Squatter's Rights

by Cheril Thomas

  “So here’s the deal,” she continued. “The part where you need to pay attention. If you or your son — either one or both of you — vandalize the house again, I’ll have you arrested. Breaking and entering, criminal trespass and let’s not forget arson. You’ll be in jail for a while on that last one alone.” She rose and stared down at her uncle. “Leave me alone and I’ll leave you alone. Mess with me again and you’ll find out how much damage I can do.”

  She made a grand exit from Mosley’s office; one she thought of with satisfaction in the weeks to come when it seemed nothing would ever go right again.

  Grace wasn’t surprised to hear from Mosley the next day.

  “I looked at the photos you emailed me last night,” he said. “I suppose you could enlarge them, but I doubt they’d hold up in court if Stark sues you.”

  Grace had him on speaker as she drove. She was midway across the Chesapeake Bay Bridge, returning to Mallard Bay from the settlement on Julia’s Arlington house. The construction account for Delaney House had just gotten a healthy infusion of cash. She glanced down at the glints of sunlight on the water far below her. Since handing her mother’s keys to the new owner, she’d been indulging in a mix of relief and grief, an addictive cocktail she knew she needed to give up.

  “Grace? Are you still there?”

  “Just a sec.” She concentrated on slowing to make room for a large SUV intent on changing lanes in front of her. She was sure she’d eventually get used to driving over the two-lane span of the eastbound Bay Bridge, but today was not the day to test her multi-tasking skills.

  The SUV darted back into the left-hand lane and sped around a school bus as they reached land on Kent Island. A state trooper peeled off the median and carved the reckless driver out of the pack of traffic. Grace yelled, “YES!”

  Mosley gave a yelp, and she remembered the hearing aids.

  “No, my dear,” he said as if she hadn’t just plunged ice picks in his ears. “I don’t think your pictures prove anything, but I also don’t think he’ll sue. He’s short on cash and no reputable firm is going to take his case on a contingency basis.”

  “So where do we stand?” she asked.

  “Stark huffed and puffed a while after you left. They were truly shocked at the idea of Winnie starting the fire. Oddly, hearing that he woke you seemed to settle them down.”

  Grace considered that. “So baby boy is only an arsonist, not really a bad guy?” she asked.

  Mosley sighed. “I’m having a hard time believing any of it, to tell you the truth. Arson requires some thought, and usually a purpose. Winnie’s no pyromaniac. He doesn’t do fire for thrills, we’d have seen evidence of it by now. And he’s close to the laziest human I’ve ever known. Planning just isn’t in character.”

  “The spray paint?”

  “Pure Winnie,” Mosley agreed. “If someone left a can of paint within reach.”

  “Then who started the fire?”

  “I took the liberty of calling Bryce Cutter and he feels strongly that the workmen, Winnie, actually, left a bucket of turpentine-soaked rags on the back porch. The foreman overlooked it. He’ll be dealing with the crew this morning, but I’m afraid it will be your insurance that will cover the costs of repairs — pending the police report, of course. Bryce assures me he’ll do the work at cost.”

  Grace opened her mouth, then closed it. She wanted to tell Mosley it wasn’t his place to call her contractor, but it occurred to her she hadn’t heard from Bryce since the morning after the fire. Was he avoiding her? If so, Mosley’s call had probably made things worse.

  “Look, Cyrus, there was no bucket of rags on the back porch when I locked up. I know it’s hard to prove, but I’m telling you, I would have noticed a hazard like that. And if it was an accident, then who woke me up? Someone set the fire. If not Winnie, my money’s on Stark.”

  “I’ve known the boy his whole life.” Mosley’s voice sounded his age. “Stark couldn’t do that, Grace. He probably would if he could, but it’s his family home. He just couldn’t, I promise you.”

