With Baited Breath (6 page)

“Yeah, well, Irene’s been a widow for a while. I expect every widow in the county will be after me now.”

“Are you interested in…” she swallowed, “hooking up?”

“Hell, no! Not with what’s available locally, anyway. Besides, your grandma seemed to think Irene nagged her last husband to death.” He cleared his throat. “I thought I’d make me a sandwich. It’s just about lunchtime. Want me to make you something, too?”

“What did you have in mind?” Kathy asked.

“Egg salad.”

Tori grinned. “Nobody makes egg salad like my Gramps. He chops up green olives and mixes them in.”

“Sounds great to me,” Kathy said.

“Watch the store, willya?” Herb asked. It wouldn’t be hard to do. He hadn’t had a customer the entire time they’d been painting. They’d made good progress. Tori estimated they’d be finished with the first coat by the time the sandwiches were made.

Sure enough, by the time they wrapped the brushes in plastic and batted the lids onto the paint cans, Herb returned. “I already ate. Your lunch is in the fridge.”

“Thanks, Gramps.”

“Any customers?” he asked, looking out over the bay.

“Not so far,” Kathy said. “But soon they’ll be coming in droves.”

“Hmmm,” was Herb’s only reply as he went back into the shop.

Tori looked at her hands, which were a mess with splatters. “I wonder if Gramps has a scrub brush handy.”

“Totally unnecessary,” Kathy said, as she started toward the house. “Got any baby oil?”

“I think there’s some in the bathroom, though God only knows how old it is.”

“It should work. Come on. I’m starved.”

The baby oil worked like magic—once they employed a scrub brush--and soon the women were sitting at the kitchen table eating lunch.

“This is the best egg salad sandwich I’ve ever had,” Kathy said between bites.

“Told you.” Tori poured more iced tea from the sweating pitcher. “So you want to run up to Anissa’s place after this?”

“Uh-huh. I also want to take a look at the Bloomfield house. Everyone around here talks about it like it’s some kind of mansion.”

“Not exactly. It’s a big house, but had a lot of money poured into it over the years.”

“How many bedrooms?”

“Nobody I know has ever been inside, although supposedly it’s been featured in a bunch of magazines.”

“They don’t have help who talk?”

Tori shrugged. “I haven’t been a part of the scene around here for years. I wouldn’t even know where to hear the latest gossip.”

“Perhaps in your grandfather’s bait shop?”

“Well, maybe if we could get a few customers to come in we might hear something.”

“Just wait,” Kathy said with confidence.

“If the paint’s still tacky when we get back From Anissa’s, we’ll attack the signs. Have you got a steady hand?”

“You mean for outlining the letters?” Kathy shrugged. “I’ll give it a try. It can’t look much worse than it does now.”

They polished off the last of the sandwiches, loaded the dishwasher, and headed out the door. “I’ll drive,” Kathy said after Tori had told Herb where they were going and why, and then they piled into Kathy’s car.

It had been at least a decade, maybe more, since Tori had gone up the Resort Road. Back then, it had been populated with summer cottages and a singlewide trailer or two. Now, the cottages were gone, and in their places were an assortment of year-round homes, from log cabins to a McMansion or two. At the top of the hill was the Bloomfield estate.

The big two-story brick home sat at the top of the hill. Thick columns held up the roof of a wide porch that ran across the front of the house. The lawns were as meticulously groomed as the fairways of an exclusive country club. The landscaping around the front of the home was a riot of reds and pinks. Were they Lucinda Bloomfield’s favorite colors?

The road’s only eyesore was the ramshackle little home of the man who’d been found in the Lotus Lodge just days before. One might call Mr. Jackson’s house a bungalow, but it was hard to see thanks to the knee-high grass and unkempt bushes that nearly hid it from view.

Anissa’s truck was parked outside, and they could see she’d attempted to cut the grass with a rusty hand mower, the likes of which Tori hadn’t seen since she’d been at least ten. It was totally unsuitable for the task and Anissa had obviously given up after only managing to cut a swath about a foot wide and ten feet long.

“I can see why old Lady Bloomfield doesn’t like the view at the bottom of her drive,” Tori muttered.

“Nothing a little pruning, paint, and elbow grease couldn’t rectify.”

Kathy was such an optimist.

As they approached the side door, they saw a rusty power mower sitting under the plastic canopy that covered the cracked concrete patio. “Maybe I could offer to loan her our mower.”

“Hey, if she’ll come to look at the house with me, I’ll offer to cut the grass for her.”

Tori knocked on the door. They looked around self-consciously as they waited.

“Knock again,” Kathy whispered.

Tori knocked harder this time, and soon the door swung back. “Ready for some company?”

Anissa filled the doorframe. She’d been crying again. She looked over her shoulder. “Not really, but … Oh, what the hell. Come on in.”

