Provenance

by Carla Laureano

  Finally, when they’d made a full circuit of the house, he stopped in the foyer again. “I have to ask. What are the photos for?”

  “So I can remember the details later. I need to look up the values and determine which ones I’m going to ship back.”

  He blinked at her. “Ship back?”

  “For my clients. She had some beautiful pieces. I can think of at least four projects that they would be perfect for. I’ll need to go back and look more closely later, of course. There’s no point in paying to move things that are just reproductions.”

  Gabe stared at her, something akin to horror on his face. She frowned. “What else did you think I was going to do with it?”

  He shook himself. “I don’t know. I guess I thought . . .”

  “I’m certainly not going to move here.” Kendall laughed. “What would I do in Jasper Lake? And with five houses, to boot?”

  “There’s always the Airbnb option.”

  “Well, sure, if I lived here. But my life is in Pasadena. My clients are all over Southern California. And no offense, but I don’t really see myself living in a town like this.”

  “None taken.” From his tone of voice, she thought it was probably a lie. “So that means you’re going to sell the houses.”

  “I haven’t really gotten that far,” Kendall said, though that was exactly what she was beginning to think. She itched to get someplace with Wi-Fi, pull out her laptop, and find out what homes of this quality and era were selling for in the county. Probably a fraction of what they’d be back home, but then she could see these appealing to the well-heeled ski-slopes set, anxious to claim a bit of their own mountain paradise.

  “There’s something you should know before you decide, given your appreciation for architecture. Do you have someplace to be?”

  “Other than going through the other four houses, which I can do on my own time, no.”

  “Then let’s go back to the office. I want to show you something.”

  Gabe remained quiet on the drive back, while Kendall scrolled through the photos on her phone. Her delight in the home had been genuine; she was truly knowledgeable about both the architecture and the furniture, but he couldn’t help feeling like all she was seeing were dollar signs. Maybe it had been a vain hope that she would somehow feel a sense of connection to the house in which her grandmother had raised her mother. After all, she’d never known her family. But he’d thought maybe she’d feel a spark of . . . something.

  That hope wasn’t strictly confined to the houses. He was hyperaware of Kendall sitting next to him in his truck: the fall of blonde tendrils across her cheek, the faint waft of a heady jasmine perfume, the husky laugh that emerged when she exclaimed over some unexpected detail of the furniture she was reviewing. Her enthusiasm was contagious, and it only served to stoke the attraction that had been building from the moment he saw her on the boardwalk.

  An attraction that seemed to be completely one-sided. In fact, she had not budged from her professional mode the entire time they’d been together. Not to say she was cold—her enthusiasm said otherwise—but it was the kind of enthusiasm that a rare book dealer might express over finding an early manuscript of Shakespeare. Right now, her fingers flew over the screen of her cell phone in a string of text messages. He glanced over and saw the square images that said she was sending photos to someone. A partner? A client?

  “I’m sorry,” she said suddenly. “I’m being completely rude. It’s just that my assist—design partner took on this mid-century renovation back home, and I think the lounge and the cabinet in the library would be absolutely perfect for it. I want to get her the photos immediately so she can work them into the design before it’s too late.”

  “It’s no problem,” he said evenly, though to him it felt as if she were a circling vulture. She couldn’t possibly know that he’d sat in that very chair, listening to music on his headphones while his grandmother visited with Connie. That was back in the days when he was being such a delinquent that he was required to stay by Oma’s side every waking minute. He’d hated it at the time, but in some ways, the Green house held as many memories as his grandparents’ home did.

  Clearly he wasn’t going to get through to her with sentiment. He’d have to appeal to her love of architecture and her professional sensibilities. When they finally pulled up in front of the town hall again, he hopped out and circled to open her door, but she beat him to it.

  “Okay,” she said. “What do you want to show me?”

  He led her back to his office, pausing for a brief introduction to his secretary, Linda, and then pushed into his own space, gesturing for her to take a seat. From the credenza behind the desk, he pulled out a roll of architectural plans and spread them before her.

