by Nana Malone
Male co–workers ogled her as they passed. The pervs. I sneered at them but couldn’t blame them really. Beth’s tight black mini–skirt, bare legs and red do–me–pumps gave most guys heart palpitations.
Setting the letter down, I smiled at my friend. “What are you doing here? Did we have an appointment I forgot about?” I motioned to a chair in front of my desk.
“Nope. I was downtown and just thought you might like to go to lunch. My treat.” She sat, crossing her long elegant legs.
It was hard being friends with someone so gorgeous. My five feet, two inches couldn’t compete with six feet of Amazon female. We looked nothing alike. My straight blonde hair and blue eyes contrasted sharply with her auburn waves and emerald eyes. We weren’t even that similar in our tastes or activities. We’d been friends since kindergarten. Amazing really, with so little in common, but sometimes things just are.
“Lunch sounds good. I just need to make a phone call first.”
I picked up the letter again. My hand shook, making the paper rattle.
“Okay. So what’s wrong? You were teary when I got here.” Concern etched her features.
“Uncle Frederick passed away.”
“What? How?”
“He apparently called 911, but the paramedics got there after he died. He’d had a heart attack.” My eyes teared up again.
I handed her the paper and sat silently as she read.
“He left you his house in North Carolina?” Beth leaned back in her chair, her top leg bouncing up and down. Her eyes were wide with disbelief and something that looked a lot like fear.
But that made no sense. Why would she be afraid? I discounted that niggling sensation along the back of my neck. I could tell Beth was dying to ask a million questions. Questions I had no answers for.
“I know. Surreal, right? I haven’t seen him since we were … what? About ten?”
She nodded, biting her lip. “So what are you going to do?”
“I’m going to go check it out. I suppose his things will need to be taken care of. And I’ll need to hire a realtor.”
“Just hire someone to clean out the house and his belongings. You don’t have to do that yourself, you know.” Beth’s strangely strident tone caused that itchy–crawly sensation to move over my skin again. She sat completely stiff, with only her foot in constant motion. Her eyes drilled into me. I had no idea why any of this would bother her.
Laughter burst in from the hallway as people made their eager escapes to noonday sun.
“I know. But it feels wrong for strangers to go through his things. Family should do that.” I took the letter back and smoothed it on the wide glass surface of my desk. “You could come with me. We’d have time to do some sight–seeing while we’re there.”
Nothing. Just those bright green eyes staring at me. She opened her mouth and closed it twice.
“You might as well tell me what’s going through your mind. You know you will eventually.” I pushed back my chair, crossed my legs and my arms. Waited.
“I had a dream. Actually, I’ve had the same dream three nights in a row.”
Beth shoved to her feet, paced the width of my office and stopped in front of a plant that desperately needed water. She plucked crisp brown leaves from their stems and crushed them between her fingers; the crunch loud in the sudden silence. Dried bits fluttered to the carpet.
“So what does your dream have to do with Uncle Fred?”
If Beth was this worried, I needed to know why. Although Beth didn’t like to talk about it, she was a little psychic. Not get–into–the–mind–of–a–serial–killer–psychic, but ... there were enough coincidences that I couldn’t exactly discount her dreams or feelings. I did that once and nearly ended up married to a loser. Fortunately Beth followed up on one of her dreams and caught him pants down with his secretary. He was on the phone begging my forgiveness before Beth made it back to her car.
I realized Beth was talking and focused my attention on her again.
“You were wasting away, skeleton thin, hair brittle and eyes devoid of hope. Something was really wrong with you. And you kept telling me you couldn’t leave this small town. I really don’t know …” She returned her troubled gaze to my face.
“I could stand to lose a few pounds.” I tried to joke it away, but the look she gave me made me regret my words. “I’m sorry. I know you’re worried, but—”
“Don’t. It’s not funny. I haven’t slept and I’ve been anxious about whether to even bring it up, since I knew you had no plans to go anywhere. And Miami, Florida, could not possibly be considered small town by any stretch of the imagination.”
