with the Christmas tree.”
“I had a thought about the Christmas tree,” Steve said. “We should feature miniature versions of our twelve designs on the tree. Although we’ll need to procure an additional seventy-something ornaments.”
“That’s an excellent idea, even so. It’ll help unify everything. Besides, this is the kind of thing that Audrey would be happy to do. She can make milkmaids and lords out of old-fashioned clothespins. I’ll ask her if she’s willing to help.”
Sullivan was fishing through his stack of decorative items and didn’t appear to be listening. “So we’ve got that huge, sturdy coffee table in front of the fireplace in the lobby. That can support the pear tree, and it’s in the sitting area—a visually separate space, as delineated by the area rug.”
He passed me the photograph he’d found of a gilded pear tree. It was the same one that had caught my eye when I surfed the Web, the day after Audrey first suggested the design concept. “Perfect. All lush gold hues, four feet tall, quite spectacular.”
“Unless you’d rather go with an actual miniature pear tree and a live partridge,” Sullivan said. “But then we’d have to deal with shedding leaves and such. Plus it’ll take forever to train the partridge to stay put in the tree.”
I chuckled. “Actually, I was planning on wiring his little feet to one of the branches.”
“Gilded pear tree it is.”
“I located two cross-stitched pillows featuring turtledoves that will pop against the brocade fabric of the Sheridan chair and the lace comforter in Mikara’s bedroom.” I showed him the photograph.
“You don’t think that’s too subtle?”
“Maybe, but I think a mixture of subtle in some rooms, primary focal point in other rooms is what we’re aiming for here.”
“Agreed. I found some rather pricey porcelain French hens. Which can go in the den.” He handed me the photograph, and we tentatively agreed to put them in the den. “Not to jump the gun, but what exactly is a calling bird?”
I shrugged. “One bird that’s calling to his birds of a feather. It would be fun to place them in a Christmassy centerpiece for the dining room table. Maybe four bird figurines, with built-in recordings of their songs. And push-button controls.”
I was pulling Steve’s leg about the sound recordings. The “calling birds” that I’d chosen were four lovely and colorful porcelain figurines of birds with open beaks. I saw him grimace a little. When he held his tongue, I said, “Or, better yet, we could set up a motion detector, so the birds will sing the moment anyone enters the room.”
He furrowed his brow. “Have you been getting advice from Chiffon, by any chance?”
I gave him my best injured look. “Are you saying you want the birds to remain silent? No minirecordings of them calling out: ‘Yoo hoo! I’m over here!’?”
He fought back a smile and returned his attention to his file. “The five golden rings will be gold wreaths. That’s a natural for the parlor.”
Cameron stepped into the kitchen from the mudroom, bringing our chat to an abrupt halt. He greeted us cheerfully, then said, “Great news. The building inspector is here. And the front steps are perfect. Furthermore, I had the lab retest the water, and the inn is within legal limits after all. So everything’s good to go.”
“I’m … amazed,” I said, painfully reminded of Steve’s assertions that part of Cameron’s job description for Wendell was to bribe officials.
“Yeah. Seems a bit too good to be true.” Sullivan’s voice was rife with skepticism.
Cameron spread his arms. “That’s how I get my name. I arrive in town, and I fix the problems.”
“Great,” I said with false cheer. “Henry’s going to be thrilled.”
“As will my boss.”
“Thanks, Cameron.” Knowing Steve had to be galled to no end, I glanced at him, but he held his tongue.
“I’d like us all to go to lunch to celebrate,” Cameron said. “The three of us, plus Audrey. What do you say? Got any other lunch plans? Not to be mundane, but I was thinking we could go at high noon.”
Steve and I looked at each other. I assumed that he wanted me to say no. “Actually, Cameron—”
“We can’t speak for Audrey, but Erin and I are free.”
I glanced at Steve in surprise.
Still wearing his coat, gloves, and boots, Ben entered the room, carrying a pink sheet of paper. He bore his typical hangdog expression. “Bad news. The inspector found a problem after all.”
“But … he was leaving!” Cameron exclaimed. “I walked him to his car! And
everything was fine!”