  Grace kept the obvious response to herself. ‘The boy’ was in his sixties and as mean as they came. He not only could, Grace knew he would burn down Delaney House if it meant she wouldn’t have it.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Grace tried hard to ignore Christmas, but she hadn’t counted on Avril’s tenacity. When Grace went to collect her things, she found the old woman trying to drag a silver aluminum tree down her attic stairs. By the time they’d put the relic together with the help of duct tape and a bottle of Merlot, she felt like she’d fallen into the Twilight Zone. Blue twinkling lights transformed the tree into something that looked like it would blast off at any moment.

  “It’s been years since I had it up, but I decided you could use a little Christmas cheer,” Avril said without a trace of guile.

  “How kind of you,” Grace replied in her best Eliza Doolittle.

  Avril nodded as if a broad Cockney accent was exactly what she expected. “I picked up a cheddar and Brie mac and cheese at Three Pigs when I was getting the turkey,” Avril said. “It’s supposed to snow tonight and you’ll need a hearty meal if you’re going back to your apartment. It’ll be cold up there under the rafters.”

  Avril won. It was the day after Christmas before Grace went back to Delaney House. Work on the house stopped over the weekend and Avril was right, it was not only cold on the third floor, it was lonely in a way only Christmas can be.

  Last year, Grace had tried to make a perfect day for her mother, who would have much preferred to sleep through the holiday. This year, she cooked Christmas dinner while Avril, wearing an apron that said Bah, Humbug, gave instructions in a running commentary which, included her opinions on everything from frozen turkeys to politicians, a combination Grace found apt as well as entertaining.

  She and Avril toasted each other over the turkey and oyster stuffing. You’re really missing something, Mom, she thought. Not that Julia would be at this table if she was still alive. Grace shoved the thought aside. She was moving on.

  Being back in Delaney House after the fire and the intruder unnerved her, but she couldn’t avoid it forever. Especially if it meant staying on with Avril or moving to a hotel.

  Although Niki called daily for a short chat, there had been no mention of Grace returning to the Victory Manor Inn. There had also been no mention of the showdown in Cyrus’ office. When Grace tried to bring it up, Niki abruptly changed the subject. Ignoring the gorilla in the corner was helpful for maintaining Christmas cheer, but Grace knew she’d have to deal with Stark and Connie sooner or later.

  Niki invited her to a Christmas Eve lunch at Morsels. They exchanged gifts, laughing when each presented the other with a scarf, and talked about the renovation. Their careful conversation avoided any topic that might lead to conflict. By Monday morning, when Grace was once again in the third-floor apartment, her introvert nature was begging for a break from entertaining Avril and dancing around her family’s minefields.

  The renovation was more than halfway complete. In another six or eight weeks she could list the house with a Realtor. She hoped by then she’d have an idea of where the rest of her life was headed. Whatever she did, she’d need a job. It might take months for Delaney House to sell.

  The day after Christmas was a holiday for the Cutter work crew. While hunting and football seemed to occupy the rest of Mallard Bay, Grace took advantage of the opportunity to search the empty house in daylight. She’d all but given up the idea that her mother had left behind any clues to her father, but she’d take one more look. And there was always the possibility Stark and Winnie were right about Emma squirreling jewelry away. She was in the third-floor storage room checking the pockets of one of Emma’s mink coats when she heard vehicles pull into the driveway.

  From the window, she could see Bryce and Joey Pecolini get out of a pickup. Her annoyance over Bryce rehiring one of Winston’s posse faded when they started to unload wood from the t
ruck. At least they were working today. After a moment, she went back to checking pockets and tried to decide how to handle Bryce.

  Despite the rush of activity after the fire, he’d been absent for more than a week. The text message he’d sent on Christmas Day sounded like something for a maiden aunt he’d forgotten to call. She’d ignored Hop ur xmas is gud, but it hadn’t been replaced with anything better. She reminded herself that she was the one who’d asked to keep the brakes on their relationship; maybe Bryce was just paying attention. She toyed with this novel idea until she heard the truck start and roll out of the drive. A moment later, Bryce called out her name. If she’d stopped to think about it, she’d been embarrassed at how fast she made her way to the third-floor landing and the staircase.

