That was exactly what she’d tried to do, but 75 miles and the Bay Bridge had proved to be insurmountable obstacles. Even the contractors Julia had the best relationships with turned her down flat. Those who knew the Eastern Shore tried to warn her off the idea of rehabbing a property in a rural area so far away from her home base.
“I’ll use local workers,” Grace assured him. “And I know it won’t be easy, but I made a promise to my mother and I’m going to keep it. She wanted to save her childhood home; wanted it to leave Delaney hands in good shape,” she tried to explain. “I have no memory of the house or her family - Mom broke ties years ago - but I love the challenge of setting a historic property to rights. Besides, I’d have done anything to make her happy. It didn’t seem impossible at the time.”
“It isn’t,” Bryce said. “I promise.”
The memory of her mother’s face, swollen from the chemotherapy, but smiling with excitement, made her happy. She squared her shoulders and refocused on the contractors. “My plan is to do enough renovation to restore it properly and once it’s in good shape, list it and get an agent to sell it for me.”
“The listing part won’t be hard,” Henry said. “People retire, move here and get a real estate license. The place is crawling with them.”
Her fresh Bloody Mary arrived and Grace took a sip. Its peppery warmth was soothing, but guilt began to poke at her. She shouldn’t be here. She had clients in Washington expecting work from her, and none of them would be pleased to know she was spending a Wednesday workday dealing with another personal crisis and having a two-drink lunch.
“Let me understand,” Henry said. “You live less than a hundred miles away, but you never came over to see the property before you bought it?”
Grace sighed. If she hired the Cutters, she’d spend a lot of time with them. Starting out on a less than truthful basis could cause her problems later on. “As soon as she learned it was for sale, Mom wanted to buy the house. She was dying and I was in denial. It wouldn’t have mattered what shape this place was in. If all that was left was a hole in the ground, she’d have still wanted it. So I - we - bought it. Coming over here to see it first wouldn’t have changed anything.” She didn’t add that Emma Delaney wouldn’t have sold it to her.
Bryce picked up his sales pitch. “We can handle it for you. We’ll get the place cleaned up and in good enough shape to sell. You can decide how much reno to do as we go along.”
Grace nodded. “I’ll be here for a week, then it’s back to work for me. I’ll need a workable plan in place before I leave.” The temptation to hand her key to the Cutters and walk away was strong, but she’d seen too many people blow their budgets and lose everything to smooth-talking contractors.
Bryce said, "Why don't you take this a bit at a time. Basics first. We’ll check everything, of course, but Delaney House sits on brick and stone foundation and the main floor is over an English basement. Not likely to be any sill damage. Probably no serious structural issues either. The hole in the parlor ceiling, repairs to the bathroom, some water damage, maybe a new roof - that’s a good start.”
She hesitated. Mosley was paying for a lot of the work Bryce described, but Julia had wanted Delaney House to be restored. Grace needed to get estimates, pick the best contractor and get the lowest price. Rushing into an agreement with the Cutters, no matter how sweet and charming they seemed, felt like bad business. But she was tired. And a little tipsy.
“Okay. To start, give me estimates on roof repairs, basic kitchen and bath updates and paint inside and out. Obviously, I’ll need some landscaping, too. You know Mosley’s firm is paying for the clean out and damage from the ceiling collapse, so keep that estimate separate. I’ll pay you and he’ll reimburse me.”
Both men looked relieved.
Bryce said, “Sure. I can get a crew in as soon as Henry’s guys finish cleaning. Good thing Winnie woke up and told the police what really happened. No telling how much time we would have lost in Aidan’s investigation.” He scrunched his face in an imitation of the policeman’s scowl and was finally rewarded with a laugh from Grace.
“What’s the deal with him, anyway?” she asked.
“Aidan’s been a jerk from the day he was born,” Bryce said without hesitation.
“Bryce and Aidan don’t exactly get along,” Henry added. “They’ve been scrapping since grade school.”
