by L. M. Pruitt
“Well, yeah.” I glanced around the kitchen, not quite able to hold back a grimace. “I mean, I know Loretta did her best but I’m sorry, if I’m moving back to this place I’m not living in a single wide trailer with no air conditioner a good thirty minutes from town.”
“So we’re staying here? In Cotton Creek?”
“I would swear I said that earlier and I know I said it just now.” I took another sip of tea, sighing at the cool, refreshing taste. I hadn’t missed a lot of things about Cotton Creek—probably less than a dozen, truth be told—but I’d missed Betsey Underwood’s sweet tea. “I know what Loretta wanted. Providing there isn’t an issue with the judge or whoever, I’ll do what she wants.”
I knew I didn’t have to worry about any of the fathers—Loretta had gone to court and had their parental rights terminated once they skipped town. I’d had a lawyer look over all the papers for guardianship when Loretta had sent them to me and he’d promised me everything was on the up and up. There was still a chance the judge would decide to send the kids to foster care but it was a slim chance. People didn’t like to break up families in Cotton Creek.
“But you said we’re moving.”
“Hmm?” I stared at Tammy for a moment, trying to remember what we were talking about before I let my mind wander. “Right. We are moving. I’m looking at the subdivision on the north side of town. If not there, then maybe somewhere near the school.”
I had an appointment with a realtor—or rather the single realtor in town—in the morning. I’d had Allison take care of all the paperwork to get approval for a home loan and I could use about half of the money left in my savings for a down payment. I’d been tucking money away with the idea of purchasing a loft in Savannah for when I got tired of traveling so I wasn’t entirely opposed to the idea of home ownership.
Just the town in question.
“The houses in the subdivision have really small yards.” Tammy dragged her teeth over her lower lip, worrying away at the lipstick I’d let her borrow for the funeral. I’d heard a few whispers about makeup on someone so young but a few hard glares had the talkers shutting their mouths. I wouldn’t cause a scene at Loretta’s funeral but I’d be damned if I let anybody talk trash about her or her kids, either, regardless of the time and place. “Mama always said we’d have a yard one day.”
“So we’ll look at the neighborhoods close to the school.” The houses there were older but they were also bigger, with good sized yards and plenty of privacy. “Hopefully we can find something with five bedrooms but I’ll settle for four.”
“Five?” Tammy’s eyes went wide. “Why so many?”
“One for each of you and then an office for me.” When she continued to goggle at me, I said, “You guys do want your own rooms, right?”
“I guess.” Some more chewing of her lower lip before she blurted out, “I’ve always had to share with someone.”
“Yeah, me, too, until I left Cotton Creek.” I drained the last of the tea and sighed. “So I’ll go look at houses tomorrow. I might be able to convince the seller to let us move in while we’re still in escrow, depending on who the seller is.”
And on what kind of information I had on them. One of the few upsides to being poor was people didn’t pay too much attention to what they said around you. When I was a teenager, I’d known more about the so-called upright citizens of Cotton Creek than either of the two ministers and Loretta had felt the need to keep me up to date on the juicier tidbits. I wasn’t above using dirty secrets to get what I wanted.
“Okay.” Tammy stood, pausing for a moment before leaning over and kissing the top of my head. “Thanks for staying.”
“We’re family, honey.” I pinched the bridge of my nose and sighed. “You do what you have to for family.”
CHAPTER FOUR
“Why, Jeannie Jackson!”
I had about five seconds to brace myself before Darlene Tibbets, her impossibly black hair piled high on her head and shellacked until it resembled nothing so much as a bowling ball, threw her arms around me and pulled me against her in a smothering hug. She had two inches and two cup sizes on me so when she put her back in to an embrace it truly was like being smothered. A second before I would have had to shove her away or risk suffocation, she pushed me back to arms’ length and raked her gaze over me with the same sort of scrutiny I reserved for tacos.