  “You look like a movie star floating down those stairs,” he said as he watched her descend.

  “I was beginning to think you’d moved onto another project,” she said as she reached the main hall.

  “I told you I had to do a family thing down in Virginia, right? No? Oh, Grace, I’m sorry.”

  Against her better judgment, she let him hug her. And nuzzle a brief kiss on her neck. “Really sorry,” he whispered. “But, I have a present for you. It’s in the kitchen.”

  He pulled her along with him down the long hallway to the back of the house and the kitchen door. Flinging it open, he said, “Ta da! They don’t look like much now, but these will be beautiful when they’re refinished.”

  Grace walked slowly into the kitchen. The large square room with its brick floor and tall windows no longer served as a garbage dump. Henry’s cleaning crew had erased the grime, and Bryce’s gift was the promise of the transformation to come.

  “A guy I know is demolishing an old house out in Sussex County. I took a chance you’d want these. If you don’t -”

  “They’re perfect,” Grace said, pulling her hand out of his so she could inspect the tall oak cabinets that were lined up against the walls.

  “They’re in rough shape, but my carpenters can refinish them. My friend’s not one for cabinetry restoration, so he calls me before he demos.”

  For the next hour, they planned the layout of the new kitchen. The placement of the cabinets, a farmhouse sink and a custom island to run through the middle of the room. Bryce sat on the service staircase and sketched layouts to capture Grace’s decisions. When she tired of pacing off furniture placements, she joined him and watched the outline of her designs take shape.

  At one point she realized it was Bryce she was studying, not his sketches. Worrying a piece of licorice, his face stern in concentration, she saw a different man. Not the charmer or the salesman, but the man at work.

  “There!” He held the pad of paper up for her inspection. Now it was a boyish Bryce who held his sketch up for her approval.

  Grace was thrilled and told him so.

  “I took more out of the Sussex house if you’re interested.” He pulled out his phone and flicked through screens until he found what he wanted. Putting an arm around her turned the picture in her direction.

  “Fantastic,” Grace said, delighted with the Welsh-style cupboard. “I’ll take it, it’s perfect!”

  “There’s more.” Bryce leaned closer, saying the angle was bad, but couldn’t she see the potential in the corner chest with a missing door?

  What Grace saw was Bryce. His licorice breath was warm on her ear as he described the potential of the dilapidated pieces.

  “Right,” she said, hating the way her voice caught.

  She started to rise, but he put a hand on her shoulder to stop her. “Wait there’s more.”

  He scrolled through pictures so quickly, all Grace saw was a blur of flashing images. And his long, lean body stretched out next to her. She tried to concentrate on his work boots.

  “Grace,” he said, his words tickling the air near her ear. He was holding the phone so she could see an ornate newel post and banister. “I saved this from one of his sites.”

  “Beautiful,” she managed.

  “Yes.”

  Neither of them was looking at the phone that Bryce slipped back into his pocket.

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  She knew it was a mistake the minute it was over. Well, maybe not the first minute - but it didn’t take long.

  Grace didn’t have time to nurture a romance, and she doubted a relationship with Bryce would last. He was too gregarious for her, and they had little in common other than a love for restoring old properties and her weakness for dimples. Why hadn’t she seen that back in the days when she’d wanted to heat up their relationship? Part of her wanted to go back to the time of sweet anticipation and surface attraction, but most of her had moved on. The truth was, she rarely thought of him when he wasn’t around and when he was, her reaction was purely visceral. Not the basis for a love story.

  While she was appalled at her callous treatment of a nice guy, she wasn’t going to take the time to search for emotional substance in Bryce. It was possible she might rediscover the magic that had resulted in a stair tread-shaped bruise on her back, but probably not. Magic required two people - the magician and the person willing to believe. She was neither. To her, Bryce was like the licorice candy he loved - a strong flavor without much else. She’d had enough of that with David.

