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Authors: Thomas Kinkade

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BOOK: The Inn at Angel Island
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Liza thought it would still take time and care, even if a company was called in. Time that she desperately didn’t have right now. If it were up to her, she would find a worthy cause with a pick-up service that would come haul everything away. But Liza didn’t feel like arguing the fine points with Peter right now. He had practically just gotten here.
“I’ll ask Fran Tulley about it. She would know,” Liza said evenly.
She leaned on the porch rail and pushed her long hair to one side. Her ponytail had come undone sometime during the workday, and she hadn’t bothered to find another hair tie.
Out in the driveway, Daniel was packing up his truck. He slammed the tailgate closed and waved to her. She waved back.
“Who’s that?” Peter asked.
“The handyman, Daniel Merritt. He’s going to paint the house. He just started today with the power washing.”
Daniel turned the truck in the driveway, then drove past them on the way out. He slowed for a minute and met her gaze but didn’t wave again.
“I’ll introduce you tomorrow.” Liza checked her watch. “It’s not that late. We can do a little more work around here before dinner. Unless you’re too tired from the flight.”
“I’m all right. That’s what I’m here for. Lead the way. I’d like to see the photos,” Peter added. “You didn’t throw them out, did you?”
“Of course not.” Liza had been tempted to toss some of them. There were pictures of people she didn’t recognize, relatives of Uncle Clive’s, perhaps, or friends and neighbors. But Claire had encouraged her to save all the photos.
“I’ve got an idea.” Liza slapped her brother on the shoulder. “I’m putting you in charge of the photo archives. You’re certainly qualified for the job. Claire thinks the historical society in Cape Light might be interested in some of the older shots. We could get our names on a little plaque.”
“I’d love my name on a little plaque,” Peter replied. “A person has to have goals.”
“Definitely,” she agreed with a laugh.
It was good to have her brother here. She had, she realized, just plain missed him. With everyone gone now, their parents and Elizabeth and Clive, Peter was all the family she had left, him and Will. She hoped this visit would bring them all closer. That’s what Aunt Elizabeth would have wanted. Liza knew that in her heart.
FIFTEEN minutes later, as Liza was showing Peter the boxes of photos, she heard a car on the road. She peered out the front window and recognized Fran Tulley’s blue Camry. “It’s the real estate agent,” she said to Peter. She glanced at her watch. “Right on time.”
Fran came to the door, and Liza introduced everyone, then led the way into the house.
“Someone’s been busy around here,” Fran said, as she gazed around the front parlor. “The room looks twice the size already.”
“It will look even better when we move some of the furniture out,” Peter said.
“Absolutely,” Fran agreed. “You can store it in that shed or sell it. There’s an antique store in Cape Light called the Bramble. Maybe they would buy it from you.”
Fran took a glossy folder that read
“Bowman Realty”
on it from her bag. “Here’s the contract,” she continued, “a copy for each of you. I worked with our broker, Betty Bowman, on the asking price. Certainly, the final number is up to you. We’ve checked recent sales on the island and added in the bump in value due to the coming improvements. We also considered the condition of the place and the fact that you want a quick sale.”
“Of course,” Liza said. Peter just studied the copy of the contract that Fran handed him. Liza’s eyes went straight to the listing price on the bottom of the front page.
Fran waited a moment, giving them a chance to consider it.
“That’s the asking price. I expect you would actually sell at about ten thousand under.”
Liza scanned the contract. Of course, they also had to deduct the brokerage fee, but the bottom line would be a very decent profit, even split two ways. Liza hadn’t realized the inn was worth so much, especially in its run-down condition.
Her brother, however, didn’t seem as pleased. “I honestly expected it to be higher.”
Fran didn’t seem taken aback. She probably dealt with this reaction all the time, Liza realized.
“We do think it’s market value. Certainly within range,” she explained. “We could push it up another ten thousand or so, but I wouldn’t go any higher than that if you want to sell quickly.”
Peter didn’t seem entirely happy with that reply, but he said, “All right. Let’s try it. If anyone wants to make an offer, please let them know there’s very little room for negotiation.”
Fran nodded. “That sounds reasonable. I’ll make that change on the contract, and we can all initial it.”
The document wasn’t long or complicated. Liza and Peter were able to read it through and sign on the spot.
“So, when will you start showing it?” Peter asked. “Do you have any clients who might be interested?”
“I do. I’ve already let them know that something in their price range was coming up,” Fran replied with a small, tantalizing smile. “As soon as I get back to the office, I’ll start lining up appointments.”
“We’re having it painted. Like you suggested. But we just had the power washing done today, and I guess it looks even worse with all the paint blown off,” Liza said.
Fran stood up and grabbed her jacket from a nearby chair. “Don’t worry, people can deal with that. Though the building will make a stronger impression once the painting is done,” she added, glancing at her watch. “I’ve got to run. Nice meeting you, Peter. I’ll call tomorrow and let you know if I’m bringing anyone over.”
“So, what do you think?” Liza asked her brother once Fran was gone.
“She seems all right—competent, experienced. I’m not so sure about that price. Didn’t you think it would be higher?”
“Honestly? No,” Liza replied. “I mean, look at this place. We don’t want to sit here, waiting forever for a buyer,” she reminded him. “It’s better to put it out a little lower than market value if you ask me. Who knows, we might even have some sort of auction if a lot of people get interested at once.”
“There’s an idea.” He started toward the staircase. “We can suggest that to Fran tomorrow.”
While Peter went up to his room to unpack, Liza returned to the dining room, where Claire continued to work in her quiet, steady way. She was wiping out the now-empty china cabinet with a soft cloth and lemon-scented furniture oil.
