“There are a lot of places I could slip into without the baggage I have here. Stick a pin in a map, I guess, and pick one. Take some of those voice-overs to thicken the bankroll, if I need to. Find a place with potential to flip. I can get a mortgage. Regular and very nice residuals from Our Family look good on an application. Or if I don’t want the stress of that, I could get a job with a crew. Hell, I could work for Steve’s new New York branch.”
“You’d be giving up your lofty personal goals.”
“Maybe I’d just postpone reaching them. The problem is…” She paused, sipped the coffee he’d handed back to her. “The problem is,” she repeated, “I love that house. I love what it was, what I know I can make it. I love this place, and how I feel here. I love what I see when I look out my windows or step out my door. And I’m pissed off that someone’s meanness makes me consider giving that up.”
Something that had tightened inside him relaxed. “I like it better when you’re pissed off.”
“I do, too, but it’s hard to hold up the level. The part of me that isn’t pissed off or discouraged is scared.”
“That’s because you’re not stupid. Someone’s set out to deliberately hurt you. You’re going to be scared, Cilla, until you know who and why, and make it stop.”
“I don’t know where to start.”
“Do you still think it’s old man Hennessy?”
“He’s the only one I’ve met or had contact with around here who’s made it clear he hates me. Which, if this were a screenplay, means he couldn’t be behind all this because he’s the only one who hates me. But-”
“We’ll go talk to him, face-to-face.”
“And say what?”
“It’ll come to us, but basically you’re sticking, you’re making your home here, and neither you nor a house is responsible for something that happened over thirty years ago. And words to that effect. I’m also going to make copies of those letters you found. I’m going to read them more carefully and so are you. You need to think about passing them to the cops. Because if it’s not Hennessy, the next best possibility is it’s someone connected to those letters who got wind they still exist and you have them. Janet Hardy’s married secret lover revealed? That’d be news. Big, juicy, scandalous news.”
She’d thought of that. Of course she’d thought of that. But… "They aren’t signed.”
“Might be clues in there about the identity. Might not be, but we’re talking thirty-five years ago. Do you remember everything you wrote thirty-five years ago?”
“I’m twenty-eight, but I get what you’re saying.” In the still, softening dark, she stared at him. “You’ve given this a lot of thought.”
“Yeah. The first, the prowler in your barn. That could’ve been somebody hoping to pick up a few Janet Hardy souvenirs. I’ve got to weigh in the place has been empty for years now, and sure I’ve seen some people poking around now and then. Against that, I’ve got to factor most people didn’t know there was anything left inside, and any who did probably thought it was worthless junk left by tenants, not the woman herself. But then you come along.”
“I clear it out, store it in the barn, and it’s clear and obvious that I’m sorting through it, culling out anything that belonged to my grandmother. ”
“Somebody gets curious, a little greedy. Possibility. The second, the attack on Steve, could come from the same root. Poking around, somebody’s coming. Panic. But that takes it way over harmless if annoying trespass. Also above, if the letters are the goal, trespass to preserve reputation. It’s up to assault, arguably attempted murder.”
She shivered. “Of discouraged, pissed and scared, scared just leaped way into the lead.”
“Good, because then you’ll be more careful. Next, your truck door.
That one’s personal and direct to you. So was the message on the stone wall. Maybe there are two separate people involved.”
“Oh, that really helps. Two people who hate me.”
“It’s another possible. Last, the destruction inside the house. It’s more personal, more direct, and it’s ballsier. So today, you’re going shopping for a security system.”
“Is that what I’m going to do?”
The cold bite in her tone didn’t break his skin. “One of us is. Since it’s your place, I assume you’d rather do it yourself. But if you don’t, today, I will. I’m now authorized as I’ve had you naked on my kitchen counter. No point in whining to me if you didn’t bother to read the fine print.”
She said nothing for a moment, struggling against the urge to stew. “I intended to arrange that anyway-stay or go.”
“Good. And you don’t care for ultimatums. Neither do I, but in this particular case, I’m making an exception. I can sleep over there with you. Happy to. But sleep is a foregone conclusion at some point, just as the house being empty at some time or other for some period of time is inevitable. You need to be safe, and to feel safe. You need to protect your property.
“And Cilla, there’s no ‘go.’ You’ve already decided to stay.”
She really did want to stew, she thought, and he was making it damn hard to indulge. “How come you’re all macho and pushy with your ultimatum, but you’re not all macho and pushy telling me to flee to safety while you slay the dragon?”
“My shining armor’s in the shop. And maybe I just like the sex, which would be hard to come by with all the fleeing. Or it could be I don’t want to see you give up something you love.”
Yeah, he made it damn hard. “When I came out here to sit, I told myself it was just a house. I’ve put a lot of myself into other houses-it’s what makes the rehab worthwhile-and I’ve let them go. It’s just a house, wood and glass and pipes and wire, on a piece of ground.”
She looked down when he laid his hand over hers, when the gesture told her he understood. “Of course it’s not just a house, not to me. I don’t want to let it go, Ford. I’d never get it back, never get back what I’ve found if I let it go.”
She turned her hand over, laced her fingers with his. “Plus, I like the sex.”
“It can’t be overstated.”
“Okay then.” She took a deep breath. “I’ve got to get back. Get ready. Get started.”
“Let me get some shoes on. I’ll walk you home.”
MATT STOOD in the center of the master bath, hands on his hips, face grim. “I’m awful damn sorry about this, Cilla. I don’t know what gets into people, I swear I don’t. We’re going to fix that wall for you, don’t worry. And Stan’ll come back and do the tile. I can get one of my men to chip out what’s damaged in place, but it’d be better to leave the glass block for Stan. I’ll give him a call for you.”
“I’d appreciate that. I need to go pick up the replacement tile and block, some supplies. Arrange for a security system.”
“I hear that. People didn’t lock their doors half the time around here when I was a kid. Times change. Another damn shame when it comes to things like this. You said they busted out a pane in the back door? I’ll get somebody to replace that for you.”
“I’m going to order a new door, and a lock set for that and the front. The plywood’s okay for now. You’ll need to take down that drywall rather than try to repair it. There’s enough on site.”
“Sure there is. Anything else I can do, Cilla, you just let me know. Got the other bathroom up here, too?”
“Yeah. Got it good.”
“I guess we’d better take a look.”
They assessed damage, talked repairs. As she gathered her lists and checked on other areas of the project, crew offered sympathy, asked questions, expressed outrage and disgust. By the time she left, her ears were ringing from it, and with the more comforting sound of whirling drills and buzzing saws.
INEVITABLY, SHE HAD to explain to her usual consultant at the flooring center why she needed to buy considerable square footage of tile she’d already bought, as well as grout. It slowed the process, but Cilla supposed that, too, was inevitable. Even in L.A. she’d formed relationships with specific tile guys, lumber guys, appliance guys. It went with the trade, and good relationships paid off the time spent.