Through the swinging kitchen door was the dining room. Whereas the kitchen was an eclectic mix of modern and rustic—including a walk-in refrigerator, which was well used during the busy season—the dining room was all seaside elegance.
There were several tables set up so that guests could have their own private dining experiences. The tables were covered in pristine white linen. The mahogany-backed chairs all matched, their talon-and-ball feet resting on the jewel-toned Oriental rug that covered most of the wide pine flooring.
The ceilings were ten feet tall, and a row of floor-to-ceiling French doors faced the ocean, providing an astounding view of golden sand and cobalt waves. The windows were flanked by cobalt-blue silk drapes that had been custom made in Jane’s grandmother’s day. The doors were cracked open, and the edges of the drapes fluttered in the breeze.
One tiny white-haired old lady sat at a table next to the window, slowly cutting into the Belgian waffle on her plate. Brenda had certainly outdone herself with the meal today, with a bowl of fresh fruit on the table next to the muffins and a staggering stack of waffles. Jane would be eating them for days since Mrs. Weatherlee was barely five feet tall, and Jane would be surprised if she finished even one waffle.
“Good morning, Mrs. Weatherlee. How are you today?”
The woman turned from the window, smiling. “Wonderful. Who wouldn’t be with a plate full of food and this gorgeous view?” She patted her lips with her napkin.
Jane glanced out the window. The woman had a point. “I hope breakfast is satisfactory.”
“Of course. You always have the best breakfasts here. How is your mother, dear?”
For an old lady, Mrs. Weatherlee was sharp as a tack and didn’t miss a thing. She’d been here for over two weeks and had witnessed some of Addie’s less lucid moments. She knew that Addie was now residing at Tall Pines. “She’s doing great. Thanks for asking.”
Mrs. Weatherlee nodded slowly, her cornflower-blue eyes sympathetic. “It’s hard, but you made the right decision. Now you can focus on building this inn back to what it once was. You are going to do that, aren’t you?”
Jane glanced around at the empty tables. Could she? “I’m going to try.”
Mrs. Weatherlee nodded. “Good, then. Don’t worry. Everything will be all right.” She tucked back into her waffle.
Mrs. Weatherlee’s positive attitude gave Jane new confidence, and she started back toward the front. She’d better get a move on if she wanted to meet her two best friends, Claire and Maxi, at Claire’s bakery, Sandcastles.
She stepped out onto the front porch in time to see a blond woman step out of her bubblegum-pink Mini Cooper, carrying a sheaf of papers in her arms.
Oh no! What wasshedoing here?
Sandee Harris was a local realtor, and yes, Jane had reached out to a realty company to get an estimate on Tides, but she’d been dealing with Dorian Wells,notSandee. Not only was Sandee mean, condescending, and generally annoying, she was also the woman Claire’s husband had cheated on Claire with. Claire was one of Jane’s best friends, and she’d rather deal with a pit of vipers than give any business to Sandee Harris.
“Janey! Oh, good. Looks like I’ve just caught you!”
Janey? Where had that come from? “Just Jane, actually. What are you doing here? I was dealing with Dorian.”
As Sandee rounded her car, she pressed the key fob in her hand. The car chirped as the doors locked. As if she needed to lock it here in Lobster Bay where the crime rate was practically zero. Just showed how out of touch she was.
“Dorian’s under the weather, so she asked me to fill you in.” Sandee smiled as if oblivious to the fact that Jane didn’t want her here.
A lock of hair falling into her face, Sandee—just barely forty, another blow to Claire’s fifty-year-old ego—flipped through the folder in her hand with fingernails painted the same color as her car. She held her lower lip between her teeth as she fished out a page and set it on the top. Then she offered the entire folder to Jane.
“Here’s the appraisal. If you’d like to list the property as is, I think we should start at the first number I’ve listed on that sheet and take no less than $50,000 under the list price.”
The list price was appallingly low. Jane stared at the paper. Her ears rang with the numbers. Numbers that didn’t look right.
And Jane knew her numbers.
“You want to list the property forthis?”
Not even the tiniest flicker of doubt passed over the agent’s face. “As is, yes.”
“We’re an oceanfront property! And it’s a viable business too. It’s worth at least twice that!”
Sandee scrunched her nose. “Is it? You need new siding or at the very least a new coat of paint. You’re on town water, but the pipes are old and will need to be replaced inside the next five years. Same with the furnace, the hot-water tank, the windows… do I really have to keep going? And tell me, Janey, how many customers do you have renting rooms right now?”
Jane pursed her lips and refused to open them. She had only one. And Sandee did have a point about the condition. But still, she had been hoping that the property itself would be worth more, just in case she needed to sell. Even if it needed a few minor things done, itwasan investment property.
“We’re the only bed-and-breakfast in Lobster Bay,” Jane protested. She couldn’t believe that her childhood home and inheritance was worth so little.
