I walked through the rooms, noting the original tongue-and-groove walls, the scalloped trim in the fifties kitchen, the small maid’s room at the back. On the second floor, I was pleasantly surprised at the claw-foot tub in the tiny bathroom.
“Does the house come furnished?” I asked, as an idea began forming in my mind. Instead of buying new furniture, I could refinish the pieces I needed. If I could paint walls, surely I could paint furniture. However, I’d hate to go to the trouble unless I owned it. “I’m not sure about the house, but I have an idea. If the owner wants to get rid of all this furniture, I might be interested in buying it.”
David’s eyes lit up. “I think that could be arranged. I know he doesn’t want any of it. The only reason it’s still here is that he doesn’t want to pay for movers. I can probably get it for you for free.”
“It’ll depend on whether I move or not. I haven’t quite made up my mind just yet. Anyhow, I’ll think about it and let you know.”
I followed him back downstairs, and at the front door I turned to look at the crowded rooms again.
“I like it,” I said, more to myself than to David. The front room was large enough to accommodate a weaving studio at one end and my shop at the other. And the big bay window facing onto the street would be perfect for displays.
“I knew you would.”
“But it sure needs a ton of work.”
“I know, I know.” He leaned against the doorframe. “That’s why the rent is so low. But the location is perfect for a business. I really think this place could work for you.”
I glanced around one last time before leaving. “If I do decide to get a place, maybe, but all that work would cost a—”
He put up a hand to stop me. “If this one isn’t right for you, don’t worry. I still have two more places I want you to see.” He ushered me out, locked up and led the way back to the car. A few minutes later we pulled up in front of a bungalow on one of the side streets. The house was small, but the paint looked fresh and the lawn was perfectly manicured. It was certainly in better shape than the one I had just seen, but other than that, everything about it was wrong, starting with the location.
“This house is modern. It’s in good shape and wouldn’t need any fixing up. And the price is also really low.”
I shook my head. “It won’t work, David. It’s already challenging enough to attract customers when I’m on Main Street. If I were to set up here, where foot traffic is almost nonexistent, I might as well admit defeat and return to Charlotte.”
He chuckled. “Well, we don’t want you to do that now, do we?” He turned the motor back on. “I have to admit, I would have been surprised if you liked this one. But as your agent, I have to show you every place that has even the slightest possibility. That’s the only way you can make an informed decision.” He put the car in gear and we drove on. “There’s one more listing I want to show you.” He turned onto Main Street again. This time he parked in front of the empty store I’d noticed on my walk last night. “I wanted you to see this one last, because it’s by far the best.”
I followed him to the entrance, where he struggled with the key until the front door creaked open. He reached along the wall and turned on the light.
The store consisted of one large room—larger even than I’d imagined last night—with gorgeous wide-plank floors and old-fashioned schoolhouse lights hanging from twelve-foot ceilings. I walked to the middle of the room and pivoted slowly, taking in the rest of the details. There were two large windows, both directly facing Main Street—nice for displays. Near the entrance was a built-in antique wood counter that cried out for an old chrome candy-shop cash register. Behind it, the wall was exposed brick, giving the room the kind of country charm that lovers of rustic decor spend fortunes trying to copy. This, however, was the real thing. It had the kind of patina that is almost impossible to replicate.
“How big is this store?”
“Twenty-five hundred square feet.”
“Wow! That’s huge.” I pictured handwoven throw rugs scattered about, rocking chairs piled with throws and blankets, in one corner an antique cupboard stocked with kitchen cloths. I could have one window display with more-traditional woven goods and the other stocked with Jenny’s more-modern work. My imagination was running a mile a minute, but I put a halt to it. There was no way I could fill all this space.
“I love it. It’s wonderful. But it’s way too big. I’d never—not in a million years—have enough stock to fill it. I need something half—correction—a quarter of this size. Besides, this place has to be a lot more than I can afford.”
“Don’t be so sure about that. The previous owner had a private mortgage and when she went bankrupt, the lender foreclosed on the building.” He handed me the listing, and I glanced at the amount. Suddenly I noticed the words “For Sale” at the top.
“This isn’t a rental,” I exclaimed, handing him back the sheet of paper. “I can’t afford to buy, David. You already know that. Why are you even showing me this place?”
“I know, I know. But I think you might want to consider it. Look at the asking price.” He held the listing in front of my eyes again.
I hesitated. The idea that a monthly payment would eventually result in owning a property was tempting, but I shook my head. “I’m already stuck with mortgage payments on a condo I’m trying to sell. I listed it almost six months ago and I still haven’t had a single offer. So not only do I not have the money for a down payment, but even if I did, I would never qualify for a mortgage. I can’t exactly show proof of regular income. Since the whole subprime crisis happened banks are extra careful in evaluating mortgage applicants.” I shrugged. “If things were different—” I opened my hands helplessly.
“That’s too bad.” He slipped the listing back into his folder. “This will be the deal of the century for some lucky buyer. It comes with two apartments upstairs.” He paused. “You know, with a thirty-year amortization and the income from the two apartments, your monthly payments wouldn’t amount to much more than what you’d pay in rent.”
