by Anna Cove
Even if I didn't officially own the house, it was in my care as the personal representative. I was in charge of its upkeep until the inheritance passed. Technically, she couldn't lock me out.
But technically didn't matter much when factually she had. As time passed and all these legal options ran through my head, I decided I couldn't do that to her. Legal action wouldn't increase her trust of me, it would only cause her to dig in deeper.
The fruit in the basket rotted, and I removed it from the steps. A few days later, I replaced it with candy, knocking on the door and calling through the mail slot.
I hoped and prayed she would give me a sign. She was Lois's blood, after all. I couldn't quite rationalize bringing down the law on her, especially given Lois's kindness at the end. We could work this out ourselves.
But nothing I tried worked.
Three weeks passed like this. I went by at all times of night and day, and every time, the house was closed completely. The only thing that kept me calling 911 was seeing a glimpse of Lena through a window three weeks in.
As the leaves fell from the old maple tree and littered the lawn, Lena remained inside and quiet. The days grew colder, and with them, my hope.
One day, after being rebuffed again, I retreated to our shop, Antique Street. Aunt Helen had started the shop decades ago, but she had recently signed ownership over to me. I still wasn't used to it. It still felt like hers. The shop was in a tall building crammed between a McDonald's and an insurance agency. It wasn't a bad location, but the building was small, and it offered little potential for growth.
The bell over the boring commercial steel door announced my entrance. I wound my way through the shop to Aunt Helen, sitting at the cash register with a crossword puzzle. Ronald, hearing my entrance, galloped toward me. Blinder than a bat without sonar, he nearly careened into the leg of a chair when I intercepted him and picked him up. His rough tongue soaked my cheek.
Usually, this welcome would bring me out of any funk, but even this lavishing of love wasn't enough.
Aunt Helen bit the end of her pen and peered over her spectacles at me. "You're looking glum."
I kissed Ronald and eased him down to the floor. Then I pulled up a stool from behind me to sit on the other side of the counter. "This thing with Lois Luck's granddaughter is wearing on me."
"She hasn't come around?"
"She hasn't even opened her door. She changed the locks. It's been three weeks."
Aunt Helen sighed and removed her glasses, tossing them and her pen on the puzzle book. "What are you going to do?"
"I don't know. I'm not seeing what I can do beyond getting the police involved. I'm half-expecting a court document to arrive any day now."
Aunt Helen shrugged. "Maybe she's grieving."
"Lois died over a year ago—Lena never even bothered replying to anything I sent to her before this. She didn't even show at the funeral. I don't understand why she's suddenly decided she wants to be involved."
"You never know. She could have had something going on in her life. Some loss. Maybe she was distracted."
Leave it to Aunt Helen to bring it all back to compassion. I wasn't ready for that yet. After so many weeks of obstruction, I was firmly planted in the anger phase. It didn't make sense. If she was distracted, why wouldn't she just admit it to me?
Plus, right now, she stood between me and my dream. That house—my house—was the future of this shop. It had character—which this building lacked—and practically breathed with life. It would need some work, but I had already allowed myself to dream and once I started dreaming I had trouble shutting it down.
Aunt Helen slid off her chair and ambled around the counter. "What's your rush?"
I swiveled to face her. "I was hoping to have it all cleaned out by now—or nearly. I want it done by Christmas."
"This wouldn't have anything to do with your parents visiting around then, would it?"
"Of course not. I wanted it for me—for you and me—to start the new year off on the right foot."
"I've been fine for years with the shop right here."
I frowned. "You're okay with moving it, though, right?"
"Of course. You're the owner now and whatever you decide works for me. As long as you keep letting me work in the shop."
"It's just—it would be nice to have something to show them." Yes. It would be nice to show my parents I had made something of myself since the last time I'd seen them. That I had used something given to me—the shop—and made it truly special. Something my mother couldn't criticize as easily. It was a tall order and growing taller with each passing day.
Aunt Helen made her way to a wingback chair and picked up a candy wrapper someone had left, slipping it into her pocket. "Sometimes people hide behind their cynicism."
"Who? Mom?"
"No. Lois's granddaughter. Lena. She was always a little dour if you ask me."
"You know her?"
Aunt Helen shrugged. "She spent a year living with her grandmother. From what I gathered they didn't really get along. I don't think she had an easy childhood."
"Yeah, well, neither did I, but you don't see me barricading myself in someone else's house."
Aunt Helen sighed and made her way back toward me. "That's because you have me." Aunt Helen tweaked my cheek. "Be patient with her. Be kind to her. I'm sure she'll come around."
"I'm just not sure I have the time for it—with the shop and Christmas coming fast."
"For what it's worth, if you find a way to get that house and it requires your time, don't worry about the shop. I'll take care of it."
I smiled. "You know, I am lucky to have you."
Aunt Helen's face crinkled with delight.
Ronald lifted his head and panted as if to agree.
Maybe I hadn't exhausted all my options.
CHAPTER SEVEN
ALICE
One day, I walked Ronald over to Lena's house. Well, my house, really. We walked past to find no sign of life. When Ronald tired, I scooped him into my arms, and retraced our steps. I expected to find nothing again, but this time, there was a paneled boat of a station wagon in the driveway of the house.
