Right of Redemption

by Jenna Bennett

  But just in case that didn’t happen, and Steve Morris was who he said he was, and he really did want his house back, we should clarify this whole right of redemption thing before we went any further.

  “We need to talk to Dix,” I said. “Or Catherine or Jonathan. Anyone who’s here and available.” And who would know more about it than me.

  “Dix is here. And not with a client.” Darcy unwound her long legs from under the desk and got to her feet. “Come on back.”

  I followed her toward the door to the inner sanctum.

  “No baby today?” she asked over her shoulder.

  I shook my head. “I left her with Mother. We’ve been scraping popcorn off the ceilings, and I didn’t want her to have to deal with the dust.” Or the pieces of plaster falling all over her.

  Darcy nodded as she legged it down the hallway toward Dix’s office. On the right, Catherine’s office door was open, with the light off—she wasn’t there—and Jonathan’s was closed. He was either consulting with someone or working quietly.

  Or he wasn’t here either, and had shut his door before he left.

  Dix’s door was open, and the light was on. The man himself was sitting behind the desk tapping away on the computer. When Darcy knocked on the doorjamb he looked up, and his lips twitched. “Sis. What happened to you?”

  “Flock of seagulls,” I said, inaccurately. “We have to talk to you.”

  I pushed past Darcy and made a beeline for the chairs in front of the desk.

  Dix’s brows arched, but he took his hands off the keyboard and leaned back in his chair. “Something wrong?”

  “Nothing you need to worry about.” I made myself comfortable while Darcy strolled over to the chair next to mine. Dix winced when my posterior hit the navy leather of the chair, and I rolled my eyes. “Don’t worry, I won’t ruin your precious leather. It’s mostly the top of me that’s dirty. I didn’t sit in plaster.”

  “Sheila picked out those chairs,” Dix said, and left it at that. “So what can I do for you?”

  Sheila was Dix’s wife, until she was murdered a year and a half ago, so now I felt bad. But saying I was sorry was only going to make it worse, so I didn’t. “You know about the house we bought,” I said instead, as Darcy folded one long leg over the other.

  He smirked. “You mean the house Darcy bought.”

  I resisted the temptation to treat him to another eye-roll. “Yes. That house. Charlotte and I were over there this afternoon, scraping popcorn from the ceilings, when there was a knock on the door. This guy was outside. Said his name was Steve Morris and it used to be his house.”

  Dix dropped his hands back on the keyboard. “That’s easy to check, anyway. What’s the address?”

  I gave it to him, and waited for him to access the tax records for the county. After less than a minute, he nodded. “The previous owner of the house at that address was named Steven Morris.”

  Yes. But— “That doesn’t mean the guy who came to the door was Steven Morris,” I said. “He didn’t show me ID. From that standpoint, he could have been anyone. And everyone who knows how can look up that information. You just did, in about thirty seconds. Someone else could have, too. The courthouse records are public.”

  “Any reason to think it isn’t him?” Dix wanted to know.

  I had to admit there wasn’t. “If he says he’s Steve Morris, he’s probably Steve Morris. But—”

  “If he’s Steve Morris, and it was his house until you bought it, he has a case.”

  “Even if the house has been sitting there for three years and he could have come back to it at any time before he lost it?”

  “Even then,” Dix said. “When a house is sold at foreclosure, the previous owner has a year to buy it back. It’s called a statutory right of redemption…”

  “Thank you, I know.” And if I hadn’t, Steve Morris would have told me.

  “Then why are you asking me?” Dix wanted to know, a touch of irritation in his voice.

  I took a breath. And another. “Sorry. I’m just a bit stressed out. I remember learning about a statutory right of redemption, either in pre-law or Real Estate 101. But it’s been a while, and I wanted to talk to someone who knows more about it than I do.”

  My brother looked slightly mollified at this blatant petting of his ego.

  “Go on,” I told him, laying it on even thicker. “Educate us. If you tell me something I already know, I’ll be quiet.”