  “You know that beautiful little tract of homes? If you sell them, this is what the property becomes.”

  Kendall leaned forward to study the plans, her expression morphing from confusion to horror. “They’re going to tear them down? For this?”

  “For this.” A monstrosity of a high-end lodge, all mountain-rustic kitsch and designer bedding. Gone would be the stands of pines and aspens, the sloping fall toward the lake. In its place, a massive fake-log building with hundreds of rooms, two swimming pools, and a dock where people could rent paddleboats and Jet Skis. “The developer wants to turn this into a summer destination, not just for the flatlanders, but to draw in all the people who live in the surrounding ski communities.”

  “And the town is actually considering letting him?” Kendall’s voice came out strangled, and he felt a surge of optimism.

  “Unfortunately, the town isn’t doing all that well. We lost most of our tourism and our residents after a flood isolated us a few years ago. We got hit less severely than some of the surrounding communities, mostly because we have another way out. But in order for us to continue to provide essential services, like road repairs and the fire department, we need to increase our income. Until now, the developer hasn’t been able to move forward because your houses are sitting smack in the middle of his proposed development, but . . .”

  “But if I sell, he’s going to be the one to buy them, and they’ll be razed to the ground.” The horror in Kendall’s voice was palpable. “Can’t I talk to the city council, tell them about how unique the buildings are? Surely they wouldn’t allow—”

  “Money talks. And honestly, considering I got elected on my promise to revitalize the town, I’m not sure there’s much I can do about it if they decide to go this direction. It may not be the vision that I wanted for Jasper Lake, but there’s no doubt it would help the tax base.”

  Kendall sighed heavily and fell back against the chair. “You have no idea what you’re asking me to do.”

  “I think I do.”

  “No, you don’t.” She met his eye, and for the first time since she’d arrived, he caught a glimmer of vulnerability. “My partner and I are struggling to stay in our space. It’s not just our office; it’s our home as well. The landlord keeps raising our rent, but we use the house as a showroom and proof of concept . . . and we can’t afford commercial space anywhere else. If I sold the houses here, I could buy my house from the landlord.”

  Gabe sank into the chair beside her. “I understand. I really do. But, Kendall . . . there are alternatives. You could lease the houses. You could follow through on Connie’s idea to put them up as vacation rentals. I’m working on another plan for the town that wouldn’t require us to raze the buildings or sell out to a developer and turn this into Summer Mountain World or whatever theme park nonsense he has in mind.”

  Kendall gave him a small, pitying smile. “The market value on my house is $1.7 million.”

  And Gabe’s last spark of hope died. Selling the homes individually could probably garner at least that much; selling them to someone who desperately wanted the property so he could rake in buckets of money meant she could name her own price. There was no question she could get $1.7 million for the land. And if he were
in her place, there might be no way he could pass it up either.

  “Before you do anything, you need to file a claim on the estate at the courthouse. And by my calculations, you only have two days left to do it.” He forced a smile. “Let’s get that taken care of first. And then . . . will you at least take a few days to think on it? Let me try to change your mind?”

  She studied him and then gave a sharp nod. “It will take me at least that long to catalog the furnishings. And I know you don’t want to hear this, but if I end up selling and they’re going to tear the houses down anyway, I will probably take out some of the architectural elements to reuse elsewhere. That’s better than them being scrapped, isn’t it?”

  It was a bit like saying that organ donation mitigated the death of a loved one, but he nodded anyway. “If you’ll give me a few days, I’ll stand by any decision you make. Let’s get this paperwork going. I also meant to ask you, do you have a place to stay?”

  “I thought I’d find a motel. Or worse come to worse, I could drive back to Georgetown or Golden for the night.”

  “No, don’t do that. I have something better. And I know someone who has been looking forward to seeing you.”

