by D. F. Jones
Clayton cracked a smile. “You, my boy, have lived an adventurous life without me, but perhaps, one last adventure for the two of us?”
Thinking the old man meant his death, Griffin begged, “No, Papa, not yet.”
“Hush now, lad, and listen. I’ve one last tale to tell,” he wheezed out. “I want you to have the letter. You know the one I mean?”
“Yes, Papa, I do.”
“She’s kept it safe for me, and she’ll keep it safe for you no matter the purposes of others. ‘Good friends, good books, and a sleepy conscience: this is the ideal life’—that was Twain, my boy, from the letter. It still holds true today.”
Another fit took hold of the old man. The hospice nurse came in to check on Clayton and make him more comfortable, soon motioning to Griffin that his grandfather’s time was drawing near. He simply nodded and held tightly to his grandfather’s hand as the older man passed away.
Griffin shook off the memories and wiped the tears from his face. Ryker had politely walked away to peer out the window of the high-rise office which housed McBride Development. “Thanks, Ryker. I know you’re right. It’s my decision, and it should be me who gets the job done.”
“I didn’t mean it that way, Griff. I know it’s hard for you.”
“It is, but this will hopefully be the closure I need. The Rockcliffe Resort will be a fitting tribute to the man who spent his life teaching me how to turn nothing into something and to have grand adventures in my everyday life.”
Ryker nodded. “As long as you can get the crazy lady who owns it to sell, my friend.”
Griffin waved him off. “Don’t worry about it. I have a plan.”
Chapter 2
Casey
Cassandra “Casey” Sparks wiped the sweat from her brow with a handkerchief and a weary sigh. She’d never been afraid of hard work, could handle anything from a car engine to a renovated house, but this overgrown garden coupled with the July heatwave was about to get the best of her. Reaching for her water jug, she took a long swig, allowing the cool wetness to run down her shirt and between her breasts. She knew she needed to rest a minute, but the darn weeds seemed to sprout up every time she stopped. Besides, if she sat, she might never get up, and her pale, freckled skin would look like a boiled lobster.
She also didn’t even want to think about how her muscles would seize up in mutiny because of what she’d been putting them through. I’m definitely not twenty anymore, she chuckled to herself. Nope, she had officially turned thirty yesterday. And what had she gotten? A bee sting under her eye, an itchy patch of poison ivy on her arm, and some high-dollar real estate agent trying to charm her into giving away her inheritance.
“At least he smelled nice,” she mumbled to herself, coaxing the errant strands of copper-colored hair back into her lopsided braid. She sniffed under her arm as inconspicuously as possible to make sure she wasn’t giving off an offending odor. It felt like forever since she’d had a shower, although she’d had one at five-thirty this morning.
“Hey, Blue Eyes! Git your fine self over here!”
Casey dusted her hands on the back of her denim cutoffs, tucking her damp handkerchief back into her pocket. “What’s up, Mona?” Casey headed over to the plump woman who had helped her mother run the hospice home for over thirty years. Mona Malone, registered nurse, cook, and general repair woman had been a godsend for the Sparks family when Casey’s grandmother had suffered a stroke. Her boisterous manner, along with her sweet care, had eased the family’s sorrow. It had been Mona who suggested they transform the crumbling mansion into a hospice home. Casey’s mother jumped at it, fearing they would have to sell their homestead as taxes continued to rise. She and Mona ran the place while Casey attended business school. When a drunk driver had killed Casey’s mother, Casey quit her job and returned home to help Mona with the few patients they still had. That had been two years ago.
“Got a call from Jefferson City a few minutes ago. Looks like you were right in predicting the future, girl. They turned down our license renewal. Too many potential hazards in this old house,” Mona announced.
“Did you tell them we were fixing them? Updating?”
“Of course, I did! But you know the government, they only care about the rules.”