“Honey, I know you just buried your sister and I’m sure those kids of hers are running you ragged but damn—you could have taken a few minutes to put on some makeup.” She pursed her lips, her brows drawing down and together over her nose until she was all but squinting at me through her spidery lashes. “You and I are about the same shade. Let me get my bag and we can get you fixed up and presentable.”
“Thanks, Darlene, but I couldn’t put you out that way, especially when you’re working so hard to help me out with the housing situation.” You couldn’t really call it helping when she was going to get a nice fat commission but it was nicer than saying the only way we’d be the same shade was if I was trying to turn myself in to one of those things from Charlie and the Chocolate Factory. Darlene was one of the nicest people I knew but she tanned like it was her ticket in to heaven. I wasn’t exactly Snow White but I might have passed for her cousin. Easing to the side and tucking my arm in hers, I said, “Speaking of houses, I surely hope you have a few to show me because the kids and I are more than ready to get out of that trailer.”
“Oh, I can believe it—I bet y’all are all but sleeping on top of each other.” She steered me toward her office, which was really just a back corner of the room in general. There wasn’t much call for realtors in Cotton Creek so the sign out front proclaiming the little storefront as the home of Tibbets and Associates was actually just referring to Darlene. Settling me in one of the two visitors’ chairs, she bustled around her desk to plop in her own seat with a heavy sigh. “Now, I know you said you were looking at something close to the school.”
“I drove around a bit before I came in and noticed about three or four which looked as if they might do.” I crossed my legs and smiled. “I take it there are a bunch of folks moving out to the new subdivision?”
“You know how it is—people get a wild hair about needing the latest gadget or gizmo and go chasing after it without stopping to think if it’s worth the hassle.” Darlene leaned forward and lowered her voice, even though we were the only two people in the building. “Those houses they built? So-called ‘smart’ houses. Got built in ports or whatever you call them to charge your electronics and you can control the thermostat with your phone and everything.”
“You don’t say.” I tucked my tongue in my cheek in an effort to hide my amusement at her obvious disapproval. “Kids these days, hmm?”
“Oh, shush, you.” She let out a giggle which could have peeled the paint off a car and swatted my hand before sitting back. Turning to her computer, she typed something in using the tried and true hunt-and-peck method, muttering under her breath about stupid machines before flashing me another smile. “Like you said, there are a few which are on the market. Now, you didn’t say how much you had been approved for so—.”
“Right at three hundred thousand.” I couldn’t hold back a smile when her jaw dropped and stayed dropped for a solid ten seconds. “I’m not real familiar with prices here in Cotton Creek but I’m thinking that should be more than enough, right?”
“Oh, honey, with that kind of money you’ve pretty much got your pick of anything and everything.” She leaned forward again, her breasts threatening to spill out of her conservative business woman suit. “It’s not drug money or anything, is it?”
“Yes, Darlene. I’ve spent the last ten years crisscrossing the country, delivering meth wherever I go.” Either the sarcasm was too much or not enough because her eyes went wide and horrified and she glanced at the phone, clearly wondering if she needed to call Sheriff Pete. Sighing, I said, “It’s a joke, Darlene. My business does well and has been doing well
for quite some time. You don’t need to worry about selling a house to a drug lord.”
“You always did have the weirdest sense of humor.” If her uneasy smile was any indication, she still wasn’t entirely sure if I was joking but she wasn’t willing to pass up a sizable commission. She shifted her focus back to her computer screen, tapping a few more keys before clearing her throat. “You said either four or five bedrooms, didn’t you?”
“I’d prefer five but I’ll settle for four.”
Her mouth thinned some and I knew it was the comment about ‘settling’. Darlene Tibbets hadn’t been as bad as some of the people in Cotton Creek when I was growing up but she’d always been a firm believer in people knowing their place. It was clear she thought I was stepping too far out of mine. “I’ve got two with four bedrooms and one with six bedrooms.”
