Ella raised her free hand and indicated her wild hair and eye-melting outfit. “Yes, I’m quite stylish.”
I grinned. “Jack may be jumping the gun. Half of the rooms don’t even have sheetrock up in them yet.”
Her eyes widened. “Oh, wow. I heard Mabel Reynolds was something of a hoarder before she passed away. Did you have to gut the place?”
“Not really.” I pushed off from the mantle and made my way to the free chair, mind made up to stay. “There was definitely a lot of stuff, but it was more like a lifetime of accumulation than mania-driven collecting. I’m surprised her kids didn’t want any of it. A lot of the furniture is antique.”
“Nah,” Jack said. “Nancy’s house is already filled to the brim, and Dale is getting ready to retire soon and head down to Florida. Last time I talked to him, he was trying to downsize.”
“I still feel guilty for keeping some of the pieces,” I said.
Jack gave me a funny look. “Well, feel better knowing that you covered the cost of them when you overpaid for the house.”
I groaned response. This was an old argument between us. “Jack, it’s a four-thousand-square-foot home on a hundred-acre lot. They were asking way too little for it.”
A hundred and fifty thousand had seemed like an offensively low price to me, even with the amount of work it needed. I would have felt like a criminal if I’d paid that for it.
“I didn’t realize it was so big,” Ella said.
I nodded. “Six bedrooms. Three sitting rooms. A library.”
Jack snorted. “And only one functioning toilet.”
I tipped my beer toward him. “Fair point, but I’m working on that.”
“How far have you gotten with the reno?” Ella asked.
“I’m a little behind schedule,” I said. “I had to have the foundation fixed before I could move in, so that set fire to my originaltimetable.”
Jack turned to her. “You should have seen the equipment they brought up the hill for that. Semis hauling massive steel beams. Bucket loaders.” He paused for dramatic effect. “A crane.”
Ella choked on her beer. “They got a crane up here?”
Jack nodded.
“I hope I never have to go through that again,” I said, rubbing a hand over my face. “Once that nightmare was over, I had to get the barn squared away. That’s where I’m storing most of the renovation supplies, so I needed it to be temperature controlled. The basement is done, the kitchen is getting there, and the study is right behind it. I got all of the fireplaces cleaned and working before the first snowfall. Some of the electric had to be rerun to replace the remaining knob and tube wiring, and the plumber isn’t in for a few more days, hence the lack of drywall. Or more than one functioning toilet. While I’m waiting, I’ve been stripping the hardwood floors, which are in pretty good shape considering they’re a few hundred years old.”
Ella frowned. “I feel like we have different definitions of what amounts to a gut job.”
I chuckled. “Okay, now that I’m saying all of this out loud, I guess it does sound like one.”
Her frown deepened. “How long ago did you move in?”
“Three months.”
“Damn, that’s -” she glanced at Jack, then seemed to reconsider how to finish the sentence, likely because her original thought had something to do with who I was and how long I’d already managed to hide out here. “That’s a really respectable amount of work to get done in that time,” she said.
“Thanks. My dad owns a contracting company back in Hawaii. I spent every summer until I moved off the island doing this stuff. It’s basically second nature at this point.”
“Hey, now,” Jack said. “Don’t sell yourself short. That’s still a hell of a lot of work, even for someone who knows what they’re doing.” He turned to Ella. “Ben’s got a great work ethic. Reminds me a lot of you, kiddo.”
I followed his gaze. “Jack said you’re an artist?” I asked, latching onto the chance to move the subject of conversation away from myself.
“More of a graphic designer at this point,” she said. “I’m the owner and sole employee of Ella Jones Paperie, which I sell through several outlets, including my own website.”
“I was wondering how an artist could make a living this far out in the boonies.” Too late I realized how that might sound insulting. “No offense.”
She grinned. “None taken. This is legit the boonies. To answer the question, you have to get creative. And good at bookkeeping and market research and understanding state and federal tax law. When I first started, I was selling one-of-a-kind paintings and barely scraping by. Two years ago, I switched to prints, which did a little better, and then a little over a year ago I adjusted my products and my target audience, and now most of my revenue comes from greeting cards, calendars, and wedding invitations. I use soy ink and recycled, compostable paper that I source locally, so I’m a hit with the eco-friendly crowd.”