She moved aside and Tori stepped in. “Oh, my,” she said with awe as she took in the kitchen, which was not what she was expecting.

“It’s beautiful,” Kathy said as her gaze traveled around the room to the apron sink and granite counters.

“Sorry about the mess. I was having lunch,” Anissa apologized. “I found some bread in the freezer. Care for a peanut butter sandwich?”

“No, thanks. We just ate,” Tori said, still taking in the details of the kitchen. A small stainless steel dishwasher stood next to a wine fridge. The cabinets were cherry, sporting polished nickel hardware.

“Wow. Noreen over at The Bay Bar said your father was a gifted carpenter. She wasn’t kidding,” Kathy murmured.

“The place looks a wreck on the outside. I don’t suppose Daddy entertained much, but he did like to putter around and fix things up. And you are?”

“Oh, I’m sorry. Anissa Jackson, this is my friend, Kathy Grant,” Tori said.

“Nice to meet you,” Kathy said and offered her hand. They shook. ”I’m so sorry for your loss.”

“Yeah, well … so am I,” Anissa said, her voice wavering. “What can I do for you?”

“I told Kathy about your building and construction experience. We were wondering if we might barter for your expertise.”

Anissa’s eyes widened. “That sounds interesting.”

“I’m going to look at a house this afternoon. I’m in the market for a fixer-upper. I’m from Batavia and don’t know any contractors in the area. Tori thought you might be able to advise me.”

“And in return?” Anissa asked.

“We’d cut your grass and maybe take a whack at some of those bushes out front.”

“Sounds like I’d be getting the better end of the bargain, but I’ll take you up on it. Where and when?”

“Meet us outside the Lotus Lodge just before four and we’ll walk over.”

Anissa’s eyes narrowed. “Walk?”

“Yeah, there’s a house for sale on the other side of The Bay Bar.”

“That horrible wreck?” Anissa asked.

“That’s the one,” Tori said. “It doesn’t seem worth looking at, let alone contemplating saving, but Kathy’s a sucker for hard-luck cases.”

“That’s why we’ve been friends so long,” Kathy said with a sidelong glance at Tori.

“When can you cut the grass?” Anissa asked.

“We’ve got to finish painting the bait shop, but if it’s not too damp this evening, we could cut the grass after six. Either that or first thing tomorrow.”

“Works for me,” Anissa said.

“Great.”

“We’d better get going. The bait shop isn’t going to paint itself,” Kathy said. “See you around four.”

“You got it.”

Anissa closed the door on them and they walked back to Kathy’s car. Mr. Jackson had taken meticulous care of the inside of his home but not the outside. Therefore, Tori could understand why his nearest neighbor wanted to wipe out the blight that was Jackson’s lot. The only question was, did Lucinda Bloomfield want to beautify the neighborhood badly enough to kill?

CHAPTER 6

The paint was dry on the north side of the bait shop when Tori and Kathy arrived back at the Cannon compound. Tori started the second coat while Kathy began work on restoring the aged wooden signs. First she scraped away the old paint, trusting it was oil based—not lead—and painted the background white before starting the red lettering with the black drop shadow. She’d finished the side of the sign facing east while Tori had repainted the north and east sides of the shop. During that time, the shop saw three customers enter its doors. A hopeful sign.

Tori approached. “It’s fifteen minutes until we’re supposed to meet the real estate agent,” she called.

Kathy put her brush down and admired her work.

“Not bad,” Tori said. “Looks like a pro did it.”

Kathy smiled. “Thanks. After supper I’ll tackle the other side. That is if you don’t mind doing the other two sides of the shop.

“I do—but it’s got to be done. You were right; I’m loving the color. I sure hope you’re also right that it will be good for business.”

“Trust me.” Kathy tamped down the lids on the paint cans. “I need to clean up and change before we head across the street. Is it okay if I leave these here?”

“I’ll move them over to the sidewalk outside the Lotus Lodge—just in case any of our boat people show up. It’ll look tidier.”

“There’s a Dumpster in your front yard and you’re worried about a couple of paint cans?”

Tori pouted.

“Okay, okay,” Kathy said affably. “I’ll be back in a few minutes.” She looked both ways before crossing the road. The speed limit on the bridge was only thirty miles per hour, but was raised to fifty-five immediately afterward and drivers didn’t hesitate a second before putting their pedals to the metal. She had no desire to be road kill.

Only a few motorcycles were parked in The Bay Bar’s parking lot, near her own car. Kathy hurried to wash and change. When she emerged from her room, she saw that Anissa had already arrived and she and Tori were leaning against the bar’s deck waiting for her. Anissa was wearing a tool belt strapped around her waist.

“You came prepared,” Kathy said, delighted.

