Clancey shrugged. “Be my guest,” she said, with a twinge of irony. She picked up the empty cups and started for the sink.
He glanced at the twisting stairs again. “Is this stairway blocked off at the top?”
“No, it’s open, same as it was when—” Her eyes narrowed with curiosity. “You sound as if you’ve never seen the place.”
“I haven’t,” he said calmly. “Not the inside.”
“You actually bought a house you’d never seen?”
“Well, Leonard wasn’t keen on the idea of giving tours to prospective owners.” He vanished up the back stairs, leaving Clancey with her mouth ajar.
She could hear him walking through the rooms, picking his way among the piles of boxes and crates. Then for a while she heard nothing at all. Had he found the attic stairs, or was he inspecting her belongings?
She washed the cups and wandered back into the parlor. Since she had nothing better to do, she began to straighten up the dollhouse, putting back into place the furniture that had been knocked over when she collided with it. She was standing there with a six-inch-tall grandfather clock in her hand when Rowan McKenna came down the front stairs, whistling.
“Well, what do you think now?” she asked. “It needs an awful lot of work, doesn’t it? Maybe you should give up on the renovation and just rent it out and recoup your investment as fast as you can.”
He shook his head. “This is a great house.” He actually patted her on the shoulder as he said it. “It’s everything I hoped for, and then some. I’ve never seen a hexagonal stair landing before. Oh, the roof needs work, and the plumbing is awful, but that’s no more than I expected. You’ll be out in a week, right?”
Clancey’s fingers clenched convulsively, crushing the grandfather clock. The sharp crack of splintering plastic was echoed by something smashing deep inside her, and she put her chin up. “No,” she said hoarsely. “I won’t. The truth is that giving me a week wouldn’t be any better than throwing me out right now.”
He was very still, as if he’d frozen into position. She was already starting to recognize that motionless waiting of his as something threatening, but she didn’t care.
“I’ve got no place to go and no money to finance another move,” she went on recklessly. “I’m finished if I can’t stay here. My business will be dead if I lose the Christmas season, and I’ll be bankrupt. So I’m not moving at all, Mr. McKenna. Go ahead—just try to throw me out.”
He shrugged. “If that’s the way you want it.”
“And in the meantime I’ll be doing a little legal work of my own.”
“Personally, I’d suggest you sue Leonard Schultz.”
“Oh, don’t worry, I will. And I’ll sue you for being in collusion with him. And I’ll sue the county, the city, the school board—everybody that collects taxes on this property.”
“You can’t do that.”
“How much would you like to bet on it? There’s a thing called—” She groped through her memory for something Hank had said last night. “Due process, that’s what it’s called. They can’t take something away from a citizen without notification, and I wasn’t notified.”
“Dammit, you weren’t here then.”
She squared her shoulders. “Maybe I wasn’t, but I’ve certainly been here for most of the past six weeks, painting and cleaning and putting up shelves. Don’t you think it looks a little strange that nobody noticed me? Didn’t you ever drive by your precious house, Mr. McKenna, and dream of when it would really be yours? A judge might wonder why you supposedly never saw lights or activity.” She seized the nearest box, heedless of the contents, and ripped off the sealing tape with her fingernails.
“You’ll lose.”
“Then I’ll appeal. Who knows? It might take a year or two — or even three — to get it all straightened out in the courts. In the meantime, I’m having a grand opening this weekend. So I’m going to go right on unpacking.” With a defiant gesture she dumped the box out at his feet. Hundreds of watercolor markers in a rainbow of shades rattled across the hardwood floor.
Rowan McKenna watched them roll. Only when the last one had come to rest at the far end of the dining room, and silence had once more descended on Small World, did he say, “I’ll see you later, Miss Kincade.”
The moment he was gone Clancey sat down with a bang among the markers. She pushed them away with a violent thrust of her arm and stretched out full-length, her head buried in her arms, her body racked with sobs.
She’d never felt so helpless in her life.
*****
She was waiting for Hank when he came into the restaurant precisely at one o’clock. He stooped to put a whisper of a kiss on her cheek and said, “I don’t have much time, so we need to get our order in right away.” After the waitress left he pulled out his chair and looked across at Clancey. “Just tea and toast? Is that all you want?”
“I haven’t got any appetite.”
“Wish that would happen to me when I get stressed out.” He studied her. “You look awful, you know.”
“Just awful? That’s a relief.” He didn’t look great himself today, Clancey thought. He seemed tired, and the collar of his white shirt was a little too tight, as if he’d gained weight again.
Hank unwrapped a cracker and munched it. “So far I haven’t found out much. Has the sheriff served papers on you?”