“Yeah, but right after you came inside, he shut off his engine and said he’d forgotten Angie hadn’t logged the measurements for the handicapped-access ramp on the back door. He measured it himself, and turns out it’s too steep and needs to be replaced. I told him how the ramp had already passed, but he insisted Angie must have used the old standards by mistake. I argued for all I was worth, but he said, ‘Rotten luck for you,’ got back into his truck, and took off.”
Cameron grabbed his head. “The ramp is made of concrete! We can’t just add on to make it longer! I left you and the inspector all of sixty seconds ago! How the hell could you have put up this big, huge argument inside of a minute?”
That struck me as a very good question.
“It was more than a minute,” Ben grumbled.
“Ben,” Cameron said, his eyes smoldering, “this is a huge screwup! The only question is, was it your incompetence, or the inspector’s?”
“I followed the specifications precisely!” Ben retorted.
Cameron balled his fists. “And did you get them from Angie, or from a Cracker Jack box?”
“Cameron, Ben, we’ll figure out how to fix this quickly,” I said. “There’s no reason to get upset.”
“I’m not upset, Erin,” Cameron snapped. “I’m just articulating my discontent.” Cameron gestured toward the door. “Ben, let’s talk outside. Show me precisely what the problem is with the ramp.”
Ben pivoted and stormed out the door. Cameron followed.
Sullivan cursed under his breath and rose.
“The inspector had to have done this intentionally, the moment Cameron’s back was turned,” I said, looking up at him. “He wanted to keep Cameron in the dark about his plans to flunk the inn.”
“Probably so, but that’s Cameron’s problem, not Ben’s. Ben looked ready to sock Cam in the face. If Ben quits, we really won’t be able to open on Christmas Eve. All our work will have been for nothing. I’m putting a stop to it, right now. No way am I going to let Cameron louse everything up for us.”
Chapter 14
Wait!” I grabbed Steve’s arm before he could open the back door. “Let me handle this. We’ll get better results if I go and play the part of the clueless female. By the time they’re done explaining to me what the problem is, they’ll both have cooled off.”
“Seriously? That’s an actual tactic women use?”
“I don’t understand your question. Maybe you can explain it to me later, darling.” I dashed into the mudroom, donned my coat, and headed outside.
Cameron was shouting: “I’m paying you to fix—” He stopped when he spotted me. He had been wagging his finger in Ben’s face, but now he lowered his voice and said, “—this ramp.” He forced a smile in my direction. “Everything’s under control, Erin. We’re just trying to decide on a strategy to get the okay to open for business on time.”
“Yeah. A strategy,” Ben repeated, his features and voice justifiably full of venom.
“Sorry to interrupt. But, Ben, I’ve seen you work magic more than once. We’re not going to miss our grand opening on Christmas Eve, are we?”
“Not if I’m allowed to do my job,” he grumbled.
“That’s all I’ve been asking you to do,” Cameron fired back.
“What exactly is wrong with the wheelchair ramp?” I asked gently. “How far off is it from the regulations?”
“Three inches,” Ben replied.
“Which might as well be three feet,” Cameron said. “Those three little inches are going to cost us a ton of time and money. Ben needed to begin the ramp three inches farther back from the door in order to give it the proper slope. Now all the concrete has to be broken apart and hauled away, then new cement’s got to get poured, smoothed, new railings put up, et cetera, all because Ben, here, blew it.”
“I didn’t blow it! I got the code from Angie Woolf, and I followed it to the letter! She set me up!”
“That’s real nice, Orlin,” Cameron said. “So now you’re blaming the whole thing on a dead woman!”
“Cam, it isn’t Ben’s fault if the two inspectors used different sets of codes for their inspections,” I said firmly. “Isn’t there a city official who should be notified about this? Somebody in the local government? I don’t really know who we could talk to about maybe granting us some sort of temporary permit. Do you have any ideas?”
Cam released a sigh of frustration, but conceded, “I’ve got a couple of connections. Not counting the town mayor, who’s obviously got no clout here whatsoever.”
“That’d be great. Thanks, Cameron.” I shamelessly gave him a grateful smile. Desperate times, desperate measures and all that rot. “Come to think of it, maybe I should be the one taking you out to lunch. Have you asked Audrey yet if she can join us? She’s around here someplace.”
He glanced at his watch. “I’ll go track her down.” He patted Ben on the shoulder. “Sorry for taking my anger at the inspector out on you. Thanks for getting right on this.”
