I pulled out my phone and typed in the property address listed in the email. Hillsdale Bed and Breakfast. I pulled up the real estate estimate and scanned the results. The property had potential, with natural hot springs, a pond, and extensive acreage. There was skiing nearby, and it had a country charm. I assumed their client would want to turn the property into a resort or venue of some sort. The offer was well over the estimated asking price.
This could work.
It was my bright, shining light at the end of a long, dark tunnel. I had to take it. I sent my reply that I accepted the terms of the agreement and would keep them updated with my results.
I straightened my tie, put on my jacket, grabbed my keys, and locked up the office.Some kid must have drawn a smiley face in the dust in my passenger window. I needed to be professional. The owner of the bed-and-breakfast would hopefully take me seriously. I grabbed my set of microfiber towels I kept in the back ever since the dreaded pumpkin incident and wiped down my gray Mustang convertible. I babied my car a bit, but it was because it’s the one thing I had splurged on—an outward expression of the life and job that would come my way.
Typing the address into my phone, I headed towards the bed-and-breakfast. It was a seven-minute drive. I drove past a few ancient buildings, through the only stoplight in sight, past the Hillsdale School grounds and into a residential neighborhood.
Janice was a quiet street, like every other street in this town. Maybe, if I could stay at the bed-and-breakfast, it would keep me from having to drive back and forth to Clifton or sleeping on the stiff couch in the office.
Also, it would give me time to convince the owner to sell in case I was unsuccessful on myfirst attempt.
Potholes and cracked cement roughly greeted my Mustang as I pulled into the empty parking lot.
At least that meant there should be vacancies.
I stepped out of the car, grabbed my leather briefcase, straightened my jacket, and walked up the sidewalk and past a wooden, faded sign for the bed-and-breakfast. The Victorian style house had two stories with a large wrap-around porch. There was light green paint chipping in several places, one of the windowpanes on the second story looked to be cracked, and there were several broken chairs on the porch. The grass needed mowing. A tree had fallen in the yard, and the house was decorated with dead flowers. It had potential, but it was also a big project.
I envisioned it as it could be. It could do so much for the town. The number of jobs and income alone would be a boon if this place was running at max capacity. I peeked around the porch and saw several barn-type outbuildings, a big pond with ducks, and a gazebo. It looked like I had stepped into a fairy tale. Albeit one that needed a good cleaning.
The door was wooden and sturdy, with frosted windows. The doorbell had a sign that read, “Broken, yell ding dong.” I stiffened. There was no way I would be doing that. I knocked on the door.
Nothing.
I knocked again.
Recognizing the sound of a basketball thumping farther down the sidewalk, I turned and watched a group of boys, around eight to twelveish, roughhousing and passing the ball in the middle of the street.
I was glad I didn’t park there. If they missed the ball and it hit my car, it would be as if someone had punched me right in the gut.
So much in my life was going wrong. My car was the one thing I had that was right.
I turned back to the door. This was a business.Do I go inside?I knocked again and looked at my watch.Should I come back?I reached for the knob. If it was unlocked, I would open it andholler. I turned the handle, but then the door opened and a woman with graying hair appeared behind it.
“Sorry about that, no one usually knocks. I didn’t recognize the sound. Wondered if it was the heating acting up again.” She was probably in her late fifties or early sixties, with soft edges. She had a warm smile, kind eyes, and a bright Halloween sweater. As she noticed my tie and briefcase, her eyes went from bright to angry.
She scowled. “Look, if you are another lawyer from that Raymond & Johnson Law I already told you. Stay off my property and leave me alone! I have no interest in selling to someone who is going to come in and ruin the place.” She shoved the door in an attempt to close it, and I held out my hand to stop her.
Whoa.It took me a second to process her change in demeanor.
Okay, no offer for now.
“Hi, I'm Scott Elliot. I'm the new lawyer taking over for Harry.” I brought my hand back as the woman glared at it. Maybe if I leaned into the Harry-replacement piece, she would let me stay? It would give us a chance to get to know each other and then address the offer.
The woman’s mouth pinched, but she eased the door back open. “You’re Harry’s replacement?” Her eyes narrowed. “And you aren’t here from the Raymond & Johnson firm?”
Yep. Not the time to mention that connection.
“I’m currently working at Hillsdale Law for my father, who is a friend of Harry’s.” I smiled and tightened my hold on my briefcase. “I was hoping to find a place to stay in town and cut down on gas money, so I don’t need to drive back to Clifton as often.” I wasn’t lying. I loved my car, but it wasn’t exactly fuel efficient. Even in Econ mode.
I heard some commotion to the right and looked over. The group of boys had moved to the parking lot with my car. They were shooting up at a makeshift hoop through the tree branches. My back stiffened as I watched them from the cornerof my eye. They were playing at the back of the lot. There was a good distance between them and my car. I pried my eyes away and focused on Carol. This was my priority. This was my ticket back to the life I wanted.
“I was curious if you have any rooms available.”
She tipped her head back and forth, weighing her answer. “I've got a strict no-lawyer-policy. But none of them have been one of our own.” She paused, resting her hands on her hips. “How long do you plan on staying?”
I recognized her question for the test that it was. If I said I was getting out of this town as soon as I could, she would send me packing.
