“Hi,” Ivy greeted in return, “I just bought a cabin here, and I need to furnish it.” Ivy looked around the building stuffed to the rafters with antiques and other discarded household items. The store was heavenly, but shopping alone was no fun. She wished Carl was here with her. He had an eye for quality, and Ivy was certain they could happily spend hours together in a place like this.
“I’m Humphry. Are you looking to furnish any room in particular?”
“I need to furnish them all.” Ivy laughed. “I need a dining table, living room things, and stuff for two bedrooms.”
“Are you planning to decorate in any particular style?”
“Country chic to nineteenth-century Victorian.”
“Which cabin did you buy? There have been several on the market lately,” the old man asked as he walked from around the counter, sensing a large sale coming his way.
“The two-bedroom on County Road 410 East.” Ivy admired a purple etched-glass hurricane lamp that had been converted from oil to electrical use. She looked at the tag that read eighty-five dollars. “I’ll take this,” Ivy said, knowing the price was fair if the electrical conversion actually worked.
“That’s Cindy Wingate’s place, isn’t it?” He picked up the fragile but heavy glass lamp and walked it carefully to the counter. “Cindy was one of my best customers. Her husband hated antiques, but he loved that woman, God rest her sweet soul, and let her have whatever she wanted. Is that converted cook stove still in her kitchen?
“Her husband sold most of her things, but she’d come back and haunt him if he took that out of the house. Cindy spent a fortune refinishing and refitting that stove to work in the kitchen of that cabin. It looked outstanding when she was done with it, too.”
“It’s still there, and it looks absolutely perfect,” Ivy told him as they walked back to a section that was kitchen and dining room items. He led her to a round oak pedestal table with four rounded-back Windsor chairs. Ivy looked around at the other items on display in the area.
She went directly to an oak pie safe with a row of small drawers under the doors, screened with chicken wire rather than glassed. She pulled on a ceramic knob below the top of the counter and was pleased to find the original galvanized flour bin still intact. Ivy’s mother had one just like it that she’d found at a yard sale. It had been painted blue, and Ivy remembered her mother laboring for hours scraping off layer after layer of other colors of paint until she got down to the honey-gold oak beneath.
Ivy looked at the tag that read two hundred and seventy-five dollars. The tag on one of the oak chairs told her the five pieces were five hundred and fifty.
“I’ll take the dining set and the pie safe,” Ivy told the beaming old man.
“Cindy would have loved all these pieces,” he told her as he took out a red pen and marked the tags as sold.
They walked up some other aisles until they came to a collection of bedroom furniture. A tall wardrobe caught Ivy’s eye. Someone had painted it white to give it a shabby chic look with bouquets of pastel roses stenciled onto the ovals carved into the tall doors. She opened it. They’d painted the inside white as well and fitted tall mirrors securely to the inside of the doors. Ivy rolled her eyes at the four hundred dollar price tag, but she didn’t disregard the lovely piece completely. The man had packed the area with shabby chic items, and Ivy could see a room decked out with it and trimmed with cabbage roses in shades of pink.
“Isn’t painting this stuff supposed to lower the value of antiques?” Ivy asked Humphry, who was reorganizing glassware upon the top of a bureau with an ornately carved mirror. The redesigner had painted the roses carved into the frame various shades of pink and the foliage around them soft greens.
“If it isn’t oak or mahogany, the value doesn’t really decrease much, and this shabby chic stuff appeals to the Yuppies who watch those decorating shows on HGTV,” he said and laughed.
Ivy hated to admit it, but it appealed to her, as well. There was just something girly about it.
“What size is this bed?” Ivy asked about a brightly polished brass headboard and footboard propped against a wall.
“It’s not an antique,” Humphry admitted, “and I think it’s a queen. I had it set up here because it looks good with the white stuff.”
Ivy bit her lip and looked around. “Humphry, give me a price on all of this.” She swept her hand around the display to include the wardrobe, the bureau with its painted mirror, two nightstands, a rocking chair, and the brass bed. “I want the topiaries on that bureau and the pink chenille bedspread draped over the rocker, as well.”