“Sure thing,” Ben said in a near growl.
Cameron brushed past us and went inside. Steve was right. Cameron claimed he knew how to motivate individuals, and yet he was allowing his temper to disrupt our relationship with a highly competent builder—in a town where we couldn’t even manage to hire a plumber for a one-day job. Cameron should have realized that for himself and handled the situation like a grown-up.
After giving Ben a few moments to cool down, I asked, “Is there any way to get the ramp up to code without having to tear it out and start over from scratch?”
Ben shrugged, but I could see by his expression that he knew it was a possibility. “We can affix a wood ramp on top of the concrete one. It won’t look too pretty, and it’ll only last a couple of years, but it’ll be inexpensive, and I can get it ready for inspection in two days. Three, tops.”
“Brilliant! That’s perfect, Ben!” Although my gratitude was sincere, I was laying it on a little thick to compensate for Cameron’s behavior. “Thanks so much for bailing us out, yet again.”
He gave me a small smile and nodded. “That water filter you ordered arrived today. Do you want me to go ahead and install it? Even though the retest measurements say the water’s fine?”
“No. But, just to be cautious, let’s be sure to hang onto the filter till after the inn actually opens.”
“Will do.” Ben stared at the ramp, probably envisioning how he was going to rebuild it to avoid making the top of the ramp higher than the back porch itself, even though he’d essentially be enclosing the existing concrete ramp in wood. He’d managed to pull off comparable feats in the past, however. “Cameron Baker is a horse’s ass.”
“You do seem to be getting exposed to Cameron at his very worst—first when he called you here at midnight to work on the front steps, and now over this trouble. Maybe he fell off a porch as a boy and was scarred for life,” I joked.
“Yeah. I wanted to punch his lights out just now. Probably would have, if you hadn’t happened to come out right when you did.”
“I’m glad I interrupted things, in that case. The concept of breaking into fisticuffs over a handicapped-access ramp just seems wrong to me on a cosmic level.”
“I know. But that guy has a knack for getting under my skin. Him and his boss. They’re both total jerks, you ask me.”
He still struck me as very close to throwing up his hands and quitting. “Honestly, Ben. You’re a bigger man than both of them for putting all that aside and doing such excellent work here.”
He shrugged, but the hints of a proud smile tugged at his lips. “I owe my father that much. And I owe this house. Guys like Cameron and Wendell can’t begin to understand what it means to build something with your own two hands. They’re too busy building big bank accounts.” He gazed up at the house. “I look at this place, and I see my grandfather’s craftsmanship, and my father’s, and now mine.”
I followed his gaze. “I’m sure the fact that Chiffon’s ghast
ly gingerbread façade doesn’t cover every square inch of the house must make you feel better. We can still see its elegant siding from this angle.”
He chuckled. “True.”
“At least nobody can accuse Chiffon’s design of being too understated.”
“You can say that again. But I gotta admit, I like the Santa’s sleigh. It’s just like the one folks are always drawing in picture books and everything.”
“I like the sleigh, too. It looks so perfect with its cherry red paint. I just wish they hadn’t knocked over half a dozen snowmen when they delivered it yesterday. All of which reminds me, thank you for getting it so nicely secured.” His equanimity seemed to have been restored, but for extra measure, I told him, “Like I keep saying, Ben, I don’t know what we’d do without you.”
“Tell that to Henry,” Ben muttered.
“Henry?” I repeated.
Ben winced a little. “Cameron, I meant.”
Steve and I rode in the backseat of Cam’s Mercedes, Audrey gaily keeping up a steady patter of pleasant conversation with Cameron and, occasionally, me. Clearly, Steve was not doing a very good job of masking his resentment of Cameron’s interference; otherwise, Audrey wouldn’t have been ignoring him like this.
Immediately after I’d filled Steve in on what was said while he’d been waiting in the kitchen, he had launched into yet another lecture about Cameron. My saying “Let it go, Sullivan! The problem’s fixed, so let it stay fixed!” had only darkened his funk. It was strange how I seemed to have endless patience for my clients but next to none for my boyfriend.
“You two are sure quiet back there,” Cameron said, eyeing us in the rearview mirror. “Everything all right?”
“Yep,” Steve replied, while I simultaneously answered, “Just peachy.”