We both turned to the window where the bright sun hovered over the city’s downtown area, reflecting off the windows of the tall buildings. No. Definitely not small town.
I swiveled my chair around to face her. “I have to do this, Beth. He was my uncle.”
She nodded, but a noticeable shiver passed through her body.
~ * ~ * ~
“As you can see, the house needs some work …” Maxwell Black’s voice trailed off. My uncle’s attorney had dark brown eyes which held an apology, but his lips turned up into a smile.
“Who am I kidding? It needs a lot of work.”
We stood on the walkway. Large clumps of weeds grew through cracks in the pavement. Grass stood knee high in the yard, with yellow wildflowers sprouting over the unkempt lawn. Paint peeled from the two–story structure and screens dangled from their hinges. A smashed window looked out upon the overgrown shrubs and broken branches on the trees added to the neglected state of the property.
“I don’t understand. The Uncle Frederick I knew was always so fastidious. We used to tease him about being so fussy. Everything had to be in its place.” I couldn’t imagine what had happened. “How long was he ill, Mr. Black?”
“Please. Call me Max.” He cocked his head to one side as if holding an internal debate. Finally, he nodded as if coming to a conclusion. “Ms. Thorne, I don’t know any delicate way to say this, so I’m just going to say it. Your uncle developed some serious mental health issues about six months after he moved here.”
I bit my tongue to keep from calling the man a liar. After all, I hadn’t seen my uncle in over twenty years. My mind just couldn’t fathom the man I once knew having such severe mental problems. He may have been persnickety, but I remembered him being highly intelligent and grounded in the real world.
I dipped my head in acknowledgement but intended to get to the bottom of the mysterious state that had befallen my uncle. Shame filled me for not having tried to locate him after I became an adult.
“Well, let’s see what all needs to be done to the rest of the house.” I climbed the steps of the wraparound porch. When I realized I was alone, I looked back at the lawyer. “Aren’t you coming, Max?”
The wind blew the man’s straw–colored hair, mussing it a little. He stood on the walk looking up at the second story of the house.
I looked up trying to see what he saw, but the porch’s overhang blocked my view.
“Max?”
He lowered his gaze, squared his shoulders and made his way to my side. His hand shook slightly as he inserted the key and turned it. Opening the door, he stood aside so I could enter.
A little light filtered through the dirty windows, offering my first glance at the dark interior. A carved wooden staircase rose up on my left. Trash and debris cluttered the large foyer. Cobwebs hung from corners and the chandelier, while dust covered surfaces and floor. With some scrubbing though, it would be beautiful.
I walked into the large sitting area which held an enormous fireplace, ashes falling out of the hearth, the grate askew. From what I could see, the furniture seemed fairly new and in good condition. It just needed a good cleaning and the mess cleared from the surfaces.
Max flipped a switch, flooding the room with light. At least the electricity worked.
“Mr. Wilkins bought all new furniture when he moved i
n, so most of it should be in good condition. You can either sell it with the house or arrange an estate sale. I’ll be glad to set that up for you, if you’d like.” He stood with his hands in his pockets as if straining to keep them still. His eyes constantly scanned the surroundings.
“Hmm … an estate sale would be best, I think. Whoever moves in will probably want to refurnish the house.” My heart rate increased and it felt like every nerve was on edge. I attributed it to being in my uncle’s home.
The kitchen was a disaster, but spectacular in size and equipment. It boasted a professional stove, double ovens, and a massive refrigerator. Two over–sized microwaves and other premier chef quality appliances would make any serious cook drool.
“Wow. I had no idea Uncle Frederick was so into cooking.” I turned in a circle noticing the granite counter tops and the tiled flooring. A breakfast area nestled against large windows.
If it weren’t for the piled–up dishes, garbage over–flowing the trash cans and counters, and grease and dirt covering every surface, it would be ideal. The stench nearly over–powered me.