“The place probably doesn’t have electricity. I brought a flashlight, a hammer, screwdrivers, a stud finder, and a couple of other things that might be useful.”

“Shall we walk over to the house?” Tori asked.

Together the women crossed the parking lot for the weedy patch of dirt that ran parallel to the road. The hedges at the side of the yard were completely out of control, soaring some fifteen or more feet into the air and adding to the aura of neglect that clung to the house. It looked even worse in the afternoon light than it had in the morning, but Kathy felt a thrill of excitement just looking at it. She’d looked at a lot of houses in Batavia and never had she felt such a sense of welcome as she got from this sadly abused dwelling. It was stupid. It was a ruin, but she
wanted
it as bad as a kid wants her first bike. She knew Tori would try to talk her out of it, which was why she was glad they’d asked Anissa to join them. Kathy had come close to putting an offer on another fixer-upper until she’d found out there were foundation issues. What idiot built a house on dirt? The beams were so far gone it was a miracle they supported the floor above them, let alone the rest of the building’s weight. What bad news would Anissa deliver when she looked over the place?

The front yard, if that’s what it could be called, was little more than a sand lot sprouting a variety of weeds. A couple hundred thousand years earlier where they now stood was once the bottom of Lake Ontario. It would probably need a couple of tons of topsoil before a decent lawn could grow.

“I’m going to walk around the building to see what’s up. Anybody want to join me?” Anissa asked.

Kathy looked down at her sandaled feet and bare legs and thought about snakes and ticks that might be lurking in the thigh-high grass and weeds. “Not right now. Besides, I need to wait for the real estate agent.”

“I’ll come,” Tori volunteered. She hadn’t changed from her jeans and sweatshirt.

Kathy watched them walk around the corner, and then turned her gaze back to the front of the house. Most of the paint had worn off the clapboards from years of hostile weather, but the naked wood didn’t look in too bad of shape. Kathy was about to mount the steps when a black SUV pulled into what was left of a gravel driveway. Kathy’s heart started to pound as a man with thick white hair, dressed in khaki’s and a green golf shirt, got out of the car, with a clipboard in hand.

“Kathy Grant?” he called.

“Yes. Mr. Peterson?”

“That’s me. Call me Jerry.”

Kathy met him halfway and they shook hands. “Hi, Jerry. I’m glad you could fit me into your schedule.”

“This place has been on the market so long, I didn’t want to miss a chance to show it. What kind of business were you thinking of building on the site? Restaurant? Convenience store?”

Kathy frowned. “Nothing of the kind. If I buy this property, I’d restore the house.”

Jerry scowled. “Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

“Well, my contractor is wandering around in the back. She’ll be able to give me a better idea once we’ve walked through the place.”

Jerry dug into his pants pocket and removed a key. He advanced toward the lockbox on the front door. “Let’s get to it.”

He unlocked the door and held it open for Kathy to go inside. The air was stifling, and smelled of must, stale urine, and dry rot, but Kathy was not deterred. What had once been a large open foyer had been closed in with drywall, delineating what looked to be a couple of small apartments. The drywall to the left looked like someone had taken an ax to it, and faded pink fiberglass insulation seemed to seep from the wounds. The ceiling above sported peeling paint and lath with missing plaster, making Kathy’s heart ache to see such neglect.

“As you can see, the place is in major disrepair,” Jerry said unnecessarily.

The door to the left hung on unsteady hinges. Kathy pushed it open and stepped inside. The floor was black and badly water damaged.

The filthy empty fish tank that lay on its side explained that story. A stained-and-torn mattress had been shoved against one corner of the room, and the fireplace was filled with paper, cans, bottles, and other trash. It had been boxed in. Could there be treasure—tile, stone, or a lovely old mantle—under the sheetrock? The tangled mess of what had been the framework of a suspended ceiling hung in ruins overhead, but Kathy could see above it cove molding, and again her heart started to beat faster.

A noise behind her made her jump. “Boy, what a dump,” Tori said.

Kathy cringed before forcing a smile and making introductions, while Jerry eyed Anissa with consternation. “You’re not local,” he said, his voice flat.

“Nope. I’m from Rochester. Tori and I are old friends.”

“You’re a contractor?” he asked skeptically.

Anissa shot a look at Kathy and smiled. “You don’t think a woman is up for the job?”

“Oh, no—not at all. It’s just—” But he didn’t offer a further explanation.

“Is this place safe to walk through?” Tori asked, sounding worried.

“We’ll find out,” Anissa said, and turned for the hall that led to the back of the house.

They wandered through the rest of the first floor, which had been turned into three apartments. All the rooms seemed to be filled with trash from its former occupants. The apartment in the back had once housed what seemed to be the original dining room and a large kitchen, the latter of which had been divided to include a terrible little bathroom whose tiled surround seemed to now fill the undersized bathtub.

