“Or she’s been in a grave behind Delaney house for the last half-century.”
McNamara nodded. “My point is, regardless of the dead woman’s identity, Miss Avril’s family and Mosley’s involvement with a missing woman have been brought back to public scrutiny. And, as you point out, the Delaneys aren’t looking so good at the moment. I have a professional duty to solve the crime, but I also have a moral duty to hurt as few people as possible while I do it.”
Grace tried to see the case from his perspective. “Because the killer, or killers, will be upwards of seventy-five years old.”
“At least, probably older.” McNamara agreed.
“They may be dead, too.”
“If not, they’ll likely die in prison. Once I find them, that is.”
“You. Not the State Police?”
McNamara’s smile returned, but it was a sad one. “I’m afraid so,” he said.
When the Chief walked her to her car, he thanked her for the letters and affidavit but didn’t give her any more insight into the investigation. Grace left with a sinking realization that he would sacrifice a speedy resolution to lessen the impact on the town and its citizens, past and present. She briefly considered going over his head to the State Police and rejected the idea.
On a basic level, she trusted Lee McNamara, and the last thing she needed was another enemy.
Chapter Twenty-Five
There was a terse note from Niki on the kitchen counter. The guests in room four had checked out, there were no reservations until Wednesday, and she was off with Aidan Banks for the rest of the weekend.
Grace didn’t waste any time wondering what had changed Niki’s mind about ending her relationship with Banks. Relieved of the need to tiptoe around her angry cousin, she had the freedom to spread out and work on her financial records. She was opening her laptop on the kitchen table when Cyrus Mosley’s gold Lexus pulled into the inn’s parking lot.
An hour of peace, Grace thought as she watched the lawyer stalk up the walk. Just an hour to figure out what I’m doing. Mosley jabbed the doorbell unnecessarily as he glared at her through the window in the kitchen door.
“I suppose you were going to tell me sooner or later,” he said by way of greeting. “I had to learn from the Chief of Police you were declining my offer to buy the house.”
The truth was, she’d never taken the offer seriously and had forgotten about it in the whirlwind of her exit from Washington. She poured two glasses of iced tea, not because she wanted any or he’d asked for it, but to have something to do while Mosley ranted at her. He was wound up enough to levitate out of his canvas Top-Siders.
He planted himself next to the kitchen island, bristling with anger. “And then I find out you’ve gotten yourself involved in the investigation. I certainly could have done without your interference on that front, too.”
“My interference?” She focused on putting the pitcher back in the fridge and rummaging through Niki’s kitchen cabinets for cookies. After that, she’d have to look at Mosley again and she knew when she did, she’d embarrass both of them.
He was dressed in what she had to assume was a Saturday golfing outfit. The jaunty popped collar on his baby blue golf shirt screamed ‘eighties’ while coordinating perfectly with the little whales embroidered all over his twill slacks. Grace thought she saw the whales tremble right along with their owner as Mosley told her how he felt about her intentions to renovate Delaney House.
“Emma didn’t want this!” he sputtered. “She wanted that God-forsaken house out of Delaney hands. If she knew you were taking it apart and putting her money into renovations, she’d turn over in her grave.”
“Her money?” Grace said. The urge to laugh at Mosley wasn’t as strong now, but a desire to slap him was growing.
“Of course! All you have, you owe to her. I’m asking you to honor her wishes. Sell the house to me now, or at least allow me sell it for you. I can also keep the family out of this ridiculous murder investigation. Lee McNamara and I are friends; everything can be taken care of discretely if you’ll just go back home and let me get on with the practicality of things here.”
At the mention of McNamara, Grace remembered the police chief’s words, his ‘moral duty’ to solve the murder without inflicting more pain on the families - and Mosley - than he had to. Grace thought it unlikely the state police shared McNamara’s sentiments, or would bow to Mosley’s wishes. Besides, she had a moral duty, too, but it wasn’t to anyone in Mallard Bay.
“You’re right,” she said. “I should have given you the courtesy of a formal rejection of your purchase offer. I also should have told you I was coming back here to stay during the renovation.”
Mosley did his heel-rock and waistband adjustment maneuver and gave a grudging nod. Unfortunately, yanking his waistband to and fro caused the fabric of his baggy pants to ripple, which made the whales appear to bob on the ocean that was Mosley’s lower half.
“What?” he demanded when she turned away. “Are you alright?”
Grace drank tea and got herself under control. When she could talk without laughing, she made a comment about bad allergies and apologized again for upsetting him. “I’m sure it’s hard to understand, but my mother wanted to return the house to the way it had been before her family destroyed it.” Mosley flinched, and she hurried on. “I’m unemployed for now, so I have plenty of time to see to her last wishes.”
“I heard about your break with your firm,” Mosley said. “I hope it wasn’t because of this situation with the police investigation?”
Grace was tempted to tell him it was the nagging, unanswered questions about her father. What she said was, “I want to finish this house. It’s time for me to try something new.” Inspiration hit her. “Once I’ve finished here and sold the property, I might open my own firm.”
