Another life improvement, as she called the list she’d created when she decided to leave corporate America, was to learn how to cook. She was getting pretty good at that, too. As for another one on the list—getting at least seven hours of sleep a night? That one was a piece of cake. Shelovedbeing able to sleep past sixa.m.
Her abandoned phone had four texts that she needed to return (one was for an interview with a potential assistant-slash-teen-intern that sounded very promising), and by the time she was finished with that, she heard thuds from thefoyer.
She returned just in time to see Declan prying up pieces of the maple base where the spikes had beenpositioned.
“Here we go,” he muttered, and Leslie moved to help him as he pulled the stubborn section of wrought iron free. The whole base moved with it, and there was an eerie, groaning sound as the two of them dragged the rail from itsmoorings.
As it came free, the groan tapered off into an echo that didn’t really belong to the sound of iron being wrested from wood. Leslie had the odd sensation that the entire house was shuddering, as if giving a reluctantrelease.
A chill skittered over her shoulders, and the scent of dust and must, and something else…something sharp and cold and unfamiliar…seeped into the air from the opening beneath therailing.
The hair lifting at the back of her neck, she glanced at Declan, feeling very strange about the fanciful thoughts that had overtaken her. He seemed oblivious to anything out of the ordinary, for he’d turned to set the section of wrought iron squares against thewall.
Now that part of it had been removed, Leslie could see how the rust—or whatever it was—had encroached not only onto the bottoms of the spikes, but inside the narrow, hollow base beneath therailing.
“Is it some sort of mold?” she asked, using a flathead screwdriver to poke and scrape at a portion ofit.
Declan returned and looked down into the hollow of the railing’s base. Pieces of insulation and other debris were stuffed inside, but moving some of it out of the way exposed the inside of the stairway wall. The coppery rust appeared to be all along the inside, and when Leslie looked at the underside of the maple channel into which the spikes had been thrust, there was more of the strangerust.
“It’s more of a discoloration,” he said, poking at it with his own tool. “It doesn’t scrape off like mold or rustwould.”
Leslie stepped back and sighed. “I guess I’d better get someone in to look at it, and make sure.” She crossed her arms and surveyed the damage—both literal and figurative. She could see her nest egg dwindling like a little puff ofsmoke.
Declan seemed to feel her pain. “Sorry about that. And I’ll do my best to keep the costs down on theiron.”
She smiled ruefully. “Ah, thanks, but I expect to be charged a fair price, Mr. Zyler. I knew what I was getting into when I started down this path—I mean, I suspected there would be surprises along the way. I just want everything to be doneright.”
“Right. I can appreciate that, but I also understand budgetary constraints. So let me know if you change your mind and want to just replace it all with the spindles from Home Depot.” He swallowed hard. “I can’t bring myself to do that personally, but I know someone who can.” He managed asmile.
“Thanks. You’ll really start on it rightaway?”
“Yes, tomorrow. I’ve got a few projects going, but I’ll take this section with me and get working as soon as possible. And call me Declan. Or Dec. Mr. Zyler just makes me feel uptight.” Now, there was a realsmile.
“And I’m Leslie.” She held out her hand for the shake that hadn’t happened originally, and wasn’t surprised when she felt a shock of awareness when their handstouched.
Somehow, Leslie suspected she’d make certain to find a way to use the blacksmith’s skills at Shenstone House as much aspossible.
Even if it cost afortune.
Two
The cozy townof Wicks Hollow was located in the center of a handful of rolling hills. None of them were large enough to be considered a mountain, but they did offer some protection from the harsh, lake effect winters that rolled in from Lake Michigan, only two milesaway.
With a population of roughly two thousand, except during tourist season (Memorial Day through Labor Day, then a few weeks in late September for Fall Colors), Wicks Hollow could barely be considered a town. However, because of the tourists and seasonal workers—which could bring the population to five thousand or more—the village had a three-member police department headed by Captain Joe Longbow—and a full-sized high school that had recently beenupdated.
Since the town had been an escape from the heat and city life of Chicago and Detroit even at the turn of the 20th century—for the wealthy, anyway—Wicks Hollow boasted an inordinate number of mansions considered historic “painted ladies.” These single-family homes were built during the boom of the Gilded Age and into the Roaring Twenties, with all the curlicues and garrets and towers characteristic of that era. Because of historic accuracy, the “ladies” were painted shockingly bright colors: lemon yellow, bright purple, Kelly green, and many different shades of blue or pink. They had neat, square yards, broad, shady trees, and trim flower beds. Some even had iron-spiked fences and detached carriage houses. There were large, square houses with flat roofs and cupolas on top, and others with dormers, garrets, and peaks jutting up everywhere. There were a few, like Shenstone House, that had circulartowers.
The streets leading into town were lined with mansions, single-family residences, cottages, and stately farmhouses. Three blocks of Elizabeth Street, which ran directly north one block west from the town center, was known as B&B Row, where each well-maintained house was a small inn or bed and breakfast. A few lucky ones even had glimpses of Lake Michigan, only two miles to the west, from their upper floors. On the upper floor of Sunflower House, from the northwest tower, you could even see Stony Cape, a lighthouse which sat out on a rocky point of LakeMichigan.
In the center of the village, the business and tourist district was just as manicured and inviting. It boasted two main streets—named Faith Avenue and Pamela Boulevard after the daughters of the town’s founder, George Wicks—that intersected in the middle of the touristdistrict.
Leslie had decided George Wicks had been either optimistic or delusional, for the two main drags were nowhere close to being either an avenue or a boulevard. Two cars could just pass by each other because parking was only allowed on one side of the street. Nevertheless, the massive stone pots containing spills of pansies, geraniums, and ivy and the Victorian style streetlamps gave the place a comfortable, welcoming feel even as the evenings turned chilly withautumn.
For two blocks in each of the four directions from the town’s center, shops, restaurants, cafes, and other businesses sprang up. Every one was a brick-fronted building of with unique heights, widths, and brick pattern. Leslie walked past Aunt Cherry’s yoga studio, which was on the second floor and had a view of long, ribboning Wicks Lake outside of town to the northeast, a vintage clothing shop called Gilda’s Goodies, and the trendy, urban-looking Trib’s, which was the best restaurant in thecounty.
To the south and east of the town, a bank of thickly wooded hills rose like a natural, protective wall. Through the trees, Leslie could see the peaks and towers of more Victorian mansions—including a hint of the roof of her own Shenstone House, which sat on the highest hill but was cloaked by thick woods. Beyond the hill was the high school, which had been around since 1950, though it had been updated several times over theyears.
The bells jingled over the door when Leslie stepped into Orbra’s Tea House and saw her aunt sitting at a round table near the frontwindow.