Casey sat down on the brown grass, thoroughly defeated. “Well, that’s that. I guess we better start packing.” She brushed at the tears that fell. Dammit! She had tried so hard. Why had that damn inspector come a week early? And why had the upstairs pipe burst in the blue suite during the inspection?
“What are you doing, girl? Get up! We got work to do,” Mona admonished her. “Getting the dead folk smell outta this here place before we turn it into a B & B is going to take some time and some Pine-Sol.”
Casey blinked, gaping at the older woman. “What are you talking about?”
“This place was a B & B before it was a hospice home, right? Your grandma—God rest her sweet soul—had turned it into one. So, let’s change it back. That Realtor guy that was here yesterday was mumbling about historic charm and lots of land. Well, I say we steal his idea and do it ourselves!”
“Do you have any idea how much work is involved in that?” Casey squinted up at her. “Not to mention permits, renovation costs, insurance—”
“Oh, you’re just tired is all. Get on up and let’s have some lemonade while we think about this. Those air B & B’s are all the rage. We’ve got twelve thousand square feet of common areas, five kitchenette suites, and eight regular suites. Some paint and wallpaper, a few repairs—we already got the inspection report, so we know what needs fixing—and we’re in business.”
“We would have to get permits from the planning commission. I mean, I guess I could go to the Historical Society for some help, but that’s an awful lot to take on.”
“Are you saying we can’t do it?” Mona scowled at her. “Where’s your backbone, girl?”
“We can do it all right,” Casey corrected. “I’m just saying it’s going to take months. Where’s the income coming from? We’d have to take out a loan. I don’t have that much left in savings. I was working on the repairs whenever any income was received.”
“Then get up and take a shower, pull out a fancy suit from the back of your closet, and make some appointments. We got no time to lose. That realtor is going to be back, and if he gets to it first, well, I’m just saying...”
Casey smiled at the older woman when she didn’t continue. “You’re just saying what?”
“I’m just saying you better not sass me. So, get on up there, that’s what I’m saying.” The older woman cackled.
Casey dusted off her bottom once more. It might just work, she thought as she hiked the rest of the way up the small hill toward Mona, who was already striding back into the kitchen.
“You know,” Casey said, “we’re going to have to hire staff, and somebody is going to have to supervise them all.”
“Lord knows this place would fall down around me if I wasn’t here to take care of it.” Mona winked at Casey.
“Then, you’re hired!” Casey exclaimed. “Now, let’s get to work.”
One week later, Casey stood before the zoning commission in her hometown. Several members were also on the historical society’s board, which meant it was almost like killing two birds with one stone. After she got permission from the zoning board to have the hospice home turned into a bed and breakfast, she’d have to tackle the bank, and she was dreading that one.
She was a bit nervous as she pulled down her skirt, trying to get the wrinkles out. It was hotter than blazes in there even though the air conditioner was working, making her glad she’d taken her copper tresses and pulled them back into her regular braid. She had foregone the business suit, opting instead for a light summer dress in a nice floral pattern along with heeled sandals. She hoped she looked feminine yet professional, the type of person who would own a quaint bed and breakfast in the historic town.
After the reading of the minutes and o
ther business of the board, the commissioner, Malcolm Hastings, who she’d known her entire life, motioned for her to stand. “We’re accepting new business now, Casey. State your name for the record and present your proposal.”
She stood and walked over to the podium. “Hello, my name is Casey Sparks, and my family has owned the Rockcliffe Mansion for several generations, all the way back to Mr. Cruikshanks, God rest his soul. I’ve come to ask for the zoning commission to allow me to start a bed and breakfast in place of the hospice home. I believe it would be a wonderful addition to our hometown as well as a profitable business from a community standpoint. We would use locally-grown produce and farm-fresh groceries from here. We will cross-promote our business with the other businesses in town to offer specialty items in our gift shop as well as within the suites themselves. We will also have to hire staff, which would increase employment opportunities for the area.”