Bryce shook his head. “Henry always tells that story. Aidan was a few years behind me and it’s true we’ve never liked each other, but last night wasn’t personal between us. He gets hot fast and burns out faster. One of those guys with a real short fuse.”
“But he’s a police officer!” Grace was appalled.
“Well, yes. He’s pretty good at what he does and Lee McNamara keeps a tight rein on him. Aidan gets worked up and anything to do with Winnie sets him off. Don’t worry about him. The important thing is Winnie’s okay, he’s set the record straight and you won’t have a problem with Aidan.”
“So he knew I didn’t have a tenant in the house!” The memory of the police officer’s accusations rankled anew.
“No, I think that’s why he was mad. He assumed you and Winnie had an arrangement.”
Grace shook her head. Her momentary relief at having a plan for Delaney House evaporated at the thought of dealing with Winston and his parents. She’d have to meet her mother’s family sooner or later, and their first topics of conversation weren’t likely to be pleasant.
Cyrus Mosley’s name flashed on her phone as an incoming call made them all jump.
“See? Even old Cyrus wants you to hire us,” Bryce teased.
But that wasn’t what Mosley wanted at all.
Chapter Nine
“I had clients in my office, Miss Reagan, when that fool Banks came in here yesterday and made a scene. He said you told him I was responsible for the house.” Mosley’s voice shook with emotion. “You knew I wasn’t at fault. As soon as Winnie was coherent, he took responsibility.”
Grace felt a twinge of guilt but ignored it. “How is our squatter today, Mr. Mosley?”
“Fair,” Mosley said. “He had a lot of alcohol in his system and the concussion kept him drifting in and out of consciousness. He’ll be fine. You need to come over to my office so we can finish our business.”
She excused herself to the Cutters and walked out of the garden to the sidewalk in front of the restaurant. Mid-day traffic in Mallard Bay was heavy with pedestrians and slow-moving vehicles clogging the narrow village streets. Grace knew the colonial town had become a popular tourist stop in the last decade, but she was still surprised at the number of people.
“Grace? Ms. Reagan? Are you there?”
She sighed loudly enough for Mosley to hear her with either ear. “Unfortunately, yes. I believe you’re asking to be relieved of your responsibilities under the contract of sale.” This time Mosley didn’t respond, which infuriated her. “You were either dishonest about the condition of the house when you listed it for sale or you allowed it to deteriorate while it was in your custody after I bought it. Either way, I’m not releasing you from anything, just yet.”
Mosley was quiet for so long she thought he’d hung up. “Alright,” he finally said. “I can understand your position. There are extenuating circumstances of which you are not aware, but still, I see your point. Come to my office and let’s talk. If you like, I'll sell the house for you and send you a check. I’ll buy it from you myself if you don’t want to wait for it to go on the market. I can’t get any fairer than that, can I?”
It was Grace’s turn for a stunned silence. “Why would you do that?” she finally said.
“Emma Delaney was special to me. I want to do right by my friend and wrap up her affairs properly.”
He was old, she reminded herself. And he’d been bullied by Winston Delaney, if not more members of the family. She felt her irritation fade. “Give me directions. I can be there first thing in the morning.” Cyrus Mosley could wait, she decided. She
needed some time to think.
The brick Victorian-era building at the corner of Washington and Goldsborough in Easton seemed a fitting location for Cyrus Mosley’s office. But while the building was ancient and the decor decades away from current fashion, Mosley’s secretary was about twenty. Maybe forty. It was hard to tell with her heavy makeup and barhopping clothes. She snapped a wad of gum in time with her swaying walk as she led Grace down a narrow hall to a conference room.
“Mr. Mosley will be with you shortly,” snap, snap.
Grace watched the girl totter away on five-inch heels and felt her own feet start to hurt.
After a ten-minute wait during which Grace envisioned Mosley crouched around the corner, timing his entrance to show her where she stood in his busy schedule, the man himself strode in and placed a thin folder of papers on the table.