I planted my hands on my hips. “Didn’t you hear a word I just said?”
“I know, I know. But this is a small town. We don’t have much available right now. I guess the first house I showed you is the only place that has everything you’re looking for. It needs work, but the price is right.” He nodded toward the door. “Shall we go?”
I was suddenly reluctant to leave. It was such a beautiful space. If only I could think of some way to make it work. “You said there are two apartments upstairs? How much would they rent for?”
David paused with his hand on the doorknob. “The larger unit has two bedrooms.” He thought briefly and quoted a figure that made my eyes widen. “The second apartment is smaller. You’d get about half as much for that one.”
“And they’re included in the sale price?”
“Of course they are. The entire building is for sale, not just the store space. Do you want to take a quick look at them?”
Why I said yes, I’ll never know. Not only was buying not a possibility, but the shop area was way too big. Still, I followed David up the old staircase, trying to think of a solution to those problems.
“Careful on that step.” He pointed to a nail that was sticking out. “I should get a hammer and fix that before somebody breaks their neck.” He glanced at my shoes. “I should have told you to wear flats.”
“Don’t worry. I won’t trip.” I’d been wearing high heels practically since I learned to walk, and stilettos were as comfortable to me as running shoes.
He stopped at the top of the stairs and fumbled through his key ring for a moment, then unlocked the door. He stood back to let me in.
I gasped. I was in a round foyer with beautiful old inlaid-wood floors. Beyond, I could see a living room with tall, slender windows. I walked farther and my hand went to my mouth. At the far end of the
room was a fireplace with a mahogany mantel. Adjoining the living room was a dining room with built-in china cupboards, a plate rail all around the room and a coved ceiling. Just when I thought it couldn’t get any better, I walked into the kitchen and stopped. I was looking at a forty-inch gas blacktop stove. It could have been the same model my grandmother used to own. “Oh, this is amazing!” I exclaimed, running my hand along the black counters with chrome edges. This kitchen brought back memories of Nana’s pancakes, and of her secret-recipe dream cake, to this day my favorite. My mouth watered at the memory of the sweet dessert. “This looks as if it hasn’t been renovated since the forties.”
David leaned against the doorframe. “I know. Whoever buys this place should gut it and build a brand-new modern kitchen—tile floor, stainless-steel appliances, microwave fan. Maybe put in a laminate floor in the other rooms.”
“Oh, no. I wasn’t complaining when I said it was old. It’s absolutely gorgeous. I love this place just the way it is.”
His eyebrows bobbed. “You do?” He surveyed the room again, as if trying to see the place through my eyes. He nodded, slowly. “I guess it does have a certain charm, if you go for that kind of stuff.”
“I take it you don’t.”
He shook his head. “I like modern. But to each his own.”
“Will you look at that?” I was drooling over the old porcelain sink complete with drain board. “It would be terrible to tear this place down. Believe me, if I could afford it, I would buy it in a New York minute. I could definitely live here.”
“Want to see the bedrooms?”
I just knew this would only torture me more, but I couldn’t stop now. I followed him down the hall. The first bedroom had old yellowed wallpaper, but in spite of the faded walls, it still looked pretty. The second bedroom was small, more like a nursery than a full-size room, making it perfect for an office or a small den. I popped my head into the bathroom and noted the claw-foot tub with the large chrome showerhead. Damn it! I love this apartment.
As if he could read my mind, David said, “I told you you’d love it. Come, I’ll show you the other apartment.” I didn’t need any coaxing. I was dying to see what other treasures this building held.
He fumbled with the key for a second, and then to his surprise the door swung open. “Somebody must have forgotten to lock up.”
I had just walked in when I heard voices coming from the back room. “There’s somebody here.” I turned to leave.
“Don’t worry. It’s probably just another agent—” And then the blood drained from his face. I turned to see a couple step out of a room.
The woman—a sexy, pouty blonde—stopped and sneered. “David! What are you doing here?”
“I could ask you the same thing,” he replied, his face a mask of cold fury.
“I don’t have to tell you anything.” She looked amused rather than frightened.
The tall, handsome man, who until then had not said a word, wrapped a possessive arm around the blonde. “Well, well, will you look at who’s out of jail? Do you still want to kill me? Come on, Swanson. Take your best shot. I dare you.”
I had a sudden vision of fists flying and noses getting bloodied. I grabbed David by the arm. “Let’s go.” He stood his ground, hands fisted, jaw clenched, but regardless of his frozen stance, I could feel him ready to pounce.
“What’s the matter? Not so brave anymore?” The man’s lips were stretched into something that looked more like a snarl than a smile. He laughed, and then, looking bored, he said, “Why don’t you do yourself a favor? Turn around and get the fuck out of my sight, unless you want to get arrested again.”
So this was Jeremy Fox. I studied him, not liking anything I saw. But who was the sexy blonde? And all at once, any concern I might have had about David Swanson having an anger management issue vanished. I didn’t even know the Fox guy and I had a crazy urge to wipe the smirk off his face. He made my skin crawl.
