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Meaning that if she were going to be working here in Blue Haven—and she refused to believe it would go any other way—she was going to need to find an apartment. Something close to the firm and something cheap.
Keeping the car in park, she did a search for real estate agents in the area, stopping when she saw a woman by the name of Janelle Woods, whose office was just around the corner.
Waverley smiled and hit dial on the office number.
If that wasn’t a sign, then she didn’t know what was.
* * *
The sun was bright overhead, almost making the morning air feel warmer than the chilly forty-eight degrees that it was. But it didn’t matter to Waverley as she walked along the sidewalk in downtown Blue Haven two days after deciding to move here, grinning at a younger couple passing by, carrying their coffee, then an older woman walking her darling little Yorkie.
This was definitely the right choice. Moving to this tiny town. No one seemed to recognize her or know the baggage she carried.
It was exactly what she needed to build a new life for herself, whatever that might be.
When she reached Cavanaugh Investigations, she was relieved to see the lights on and the open sign left in the front window. Unlike yesterday when she’d shown up ready to give Reynolds Cavanaugh every reason why he should hire her. She’d been disappointed, of course, but she hadn’t let it defeat her.
Instead she’d used the extra day to unpack her meager boxes and bags and take inventory of everything she’d need to outfit her tiny new apartment. Which was pretty much everything since, when she’d left her Boulder home while under the watchful eye of the federal agents, grabbing silverware, pans, and her KitchenAid wasn’t foremost on her mind. She was hoping that later today she would have a chance to find the most basic stuff at the store not far from her place.
The bell above the door announced her arrival as she opened it and stepped inside, the slightly musty scent common in older buildings rushing to greet her first. She’d have to find some way to air the place out, maybe add a scented candle?
From the office in the back, she could hear Reynolds Cavanaugh’s voice as he asked someone to hold on. There were footsteps before he reached his door. “I’ll be with you in a minute,” he said and, without waiting for an answer, shut his office door.
Although his voice was more muffled now, Waverley could still make out most of what he was saying, something that sounded a lot like a tech problem he was having.
With the owner preoccupied, Waverley took the opportunity to look around the office again, a space that didn’t improve on second introduction. There was still a thick coat of dust clinging to every slat in the blinds that covered the broad windows, and the windows were just about as dirty, as if they hadn’t been cleaned in months. The dark-espresso leather couch was about the only thing new in here, with its soft but firm comfortable cushions that still retained their smooth sheen.
The magazines with their dog-eared pages from editions dating back nearly a year were still unevenly stacked on a solid but unvarnished coffee table. Overhead, the same dust that clung to the blinds seemed to cling to the blades of the ceiling fan, and she was pretty sure she could see cobwebs in the corner.
These small details might not have been noticed by a casual observer when they stepped inside the office for their appointment, but to a woman who’d lived with her father since she was fourteen and was familiar with his exacting requirements for the cleanliness level he expected of the entire estate, she couldn’t help but see it all.
She took a few more steps over to the reception desk, curious to see if there were any signs of a recent occupant. She was going to venture a guess that it had been some time since a receptionist sat at that desk. Chaos was the only word she could think of when she looked at the desk that was covered by a mess of stacked mail, papers, packages, and multicolored Post-it Notes strewn across it.
Her fingers itched to get to work sorting and dusting the entire place, even though it would probably make a mess of the carefully chosen white blouse and flirty white skirt patterned with red posies.
The phone started ringing, and Waverley instinctively took a step toward it, pausing before she picked it up. She could hear Reynolds still in the midst of his conversation, not sounding close to being over, even while the second light blinked from the incoming call.
No, Waverley. He hasn’t hired you yet.
Don’t overstep.
After what felt like forever, the phone finally stopped ringing.
She was about to step away from the desk when her eyes caught on a piece of unopened mail labeled Last Notice.
That wouldn’t be good. Maybe Reynolds hadn’t noticed it. Or the package that was buried under another pile of mail.
Maybe he’d have a better chance at seeing important stuff if there wasn’t so much junk overwhelming the space.
Tentatively, she pushed through the stuff and handpicked out any mail that seemed like it might be a priority, such as the letter warning Last Notice. But the sheer volume of stuff that only started falling to the floor was making it more difficult, which was why she started organizing things into stacks, with junk mail separated on one end of the counter and packages on the other and everything in the middle stacked by date of receipt.
The phone rang again and she glanced back to see the door still shut.
Ring-ring.
Ring-ring.
She bit her lip.