“I don’t think he was so much into cooking, but when he first moved in, he thought about opening the house as a bed and breakfast and hosting parties with catering.”
“I can definitely see that. Oh my gosh. What a fantastic pantry.” I walked into an area as big as my kitchen at home. Canned goods filled the shelves. Yet, some of the cans and boxes had fallen; cereal, flour, and other foods intermingled on the floor.
I picked up a can. Expired. I’d need to replace some of the provisions if I stayed.
If I stayed? Where did that come from?
“This house would be perfect for a bed and breakfast,” I said before I even knew I planned to speak.
That edgy–nerve sensation dissipated with my words. Calmness enveloped me; both feelings equally strange. There seemed to be no reason for either.
“Where’s the master bedroom?”
“It’s on the far side of the house for extra privacy.” He pushed the swinging door open.
Along the way, a formal dining room and another less formal living area—both as trashed as the others—caught my attention. Walking past another doorway, I saw that the downstairs also held a magnificent library. Bookshelves aligned every available wall space. Every shelf filled with books of different genres. I was in heaven. Or I would have been under normal circumstances. If possible, the clutter and chaos seemed to be even worse in this room. It was as if someone had torn it apart looking for something. There was so much work needed to restore the room to its former elegance—I cringed at the thought of it.
Upon entering the spacious master bedroom I was immediately reminded of my Uncle Frederick. He had, of course, decorated the room to suit his masculine tastes. Deep brown and burgundy fabrics covered the bed and windows. Dark cherry furnishings completed the look, with the huge bed filling up part of the space.
An image popped into my head. The room decorated in lighter, more feminine materials. Maybe some greens—my favorite color.
“You’re not thinking about staying here are you?” Max looked like he was ready to run from the house.
I must have spoken out loud.
“Me? Oh no. I’m planning to sell it.” Instantly that jittery feeling was back. What the heck?
I walked into the connecting bathroom and received another surprise. It was nearly as large as my living room in Florida. Marble tile covered the floor. A gigantic tub with jets would easily fit at least four people. Not that I’d ever have that many people in my bathtub. The thought made me giggle.
Max looked at me as if I were as crazy as he said Uncle Frederick had become.
“Sorry. Just had a funny thought.” I stood tall—well at least as tall as someone five feet, two inches could stand—and tried to strike the posture of a sane, responsible adult.
I noted the massive walk–in shower complete with ceiling and four wall jets. Wow. My kind of shower. I’d love to feel those pulsing jets on my aching muscles. Feel the tightness and tension melt away. Or soak in a hot bath.
“I’m surprised at all the updates in the home. When was it built?” My fingers ran across the dirty vanity. Jars and toiletries covered the surface—liquid spills ran onto the floor and dried in a sticky mess. A thick glob of dried toothpaste gathered dust.
“Nineteen twenty–four, but it’s been modernized several times over the years. When your uncle bought it, he put in new plumbing, electricity and fixtures. The only room that was left basically untouched was the library.” Max scratched his chin. “I think it’s pretty much been that way since it was built. No major renovations, just a coat of paint here and there.”
Max was closer to my age than my uncle’s. How did he know so much about Frederick and the house?
“How well did you know Uncle Frederick?”
He motioned for me to follow him. As I passed by the mirror I thought I saw something move. I turned back, found nothing. But a shiver crawled along my spine and I hurried from the room.
We tromped back through the house to that grand, filthy staircase and started up.
“I met Fred at the local pharmacy just after he moved here. It’s one of those old–fashioned kind, with the soda fountain inside. Several old–timers come in to have coffee and gab in the mornings. Play checkers or chess.
“Fred appeared quiet and intelligent. We struck up a conversation one day and the next thing I knew we were meeting there regularly for morning coffee and an occasional game of chess.”
At the top of the stairs, he turned to look down into the formal sitting area.
