The landline rang.
She stared at it.
One of those ancient handsets with a coiled cord, no caller ID, and no mute button. Basically a dare to answer.
It rang again.
She rolled her eyes. Picked it up. And dropped it right back onto the cradle.
She’d agreed to open the shop, smile at strangers, and attempt basic human warmth. At no point had she consented to blind trust via old-school phone.
Naturally, it rang again.
Frankie sighed, snatched the receiver, and barked, “What?”
Silence.
Then, laughter.
“Oh wow,” a woman said. “That was aggressively unfriendly.”
Frankie rolled her eyes. “And?”
“I’m just saying, I’ve been gone for one day and you’re already answering the bookstore phone like it’s a debt collector.”
Frankie narrowed her eyes. “Who the hell is this, and why are you interrupting my morning?”
Chapter 16
Marcus had met with the Manhattan renovation crew at seven a.m. at a bakery in Chantilly Falls. While they’d been briefed in their contracts about the need to maintain his cover story and work alongside a local crew, he’d felt the need to go over it with them in person. He’d also spent the time filling them in on the locals he’d hired. Their strengths, weaknesses, and, because it mattered here, their quirks. That last part had taken the longest.
And through it all, Frankie’s voice kept threading into his thoughts.“I haven’t even called you Daddy yet.”
Now, it was nine o’clock. Both crews rolled up to Gi Gi’s Manor in a slow, rain-slick parade of trucks and vans, headlights cutting through the mist. Marcus stood at the top of the front steps, clipboard tucked under his arm, thermos in hand, and watched as boots crunched over gravel.
“Welcome. Come on in.”
Inside, he waved them toward a makeshift sawhorse table where the blueprints lay unrolled. Beside it, an easel held a framed still from the 1974 remake ofThe Great Gatsby. The manor had been built in 1921, the same roaring decade Fitzgerald helped make infamous. And Gi Gi had adored that world…the novel, movie, and Robert Redford with equal devotion. Marcus and his brothers had watched it more times than they’d care to admit, the last only a week before she died. Restoring the manor in Gatsby’s image wasn’t just a design choice. It was a tribute.
“Welcome to Day One of what’s scheduled to be a twenty-eight-day project. Thus, the need for two crews,” Marcus told them. “When the renovations are complete, a designer will take over.”
“Feels like an optimistic plan,” someone muttered from the back.
“It is,” Marcus agreed. “But everything we need is already on-site. All permits are already approved and on file.” Marcus fought back a yawn. He’d slept little after walking away from Frankie last night, and it showed. “You’ll work side by side, so take a minute to introduce yourselves. I have no patience for drama. Outsiders versus locals, city slickers versus country folk… Doesn’t matter. One team. Same pay for everyone.”
“Guess that means no brawls in the kitchen,” Harriet called.
“Especially not in the kitchen,” he said flatly.
A few eyebrows went up. Ruthie Sims, the town’s resident structural pessimist, gave a grunt of approval. According to Harriet, Ruthie hadn’t smiled since Gladys Monroe, former nun, got trapped in thechurch pantry overnight with a jar of expired pickles and a glitchy ghost-hunting app.
“Everyone on the same page? Anything I need to clarify?” Marcus asked.
“Until further notice, nobody should touch the railing on the third-floor landing. It’s cursed,” Harriet announced.
The out-of-towners laughed.
“She’s not kidding,” Ruthie added. “Last time she called something cursed, Delilah came down with the shingles.”