“Oh, my goodness. You’re going to make my week, young lady.” He gave her a price of eight hundred, but Ivy talked him down to six since she would still have to buy a mattress and box spring for the bed.
By the time Ivy slid her Mastercard, she had furniture for every room and had accumulated a bill of nearly two thousand dollars. She’d found a set of oak twin beds, a nightstand and a tall dresser for the guest room, a coffee table and end tables for the living room, a beautiful set of china complete with a tea service, several Victorian lamps, and a giant deer head with shiny brown glass eyes to mount over the fireplace.
Every proper nineteenth-century home had a dead thing hanging on the wall or mounted on a table someplace. A sturdy set of wicker furniture rounded out her purchases, and it would look beautiful set up on the opposite end of the porch from the swing, and matching cushions would coordinate it all.
A trip into town to find a nice sleeper sofa along with mattresses would be her final furniture purchase for the time being. Carrie would have a fit about her spending so much money, but she had to have furniture. Humphry had also given her the name and address of a local woman who made braided woven rugs. Those would be perfect to finish the look Ivy hoped to achieve.
13
Ivy arrived at Norman Powell’s office promptly at nine-thirty. He didn’t arrive until nine-forty-five. His secretary apologized and took her into a small room with a round table, chairs, and a water cooler.
“Mr. Powell will be here in a minute. I let him know you are here already. We have to wait for Mr. Wingate to sign his things too.”
Ivy recognized Mr. Wingate as the name of the seller. She straightened her crisp new pink linen suit. Her new pink shoes pinched her toes, and Ivy really wanted nothing more than to kick them off under the table. Instead, she stood and walked to the cooler for a cup of cold water. As she watched the water stream out of the machine, the door opened, and the secretary led in a big man who wore tan Dockers and a cotton plaid short-sleeved shirt. Their eyes met, and recognition brought smiles to both their faces.
“Ivy Chandler from Phoenix?” he asked with a broad smile on his handsome face as he extended his big hand. “You’re the person buying my house?”
“Truck driver Dan?” Ivy returned his smile and allowed her hand to be swallowed by his. “I thought you said you were from Victorville, California.”
He loosed her hand and joined Ivy at the table. “I am now. My brother lives out there, and after Cindy died, I went out to make it my base of operations for the trucking business.”
“I’m sorry for your loss,” Ivy told him and took a sip of her water. “I’ve met a few folks around town, and she was very well-liked.”
“Yeah,” he smiled sadly, “she was a sweetheart. Everyone loved my Cindy.”
“I stopped by the cabin yesterday to look around, and her cousin Peggy stopped by to say hello.”
“Watch that one,” Dan warned sternly. “If you don’t follow her into that church of hers, she’ll smear your name all over town.”
Ivy laughed. “Dan, I write erotic romances for a living. I doubt I’d be welcome at any church even if I were so inclined. She already invited me, and I respectfully declined.”
Dan rolled his eyes. “She’s a spiteful bitch. I’d advise you to stear clear of her and her stupid husband, who acts like she has a bit in his mouth and follows her around
like a whipped puppy with its tail between its legs. If Peggy says, jump Warren shouts, ‘How high, honey?’ And don’t even get me started on her house full of brats. Cindy watched after them for years free of charge, and Peggy had a long list of rules about how we had to treat ‘em.”
Dan stood up and got a cup of water. “I was happy when they got old enough to fend for themselves. Thankfully Peggy and Warren put ‘em on tractors about the time they turned twelve, and they went to work full time on the farm.”
“I doubt she’ll be back since I turned down her church invitation.”
Mr. Powell came in, apologizing to them for his tardiness. They spent the next forty-five minutes signing papers, making copies, and going over different aspects of the sales contract. Mr. Powell wanted to make certain Ivy understood that if there were any problems with the property, she could not come back on him because she’d opted out of an inspection and was buying the property as-is.
“I left the warranty papers for the roof, the well pump, and all the appliances except that silly cookstove in a drawer in the kitchen,” Dan said. “That roof has a lifetime warranty. It’s why we bought it.”