Over the past two days Liza had noticed that when Claire worked at any task, no matter how small or menial, she seemed calm and unhurried yet totally focused—giving it her entire attention, as if it were the most important job in the world. It was like watching the ocean waves wash in and out, Liza thought. Like watching a steady, reliable force of nature.
Liza went back to examining the pieces of china and placing them on different sections of the table. She would never have that sort of calm, unhurried air, she decided. You had to be born like that.
Will had gone upstairs right after his late lunch. He said he wanted to take a nap, Claire reported.
Or just be alone, away from the adults, Liza suspected.
When dinnertime rolled around, Peter was the first to come downstairs to the kitchen. “Will isn’t hungry. Maybe he’s still full from his late lunch.”
“He did seem to enjoy his food,” Claire said. “I’ll save him a plate. He might be hungry later.”
Liza didn’t doubt it. Teenage boys were notorious for their appetites. But she also knew Will could have come downstairs just to say hello or get a glass of water. Maybe he was planning on hibernating, plugged into his iPod, for the entire trip?
“He likes to stay up late at night now and sleep late in the morning,” Peter explained. “It’s just his biological clock. If you hear someone roaming around later, don’t be alarmed. The house isn’t haunted.”
“I like to stay up late myself,” Liza said. “And I’m not afraid of ghosts either.”
Her own late hours were not due to her biological clock but because she worried a lot lately. Though since coming to the inn, she had slept surprisingly well. All the physical work and ocean air, she suspected. Maybe it would be the same for Will.
Claire served the meal, a roast chicken dusted with herbs, string beans, and mashed potatoes. Liza suddenly noticed that there were only three places set on the table, just enough for herself, Peter, and Will.
She looked up just as Claire took off her apron and hung it on a hook behind the door, then reached for her tote bag and jacket that were hanging there. “I hope you enjoy your dinner. Dessert’s in the refrigerator when you’re ready. I’ll be going now. I need to leave for home a little early this evening.”
“Sure,” Liza said. “No problem.”
“See you tomorrow, Claire. And thanks for all your help today with Will,” Peter added.
“Don’t mention it. Enjoy your evening. I’m sure you two have a lot of catching up to do.” Then she said good night and headed out the back door.
Liza wondered what was calling Claire home early tonight. Again, she wondered where Claire actually lived. Liza had asked her while they were working on the closets the other day. Claire had been vague, saying only, “On the other side of the island.”
Liza hadn’t prodded further, and Claire had not volunteered any additional information. Was there someone waiting there for Claire tonight? Liza knew from her aunt that Claire wasn’t married, but that didn’t mean she was alone. Or maybe the housekeeper had simply been staying later than she usually did in order to keep Liza company?
“So what do you think of Claire North?” she asked her brother between bites of the perfectly roasted chicken.
“Well, I can see what you mean about her being sort of a cipher. She is very . . . unobtrusive.”
“That’s one way of putting it,” Liza agreed.
“She doesn’t bother me. I like her—what I’ve seen so far.”
“I like her, too. More than I thought at first,” Liza admitted. “She’s been a great help. Not just with the work, but she’s so calm and steady. So positive. She never seems stressed or overwhelmed. It calms me down, too.”
“That’s good. Then . . . what’s the problem?”
Liza smiled and shrugged. “I don’t know. There isn’t one, really. She’s just different than other people. She has this way of almost knowing what you’re thinking or about to say. Sometimes it seems as if she’s actually reading my mind.”
Peter laughed and helped himself to another scoop of mashed potatoes. He had always been lean as a kid and could still eat whatever he wanted, she noticed. It was totally annoying.
“Reading your mind, huh? I know you’ve been under a lot of pressure lately, Liza, but maybe we should find someone for you to talk to about this.”
He was making fun of her. She made a face at him. “Laugh if you like. Let’s see what you say when it happens to you. It’s probably very boring for her to be reading my mind, now that you mention it. She might as well be watching the Worry Channel.”
She tried to make a joke about her situation, everything piling up on her at once—selling this house, her problems at work, and her divorce being finalized all at the same time.
Peter decided to ask about the last item on her list.
“So, what’s going on with your divorce? Is it official yet?” he asked in a more serious tone.
“I got the final decree in the mail just two weeks ago. So did Jeff. But for some odd reason, he hasn’t stopped calling me.”
Peter didn’t seem surprised. “Maybe now that it’s really over, he’s having second thoughts.”
“I can’t see why. He was the one who—” It was still hard for her to say the words
cheated on me.
Or even
had an affair.
“He was the one who claimed to be unhappy and wanted out of the marriage,” she said finally.
Peter gave her a thoughtful look. “Maybe he just wanted your attention? And now he knows he went about getting it the wrong way?”
“Definitely the wrong way. If that man’s brain was put inside a bird, the bird would fly right into a wall.”
Peter gave her a reluctant grin. “You’ve got a point there. But sounds to me like he hasn’t moved on.”
She winced. That was the last thing she wanted to hear.
“Well, that’s too bad. It’s too late for second thoughts,” she said. The angry tone of her voice surprised her. “Jeff can’t have things his way all the time. I’m not some . . . pull toy he can just yank around on a string.”
“Of course not. I didn’t mean that at all.” Peter rested his hand on hers, slowing her down. “I know you’re angry at him for what he did, Liza. It wasn’t right and makes me angry, too, when I see how he hurt you,” he added, sounding every inch her older brother. “But maybe he realizes now he made a mistake.”
“He did make a mistake. A whopper. What am I supposed to do about that now? The marriage is over. I have the documents to prove it.”
“Officially,” Peter clarified. “But it sounds like you still have some unfinished emotional business. Don’t be so quick to pull the trigger. I can see how it’s easy to call it quits when you’re angry, but that might not always be the right choice. Once you cool down and get things in perspective, you might see that the marriage doesn’t have to end.”
BOOK: The Inn at Angel Island
9.63Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
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