Taking a deep breath, Casey told herself to slow down. She noticed a man she’d never seen before sitting at the end of the commissioners’ table. Her breath caught, and she was unable to pull her gaze away. The man was attractive, but more than that, his eyes were boring into hers, and she couldn’t help the blush staining her cheeks.
The gentleman stood up. “Ms. Sparks, you’re leaving out a few important facts. A recent inspection from Jefferson City Nursing and Safety Council has stated your home is in desperate need of significant repairs. Now, who or what would be funding this type of repair which could cost well into the millions?”
Casey bristled. Who in the world was this person to tell her what she did or did not have in the way of financial capability? It was the truth, but who was he, and how had he managed to get a copy of that darn inspection? “Who are you?”
“Griffin McBride.”
Something about that name is familiar… It suddenly hit her, and she scowled. “You’re that realty company trying to buy my land.” Turning to the members, she pointed at McBride. “This man is trying to buy my land, and I am not selling.” She glared at Griffin again.
Griffin nodded in agreement. “You’re absolutely right, Ms. Sparks. I want that land, and I have the money to turn it and the house into a moneymaker for the area. I’m here to see that I get it.”
“Thank you, Griffin,” Malcolm stated as he banged his gavel. “Let’s vote. I believe we have all the information we need.”
Casey squeaked, “Wait! I have a business plan.”
Malcolm sighed. “There’s no need to see it, Casey. I think we’re all in agreement.” The other members nodded, refusing to meet Casey’s eyes. Her heart sank. “In regard to the motion petitioning us to allow Casey Sparks to change Hannibal House from a hospice home for the elderly into a B&B, how many ayes?” No one raised their hand. “How many nays?” Every hand went up in the air. “Motion denied. We’re sorry, Casey.”
They rejected her. Casey was nonplussed. How could they reject her? There was no reason.
“This decision is final. Hannibal House is denied the rezoning permit. You may go or you may stay for the rest of the meeting.”
She fixed Griffin with a furious glare. “You!” she exclaimed. “You’re the reason they all voted against me. I will fight this.” She shifted her focus to the members. “My grandma ran a B&B before she became ill. It’s been one before, and it can be one again. I don’t know what this man,” she pointed to McBride, “has promised you, but I’ll figure it out, and when I do you, you can bet there will be hell to pay.”
“Now simmer down, Casey.” Malcolm smirked. “We’re denying the rezoning for the B & B. You can keep the hospice home going if you want. Personally, I’d close the damn thing and sell it to Mr. McBride. You’re too young to be sitting around doing nothing except taking care of old people.”
She gathered her dignity around her like a cloak. “Excuse me? I’m only a few years younger than you, Malcolm; and as far as taking care of older people, I considered it an honor to take care of the elderly. They have far more intelligence and respect than most people.”
Casey collected her things and stomped toward the exit. “You haven’t heard the end of this,” she shouted as she slammed the door, leaving those stupid men and their man club behind.
“I’m going to find something on that damn Griffin McBride if it’s the last thing I do,” she muttered under her breath.
Chapter 3
Casey
Casey came home to find the ambulance and the coroner’s car parked in her circular drive. She hurried inside to find Mona weeping softly into her linen handkerchief. “Mr. Johnson?” Casey asked, and Mona nodded.
“Yes, darling. It was shortly after you left. I went in to check on him, and he was just gone.”
“I thought we’d have a little longer. He’s only been here a month,” Casey said quietly, crossing herself. “May his soul rest in peace.”
When the coroner and the EMT’s finished, Casey locked the doors and motioned for Mona to follow her into the large kitchen. She began to prepare the kettle for some tea, relaying the news of what happened at the zoning commission meeting tonight.
“So, the damn Realtor got to them?”
Casey shrugged. “I’m going to have to contact some of my people back in the city and see what I can find on this Mr. Griffin McBride.”