“My dear,” he said, offering his hand.
He wore khakis with a knife-edge crease and a blue oxford cloth dress shirt. A sedate silk tie hinted of a navy blazer hanging nearby. It was such a change from her first impression that she smiled and shook his hand before remembering she didn’t like him.
“You look lovely,” he added.
Grace knew her tailored slacks and silk twinset were flattering and was glad she’d taken extra care to appear professional. She felt sure of herself, ready to wrap up her business with Emma Delaney’s attorney.
The secretary pranced back into the room carrying a remarkably level and steady tray with a pot of coffee and two china mugs.
Mosley said, “Grace, dear, you look so much like your grandmother, I assumed you’d love coffee, too. Would you prefer tea?”
Grace stared at him.
He seemed pleased with her reaction. “You didn’t know that did you? You could be a young Emma's twin and I don’t know why I didn’t say before. I was so shocked when I first saw you, I couldn't concentrate for marveling at the resemblance and I am sure I seemed like a doddering old fool. Let’s start over, shall we?”
Mosley poured the coffee and Grace sat, trying to process what he’d said. He opened the file, took out an eight-by-ten photo and handed it to her with a courtly flourish. “Grace Fiona Reagan, meet your grandmother, Emma Fiona Delaney.”
She heard him say something about needing another file. He left the room quietly, shutting the door behind him.
The photo was a professional portrait of a woman who looked so familiar, Grace knew Mosley's comparison had been truthful. Large blue eyes stared out over sixty years and gave the impression Emma Delaney was ready to speak at the first opportunity. High cheekbones balanced a long, thin-bridged nose. Her dark hair was in a French twist with only a wave across her forehead to soften her face. Despite the elegant dress and meticulous grooming, the woman in the photo had sharp angles and no-nonsense expression.
Grace thought she could be looking at a photo of herself in Joan Crawford’s clothes.
There were differences, of course. Emma’s photo projected an elegant countenance. She was thin and stylish. Elegant, thin and stylish were not always in Grace's playbook, but she pulled off cold and no-nonsense on a daily basis.
She took the photo to a window, turning it this way and that as if different levels of light could tell her more than the two-dimensional picture had to give. Fiona. Grace had thought she was named after her mother, Julia Fiona. Now it seemed they were a trio. She, her mother and the grandmother she’d never known.
“Mama,” she whispered, “you have some explaining to do.”
Chapter Ten
Mosley produced all the necessary paperwork, Grace produced her passport for official identification, and the gum-snapper turned out to be a notary. A few minutes later, with considerable reluctance, Grace released Mosley from his custodianship of Delaney House. Their agreement that, upon her written notification, he would buy the house back from her at twenty thousand above her purchase price should have eased her mind. Still, as seven thousand square feet of mold, dirt and crumbling plaster became her sole responsibility, she thought she could feel the weight of it. Her heart gave a lurch when he asked if she wanted to sell it right then.
When she didn't answer immediately, he handed her another document. She wasn’t surprised to see Mosley, Kastner and Associates had a real estate division; the completed listing agreement only needed her signature. Rearing back in his chair, the lawyer gave his waistband a tug and began to talk about her options, as he saw them.
“So I can list it for sale or, as we agreed, I’ll buy it outright if you want to put this all behind you.” Another form was produced, this one a contract for sale with the amount of the purchase price left blank. "The land alone is worth quite a bit and the house is on the National Register of Historic Places, but its size and condition will limit buyers and lower the offers. The repairs will be expensive, to say the least.”
Grace thought Mosley had never said the least in any conversation, but kept the observation to herself. She asked for more coffee and settled back to read every word of every page of the documents, mainly to irritate him, but also to allow herself some time for her emotions to settle. In her law practice, she specialized in land use regulations and real estate settlements, so even though there was pleasure to be derived from dragging the process out and making Mosley wait, she moved through the wherefores and therefores of the deed, listing agreement and purchase offer quickly. Mosley huffed and fidgeted, as if she were insulting him anew with each passing minute.
