The Inn at Holiday Bay: Boxes in the Basement

by Kathi Daley

  Love,

  Abby

  I read the email through, then let my finger linger over the Send button. Part of me wondered why I bothered, but another part realized that making things right with the only family I had left was a necessary step if I really wanted to rebuild my life.

  Chapter 2

  Holiday Bay was a charming little town that enjoyed a strong economy centered on the visitors who flocked to the area each year to enjoy the magic of an idyllic seaside community. The downtown section of the tiny hamlet consisted of a single street that featured a variety of shops designed to pull in the visitor with their warmth and charm. Currently, the entire main thoroughfare was in the process of being decorated for the upcoming Christmas Festival, which, according to the signs posted along the narrow country road, would take place weekends and evenings between Thanksgiving and Christmas Eve. I had to admit that, despite my lack of interest in holidays in general since Ben and the baby had died, I found the idea of Victorian carolers, sleigh rides through the snow, and chestnuts roasting on an open fire intriguing.

  My first stop after completing a quick survey of the town would be the tiny bakery, which smelled of pumpkin and gingerbread as I passed by. I hadn’t eaten since breakfast and I was starving. It was a bit early for dinner, but a sweet treat to tide me over would be just right.

  “Can I help you?” asked a plump woman with white hair that matched her white baker’s hat and apron. Talk about typecasting. She looked exactly the way you would imagine a fairy-tale bakeshop owner would, right down to the rosy red cheeks and welcoming smile.

  “I’ll have some of whatever smells so good.”

  “I’ve just taken a tray of my famous cinnamon rolls out of the oven. I also have pumpkin pecan muffins and apple strudel that should still be warm.”

  “A cinnamon roll sounds great. And a cup of coffee. Black.”

  I sat down at a small round table and waited for my snack to be served. The place was charming, in a Santa’s Village sort of way.

  “Are you visiting town?” the woman asked as she set a large, gooey cinnamon roll and a mug of steaming hot coffee in front of me.

  “I actually live here, as of a few hours ago.” I held out my hand. “Abby Sullivan. I bought the house on the bluff.”

  Her eyes grew large. “You don’t say. My name is Mary Cramer, but most folks around here call me Mary Christmas.”

  I narrowed my gaze. “Mary Christmas?”

  She chuckled. “It’s a theme name to go along with the spirit of the town.”

  “Oh, sure.” Living in a town where holidays were the main event every single day of the year was going to take some getting used to.

  “So you’re the brave soul who bought that money pit from Bodine,” Mary commented with a chuckle.

  I smiled a little half smile. “That’s me. Money Pit Abby.”

  Mary paused. “I’m sorry. It was rude of me to refer to the house as a money pit. It didn’t work out for Bodine, but I’m sure you’ll make the place grand once again.”

  “That’s the plan, although I’m just going to start with painting two rooms in the cottage. I don’t suppose you can point me toward a store where I can buy paint?”

  “Buck’s place over on Easter Avenue. He can mix you up whatever color you have in mind.”

  “Thanks. I appreciate the information. The amount of work that needs to be done on the main house is overwhelming, but the cottage is in pretty good shape, so I thought I’d start there.”

  “Just don’t spend all your money on the cottage before you get to the main house, like Bodine did. He was seriously lacking a plan, and that big old place fought him every step of the way.”

  I plastered on a confident smile. “I’m sure the house and I will get along just fine.”

  I ate my cinnamon roll and purchased several muffins to take with me, then followed Mary’s directions to Easter Avenue. The comment about the house being a money pit had begun to grate on me. Had I just made the biggest mistake of my life? I liked to think I was a logical person who didn’t make big mistakes, but I had to admit my tendency to grasp at anything that seemed as if it might help to make my life a bit more tolerable had been my modus operandi during the past year.

  The hardware store, like every other store in town, was decorated for the upcoming holiday season. The first thing the customer encountered on walking in from the street was a giant turkey with a sign announcing the daily sales and holiday specials.

  “Can I help you, ma’am?” a grizzly man with a thick beard and bright blue eyes asked as I stood in the middle of the doorway, undecided.

  “I’m here for paint and painting supplies.”

  “Aisle seven. I can mix any color you want if you’re looking for custom, and I have swatches of some of the more traditional colors if you need inspiration.”

  “Thanks. I think I’ll take a look at your swatches for now. I bought a huge house with a lot of rooms all in need of painting, but I’ve decided to start with the guesthouse. The rooms I want to paint are green right now, but I’m thinking I’d like to bring the colors of the sea inside. Maybe a rich gray.”

  “You must be the lady from California who bought the house on the bluff.”

  “I see word travels fast. I’m Abby Sullivan.”

  “Buck Owens. The guest cottage was renovated recently and should be move-in ready, but the bluff house hasn’t been lived in for more than a generation. It needs a lot of work.”

  “So I’ve been told. I understand it’s something of a money pit.”

  Buck chuckled. “I see you’ve been talking to Mary. She’s a wonderful baker, but she lacks vision. Bodine Devine didn’t have what it took to recover the majestic lady the house once was, but with the right person to gently nudge the old girl back to life, I know she can be grand once again.”