A loud clamor erupted downstairs on the far side of the house. Max’s body jerked and he looked ready to bolt back down the stairs.
The noise startled me at first, but I realized what must have caused it. “That sounded like an object hitting the marble tiles in the bathroom. Sorry. I must have accidentally moved something too close to the edge of the vanity and it fell.”
Max continued to look over the edge of the carved wooden banister. Finally he turned to face me but didn’t seem to really see me.
He nodded slowly and then his feet moved, picking up speed as if he were suddenly in a rush. “Well, let’s see the rest of the house and then we can get back to my office and go over the rest.”
A quick whirlwind tour of the upstairs revealed four large bedrooms, each with its own bath. They weren’t as elegant as the master, but still very impressive with elaborately carved molding and exquisite antique furnishings. But, chaos ensued among these rooms as well.
I voiced my confusion at the all–encompassing mess. “I wonder why all of these rooms are so trashed? Surely he didn’t use all of them.”
“We’ll talk at the office.”
I shrugged off the terse reply. Obviously something about the house bothered him and I hoped he’d be more forthcoming later.
“Okay. This really would make a great B&B though. I could definitely see doing that. Maybe …” I trailed off. What was I thinking? I couldn’t do that. My life was in Florida.
Walking down the stairs, Max stopped so suddenly I nearly ran into him.
“As much as I’d love for you to stay in town so I could get to know you better, you really don’t want to stay in this house.”
A chill swept across my skin making me distinctly uncomfortable. A cold draft? In the summer? Max felt it too. I could tell by the alarm on his face, and this time he did bolt for the door.
~ * ~ * ~
“You are not going to believe it. This place is awesome. Needs a lot of work, but still … it could be spectacular.”
I held the cellphone against my shoulder while I wiped my hands on my denim shorts. They held so much dust I imagined a cloud billowing in my wake as I made my way through the house.
Silence reigned on the other end.
Finally Beth said, “You’re staying aren’t you?”
“For a while. I want to get the house ready to sell, take care of U
ncle Frederick’s personal belongings, things like that. The firm let me take two months off to handle everything. They’re great, aren’t they?” I rattled on, not giving her a chance to speak. “The work is mostly cosmetic. I have a contractor coming by to check things out and give me an estimate. He should be here any minute.”
“Serena—”
“I know,” I interrupted. “The dreams. But you can’t tell me more than something’s going to be wrong with me at some point in time. And who’s to say I won’t get sick in Miami if I’m going to get sick? It’s not permanent. I’ll be back home soon.” I sat on the leather chair nearest the entryway. “I just ... feel I need to do this stuff myself. You know? And, I really want to see what the place looks like when it’s fixed up. It’s a graceful old home with a lot of character.”
“Look, Serena, you have to listen to me. I really think you’re in danger there. Please just leave it.” Static burst from the phone. “Sere—”
She was gone. Cell coverage had been spotty at best, so I was used to calls being interrupted. I started to punch in her number but the doorbell rang.
“I’ll call her back later,” I muttered, before opening the door.
I stood with my hand on the door, my gaze slowly traveling the six feet of my visitor, from his cowboy boots to his wavy brown hair and all the muscles in between. When my eyes finally met his, he smiled, a brilliant white smile.
Oh my.
Crap. Had I said that out loud?
“Mrs. Thorne?” His green eyes took a trip down and back up. If I weren’t so sure it was wishful thinking, I’d swear he liked what he saw as well.
“Uh … Serena. Ms. Not married. Just Serena.” Why the hell was I babbling? I’d spent the last few years dealing with pain in the butt megalomaniacs who expected perfection. The architectural firm I worked for was one of the best and I was one of their top architects. So how was it I’d forgotten how to string together a complete sentence?
If possible, his smile got even brighter. “Good to know, Serena. I’m Devon Marsh. Just Devon.” His southern drawl wrapped itself around me. He grinned, holding out his hand. I willingly surrendered mine to his warm grasp.