  She didn’t answer his calls over the next two days but kept their communications to texts. She ignored his innuendo and emoji-laced messages, responding with a lead on a chandelier and updates on the start of the kitchen reno. His replies all ended in ‘Miss you!’ and were punctuated with pop-eyed happy faces. Hers ended in ‘talk soon’.

  She told herself she wasn’t trying to avoid him; she simply couldn’t think of what to say. She was an emotionally cautious woman, slow to build relationships and to trust. In the past two months, she had opened up to more people than she was comfortable allowing into her life. Grace planned her spontaneity, and her fun never included trysts on a staircase. The reason for her about-face was short and simple. She’d wanted to do it, so she’d done it and she’d liked it.

  Now she had to get out of the mess she’d made.

  Eventually she had to see him, but she made sure Henry was there to provide a buffer. If either man found it odd that Henry was brought in for the final kitchen design meeting, nothing was said, but his presence didn’t stop Bryce from beaming at Grace every time he caught her eye. Still, he kept his hands to himself and the conversation to work matters. She’d started to relax when he asked her to go to the basement with him.

  Henry had begun checking his watch and making leaving noises, when Bryce said, “We can take it from here, right, Grace? Henry’s got places to go and dogs to see.”

  Henry looked at Grace and back at Bryce. “I do have something planned, but it’s not a rescue. I’ll cancel and we’ll finish.”

  “No need,” Bryce’s words were to Henry, but his eyes were on Grace. “Never keep a good dog waiting, isn’t that your motto?”

  “Actually, no.”

  Henry was clearly uncomfortable now, but Bryce made shooing motions at his cousin and said, “I won’t be here much longer. I just need to take Grace downstairs and get a decision on the placement of the new mechanical room.”

  “Oh, no need,” Grace said, happy to be able to end the matter. “I was down there yesterday. The room Marty’s recommending will be fine. The second one on the left.” Having Marty back as foreman and Winston out of her house were the only good things to come from the fire.

  “You were in the basement with Marty?” Bryce sounded surprised. “I asked you to stay out of there.”

  Grace hesitated. She wanted to say it was her house and she’d go where she wanted, but she also wanted the conversation to end on a good note. She said, “Marty told me you were still concerned about the last room at the front of the house and we didn’t go in there. Are there still problems with the chemicals that were sprayed in there?”

  “Not sprayed, Grace,” he took on an irritable tone she had
n’t heard before. “Exploded. I’m not sure how they did it, but some of the guys were fooling around and mixed together a bunch of old lawn chemicals and other stuff. I sealed that room off until everything else is cleared out and then I’ll hire certified hazardous materials cleaners to come in and deal with it. So until then, you need to stay out.” His face was flushed and his eyes narrowed, but as agitated as he was, Bryce apparently realized he crossed the line. He added, ‘please’ through clenched teeth.

  Grace looked at Henry, whose confused expression was no help. He didn’t seem to know what was going on, either.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, not sorry at all. “I’ll stay out of there.” She’d go down to the forbidden front room as soon as he was gone.

  Henry insisted on canceling his meeting and taking them to the tavern at the Egret Inn for an early working dinner. Bryce jumped on the idea so fast, Grace could see he was as anxious to change the tension between them as she was. She was pretty sure they had different reasons, though. She needed a general contractor to finish the renovation. She didn’t know why Bryce was back to his eager, flirty self before they’d finished their salads, but if he thought they were returning to their old relationship, he was very wrong.

  The big room at the far end of the basement smelled bad, but was empty except for the old table and bare shelves. As Grace replaced the strips of tape resealing the door, she felt stupid and not a little concerned about her lungs. Whatever she’d inhaled in her five-second scan of the dank room couldn’t have been good for her. Overbearing or not, she should have taken Bryce’s instructions at face value and stayed out.

  The next morning, Bryce told her he’d called the cleaners. “I didn’t realize they’d be booked this far ahead,” he said. “It will be a month before they can get here. Does that work for you?”

  She knew he meant ‘Can you stay out of there that long’. He didn’t mention the re-taped door, but she hadn’t made an effort to hide what she’d done.