“Thanks, Dan, I’ll look it all over and save it. Is there anything you think I should know about the place?” Ivy asked and dropped her pen back into her purse. Powell’s secretary brought her copies of the papers in a manila folder. She stood and offered her hand to Powell. “Thank you, Mr. Powell, for facilitating this transaction on such short notice. It was so very quick and easy.”
“My pleasure, Miss Chandler.” He took her hand and shook it vigorously. “If there’s anything else I can do for you, just let me know. Penny stapled my card to the folder.” He opened the door and held it to usher them out. Ivy thought he must have had more business waiting.
Dan stepped aside for her to pass, and Ivy got a nose full of his manly scent. His big, strong body aroused her. She couldn’t deny that. He stopped her with an insistent hand on her shoulder, and Ivy noticed he still wore his wedding ring. “Now that all this business is finished, why don’t you let me buy you lunch, and then we can run out to the cabin, and I can show you around and give you the particulars about lighting the pilot lights and starting the pump on the well.”
Ivy smiled up at him as they walked out into the narrow hall and toward the front of the office. “That would be lovely, but I need to be out at the house by two because the man from the antique store is delivering some things I bought yesterday.”
“Humphry?” Dan asked with a frown. “That old rat knows the way. He sold Cindy a ton of his old junk over the years.”
“So he told me. He was very fond of her.”
“He was very fond of her money.” Dan scowled.
“Humphry said you didn’t care much for antiques.” Ivy laughed merrily as they walked with casual disregard together into the front lobby. Dan put his hand on the small of her back and reached to open the door leading out of Powell’s office.
“Ivy?” a familiar voice asked, and Ivy looked over to see Carl Anderson stand. Beside him, sitting straight in one of the narrow tweed-upholstered chairs, was Judith Merriman dressed in an elegant blue Prada suit with a designer bag on her lap. “What are you doing here, Ivy?”
“Hello, Carl.” Ivy stared at him, irritated. She hadn’t heard from him since the call on her trip across New Mexico.
“If you must know, I just signed the papers for that lovely cabin we looked at.” Dan dropped his hand from her back, but Ivy leaned into him for both support and to irritate Carl. Dan returned his hand. “Mr. Powell contacted me when you didn’t return his calls about it. I’d just signed the book deal, so I made him an offer on the place. You didn’t seem to be interested in it any longer.”
“He told me it was sold.”
“It is now,” Ivy replied curtly. “He told me he’d left you several messages about the other sale falling through, and you never called him back about it. We both finally assumed you were no longer interested, so I made an offer and bought it.” Carl stared coldly at Dan, standing beside Ivy with his hand on her back. “This is Dan Wingate, Carl, the previous owner,” Ivy said when Carl wouldn’t stop glaring at the man. “He’s taking me back out to the place to show me how to light the pilot lights and such.”
Judith Merriman stood and cleared her throat at Carl’s side. She discreetly took his hand, and Ivy knew it was strictly for her benefit.
“Ivy, this is Judith Merriman. She’s decided to underwrite this project here in Branson with me.”
Ivy extended her hand to the woman. “Of course, your real estate investment friend. I’m Ivy Chandler.” Ivy attempted to sound smug and nonchalant. With her head swimming and her heart breaking, she wasn’t certain she could pull it off.
Dan gently rubbed the small of her back and pushed Ivy a little toward the open door. “We’d better get going, Ivy, if we’re going to get lunch and make it out to the house in time to meet Humphry with your furniture.” Dan made the statement to infer familiarity.
“You’re absolutely right, Dan.” Ivy looked back to a bewildered Carl and gave him one of her sweetest smiles. “We need to get going. My furniture is being delivered this afternoon. Nice to meet you, Mrs. Merriman.” Ivy smiled at her sweetly, as well. “Good luck with your condos, Carl.”
Ivy let Dan usher her out the door. He walked with her to the Lexus. “We can take my car,” Ivy said in a trembling voice. “I need to come back into town to buy some mattresses anyhow.” Ivy handed the handsome truck driver the keys. “You can drive. You know your way around town better than I do.”