  He snorted, but went on. Addressing himself pointedly to Darcy. “A statutory right of redemption is good for a year. The previous owner has to pay back the full purchase price of the house, plus ten percent—”

  Darcy turned to me. “Ten percent isn’t enough to cover our costs, is it?”

  I shook my head. “Not between what we’ve spent and the deposits we’ve made. We’d be in the hole a couple thousand at this point.”

  Darcy winced and turned back to Dix. “Go on.”

  “There’s not a lot more to say,” Dix said. “He has to file a motion with the court and pay them the money. Once that’s done, the house is his, and you’re out of luck.”

  There was a moment’s silence while we all processed this unflinching statement of facts.

  “Any way around it?” Darcy wanted to know.

  “None that are legal,” Dix answered.

  “If he happened to die…” I said.

  They both turned to me, wide-eyed.

  I scowled. “I’m not going to kill him, for God’s sake. It was just a question.”

  Dix didn’t look like he quite believed me, but he answered anyway. “If the motion has already been filed, it’s too late to do anything. Even if he turns up dead tomorrow, as long as he started the process, his estate will get the house.”

  “What if he didn’t file the motion?”

  It was Friday, and it had been after four when he’d showed up at the house. Now it was almost five. Maybe he hadn’t had time to make it to the bank and the clerk’s office before they closed for the weekend.

  “If he didn’t,” Dix said, “then you own the house until Monday. Assuming he files then.”

  “And if something happens between now and then?”

  “If you’re planning to murder the guy,” Dix said, “I don’t want to know about it.”

  “I told you I’m not.” I glanced at Darcy. “I suppose we could try to talk to him. See if maybe he’d let us keep the house in exchange for a cut of the profits?”

  Darcy didn’t look happy about that idea. “Those profits are getting sliced thinner every single day.”

  They were. Although none of us had—or could have—anticipated this. “Tell you what. He can have my profits. I don’t care. Rafe makes enough money to take care of us. I live for free. And I’ll still have a house to sell. Maybe I can get a buyer out of it, or something, to recoup some money that way.”

  “I didn’t mean that you should work for free,” Darcy said. “Just that it’s starting to look like less and less of a viable investment.”

  It was. And I saw her point. However— “A smaller percentage of something is better than a bigger percentage of nothing. And if he takes the house, we get nothing. We might as well see what we can salvage.”

  Darcy looked reluctant, but she nodded.

  “How do you plan on finding this guy?” Dix wanted to know. “Did he leave you his address? Or telephone number?”

  He hadn’t, and that meant this situation had just gotten even more difficult.

  “Local motels?” Darcy suggested.

  It was a possibility. Although chances were the staff at the local motels weren’t going to tell us whether Mr. Morris was a guest there. That probably went against their rules and regs.

  Besides, if he was from Columbia, or had lived there for a while, he might have friends he was staying with. And we had no idea who they were.

  “I don’t know what to do,” I admitted.

  None of the others seemed to, either, so we sat in silence a mi
nute.

  “Maybe we just carry on as if nothing’s wrong until we know better?” Darcy suggested. “Go back to work tomorrow, and wait to hear from Mr. Morris or the county clerk?”

  That might be the best thing. Steve Morris didn’t know who we were, either, or where to find us, so if he wanted to talk to us again, he’d show up back at the house.

  It would put a damper on the renovations, of course, since it would be hard to be gung-ho about painting and tiling when we didn’t know how long we’d own the house… but it sounded better than doing nothing. At least if Morris showed up, we’d get a chance to talk to him again.

  “Patrick is working tomorrow,” Darcy said. I nodded. “I’ll meet you over there. Say nine?”

  Nine would be fine. Rafe was traveling down to Laurel Hill with the sheriffs and Grimaldi again, so I was at loose ends, too. Might as well work. “I’ll see you there,” I said.

  “Close up and go home,” Dix told her. “It’s almost five.”

  She nodded, and unwound herself from the chair. “Savannah?”

  “I need a minute.”

  She arched her brows, and so did Dix, but neither of them said anything. Darcy walked into the hallway and closed the door behind her, and Dix watched me, turning a pen over and over between his fingers. “Something we didn’t cover?”