  Chapter Five

  KENDALL FOLLOWED GABE’S TRUCK in her rented SUV, traversing a few short blocks down Main Street and then turning toward the lake. Even another stunning glimpse of water couldn’t quell the uneasiness in her middle. She’d come to Jasper Lake thinking that this would be a quick and easy process: file a claim against Constance Green’s estate, hire a trucking company to transport anything of value back to California, put the house on the market with a local Realtor. Her hopes had lifted when she’d seen that it was not one but five houses and a sizable plot of land as well. It was the relatively quick influx of cash they needed, the first good thing she’d ever gotten from anyone claiming to be related to her. And yet now that she knew the likely buyer would bulldoze these gorgeous examples of American historic architecture and put up some insulting, kitschy behemoth in their place . . . the process didn’t feel nearly so quick or so easy.

  Well, why shouldn’t it be? She had absolutely no obligation to this town. She’d never set foot in it before today, hadn’t even heard of it before the letter from the lawyer arrived. And while Gabe might have been banking on sentimentality to keep her from disposing of the property as quickly as possible, he couldn’t know that she’d abandoned any curiosity about her past a long time ago. Obviously Constance had known about her existence and never tried to find her. Done nothing to save her from the string of foster homes and group homes she’d gone through before she’d finally landed at something more permanent. Done nothing to save her from the long years of hoping her mom might suddenly come back, followed by the constant pain of having her hopes shattered.

  Kendall shook her head sharply. No. She didn’t owe Connie Green or this town anything. She’d made a new life in California. That was her priority.

  Gabe pulled up to the curb alongside a traditional blue Victorian that had small American and Colorado state flags waving from a flagpole on a front porch. Even this late in the year, the grass was green, and cheerful pots of autumn mums stood on either side of the cement steps. A sign out front proclaimed Brandt Bed-and-Breakfast with a cute interlaced triple-B logo up top.

  She climbed out of her SUV and retrieved her duffel bag, and when she stepped onto the sidewalk, Gabe was waiting for her. He flung his arms wide. “This is it. Best bed-and-breakfast in Clear Creek County.”

  “Is it the only bed-and-breakfast in Clear Creek County?” she threw back with a smile, unable to remain sullen in the face of his enthusiasm. No matter his ulterior motives, his cheerful demeanor was infectious.

  “No. But it is owned by my family, so I might be slightly biased.” He pretended to think. “Nope. Still the best. Come on in.”

  Gabe took her bag from her hand and gestured for her to follow him up the front walkway. He let himself in without knocking, then called, “Opa?”

  An older man appeared in the back hallway, dressed in a pair of pressed trousers and a knit vest over an oxford shirt. He walked slowly toward them, a slight frown on his creased face. “Gabriel? What are you doing here in the middle of the day?” His voice held the faint trace of a German accent.

  “I’ve brought you a guest, Opa.”

  The man faltered for a moment and fumbled for the glasses hooked in his collar. He studied her in surprise, the sharp blue of his eyes startling in his wizened face. “You must be Kendall Green. I would know you anywhere. You’re the spitting image of your mother, Carrie.”

  Kendall glanced at Gabe, discomfited. She’d been envisioning a homey grandmother or aunt, someone who would sit her down with a cup of tea or a cookie, not a stern-looking German who, despite his slight shuffling gait, carried himself with a thread of steel.

  He was still waiting for her response, though, so she nodded. “I am Kendall. You must be Gabe’s grandfather.”

  He didn’t offer his hand, just gave her a nod that struck her as both old-fashioned and chivalrous. “Werner Brandt. Pleased to meet you.” He swept a hand toward the stairs. “Please. Follow me.”

  Kendall hesitated, but Gabe didn’t seem to notice her uncertainty. “Opa, are we putting her in the Lake Room?”

  “Of course we’re putting her in the Lake Room,” Mr. Brandt—she couldn’t think of him otherwise—responded with a touch of reproach. “It’s a waste of a good view otherwise, and it gets the morning sunlight. Plus, she can see you coming and decide if she wants you bothering her.”