This was a new development, one I hadn't expected. During my siege, I imagined Lena cut off from the outside world, but it seemed as if she'd called someone in. Since it was my house, I walked up to the door and maneuvered Ronald so I could try the handle.
Locked.
I bent to peer into the window, but like before, it was covered with dust and grime and too hazy to see more than just shadows on the inside.
I traced the side of the house to the back, thinking there would be less dirt opposite the road, and struck gold. Literally. In the dining room stood a man I recognized. Harry Gold. That was his real name. His business card was made with gold leaf. He'd told me once it inspired confidence.
Sadly, Harry didn't inspire confidence in many people. Including Lena. She stood there looking skeptical, her eyebrow raised. From our interactions, it was clear she was smart. Perhaps a little too smart for her own good, in fact. Whenever I spoke with her, I felt like I was in a snow globe and she was the figure who shook the globe every time the dust settled. It was entertaining to watch her intelligence turned on someone else, for once.
As she frowned and took a mantel clock from Harry, pointing, I imagined what she was saying. "Even I can tell the date on that is 1837. How could you be so incredibly stupid?"
Her voice, her nearly monotone voice, echoed in my head as if it was something I listened to in my dreams. I shook my head to get it out. She was the enemy, I had to remember. Even if I was kind to her, she wouldn't always be kind to me. I pushed up on my tiptoes to see more of her interaction with Mr. Gold when Ronald let out a stinking cloud of death in my face. My eyes watered, and I stumbled backward, jerking my face away from the offending end of the dog.
"Ronald, that's not polite." I set him down and attached his leash, though it wasn't necessary as he spun in three circles and s
ettled on the grass.
By the time I returned to my spot at the window, Mr. Gold was gone. I loosely secured the leash to a pipe coming out of the house and ran around the corner. Flattening myself to the dirty siding, I peered around the corner. Gold's car was rushing away faster than I thought the old piece of junk could. I smiled to myself. She had seen right through him and kicked him out.
I returned to Ronald and bent to untie him. "Let's go home, buddy."
As I straightened, movement inside caught my eye. It wasn't Lena, but someone much bigger than her. Someone who wore a tailored suit and held himself with poise. Someone I hated more than I hated anyone in the world. That list was admittedly short, but he was at the top of it.
It was Eric Catalonatti. He, too, was an appraiser and seller. Years ago, however, I'd learned he wasn't exactly on the up-and-up.
I considered storming into the house, knocking frantically to at least interrupt this meeting, but then I decided to give Lena the benefit of the doubt. If she could see through Harry Gold, perhaps she could see through Eric, as well.
The problem with that logic soon became clear, though. Harry was an obvious fraud who tried far too hard to impress. Eric was smooth and suave, the kind of person someone like Lena would appreciate. I watched her body language carefully for signs of which way she would go. Her arms remained crossed, but she leaned toward him a little as he explained things to her. I followed from window to window as they moved through the house, touching my things—no, they were her things. What struck me as they moved was my certainty that I was the one who should be appraising the items in this house. I'd spent over a year with them, researching them, valuing them for insurance purposes. This was my baby.
No matter what Lena wanted, Lois had tied us together. We had both benefited from her, and it felt wrong to leave Lena in the dark on this matter. I could see she was at ease with Eric, but even asking him to the house was dangerous. I decided to tell her.
I settled Ronald in a corner of the front porch, securing his leash around one of the banisters. Its wood was so soft it couldn't hold Ronald if he really wanted to get away, but he had already tuckered out for the day so I was reasonably certain he would be fine. I walked to the door and straightened my shoulders. Right as I was about to knock, the door opened.
Instinctively, I stepped back. Eric was twisted around, though, speaking to Lena, and neither of them noticed me. I took the opportunity provided and flattened myself to the side of the house for a quick listen.
"Thanks, Eric. I'll give you a call."
"You're the best, Lena."
They'd moved to a first name basis already? This was not a good sign. As the door closed, I lunged into the opening. The last thing I saw was Eric's surprised face as I closed the door behind me and locked it tight.
The click of the lock made Lena flinch, a rare show of weakness. She tried to cover it up with a snarl as if it had never happened. "What are you doing here?"
"Did you make a deal with Eric?"
"That's absolutely none of your business."
"Tell me. Did you?"
Lena relaxed, leaning against the hallway boudoir, smirking. "Wouldn't you like to know?"
"That guy"—I pointed to the door—"is a snake. Do not make a deal with him."
"How do I know you're not saying that because you're jealous?"
So she needed proof. I could give her proof, well, at least, specifics. "We worked together on a job like this once. Actually, he called me in and asked me to consult on a few pieces in an area in which I specialized. I gave him my quotes and he paid me, and I thought everything was done."
Lena looked away, but she hadn't walked away yet, or forced me out.
I continued. "The problem became clear when a buyer of one of those items came to me to sell the item again. It sometimes happens in our industry that we see the same things over and over. Anyway, he tells me he bought the item for about the right the price."