The kitchen cabinets weren’t original, the counter was littered with mouse droppings, and the floor was worn with many holes, revealing layers and layers of old linoleum and even the wide planks of the original subfloor. Kathy’s heart sank as her logical mind started totaling up the cost of gutting and replacing just about everything on the first floor.

“Shall we go upstairs?” Anissa asked.

“You go, I’ll just hang around down here,” Jerry said. He looked discouraged, as though he’d already decided that showing the house had been a colossal waste of his time.

Anissa led the way and Kathy and Tori followed after her. The wide stairs must have once looked magnificent, but many of the balusters were missing, as was the finial on top of the newel post.

“Kath, you can’t possibly think this place is worth saving,” Tori said.

Kathy looked at Anissa, who merely shrugged.

The top floor had been divided into another three apartments, whose conditions mirrored those below.

“If you’re thinking of turning this joint into a B and B, the bathrooms they added to the top floor will make it worthwhile. That is if they aren’t full of galvanized pipe,” Anissa said. “You never know what’s there until you start pulling the walls apart. If it’s got a decent attic, you might fit in another two guest rooms.”

“What’s your assessment so far?” Kathy asked, dreading the answer.

Anissa shrugged. “I dunno. The electrical needs a total revamp. There are fifteen amp fuses in the box at the end of the kitchen—and that’s just plain dangerous in a house this size. Did you notice that every room only has one electrical outlet? That’s got to change. The roof is iffy. There isn’t one gutter on the entire place, which is why there’s so much wood rot. And I really need to look at the basement and the furnace and water heaters, which could reveal another whole set of problems.”

“Kath, you need to walk away from this money pit,” Tori said, her brow furrowed with honest concern.

“Not necessarily,” Anissa said, and Kathy noted the angry look Tori shot in her childhood friend’s direction

“What do you mean?”

“It depends on your goals. How bad do you want a historic property? How much are you willing to spend to bring it back to a habitable state? How much intestinal fortitude do you have to see the whole restoration project through, and how much do you just plain want it?”

“What do you think it would cost to bring a place like this back to life?” Kathy asked, and her gut tightened.

Anissa shrugged. “It depends on your definition of restoration. Rehab is cheaper. You could do it for maybe fifty or sixty grand if you went on the cheap. Double, triple, or even more if you want historical accuracy.”

“Have you ever restored an historical home?” Kathy asked.

“I’ve worked on a couple of them, but I’ve never been a general contractor on such a big project.”

“Do you think you could do it?”

Anissa smiled. “I’d sure like to try.”

Tori shook her head. “Kath, you can’t be serious. This place is a wreck.”

Kathy frowned. “I’m not in a hurry. You know I’ve got another four months before I get my inheritance. Is anyone else likely to try to buy this place in the interim?”

“Anything’s possible,” Anissa said.

“You don’t have to make a decision today, tomorrow, or even next week,” Tori said adamantly.

“That’s for sure,” Kathy admitted.

“Let’s try to find that attic access, and then I’ll check the basement,” Anissa said.

Kathy nodded, trying to avoid Tori’s angry glare.

Anissa found a narrow set of stairs that led to the attic, but neither Kathy nor Tori deigned to follow her up, leaving the two friends alone.

“Kath,” Tori began.

“Don’t,” Kathy warned. “May I remind you that you’re trying to resurrect your grandfather’s failing bait and tackle shop?”

“Yes, but all it’s costing me is a few cans of paint, a little elbow grease, and a lot of hope. The work it would take just to revive this old house, let alone make it pay for itself, is tremendous.”

“I watch the same home renovation shows you do. I have a pretty good idea of what I’d be in for. And you’ve got to know that a big part of the appeal in buying this place is that you’d be across the road.”

Tori shook her head. “I don’t know
where
I’ll be in a couple of months.”

“I do,” Kathy said with conviction.

“You can’t stake your future on what I may or may not do.”

“But I can stake my future on what I’ve been planning, saving, and dreaming about since I was seventeen years old.”

Tori held up her hands in surrender. “Okay, okay. I won’t say another word.”

“Thank you.” Kathy looked around the ruined, water-damaged wall in the hall. “I want to walk through the whole house at least one more time. I need to make some notes and take some measurements.”

“I’ll meet you back at the bait shop,” Tori said, gave the hall another onceover and shook her head before she started down the stairs. Kathy followed at a slower pace.

The front door was open and Kathy could see Jerry standing by his car talking on his phone. She turned and entered the apartment on the right. The room had originally been a parlor. It was in the same shape as its twin across the hall, but the room seemed to have double the amount of trash piled almost waist high in some spots. Kathy saw nothing worth salvaging and wondered how many Dumpsters it would take to clear out the place.