  Kendall smothered a smile and just caught the roll of Gabe’s eyes when she cast a look back at him. Despite her initial misgivings, she couldn’t help but like the brusque old man. There was a twinkle in his blue eyes—already so much like Gabe’s—that made her think his sternness was just an act or a habit. She followed him up the well-worn wood stairs, covered with an oriental runner, unable to help trailing her fingers over the original wood paneling, now painted white. This home had all the history and charm that she loved, even if it was more worn-in and less distinctive than Connie’s. Mr. Brandt made a turn down the upstairs hallway and stopped in front of the first door, a bedroom that seemed to face the front of the house. He pushed the door open for Kendall.

  “Oh, wow.” A carved four-poster bed in keeping with the age of the home dominated the room, its mattress spread with a cozy handmade quilt, and upholstered armchairs flanked an antique table in front of the bay window. A quick peek into the en suite bath displayed a traditional scheme of black and white with gleaming white fixtures. Most girls didn’t get chills over original hexagonal floor tiles, but she’d spent her entire career trying to infuse this kind of period charm into new builds. She wandered over to the window, which provided a glorious bird’s-eye view of the lake beyond.

  “I take it this suits you?” Mr. Brandt asked formally, but the twinkle was back.

  “It’s perfect, thank you.” She smiled at the innkeeper. “How much is it a night? Just so I’m prepared . . .”

  “Bah.” Mr. Brandt waved a hand impatiently and turned away. “No Green is going to pay to stay under my roof.”

  The glow Kendall had felt moments before disappeared, and his charity chafed like sand in her swimsuit. “No,” she said firmly. “I insist.”

  Mr. Brandt seemed not to hear or, more likely, chose to ignore her. “Come down when you’re ready. There are scones and coffee in the kitchen.”

  Gabe shot her a helpless smile and shrugged, then brushed past her to drop her duffel on the bed. “I’ll wait for you downstairs.”

  “Thanks,” she murmured, waiting for him to close the door behind him before she sank into one of the chairs with a sigh.

  The surroundings were so beautiful, she could almost let herself believe she was here on a mountain getaway and Gabe was a friendly local determined to show her a good time. He was personable and intelligent—not to mention easy on the eyes. But she could never forget he was al
so Jasper Lake’s mayor, and his sole purpose in bringing her here was to enlist her in his vision of the town’s future. That made this whole trip an exercise in propaganda. As wonderful as the town might turn out to be, she couldn’t forget about her bigger responsibilities and visions back home.

  She glanced at her watch and then dialed Sophie on her cell phone. The line rang twice before Sophie picked up and started talking without saying hello.

  “Is it horrible? Is it amazing? Tell me all about it.”

  Kendall leaned back in the chair and laughed, just hearing her friend’s voice draining the tension from her. “It’s not horrible. It’s actually beautiful. You wouldn’t believe this lake. And the trees have almost completely turned, but there’s still all this red and orange and yellow. I wish you’d come with me.”

  “I wish I had too. What about this house?”

  “Well . . . it’s more like houses.” Kendall explained the situation to Sophie, how she had come to inherit five houses and some property. “The only catch is, the town’s mayor is trying to convince me to keep them, or at least not sell to a developer who wants to level them. He’s building this huge summer resort on the far side of the lake.”

  “That sounds ghastly,” Sophie said, but clearly her mind wasn’t on the conversation. Kendall heard clicking in the background.

  “Are you typing? What are you doing?”

  “I’m just looking something up.” She gasped. “Oh, my word, Kendall, do you have any idea how much those houses could be worth? Even in the middle of nowhere, they’re at least a quarter of a million each. I thought we were talking shacks or something, but . . . $1.25 million? That’s what I call an inheritance.”

  “Yeah, and they’re even better than you can imagine. It’s actually pretty depressing to think of them being torn down. If I end up selling, I’ll want to take the stained-glass windows and some of the woodwork.”

  “What do you mean if you end up selling? You’re seriously going to leave over a million dollars wasting away in the mountains? You don’t even like the cold. You don’t like skiing and you hate snow!”