When she finished, she put the documents into her briefcase with Emma Delaney’s photograph. Mosley said nothing, only pursed his lips when she told him she'd consider his offers and get back to him.
“Before I go, though, I do have some questions.” She had decided Mosley was more likely to be truthful than her mother’s brother and his family, and Grace wanted answers. “Did you know my father?”
Mosley reddened. “Father?”
I can do this as long as you can, Grace thought as they stared at each other in the wake of his one-word response.
Mosley caved first. “I knew of him, of course. It was tragic, his death, I mean. Young man.”
“What do you know about him?”
Mosley took another pause and seemed to be considering his words carefully. Grace wanted to push him but made herself relax her tense posture.
“I know very little,” he finally said. “When she came home with you, Julia said he had been killed. A car accident.”
Grace nodded. This meshed with the information she’d gotten from her mother. “Did Mom give you any details about him? Where he was from?” She’d never see Mosley again once she’d left Mallard Bay. There was no reason to be secretive about her questions.
“I’m sorry, no. I recall your mother saying there was no other family on his side.”
She’d been afraid of getting that answer, but she still had her mother’s brother to ask. And she had another question for Mosley.
“Do you know why my mother left here and broke all ties with the family?”
“Yes, I do. It isn’t a pretty story, either. As I mentioned I was, still am to some extent, the family’s attorney.”
“And the family members in question are dead,” Grace said.
“I still have a duty to protect their interests,” Mosley wagged a finger at her but relented before she could object. “It’s a trite scenario, I’m afraid. Two women, one baby, both wanted to mother it. Julia and Emma argued a lot in the best of times. When you were about two, Julia decided she’d had enough. She had a trust fund from her grandfather, so she took you and left. Emma tried to stop her; she called me nearly hysterical and demanded I file an emergency petition for custody.”
“Of what?” Grace said and then gaped at Mosley as she realized what he meant. “Of me? Emma Delaney wanted custody of me?”
“Yes, I’m afraid so. They’d had a fight, a terrible one. Julia was packing when Emma called me. I tried to talk to both of them, but it was futile. Emma was distraught for a while, but l
ife goes on. When she saw both of you were happy and thriving, it was a huge relief. She had me set up your trust…”
“Trust?”
“Yes. Emma set one up for you. It was modest, but still enough to pay for private schools and other enrichments. It was an irrevocable instrument, which was fortunate for Julia because later Emma ran through almost everything. Everything except Delaney House.”
It was too much to absorb. Grace’s mind swam with conflicting thoughts as she walked away from Mosley’s office. Emma, a maternalistic grandmother, and Julia an angry teenaged single mother. Her mother working so hard to grow Reagan Realty, but not because they needed the money. Hard work pays off, Grace. Take care of your own problems and follow your own good sense. Don’t rely on anyone else. And yet a trust fund made their lives comfortable.
How could any of this be true? And if it was, what else didn’t she know?
She bought a latte from a coffee bar across from the courthouse square and sat in a nearby park. The fresh September air rolled over her while she sipped her drink without tasting it.
A young widow with no family making her way on her own. Grace had never questioned this image of her mother’s past. Julia Reagan had never waited for anyone’s permission and usually steamrolled over anything standing in her path. There had been men from time to time, but none were allowed too close to Grace. And none, Julia had assured her daughter, could ever take Jonathon Reagan’s place. Julia had been gentle, but firm. Just the two of us. No father, no family.
Except, apparently, a grandmother on the Eastern Shore and a trust fund.
Grace waited for this to hurt, but the only emotion she felt was relief. Her mother hadn’t been alone. She might not have wanted the family connections, but they were there. Now that she thought about it, Grace realized her mother hadn’t lied, she just hadn’t told the whole truth. There were lots of missing details, critical details, but these could wait for another time. Grace had the Delaneys and their house to deal with now.
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