“You’ve got the wrong person,” I told the guy.
He stepped closer and leaned over my desk. “I know you’re Tiffany Amanda Blair.”
What was this going to be? A subpoena, an arrest warrant, a notice that Tiffany owed the government thirty grand?
I pushed my chair backward. Casually rolling out of the room seemed like my only option. All he had to do was prove that he’d made an attempt to deliver whatever it was.Three failed attempts to deliver Very Bad News to Tiffany Amanda Blair,he could report to his manager.
A disturbing thought crossed my mind. What if my alias had killed someone? Now that would be tragic irony, to have spent the last three hundred years restraining my natural bloodthirsty instincts only to be arrested for someone else’s crimes.
I gripped the arms of my office chair and considered my exit options. Before I could make my getaway, the man thrust an envelope into my hands. “Will you sign?”
Like Marie Antoinette walking to the guillotine, I robotically signedthe name of the murderess whose identity I’d purchased.Tiffany Amanda Blair.
“What is this?” I asked.
“I’m just the delivery guy,” he said before he walked off, leaving me at my desk holding an uncertain destiny in my hands.
“Is this a divorce thing?” Lance said, sticking his head through the doorway.
I hoped it was a divorce thing and not a murder thing.
Doyle & Doyle
15 Main St.
Valentine, VT 10137
Dear Tiffany Amanda Blair:
It is with great regret that I must inform you of your aunt Mildred Jane Blair’s passing. We were unable to reach you during her final days, despite great effort. Your aunt has left you with a property, the country inn where she raised you. You will find pictures of the plot enclosed, as well as its current valuation.
It couldn’t be. I wasn’t going to jail for a heinous crime, and I wasn’t on the hook for obscene amounts of money. I wasn’t even due for a visit to family court.
I blinked dumbly at the letter, barely able to believe it. This was good news.
“Lance,” I said as the realization dawned on me, “this says I inherited a piece of property in Vermont.”
“Vermont, huh? Bet it’s cold there,” Lance said. He didn’t sound as interested now that I was no longer getting fake divorced.
Like temperature mattered to me.
Visions of freshly fallen snow, Christmas trees, maple syrup, andcharming, locally owned businesses danced in my head. Had I unknowingly bought the identity of a Hallmark heroine? Was I going to be a small-town innkeeper?
This was it, the moment I had been waiting for. The financial uncertainty that had plagued me for three hundred years was suddenly solved by one letter delivered by a stocky man with a thick beard. My heart soared. No more rent. No more crappy laundromat. No more tiny apartment with broken and bent venetian blinds that let in spotty patches of sunlight. I never did manage to hang up those curtains that promised “graveyard lighting.”
Wide-eyed and hopeful, I reached into the envelope and pulled out the pictures and another stack of papers. My soaring heart stuttered at the first image.
Photo 1, exterior of the inn. The photo depicted a hulking Victorian building. The paint was peeling, and an unruly landscape was encroaching. It was the kind of place that little kids wouldn’t approach at Halloween without the lure of a full-size candy bar.
Photo 2, view from the road. This one depicted a winding drive. An off-kilter, heart-shaped sign at the end of the drive announced the property as the Valentine Bed-and-Breakfast. The paint had worn off in spots, leaving it as theBed-and- reakfast. Wreck fest was right.
Photo 3, interior, downstairs. The inside was a mess. Everything was ancient or falling apart. It looked like a Victorian frat after a rager, and I would know. Been there, done that.
I flipped back to the letter for some kind of explanation. Maybe it came with money to fix it up. Or maybe these were the “before” photos.
The majority of Ms. Blair’s estate was sold off to pay her medical bills, but she was able to retain ownership of the country inn where you grew up. You will find that the property has fallen into some disrepair since you last saw it, and the inn itself is no longer in operation. If you would like me to arrange a sale, I could do so for a small fee.
Please let me know how you would like to proceed.