  “Not about this.” I grimaced. “I feel bad for talking Darcy into it now.”

  “I don’t imagine you had to twist her arm that hard,” Dix said dryly.

  Well, no. I hadn’t. But that made it even worse. She was my sister. She’d given me the money without a second thought, just because I’d asked. And now it looked like she might have lost some of it.

  But that wasn’t what I’d wanted to talk to him about. “I ran into Todd the other day.”

  Dix’s eyebrows moved infinitesimally.

  “He told me that Marley’s pregnant.”

  Dix nodded.

  “Is that the only reason he proposed?”

  The eyebrows shot up, and I elaborated. “I know in the beginning, she was in love with him, and he mostly used her to distract himself from the fact that I’d gotten involved with Rafe.”

  The corner of Dix’s mouth curved, and I scowled. “Don’t look like that. I know I sound conceited, but it’s true. He wanted to marry me. I said no. And then he took up with Marley, mostly as friends, I think. Or maybe friends with benefits. Or at least they developed into that.”

  “That’s fair,” Dix said.

  “Marley was in love with Todd while he was still a little bit hung up on me. I thought that changed. But he didn’t sound very excited about the baby. So now I’m worried that he proposed for the wrong reason.”

  “Is it wrong to propose because you made your girlfriend pregnant?” Dix asked.

  “It is if you don’t want to be married to her!”

  “Maybe he’s hoping it’ll turn into more.”

  I felt the air go out of me. “So you’re saying he only proposed because she’s pregnant?”

  “I don’t know why he proposed,” Dix said. “We haven’t talked about it.”

  I stared at him. “What do you talk about?”

  He didn’t answer, and I added, “You spend time together, don’t you? Don’t you talk about things?”

  “The weather,” Dix said. “Sports. The girls.” His daughters, Abigail and Hannah. “He mentions Oliver sometimes. Sometimes we talk about work.”

  I threw my hands up. “I can’t believe it. He’s your best friend. He’s newly engaged. You haven’t dissected his relationship with Marley?”

  “Guys don’t do that,” Dix said.

  I scowled at him. “You’re no help.”

  “Why do you care? You have Collier. It shouldn’t matter to you why Todd’s marrying Marley.”

  “I like Marley,” I said. “I don’t want Todd to hurt her. He’s already tried to prosecute her for murder.”

  “And she’s forgiven him for that. Obviously.”

  Yes, obviously. But that didn’t mean I’d be OK with him hurting her again.

  Dix shook his head. “Leave it alone, Sis. It’s their business.”

  It was their business. But I liked Marley. “Maybe I’ll give her a call and invite her to lunch one day.” And pick her brain about their relationship.

  “You do that,” Dix said. “But if you do, I don’t think you ought to ask her whether he only proposed because she’s pregnant.”

  No, probably not. “It’s probably not a good time, anyway. Todd said she’s throwing up. It would be better to wait until she’s through the first trimester and can eat again.”

  “Sounds like a plan,” Dix said, and glanced at his watch. “I hate to cut this short, Sis—” His tone told me clearly that he was happy for the excuse, “but it’s after five. I gotta go pick up the girls.”

  I got to my feet. “I have to go get Carrie, too. And Pearl. Mother’s been taking care of them today.”

  “Don’t let Mother see you like that,” Dix said, giving me a once-over.

  “If I go home and shower and change, it’ll be even later when I get there. I’ll take my chances.”

  “Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” Dix said and reached out to turn off the computer. “Let me know how it goes with the Morris guy and the house.”

  I told him I would, and then I headed for the back door while he finished his tasks for the day.

  * * *

  Bob Satterfield’s house, where Mother lives in sin with the sheriff, is located just a block or two off the square. It took me no more than a minute to drive there, once I got into the car. And Dix was right, when Mother opened the door and got a look at me, she winced like she were in pain.

  “Darling…”

  “I’ve been scraping popcorn off the ceiling,” I said, for what felt like the umpteenth time that day. “I’ll go home and take a shower before Rafe gets there.”