“I don’t know what to do if the zoning commission isn’t going to let you change this place back into a B&B. I suppose we could continue with the hospice if we could get a loan to complete these repairs, although I sure don’t like you spending all this time with the dead and dying. You’re a young girl. You need to have some fun,” Mona insisted.
Scowling, Casey growled, “That’s exactly what Malcolm said, and I told him I’d much rather be with the dead and dying than with those irresponsible and disrespectful people in town. Mona, you should have seen the way that McBride smirked at me as if he held all the cards.”
“What does he look like so I can get the gun out if he shows up?”
Casey rolled her eyes. “He’s attractive, I guess. I think he and that other man who showed up here were about the same age, maybe this McBride guy is a little older. He had some gray hairs but appeared every inch the businessman.”
Mona stood up, placing the now empty teacups into the sink. “Well, darling, if you’re going to fight, you’re going to need to get some rest. As they say, tomorrow is another day." She patted Casey on her shoulder.
After thanking her, Casey headed up the beautiful staircase to her room at the very top of the stairs. It had once been the schoolroom, but she had renovated it into a nice little area for her with a big, old bed she’d found in the attic of the mansion. She had her own bathroom, too, making it her own space.
Crawling under the covers, she thought about what had happened tonight. Truth be told, she hated coming home to see the dead and dying, but they deserved to go in peace and with dignity.
Only one patient left, and then what am I gonna do? She punched her pillow. “I’ll figure something out. I always do,” she declared in a whisper.
A vision of Griffin McBride flickered in her mind. “You could sell to me. I’ll take all your worries away. I’ll turn it into a mansion of beauty. I’ve got plenty of money, and you have none. All it’ll cost you is your legacy.” He smiled as his face grew harsh and red. Casey looked on in horror as he grew horns and cackled evilly.
Scrambling into a sitting position, she shook her head to banish the image. “Forget it, McBride. You’re not getting my house.” She slid out of bed to get a drink of water from the bathroom and faced herself in the mirror. She appeared tired with dark circles under her eyes, her hands had blunt nails, blisters, calluses. No wonder they hadn’t taken her seriously. She looked like a schoolgirl with her little braid, dressed in her little summer country dress. Well, Griffin was about to see just how stubborn she could be.
Three days later, a more professional Casey Sparks sat in the reception room at McBride Development Company, waiting patiently to speak with Mr
. Griffin McBride. She had been allowed up only after informing the man at the security desk she had “personal business” with McBride and furiously waved a pregnancy test strip in his face.
Glancing at her watch, she realized she’d been here over an hour, and her gaze drifted to the receptionist. “I take it Mr. McBride is still in a meeting?” Casey inquired with saccharine sweetness.
The young woman glared at her from across the desk. “He is a very busy man,” she sneered, “and you did not have an appointment.” Her fingers began clacking on her keyboard once again.
Casey silently fumed, flipping through a magazine in frustration. Even though it’s true, I’m not leaving without an explanation. I know exactly who you are, McBride.
Casey noticed a gentleman coming through one of the offices with Griffin McBride. “I’ll talk to you later, Bob. We will get these plans set in motion, and then we’ll be well on our way. There are only a few minor details that need to be ironed out.”
The gentleman nodded and made his way across the reception area, dipping his head respectfully to Casey and entered the elevator. She glared at McBride as he calmly shut the door.
I’m a minor detail, she thought. You’ll see, Mr. McBride. You’re about to get the surprise of your life. Her fingers tapped on her briefcase.
Yet another hour passed with no one entering or exiting Griffin’s office. Casey had been sitting there close to two hours, and she was beyond frustrated. But she wasn’t the only one. The receptionist was beginning to get a little agitated herself if the way she was beating her keyboard was any indication. Finally, the other woman got up, excused herself, and hurried down the hall.
Casey knew this was her chance. Hustling across the reception area, she twisted the knob and barged into Griffin’s office. He peered up from his paperwork, a frown on his face. “Where’s Rebecca? How did you manage to get past her?”