  I smiled. “I’m happy to hear that. It will be a big project, but I can see the potential as well.”

  “Wonderful. I can recommend a good contractor if you’re looking for a referral.”

  “I do plan to hire someone to oversee the project. A referral would be welcome.”

  “Lonnie Parker,” Buck said without hesitation. “He’s the best in the area, and he’ll treat you fairly. Go on back and start looking at the paint swatches and I’ll get you one of his business cards.”

  “Thanks, Buck. I appreciate it.”

  By the time I’d visited three additional businesses in search of the basic supplies I thought I’d need to at least get by for a few days, I’d received three more assurances that Lonnie was the best man for the job. If the local chatter was to be taken at face value, he was a hard worker, a hell of a nice guy, and a master craftsman who had a knack for seeing the potential beneath the decay. He sounded too good to be true, but this whole town seemed to be too good to be true, so I decided to take the bull by the horns and call him right away. He informed me that he was just wrapping up a job and would welcome the opportunity to work up a bid for what he assured me would be the grandest home in the county by the time he was finished with it. He estimated he could be out to the house in about an hour, so I took him up on his offer to stop by to take a look around.

  ******

  The days had grown short as winter approached, so by the time the large black truck pulled into the drive, the sun had begun its descent toward the craggy shoreline that formed the western edge of the large bay. Given the fact that the electricity hadn’t been turned on in the house yet, I figured a complete tour would most likely need to wait, but I was looking forward to meeting the man I’d heard so much about.

  From the main living area, I watched as a large man who looked to be in his midthirties, with sandy blond hair and a pleasant grin, climbed out of the driver’s side of the vehicle, then stepped aside as a medium-size dog that looked to my untrained eye to possibly be a Border collie jumped out onto the ground behind him. I walked toward the front door, opened it, and waved to the man who carried a clipboard and a giant f
lashlight.

  “Is it okay if Sadie comes in?” he called out to me.

  I assumed he meant the dog and assured him Sadie would be welcome. Maybe he’d even chase away the huge cat I was certain was still lurking somewhere upstairs.

  “Lonnie Parker.” The man stuck out his hand in greeting.

  “Abby Sullivan.” I returned the handshake.

  “I have to say, you have yourself quite a house here, Ms. Sullivan.”

  “Abby, please.”

  “Abby.” He nodded. “I’ve been lusting after this place for years. Would have bought it myself when it came up for sale six years ago if my wife and I hadn’t been surprised when our first little bundle of joy turned out to be our first three little bundles of joy.”

  “You have three children?”

  “Six. Three boys, Michael, Matthew, and Mark, who are now six, twin daughters Meghan and Mary, who are three, and a newborn baby girl, Madison.”

  “Wow. That’s really…” I wanted to say crazy but settled on “wonderful.”

  “As you can probably guess, a big job like the one you have here will go a long way toward putting food on the table for all those mouths. If you decide to hire me, I’ll do a good job for you.”

  “Good to know,” I answered, somewhat noncommittally. “Should we take a look around? I’m sure if you’re familiar with the house, you probably have some idea what needs to be done.”

  “I do at that. I have to be honest: Turning this rundown gal back into the grand lady I know she can be is going to take not only time but money. I’m not sure what your budget is, but I want you to know we can work together to make the project manageable. I’ll write up a bid that will provide a total for the entire project, but I’ll also give you subtotals for each portion, so you can pick and choose.”

  “That would be helpful,” I replied.

  “Are you planning to turn this into a bed-and-breakfast or an inn?” Lonnie asked.

  Was I? I had considered it but hadn’t decided yet. I made a living writing fiction, which was a fairly solitary profession, but it had occurred to me that I might make use of the income the house could provide by renting at least a few of the rooms out.

  “The thought did run through my mind, but I haven’t come to a firm decision. It’s a very large house and I’m not sure what I’d do with it if I didn’t rent out at least some of the rooms. I’ve set up a temporary base in the guesthouse, which seems just about perfect for me. An inn might be a good use for the main house, although if I did rent out some rooms, I’d need to hire someone to run the place. I won’t have the time to do it myself.”

  “The guesthouse was renovated by the former owner, Bodine Devine. He purchased the property about five years ago with the idea of renovating the big house and opening it as an inn, but he only got as far as renovating the cottage for his personal use before his money ran out. He hung on to the place for a while, hoping to find the funding to finish, but he was never able to pull it all together.”

  “Mary Christmas from the bakery filled me in on Bodine and his ill-conceived plans. It’s too bad they didn’t work out, but if he hadn’t sold, I wouldn’t be here, so I suppose I should be grateful.”

  “If you ask me, he never had the money or the vision to do what he thought he wanted to do. Renovating this house is going to be a huge job, although I have some ideas that might help with the budget. If you want to take a walk-through, we can discuss some options.”

  “Okay,” I said. “Let’s take a look.”

  “The old gal has good bones, so I don’t anticipate any structural problems.”

  “I guess that’s a positive. I was curious about the history of the house. I know an English businessman named Chamberlain Westminster had it built in 1895, and Bodine Devine sold it to me just a few weeks ago, but I don’t know anything about it in between.”