“Six?” I frowned. “You’re not talking about the old Fisher place, are you?”
“As a matter of fact, I am.” She lifted her chin and sniffed much the same way Tammy had done last night. It didn’t impress me any more with her than it had with my niece. “I know it’s a bit old-fashioned but—.”
“How much?”
She blinked. “Excuse me?”
“How much?”
The price she quoted was steep, especially considering the age of the property, but not so steep the kids and I would be living off Ramen and Chef Boyardee while I tried to make the mortgage payments. I nodded and stood. “Let’s go look at it.”
“Right now?” Darlene stared at me, dumbfounded. “This minute?”
“You said it yourself—the kids and I are practically sleeping on top of each other. The sooner we find a place, the sooner we can move, the sooner we can stop living in each other’s pockets.” I raised my brows. “Unless you or the owners are opposed to a quick sale.”
“Oh, no, no, no, honey, not opposed at all.” She hit something on the keyboard which set the printer to whirring as she scrambled to her feet, tugging her jacket down over her stomach. “You know how I feel about the customer always being right.”
“Great.” I beamed at her. “Let’s go.”
THE OLD FISHER place had been empty for the better part of twenty years, closed up since Annebelle Fisher had finally had the decency to shuffle off her mortal coil after nearly a hundred years of making every person in Cotton Creek miserable. The only reason it hadn’t been broken in to and vandalized was the very real and legitimate fear her ghost would rise up and smite down the offender. The only reason the entire building wasn’t falling in on itself was Mrs. Fisher had had the foresight to set up a trust to make sure basic upkeep was provided.
Still, standing on the sidewalk, staring at the house through a wrought iron fence which had clearly seen better days, I couldn’t help but think either Mrs. Fisher hadn’t left enough money or somebody needed to be shot.
The house wasn’t exactly on its last leg but it was very, very close.
“I’m going to want to see the maintenance records for the entire time the house has been in trust and then I’m going to want them verified by a third party.” I glanced at Darlene, not surprised at the look of disapproval on her face. “That won’t be a problem, will it?”
“I don’t see why.” She pulled a massive keychain out of her purse, shoving a key which looked as if it went to the gates of Hell in the lock. She shoved the gate open with her shoulder, both of us wincing at the groaning squeak. “Just needs a little oil.”
“I’m sure.” I held my tongue as we made our way up the cracked walkway, tucking it in my cheek when we reached the steps, the first one creaking under our combined weight. “Let me guess? A few nails?”
“It’s an old house.” If her lips got any thinner, they’d disappear in her doughy face. “You have to expect there to be a few issues.”
“Actually, I don’t, but we can leave that discussion for after I view the house.” I nodded at the door. “Shall we?”
While she fumbled with the keys, mumbling something under her breath about ungrateful heathens, I braced myself for whatever disaster I’d find on the inside. I’d already decided to buy—one, the kids and I needed the room and two, it would annoy the hell out of everyone in Cotton Creek, whether they knew me or not. What I wanted to know was how much ammunition I had to talk the estate down to a decent price and how much of a loan I was going to have to take out to do renovations.
Because, damn it, I wanted to be able to control my air conditioner with my phone, too.
“Here we go.” Darlene pushed open the door, stepping in and moving to the side. “First floor is public space—sitting room, parlor, a nice space for your office, as well as a formal dining room and a kitchen with eat-in dining.” Her heels clicked over the hardwood floors, which looked to be in decent condition—not great, but decent. The walls were either dull yellow or a white which had aged none too well but that was something which could be fixed without too much money. “The chandelier is original to the house and was brought over from France by Mrs. Fisher’s great-grandfather.”
I tuned her out, less concerned with the sales pitch than with the actual state of the house. I still wanted an inspector to come through and double check everything but it looked as if whoever had been in charge of the interior of the house had actually done the work they were being paid to do. There were little things here and there but nothing as disturbing as the exterior.