“Come on, David. Let’s get out of here. You can show me the apartment some other time.”
His face underwent a range of emotions—rage, uncertainty and finally acceptance. When he turned to leave, I had to restrain myself from patting his back in sympathy. We scampered down the stairs and across the street. I barely had time to close the car door before he stepped on the gas and we took off, tires squealing.
“Thanks for getting me out of there,” David muttered, breaking the heavy silence. “I came this close to losing my cool.” He held up his thumb and index finger half an inch apart.
“What did he mean about you being out of jail?”
He shook his head, looking pale. “He was just being stupid. I was only in custody for a couple of hours, until my sister posted bail.” He was silent for a moment, and then he shuddered. “I don’t feel so good.”
No sooner were those words out of his mouth than he swung to the side of the road and screeched to a stop. He rested his forehead on the steering wheel, his breath coming in gasps. “Sorry.” His voice was shaking. He sat up abruptly, stumbled out of the car and around to the back. Poor guy. The confrontation had upset him more than he wanted to let on. I waited in the car, a dozen questions rolling around in my mind—questions I would never ask. They would only embarrass him more.
A few minutes later he returned, looking slightly jaundiced. “Listen, Della, I want to apologize about what happened back there. It was completely unforgivable on my part to put you in the middle of it. I would understand if you—”
“Don’t be silly. You didn’t do anything, David. That man is a jerk.”
He answered my silent question. “That was my ex-wife, by the way.”
I turned to look at him. “She’s . . . Really?”
He nodded. “That’s what the argument with Jeremy was about. He was involved with my sister and broke her heart by two-timing her with my wife.” He grimaced. “He’s a real piece of work.” He added, “As it turns out, so is she.”
I was slack-jawed for a moment, reeling from this revelation. It was too awful for words, and I couldn’t imagine how betrayed he must have felt. “Wow! No wonder you lost control. You do deserve a medal for the restraint you showed.”
“Thanks for saying that. God only knows why Jeremy was showing her that apartment.”
“Is Jeremy a real estate agent?”
“Yes,” he said, sounding bitter. “Which, as far as I’m concerned, is completely unethical on his part. He is also a developer and should not sell his own project—conflict of interest. An agent is supposed to represent his client, not himself.”
There was an uncomfortable silence during which his eyes bored into mine. He must have seen what he was looking for, because he let out a sigh of relief.
He started the car and turned onto the road. When we neared the house, I spotted Matthew’s antique Triumph TR6 behind my Jeep, and my heart did a somersault.
“Looks like you have company. Is that Matthew’s car?”
“Of course you would know Matthew.”
He chuckled. “We were in high school and played football together. Besides, this is a small town. Everybody—”
“—knows everybody in Briar Hollow.”
He attempted a smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Say hello to him for me.”
“I’ll do that,” I said, stepping out of the car. I closed the door, waved good-bye to him and watched his car disappear down the street. What a nice man he is, I thought, feeling sorry for him. David probably wanted no more than what anybody else wanted—to have someone who loved him, somebody he could love back. I felt sad for him. Was he going home or heading to a bar to get drunk? And for some reason I couldn’t explain, I had the bad feeling that David Swanson’s troubles were about to get much worse.
Uh-oh. I’m starting to sound like Jenny, I thought, chuckling.
Next, I’d be seeing auras too.
; Chapter 8
I shook off the pall that had descended on me and crossed the street.
“Hello-o, anybody home?” I called out, pushing the door open. A second later Winston came galloping over, almost knocking me down in his excitement.
He whipped out his tongue, giving me a sloppy kiss. “I love you too, Winnie,” I said, wiping my cheek with the back of my hand. “But please spare me those wet kisses.”
From the kitchen, I could hear music and the sound of laughter—Matthew on the phone. But to my surprise, when I walked in, Matthew was not on the phone, but clinking glasses with—of all people—Jenny. And right there, in the middle of the table, was my bottle of sparkling white wine—the one I’d bought to toast his new writing career. I struggled to keep my smile from evaporating.
He grinned and raised a glass toward me, saying, “Hey, there you are, kiddo. Come join the party.”
Matthew was good-looking in a clean-cut sort of way, more of a Tom Hanks than a Tom Cruise. He was almost six feet tall, with dark hair and eyes that kept changing color. I’d seen them get very dark when he was angry and almost golden when he laughed. At this moment they were golden.
He tore his eyes away from Jenny, who had changed into a white off-the-shoulder sweater that she kept tugging back up, making her tanned shoulders all the more noticeable—and poured a glass of wine for me. He gestured to the bottle. “Hope you don’t mind I helped myself. I’ll replace it tomorrow.”
“No, no. That’s okay. I got it for you, to celebrate your publishing contract.”
“Matthew was just telling me about his book deal. That is so exciting,” Jenny gushed, looking at him with something I read as fawning adoration.
I lifted my glass in his direction. “You deserve it. And may this be the start of a long and successful career.”
Jenny beamed at him and said, “I always knew you would be a successful author. Didn’t I tell you that?” Matthew looked at her, surprised. She went on, saying, “Don’t you remember when I gave you a reading last year?”
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