Lena gave a little shrug. "So?"
I sighed. "When you appraise an antique, you have to look at its provenance. You have to see who it was passed to and how they cared for it. It matters sometimes. I had already done the provenance on the piece, but I traced it back anyway, and that's where I found a discrepancy. The estate only got half the money for the item. The rest had disappeared."
Lena's dark eyes bored into mine. Around her mouth I could see faint lines, like she had once laughed and been happy. As if that was possible for someone like her. The lines on her forehead deepened in a frown. "What happened? Did he get in trouble?"
"He claimed it was a mistake, but I never believed him. I think he takes advantage of people on the regular. I wouldn't put it past him if he slipped something into his pocket on the way out."
"He charges three hundred dollars an hour," Lena said. "How long do you think this would all take?"
"Months for someone new. Here's the thing," I said, the idea that had been percolating in my mind taking form in my mouth. "I've cataloged and researched almost every piece in this house for insurance purposes. If you need money soon and you want to be done with me forever—which is clear from your former actions—I suggest you let me do the appraising and I can help you sell these items."
Lena raised her eyebrows. "What would you charge for that?"
"I'll do it for free. Or... to continue paying for the house, if you prefer to think of it that way."
Lena stared into my face, giving nothing away, stern.
"And you can even live here while we do it, if you want. Or, you know, go back home if that's what you want. Whatever makes you more comfortable."
Lena still stared, still didn't move.
So much silence. My mouth yearned to fill it. "You could also try to find someone else, but I'm the best person for this job. Just... if you care about your inheritance at all, please, please, don't work with that douche bag."
Lena chuckled at this, shoving her hands into her pockets. I felt myself relax as well. "You surprise me, you know? One day you act like Mother Teresa crossed with Julia Child and the next you have a mouth of a trucker."
"Some people make me angry."
"Like me."
My mouth pulled up of its own accord into a grin. "Like Eric."
Lena nodded slowly. She pointed to a table off to her left. "Tell me—what's that?"
I knew exactly what she was talking about. "It has claw feet kind of like a Chippendale, right? But most of those are carved entirely of wood. See how this one is made of copper and how the styling's a little different than that one?"
Lena gave me no reaction.
"It's a Duncan Phyfe table."
Lena nodded once. "Be here tomorrow, eight AM."
I saluted her and danced out the door.
CHAPTER EIGHT
LENA
If the dancing didn't make me regret my decision, Alice's 8:15 AM arrival at my door did. But a beggar couldn't be a chooser. My delay tactics had only hurt myself as the bills poured in and the app still wasn't ready. There was still no money to be had. I'd been feeling the pressure—which is why I brought in the appraisers—but their timetables were all longer than I was able to wait. Into the new year. Plus, the three men I brought in for appraisals were not up to the job.
Logically, if I removed all my reasons to dislike the woman, Alice was the best choice. She knew the house, and she knew the antiques. I would keep a close eye on her movements, of course, I wasn't stupid. I had already learned much about antiques and would ask her to explain everything she was doing. With her, at least I knew what I was getting. A manipulative gold-digger.
The worst part was not knowing when someone was going to betray you. Like with Tara. She looked all innocent and she smiled and kissed me just like before, when all along she'd had a secret. Knowing was half the battle, and I knew exactly what Alice was capable of.
She showed up with a huge picnic basket and a wide widely flared skirted dress, impractical for even walking in the house never mind doi
ng actual work. She smiled broadly and waved through the window. When I opened the door, a refreshing breeze brought the scent of the earth into the house, and I felt something lift inside of me. Probably because I hadn't been outside all that much in weeks. Definitely not because of Alice.
She floated in on the breeze like Julie Andrews playing Mary Poppins. "I brought us some good stuff to start the day. Fresh oranges, some coffee—or tea if you don't like coffee. I brought muffins. I hope you don't mind that they're a day old. But just in case you do—or if you don't like muffins... because I know you turned them down before—I got some fresh eggs from down the street and I can whip you up an omelet or scrambled eggs, or whatever you like."
I closed my eyes as if that would help block out the sound of the rambling speech. Hot tip: it didn't. "Why don't we just get started?"
Alice's shoulders deflated. "I was hoping we could get to know each other better before we started working. I really think we could be friends."
Friends, huh? I imagined me and Mary Poppins bobbing along down the street, arm and arm. Yeah, ridiculous. She talked too much, and I preferred the silence. She wore frilly dresses. We had nothing in common. Well, nothing except rugby, but how did I know she wasn't lying to find something in common with me? Plus, if we were friends it would be easier to manipulate me.
"Listen. This is a business arrangement. We are never going to be friends," I said.
Alice pressed her lips together but said nothing.
Good, so she could be quiet.
The day still felt fuzzy around the edges. I headed to the kitchen. "Do you want some coffee while you work?"
"No, not if you want to get started. Don't want to have any food or drinks around the antiques."
I turned in jerking movements, like a robot stuck, uncertain of its next direction. She didn't move either. I had no idea what she wanted or what to say to her. It seemed like she was hesitating before asking me something.