It didn’t give me much to bargain with but I could probably get the estate to either knock a few grand off the asking price or pay for the exterior renovations out of the trust.
The kitchen needed work—about five or six grand, if I trusted the home improvement shows I was mildly and embarrassingly addicted to—and the bathrooms needed a facelift, too. Off the top of my head, I figured I was looking at close to forty thousand in renovations, maybe a little more
The estate was definitely going to need to come down on their asking price some.
“Tell you what, Darlene.” I cut her off without a qualm, turning to her and shoving my hands in my pockets. “You and I both know this place needs work. We also know nobody in town wants to take this thing on—I’m probably the first person to tour it in at least five years, if not longer.” When she didn’t correct me, I continued. “You get the estate to fix everything wrong on the exterior—the sidewalk, the landscaping, the paint, all that stuff—and knock about twenty thousand off the price, and I’ll sign papers today.”
“Twenty thousand?” She snorted, almost delicately, but her eyes narrowed ever so slightly and I knew she was on the hook. “Honey, you’re right about this place needing work but I don’t think—.”
“Call them and ask.” I leaned back against the wall and nodded at her purse. “Might as well call the inspector, too. And if you’ve got someone in mind to do the renovations, get them out here, too.” I smiled when her mouth fell open a little. “Time’s a-wastin’, Darlene. I don’t believe in letting moss grow where it shouldn’t.”
CHAPTER FIVE
It took the better part of the day but by the time the bank closed at five, the paperwork for the purchase and for the line of equity I’d need for the renovations was already being pushed through. The estate hadn’t gone for the full twenty thousand but they’d knocked off ten and promised to have everything on the exterior fixed within a week. The contractor dealing with the renovations had sworn he’d be able to get everything I wanted done within two weeks of the closing date. All things being equal, the kids and I would be able to move in three weeks, four at the most.
That was the one good thing I could say about doing business in my home town—the companies were so desperate for any sort of revenue they were willing to bend over backward to get you what you wanted, when you wanted it.
At the moment, though, the only thing I wanted was a burger and a beer.
It felt wasteful, probably because it was, but I’d been eating grief food for the last week and I wanted something which didn’t come with the sticky strings of n
osiness disguised as pity. Still, I sat in my car in the bank parking lot, debating with myself for a solid half hour before I caved and called Tammy.
“Hey, Aunt Jeannie.” I could barely hear her over the noise of someone screaming at the top of their lungs in the background and she sighed. “Hold on a second.” There was a faint rustle and I realized she must have covered the receiver with her hand since her answering yell was toned down to a dull roar. “I’m on the phone, damnit! Hush up!”
“Problem?”
“What?” Another moment or two of rustles and thuds and then not only was her voice clearer but there was almost no sound in the background. “Sorry. Dolly took Conway’s baby doll and he was throwing a fit.”
“Ah.” The first time I’d seen my nephew dragging around a baby doll which had clearly been through hard times I’ll admit I did a double take but after a week I was used to it. I knew—because the whispered conversations hadn’t been whispered all that softly—that people in Cotton Creek thought there was something a little off with a boy who was happier playing with dolls and kiddie kitchens than mud pies and baseballs. I also knew none of them were stupid enough to say anything directly to me, not after the look I’d given old Mrs. Peterson when she made the mistake of trying to bring the topic up. “Couple few things.”
“I’m listening.”
“First things first, I bought us a house—the old Fisher place, to be exact.”
“Shut the front door.”
“You realize cursing isn’t a sin, right?” Before she could answer, I continued. “It’s gonna be a few weeks because there’s repairs and upgrades and everything but we can last until then.”
“Cool.” She paused and I heard Dolly in the background whining about eating leftovers again. “You said a few things.”
“Yeah.” And now I felt even guiltier about wanting that burger. If I was sick of casseroles and soggy sandwiches, there was a good chance the kids were, too. “You guys eat yet or no?”