  Mother nodded, reassured. “You don’t want your husband to see you like that.”

  Actually, my husband had seen me look worse than this. My husband had seen me at my absolute worst, and covered with drywall and blisters wasn’t it.

  Mother, of course, looked spotless. She’ll be sixty on her next birthday, and doesn’t look a day over forty-eight or so. It takes considerable work to maintain the illusion, but it seems like she enjoys it, so maybe it doesn’t feel like work. Her hair was tinted its usual soft champagne color, her makeup was spotless, and she was dressed in wool slacks and a silk blouse. There were no spit-up spots on the blouse and no doggie drool on the pants. She didn’t look like a woman who had spent the day with her three-month-old granddaughter and a slobbering pitbull.

  “How do you do it?” I asked, and she gave me a look out of blue eyes the same color and shape as mine, but more expertly made up.

  “Willpower, darling.”

  Willpower. I obviously didn’t have willpower enough to stop the baby from spitting up on me and the dog from drooling, but if she’d worked out how to do it, then more power to her.

  “I’ll get your things,” Mother said and click-clacked her way down the hardwoods of the hallway. “Just stay where you are.”

  Although she didn’t say it, I deduced she was afraid that if I came farther into the house, I’d leave flecks of wallpaper and plaster dust behind. So I grabbed Pearl’s leash from the hook by the door and fastened it on her collar—she had come bounding out to greet me, or to protect Mother, when I rang the bell—and raised my voice. “I’ll take the dog to the car and be back for Carrie.”

  “Yes, darling,” Mother’s voice wafted back to me from the parlor.

  I let Pearl tinkle on the grass and got her situated in the front seat. By the time I got back to the door, Mother had Carrie bundled into her coat and ready to go. I flung the suitcase sized diaper bag over one shoulder and threaded the car seat handle over the other arm. “Thank you for taking care of them today.”

  “It was a pleasure,” Mother said, and sounded like she m
eant it. “Did everything go well?”

  For a second I thought about telling her about Steve Morris and the right of redemption, but then I decided against it. There was nothing she could do about it, and nothing to be gained by sharing the news. So I just smiled. “Fine. We got all the popcorn off the ceilings. The carpets are out. The wallpaper’s down. We can start building things back up.”

  “Wonderful, darling.” She smiled back. “And Charlotte’s helping you?”

  “She’s working as hard as I am,” I said. “She needs this money badly.”

  Mother nodded. “What are you and Rafael up to tonight?”

  Rafe would probably be up to the usual, no pun at all intended. But other than that, our lives were pretty boring right now. Our personal lives, anyway. He had plenty of excitement on the job, and I had Steve Morris and the house to worry about, but with an almost-new baby in the house, our partying days were over. We usually conked out in front of the TV by ten o’clock.

  How the mighty have fallen.

  “Not much,” I admitted. “What about you?”

  “Bob and I are having dinner at the Wayside Inn,” Mother said with satisfaction. It’s her favorite restaurant, and I’m sure she kept Bob busy taking her there. Hopefully he liked it, too, and didn’t just put up with it because she did.

  “Have a good time.” I turned on my heel before she could suggest that we join them. Or maybe she wouldn’t. She’d spent all day with my daughter; she was probably ready for some peace and quiet, and adult conversation.

  “Do you need me to take the baby tomorrow too?” she asked behind my back.

  “We’re done with the scraping,” I told her, after I’d made my way across the porch and down the couple of steps to the walkway. In the car, Pearl was fogging up the window. “She should be OK coming with me tomorrow.”

  Mother nodded. “Just let me know, darling. Bob’s going to be busy all day again.”

  “Rafe, too. They’re going back to Laurel Hill.”

  “I can’t imagine what’s so interesting down there,” Mother said, a little peevishly.

  I gathered Bob hadn’t told her what was going on. Not in enough detail to make her worry, anyway. And since he hadn’t, I decided it wasn’t my place to do so, either. “Have you ever been to Laurel Hill?”