You never know what’s going to be the magic bullet in an argument, she thought as Mosley visibly calmed and sipped his iced tea. She pushed a package of cookies toward him.
“Will you stay here?” he asked.
“No.” If she never saw another legal document, she’d be happy, but she’d distracted Mosley and diffused the situation.
“Alright. I can see your mind’s made up and arguing with you won’t be any more fruitful than trying to talk sense into your grandmother or your mother. God knows I lost enough rounds with them.” He bit into a cookie and sprayed crumbs as he sighed and said, “So, I’ll help you.”
Grace grabbed a cookie for herself and prayed the sugar rush would give her strength. She now had the ‘help’ of Avril Oxley and Mosley, two irascible octogenarians who were also potential murder suspects. “Thank you,” she managed.
Mosley’s smile had no warmth. “As far as the police investigation goes, remember, I’m your attorney. Refer McNamara and anyone else who contacts you to me. I’ll handle everything.”
“I don’t need an attorney, Cyrus.” She hurried on over his protest, “But I do want to say I was sorry to learn your fiancé might be the victim.”
Mosley drew himself up and glared at her. “Whoever the unfortunate woman is, she is not Audrey Oxley. And who’s to say it’s a murder? Anything could have happened and I will not allow the police to jump to unwarranted conclusions.”
“Okay,” she drew the word out. “But how can you be sure it’s not your fiancé?”
“A man knows when a woman leaves him. Audrey left me, plain and simple.” The mulish look was back on his face, but his eyes showed pain.
Grace took in the cement pompadour, liver spots and whale pants, the rigid posture and the rheumy eyes, and was surprised to find she felt anger toward this Audrey. The woman had been gone for nearly sixty years, but Mosley still grieved.
“So who do you think was in the grave?” Grace asked.
“I don’t know, but it had nothing to do with the Delaneys.”
His tone said the discussion was over, so she nodded as if she believed him and got a genuine smile for her lie.
After her morning with McNamara and Mosley, Grace wanted to deal with something concrete and verifiable.
She needed to make arrangements to fund the renovations, and she had yet to decide exactly how she was going to pay for the work. Mosley had given her a check for the deposit she'd paid to Bryce and Henry, but there was much more to be done and it would all come out of her own pocket.
She knew from her partnership with her mother that it was best to avoid properties needing work buyers would never see. Buyers were willing to pay a premium for custom cabinets, but updated electrical panels were expected. Getting Delaney House up to the ‘expected’ category would be a major undertaking.
Bryce had given her prices for basic renovations. Each project he named had to be done and none of it would be visible in the interior of the house. After consulting her notes, she made a pot of coffee, set her laptop up on the kitchen table and worked her way through the proceeds of her mother’s estate.
Julia Reagan had been cautious in her investments, taking few risks and preferring a small, but protected return. Over the course of several hours, Grace liquidated it all, channeling the proceeds into a new account earmarked for Delaney House. As she totaled the transactions, her heart sank. It wasn't enough. Julia’s assets, even with the insurance policy she’d left Grace, would only cover the roof, electrical rewiring and new sewer lines. If she was lucky.
Without letting herself dwell on the enormity of what she was doing, she moved on to her own accounts and an hour later everything but her 401K was in the construction fund. Her carefully researched and solidly performing investments would give Delaney House a modern furnace, its first air conditioning system and a small contingency fund.
She had enough to cover the basics, but the house wouldn’t look any better than it did now. She blinked back tears as she shut the computer down and rested her head in her hands.
Sunday morning brought sunshine and the calls of migratory birds on their way south. The decision Grace had reached in the night wasn’t any easier in the beauty of the new day. The renovation account was still short and didn’t leave her any money to live on. Sleep hadn’t worked any miracles, and she only had one option left. She would have to sell her mother’s row house in Arlington.
Taking a loan on Delaney House was too risky. If it didn’t sell quickly, she’d have to pay the mortgage or sell it at a loss. At least if she paid cash for the renovations, she’d be able to hold on to the property until the right buyer came along.
And who might the right buyer be, she wondered as she stood in the shower and let hot water pound on her still tired body. “A crazy person,” she said out loud. “A rich crazy person.” Except for her heavily mortgaged condo and an anemic retirement fund, everything she owned - everything her mother had owned - would be tied up in a white elephant.
When three cups of coffee and a long walk didn’t change anything, she called her mother’s tenant and told him to make his best offer.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Lee McNamara made good on his promise. Grace was back in Delaney House on Monday morning. As far as she could tell, the police had found nothing of interest in Emma’s secret room. All of the boxes and bags were opened, but none were empty.
“I can’t believe I missed this.” Bryce surveyed the area, giving the flimsy wall a few taps and shaking his head. “It’s so obvious with the stacks of books gone.”
“I can’t believe Winnie didn’t ransack it,” Henry said. “But I guess that would have required him to be sober enough to realize it was here.”
Bryce frowned. “Hey! Come on, now. Winnie’s an okay guy. He’s just got a problem.”
“Yes, he does.”
