“Your Great-Aunt Penelope has named you sole heir to the Chickadee Motel.”
Cordelia’s brows pinched together. What kind of nonsense name was the Chickadee Motel? Not any place that respectable people could take seriously, that was for sure. Besides, she didn’t know the first thing about running a motel.
“I’m not sure if hospitality would suit me.” Just the thought of touching sheets other people had slept in made a cold drop of sweat slide down her spine. “Can I sell it?”
“I’m afraid not,” Mr. Jenkins said. “There’s a developer by the name of Sean O’Leary who’s sniffing around here, and he’d love to get his hands on the Chickadee, believe me, but her trust states that it may not be sold until the current residents move out or pass away.”
“People live there?” She knew even less about being a landlord than she did about running a motel. “Can I ask them to leave?”
He laughed. “You can try, but the town wouldn’t be too happy with you. The Chickadee is... something of an institution, and we, the good folks here in Sarsaparilla Falls, think it’s best to just leave things the way they are.”
Cordelia didn’t give a single fly’s carcass about the town’s feelings. But if the residents were on some kind of cheap rental plan, they might not want to leave anyway. Not in this economy. “And what happens if I decide not to take it on?”
She had a good life. A job she liked well enough, a dirt-free apartment, and a weekly lunch date with a now-sober Sherilynn. There was no need to complicate it with unpleasant business in a town where she had an unpleasant history. And a residential motel with a no-sale clause sounded like the type of mess she’d spent her entire life avoiding.
“If you decide not to take on the Chickadee, ownership will pass to your momma.”
She pinched the bridge of her nose. That wouldn’t do. Not at all. The only reason her momma had been on the wagon these past twenty years was because she’d finally gotten away from Sarsaparilla Falls and all the ugly memories of Cordelia’s daddy walking out on them. Her momma had a good life in Dallas too, but Cordelia feared she wouldn’t be able to resist the opportunity to return to that town and take ownership of an alleged institution—if only to rub it in folks’ faces for all the years they’d called her trash.
Cordelia released a long-suffering sigh. “How long do I have to decide?”
“You have a month to make a proper decision. If you’re still not sure by the first of June, you’ll forfeit your right to ownership and the Chickadee will then pass to Sherilynn.”
Chapter Two
CORDELIA SAT AT HER USUAL TABLE AT THE COOP AND SCOOP, FOLDINGand refolding the paper napkin she’d set neatly in her lap. The red-and-white-checkered tablecloth crinkled as she shifted it, so the edge of the squares lined up perfectly with the edge of the Formica booth. Then she rearranged the single-serve jellies, so they all faced the same way in the plastic caddy. Setting things to right had a way of soothing her nerves, like a cigarette or a double shot of whiskey did for others.
It had been two days since she’d taken that phone call from her deceased Great-Aunt Penelope’s lawyer, an odd fellow who’d locked her into a situation where she couldn’t yet see a means of escape... unless she could convince the residents of the motel to sell. She had three weeks of vacation saved up and figured she could get things sorted one way or another by then. She just wasn’t sure what she’d tell her momma.
Cordelia glanced at the rooster-shaped clock hanging above the bar. Sherilynn was ten minutes late, but that was to be expected. Her internal alarms ran on snooze. And seeing as how Cordelia always ran ten minutes early, they were like two trains passing each other in a second-grade math problem. They didn’t mean to be opposites. They just were.
“Sorry I’m late, sweetheart.” Sherilynn West breezed into the Coop and Scoop like she did most things in life, in a whirlwindof chaos and cucumber-melon body spray. “I was on my way here when I saw this old dresser with the cutest knobs you ever did see sitting on the side of the road like trash. I couldn’t just leave it there.”
Cordelia’s momma had traded her addiction to gin and tonics for an addiction to rehabbing furniture people left out on the street. She rented a booth at an upscale consignment shop in Highland Park and churned out a decent living. It never ceased to amaze Cordelia how much money rich people were willing to spend to look shabby just because it was chic, and her momma was the queen of capitalizing on the trend.
There was no telling what kind of trouble she’d get into if she got her hands on whatever furnishings had been left behind at the Chickadee.
“I ordered our drinks already,” Cordelia said. “I hope you don’t mind.”
“Not at all.” Her momma beamed as she took in Cordelia’s appearance. “You look different. Did you trim your hair?”
Cordelia shook her head.
Her momma tilted her head. “A facial?”
“I haven’t made any aesthetic changes at all.” She picked at the corner of the napkin in her lap as she wiggled into the small opening she’d been given. “But I have some news. You might not like it, but hear me out.”
“Okay.” Her momma drew out the vowels on a long, wary note.
“I’m going to miss lunch for the next three weeks. I’ll be out of town.” There was obviously a bit more to it than that, but Cordelia wanted to dip a toe in and test the waters before elaborating. “I’m looking into a few job opportunities.”
“What about the library?” Sherilynn wrinkled her nose as if she could sniff out the bull. “You love that job, and you worked so hard to get it.”
“I’m just looking. I’m not committing to anything yet.” She hadn’t figured out how to bring up Sarsaparilla Falls to her momma, but she wanted to do it slowly, the way new parents let their house cats sniff around toys and blankets to keep them from smothering the baby in their sleep. “You know how rough it’s been at work lately.”
It pained Cordelia to admit the downtown library she loved had changed so much. With book bans heating up, her job had become more of a stress than a joy. The only silver lining was at least she didn’t live in Florida. Not that Texas was much better. When she went to school, she never thought she’d be putting her actual life on the line to protect children’s right to read.
But selling the motel would go a long way toward funding her education if she did decide to switch careers. Maybe she’d look into something that required less daily interaction with the public, like quality control management or taxidermy.