“No. I don’t think Mr. McKenna has even filed a complaint yet. He seemed to be relying on logic and charm to convince me.”
Hank stopped chewing. “Which McKenna?”
“Rowan. Why? Do you know him?”
His long exhalation was answer enough. “And he tried charm? I didn’t know he had any.”
Even in the midst of her despair, Clancey couldn’t help wishing Eileen had been there to hear that one. The idea of Hank Gleason commenting on Rowan McKenna’s lack of charm had a certain subtle irony that Eileen would have appreciated.
“Well, it didn’t work,” she pointed out. “I ended up threatening to sue him and everybody else who ever touched the paperwork on that house, and—”
Hank was shaking his head. “Oh, Clancey.” The waitress set a chef’s salad in front of him, and he drenched it in blue cheese dressing and dug in. “Clancey, honey.”
Clancey eyed her whole-wheat toast without enthusiasm. “Well, I can sue him, can’t I?”
“You could file suit against the man in the moon, too, but it doesn’t mean you’d get anywhere.”
“But it all takes time,” she argued. “Hank, how could this happen, anyway?”
“Tax sale is a long process, set up with all sorts of delays just so this kind of thing can’t happen.”
“What a comfort.”
“There are waiting periods on top of waiting periods, but the only one that concerns us is the last ninety days. That’s when the papers are filed by the new owner declaring his intention to take the place over. The house is inspected, and final notices are sent out to the owner, who has one last chance to redeem the property. At the same time, anybody else with an interest in the property is notified, so they can protect themselves.”
“Like tenants?” Clancey asked.
“Exactly. Except in this case the house was empty when the notice was filed, and everybody assumed it would stay that way.”
“How can that be legal?”
“Well, it wasn’t unreasonable, Clancey. It’s been empty for two years. That one careless assumption is just about the only thing we’ve got on our side if we try to sue McKenna—and he wasn’t even the one who did the assuming. It doesn’t look promising.”
“I don’t care,” she said stubbornly. “I can try to make his life as miserable as he’s making mine.”
“On the other hand, you’ve got a great case against Leonard Schultz for misrepresentation.”
“What’s the point of suing him?” Clancey asked. “If Leonard had any money, he’d have paid his taxes.”
“Not necessarily, but I’ll check on
his financial condition. It’s still the best chance we’ve got.”
“But that won’t help me right now.”
“No, I’m afraid it won’t.”
“So we’ve got to sue McKenna to slow things down.”
He sighed. “All right, if you want to pursue it, I’ll draw up the paperwork for an injunction to keep him from throwing you out, and then we’ll go from there.”
“You can do that? So he actually can’t evict me?”
“I’ll try,” he warned. “I’m not guaranteeing the judge will go along with it.”
Clancey shrugged. “It’s better than nothing. When will I know? At the moment I haven’t any idea whether I should be getting ready for the grand opening or starting to pack up everything I own again.”
“I’ll get the papers drawn as soon as I can.”
“That’s great.” Impulsively she reached across the table to give his hand a quick squeeze. “I don’t know what I’d do without you, Hank.”
He grinned. “You finally noticed that?” But he was looking at his watch even as he said it.
*****
When Clancey got back to Pine Street everything looked just as usual. There wasn’t a pyramid of toys in the center of the street, and there were no padlocks on the door. Clancey stopped on the sidewalk to gaze up at the house.
How dare it look so innocent, she wondered. It shouldn’t be standing there in the fall sunshine like any ordinary old house; it ought to have a storm cloud crouched over it, at least.
But it looked just as charming as it had on the first day she’d seen it, in midsummer when she’d been enjoying the semiannual walking tour through the nearby historical restoration district. The house had delighted her with its jumbled mix of architectural features — the dormer windows in the attic that weren’t quite symmetrically aligned, and the hexagonal protrusion on the lower floors that looked as if the builder had intended to construct a tower but changed his mind halfway through the job. The chipped and faded mustard yellow paint had been a soft splash of color against the glossy green and blue of a summer day. Now it formed a muted background for the brilliant orange foliage of the huge sugar maple at the corner of the porch and the long row of bright red burning bushes that marked the property line.
It had all looked so simple, back in July when she started to think about moving and expanding Small World.
“But that’s what you get for falling in love before you check out the facts,” Clancey muttered with a sigh.
Inside, Eileen was curled up in the rocking chair beside the fireplace reading Anne of Green Gables. “I needed something to keep me occupied,” she said. “It was driving me nuts to look at mess and not know what to do with it.”
“Unpack.”
Eileen jumped up. “Really? Hank’s sure we can stay?”
Not exactly, Clancey thought, but it couldn’t hurt to have faith, could it?