Grace wasn’t in the mood for family squabbling. Any family. “I want to use the small bedroom next to the sleeping porch for the clothes and other items I’m keeping,” she said. “I’ll keep it locked so no one accidentally leaves it open. I don’t want dust and dirt from the reno getting all over everything.”
Henry and Bryce agreed, and Grace was relieved neither seemed to take offense. She wanted to keep Emma’s stash to herself, although she’d share it with Niki if her cousin ever started talking to her again.
“When we get this wall down, it will be a huge bathroom,” Bryce said as he took measurements. “It must have been a bedroom or an upstairs library at some point.”
“I do like Emma’s reasoning,” Grace said. “Let's put in a large linen closet for storage and a walk-in shower in this area.”
Her excitement grew as she told them the changes she’d been considering. She’d reached a verbal agreement with Julia’s tenant and was trying to keep her thoughts centered on the repairs and improvements she could make to Delaney House. Thinking about the source of the money for her renovation plan was too upsetting.
As they walked through the second floor, she described the two new Jack and Jill style baths she wanted between the smaller bedrooms. The oak floors were battered but salvageable. Rich buttercream paint for the walls with a warm white on the painted woodwork.
Bryce nodded in approval and said, “The great thing about a house built over so many years is you have a lot of latitude in your reno style while still staying true to at least one period of the house’s history. Those back bedrooms and the sleeping porch are part of an addition which connected the kitchen to the house.”
“Makes sense. Avril told me the kitchen and the room above it are from the 1700s.”
“That’s what my research indicates,” Henry said. “I told you, I love this place. I’ve read everything I could find on the house.”
“I need to do that,” Grace said. “Avril gave me quite a lecture about jumping into renovations without knowing the house’s history, and she’s right. Thank goodness I have you for guidance.”
She was rewarded with an ‘aw shucks’ smile from Henry.
“Well, if you really want to be in the period, those rooms should be dark wood and heavy floral wallpaper.”
“No thanks. I need to sell this place. We’re going with a light, uniform palatte throughout. It will appeal to more people and be easy for the new owners to change.”
They ended up in the kitchen, where she described custom cabinets that would mirror those in the butler’s pantry. Her enthusiastic monolog faltered when she saw the looks Bryce and Henry exchanged.
“Alright, what?” she demanded.
“It sounds great. You’ve got a good plan for the finished product, but there’s a lot of work to do before the fun stuff like paint and finishes,” Bryce said.
Grace sighed. “I know, but I have to keep the end in sight or it’s overwhelming.”
“That’s what we’re here for,” Bryce said. “Roof first so everything stays dry. Electrical, plumbing and air systems next. That work will cause some damage to the walls and ceilings, but repairs can be done in the cosmetic phase. As we go, we’ll exterminate major infestations and finally, the glamor stuff - kitchen, bathrooms, floors and paint.”
“If I have any money left, you mean.”
“We’ll see when we get there,” Bryce said. "Roof repair and replacement - mostly replacement, with the repairs to the fascia and some of the rafters, and new insulation. New electrical throughout with zone panels. New plumbing throughout, including replacement of the original terracotta sewer pipes. Extermination.” He consulted his clipboard. “I’d say about one-twenty. Maybe more if the entire roof is replaced. You could save a good bit if you replaced the slate with something cheaper.”
“No,” Grace shook her head.
“Okay. Air systems, another thirty. Those numbers are assuming we don’t hit any structural issues or foundation problems. I haven’t seen any signs, I’m just saying once you open an old place up, stuff happens.”
“It certainly does,” she said glumly. “You’re at one-fifty and I still don’t have a kitchen.”
“Well, we could…”
“A period restoration but with all modern conveniences,” she br
oke in. “May as well see what I can’t have.”
“Seventy-five, basic. No frills.” Bryce paused, then continued. “The new bathrooms on the second and third floors and the rehabs of the two original ones will be around sixty altogether.”
“Including the removal of the doorway off the staircase?”
“I think we can squeeze it in.”
After a moment, she said, “The exterior trim needs work and paint, gutters and downspouts replaced, new landscaping, new driveway, new front walk. The pool and the grave filled in. My God,” she moaned. “I can’t believe I just added ‘grave filling’ to a reno checklist!”
“First for me, too,” Bryce said. “And don’t forget, the chimneys will need to be cleaned and new screens and caps added and my guess is when they get up there, the brickwork will need repair and the linings resurfaced. The mortar on the front steps needs replacing. If the Historic District Commission can be persuaded, you should consider some kind of storm windows.”
“Grace, this is a far cry from basic restoration,” Henry said quietly. “You’re moving awfully fast.”
“He’s right,” Bryce said. “Leave the list with us. We’ll get the roof done and we can discuss the rest after we see how bad that is.”
For a few moments, Grace had returned to her professional persona — the Grace who knew what she was talking about. The Grace who was in charge. She felt a flash of anger at the Cutters, who apparently thought she couldn’t handle her own problems. Shame followed quickly on the heels of her anger. She knew exactly how they’d gotten that idea. They had to be thrilled with such a lucrative project, but she could see neither one of them believed she would commit to the scope of work she’d just described.
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