  Lonnie paused and turned in a full circle, raising his hands to an empty room, as if somehow revering it. I guess he really was in to the house. “Chamberlain Westminster met a beautiful woman named Abagail Chesterton when he came to this country on business. He fell head over heels in love and wanted to marry her, but she refused to leave her family and move to England, so he built this house and moved here. Four months after they were married, Abagail died from complications relating to pneumonia. Chamberlain was heartbroken. He packed up his things and headed back to England, never to return.”

  “That’s so sad. Should I be weirded out about the fact that the house was built for a woman who had the same first name as me, and that she died four months after moving in?”

  “I don’t know. Are you weirded out?”

  The story was sad, but I didn’t feel as if the house was angry about the fate of its first residents, and I didn’t have the sense I was going to be haunted by the first Abagail’s lingering spirit. “No. I’m not weirded out, but I am intrigued. What happened to the house after Chamberlain went home?”

  Lonnie took out a tape and began measuring windows as he spoke. “The house stood empty for almost forty years. Westminster abandoned the house, but he never sold it. He died in a hunting accident in 1932 and his brother, Simon Westminster, inherited it. The brother had no use for a house in the States, so he sold it to a couple from Boston, Jasper and Joslyn Jones. The Joneses fixed the place up and opened a high-end resort. They claimed the saltwater pool they built on the grounds had healing powers, and there were folks who bought into it.”

  “Did it? Have healing powers?”

  Lonnie jotted down some notes on his clipboard, then shrugged. “I doubt it. It was just a pool they had dug. It wasn’t like it was a natural spring bubbling up from the ground. I don’t suppose it mattered if the pool contained healing water or not. Folks believed it did and they came in droves. The house was a resort and spa until 1954, when the pool was damaged in a hurricane. There was a lot of damage to the entire property, so the resort was closed temporarily and the pool was filled in and covered with lawn. The house was easily repaired, so the resort eventually reopened, but without the pool, it suffered. Eventually, the Joneses gave up and moved away. The house stood empty until Bodine bought it, although there were two other owners between them.”

  “Who?” I asked, drawn in by the story so far.

  “The first was a developer named Clark Ferguson in 1969, with the intention of bulldozing it and building another resort, but his funding fell through. He sold the place to Lester Folkman in 1974, who, like Westminster, planned to renovate it for his bride-to-be. She had other plans and broke the engagement. Lester moved west, and the place was empty until Bodine bought it in 2013.”

  “It sounds like the house might be cursed. Was anyone ever happy here?”

  “From what I know, the Joneses were happy here for a time. They updated the plumbing and electrical to what’s here now. I wouldn’t worry too much about the history of the place. That’s the past, and what you do with the place will become its new reality.”

  I smiled. “You’re right. You know a lot about this place. I can’t believe you came up with those names and dates off the top of your head.”

  Lonnie paused and looked at me. “Like I said, I love this house. I did a lot of research when Folkman decided to sell the place. If not for my growing family, I would have found a way to buy it. Bodine was never a worthy owner for this grand old gal, but the more I talk to you, the more certain I am you’re the owner this house has been waiting for.”

  I had to smile at his poetic turn of phrase, whether it was true or not. “So, let’s talk renovation.”

  Lonnie smiled and nodded.

  As we walked through each room, Lonnie provided his vision for the space, but allowed me to respond with my own vision. Some of the rooms only required paint and flooring, while others, such as the kitchen, would need to be gutted and rebuilt from the studs out. There was some electrical and plumbing work necessary to bring it up to code, but he assured me that he could handle everything.

  “If you decide
to use the house as an inn, you’ll want to keep the kitchen sectioned off from the eating and living areas,” Lonnie said. “If you don’t go that route and this will be your family home, I’d take out this wall and open the whole space up.”

  Family home. How I wished that was a possibility, but wishing didn’t change my bitter reality. “I’m beginning to lean toward the idea of an inn, so for now, we should probably plan on a large commercial kitchen separated from the dining and living areas. If things change, I can always take down the wall later.”

  “Very true. If you want to open an inn and plan to hire someone to run it, you might want to take out a wall and combine the two downstairs bedrooms into a single space. You could create a suite, with a bathroom and seating area you can use as a live-in option for your inn manager. Ideally, you’ll find someone who can both cook and run the place.”

  “That’s a good idea. I’ll keep that in mind. Do you know how many rooms I’d have to rent?”

  Lonnie jotted down some more notes on the clipboard. “The second and third floor each have a large common area as well as four bedrooms and two bathrooms. You could rework the space so the two bedrooms in each wing on each floor share a central bath, but if it were me, I think I’d reconfigure the space to create four large suites. I know that decreases your available rentals from eight to four, but if each suite featured a large bathroom with a jetted tub, a seating area with a gas fireplace, and a private balcony in addition to a large sleeping area with a view of the sea, I can assure you, you’ll get top dollar for them, and it will be less work to have fewer guests.”

  I raised a brow. “It sounds like you’ve thought this through.”

  “I have. When I considered buying the house, it was to open an inn of my own. I was going to call it The Inn at Holiday Bay.”