Having her hands busy helped relieve her worry a little, and the afternoon hours went by quickly. The adrenaline rush they both seemed to be experiencing helped them to make a bigger dent in the mess than Clancey would have expected, and by the end of the day the whole place looked almost organized.
She was setting up the cash register at the foot of the front stairs and trying to figure out a way to get more light right where she needed it when she heard a knock. It was beginning to sound familiar.
This time the door jammed. Rowan McKenna put his shoulder to it just as Clancey tugged, and she almost went sprawling. “Damn door,” she muttered as he came in.
“Does it do that regularly?”
“Often enough,” she admitted.
“How were you planning to get customers in and out?”
For an instant hope flared in her heart, and then she realized his phrasing was strictly past tense.
“Don’t fret, I wasn’t going to complain to you about it.” She eyed him thoughtfully. He’d changed clothes since his morning visit. He was wearing casual trousers and a royal blue sweater over a pastel shirt. The cap was back, tilted rakishly to the side, and he had one hand in the pocket of a lightweight leather jacket.
She felt grubby all of a sudden in her faded jeans and sweatshirt. But who wanted to impress Rowan McKenna, anyway?
He brought his other hand out from behind his back, and she realized he was carrying a paper bag from a fast-food place.
“Planning to stay awhile?” she asked coolly.
“However long it takes. But this isn’t my dinner—it occurred to me that it’s my turn to provide the coffee.” He took two paper cups out of the bag and popped the lids off.
The sheer reasonableness of the gesture alarmed her. She plugged in the cash register and started to arrange supplies in the cabinet below. Her hands were trembling.
She knew she should wait and see what he had to say, but she was afraid if she once let him start, she’d never be able to counter his arguments. On the other hand, the fact that he was here alone might indicate that Hank had been successful in getting the injunction....
“I’ve talked to my attorney,” she said. “And we’re going to do our best to tie things up as long as we can.”
He didn’t seem surprised. “Hank Gleason is known for that kind of legal action. It’s about the only kind he’s good at.”
If he knew who her attorney was, he’d been checking things out. Or Hank had already filed the papers. “It’s going to cost you a lot.”
“I know,” he said wryly. “I can add.”
“Really? I’ll bet that comes in handy with your job.” But the flippant note was sheer bravado.
He sipped his coffee. “It will cost you plenty, too, if you fight.”
That’s funny, she thought. He sounds almost sorry about it.
She shrugged. “Only money. And if I don’t fight — well, then it will cost me everything.” She closed the cash drawer and looked up at him. “I don’t have anything more to lose, you see, so I might as well go down fighting. I’ll carry through with it. You can bet on that.”
“I know. I recognize desperation when I see it.”
Clancey’s knees started to shake.
“So I’ve got a sort of deal to suggest.”
His voice was almost gentle. Almost, she thought. Or was there actually a threat under the softness?
“How about it, Clancey Kincade?” he asked. “Do you want to talk, or not?”
CHAPTER THREE
Clancey stared at him. “Sure. What have I got to lose?” She tried to sound hard-boiled, as a good negotiator would, but it didn’t quite work out that way. “What kind of a deal?”
The corner of his mouth twitched. “One we can both live with, I think. Why don’t you get a jacket and come walk around the block with me?” She hesitated, and he added wryly, “Don’t worry. If your murdered body turns up in a Dumpster somewhere, I’ll be the first one they come looking for, and I know it.”
“I’d still be just as dead,” Clancey objected, but she got her windbreaker anyway. She made it a point, however, to tell Eileen where she was going.
When she turned back to Rowan McKenna, there was a thoughtful look in his face. “On the other hand,” he speculated, “maybe I wouldn’t be first on the list of suspects. If you have this abrasive effect on other people, it might be worth taking a chance.”
She ignored him. The evening air had cooled off in a hurry, and she shivered on the front steps as he stopped to zip up his jacket.
They walked halfway down the block before either broke the silence, but finally he said, “You’ve mentioned the Christmas season a couple of times. That’s what you’re really concerned about right now. Correct?”
She rolled her eyes a little, but she answered as seriously as she could. “Of course. How successful would a toy store be if you took away Santa Claus? Nearly half my annual sales end up under someone’s Christmas tree.”
They rustled through a pile of leaves on the sidewalk. “It’s only October,” he mused.
It was o
bviously just the beginning of a line of argument, but Clancey cut it off short. “I’ve already started my Christmas advertising campaign. And you don’t move a retail business in the middle of the busiest season — even if you have somewhere to go.” She wanted to add that all this was elementary business that any certified public accountant ought to have learned long before he took his board exams, but she decided there was no sense in insulting the man until she knew exactly what he was proposing.
The Unexpected Landlord Page 3