Dan took the keys from her trembling hand and pushed the button that unlocked the door and started the car. Ivy glanced up to see Carl watching them intently from the window. She smiled at Dan as she walked casually around the front of the car and opened the passenger-side door. Ivy dropped into the seat and lifted in her legs that left her unsteady and about to let her fall. She battled back tears as she watched Carl and Judith walk hand in hand behind Norman Powell toward the back of the office.
“Is that old man someone special to you?” Dan asked as he backed her car out of the parking lot.
“He’s not that old,” Ivy said in defense of Carl. “He’s only a few years older than me and probably you.”
“Snow on the mountain, but fire down below?” Dan chuckled.
“Something like that. Carl and I were friends. We can leave it at that.” Ivy took a tissue from her purse, dabbed at her eyes, and blew her nose.
“Doesn’t look that way to me. Who’s the blonde? She was surely shootin’ daggers with her eyes in your direction.”
“He says she’s a friend and business associate, but I think it’s more than that.”
“She sure thinks it is. That’s for damned sure.” Dan parked the Lexus in front of a block building with a wide, tall window displaying furniture. “You may as well get those mattresses before we get lunch. I don’t think you’re in the mood for food just now anyhow. You look like you could use some serious retail therapy.” They got out of the car, and Dan pushed the button on the key fob that locked it.
Dan took her hand as they walked into the furniture store, and the acrid scent of new furniture and floor wax assaulted Ivy’s nose. A salesman in a red jacket walked up and offered his services. He recognized Dan, and they began chatting about his truck and his travels since leaving Branson.
“Mark, this is Ivy Chandler, and she just bought my place. She bought some of that old crap from Humphry and needs new mattresses.”
“Nice to meet you, Ms. Chandler.” He offered his hand but dropped hers quickly as if he sensed some urgency. “If you’ll follow me, the mattresses are right back here. What size do you need?”
“I need a queen and two twin sets. I’d like pillow-tops if you have them. I need a nice sleeper sofa too.” They walked to the back of the store, and Ivy was thrilled to find Mayer’s also offered a section of the store with a selection of linens for bed, bath, and kitchens.
/> After she chose three pillow-top mattresses, Dan followed her through the aisles of linens, where Ivy found sheets, pillows, and bedding sets for all the beds. She also picked up towels, washcloths, and accent pieces for the bathroom and kitchen. Ivy had to admit she enjoyed shopping without the restraint of worrying about the prices. Dan had been correct. Retail therapy was precisely what Ivy had needed. She didn’t go overboard, however, and only bought the essentials to make the house functional and comfortable.
“Dan, would you happen to know the cabin’s window measurements?” Ivy asked as they passed by a display of draperies.
“I don’t, but Mark here might be able to look it up. Cindy bought all her curtains here.”
Mark looked it up on his computer, and over the next hour, Ivy selected draperies for all the rooms, and a sleeper sofa and matching accent chair. The extra-long brown velour couch had an unusually thick mattress for a sleeper sofa and made out into a queen-size bed. The over-stuffed rolled-arm accent chair was upholstered in a brown and teal fleur-de-lis print along with a matching ottoman. The set was a little modern for her taste, but Ivy thought it would look good in the cabin with the oak tables and shelving she’d purchased from Humphry.
Ivy chose teal drapes to accent the chair, and coffee-stained lace sheers. She chose black iron drapery rods for all the windows in the cabin. Excited to see the things put together in the cabin, Ivy hurried to the counter to pay for her purchases.
“Good God, woman,” Dan gasped when Mark gave her the bill, which she paid with her Mastercard, “that erotic romance shit must pay pretty good.”
“Sex sells,” Ivy said with a giggle as she signed the receipt. Maybe she’d explain things to him later, but for now, Ivy thought she’d let him go on thinking her sexy erotic writing paid for everything and not the historical fiction for which she’d signed the publishing contract.
14
They returned to her car, and Dan stopped by his bank to deposit the check from the sale of the cabin. They found a BBQ joint, and Dan bought sandwiches, fries, and a six-pack of Buds to take back to the cabin. They made it before two and ate their lunch sitting next to one another on the porch swing. As they ate and enjoyed a beer, Peggy saw them and pulled her pickup into the drive.
Promises: Do You Know Where the Poison Toadstools Crow? Page 9