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“That’s fine.” Somehow she refrained from saying, “Anything helps,” because she didn’t want Mr. Davis knowing that she was broke and desperate.
Adjusting his glasses, he checked his files. “I also have questions about a few more items in the house, particularly the ceramic angel collection.”
“I’ll keep it,” she said at once.
That was sheer instinct. It had been important to Gertie, and Iris couldn’t bring herself to liquidate it. Not now, anyway. She was still getting used to the idea of inheriting anything. How could she be heartless right from the jump?
“Understood. Then there are just some documents to sign…”
All told, the meeting took less than an hour, and the attorney provided all the documentation she needed to turn the power on in her name. None of this solved her immediate cash flow problem, but hopefully, Frederic would be chill. While she understood that he needed the money too, she couldn’t sell enough plasma to pay him off any sooner. She had been doing that to pay down her credit card, but the donations didn’t cover rent, her phone bill, food, or her share of the utilities.
She wrapped things up and said, “Contact me if you need anything to make the process go smoother.”
“I’ll be in touch as needed. Take care.” Mr. Davis didn’t walk her out.
Soon she found herself on the sidewalk again with people going about their day, running errands in the cute and bustling downtown district in St. Claire. Iris cast a longing look at a bakery across the square, but she talked herself out of spending the money. Learning to bake would be more sensible. She thought a man across the street was looking at her, but then he turned and hurried in the opposite direction, so maybe not.
Weeks later, Iris stood in the driveway of what was nowherhouse.
So freaking wild.
Her car was packed to the brim. She had no furniture, just clothes and bedding, various personal effects, and some kitchen items. Great-Aunt Gertie had accumulated a lifetime of stuff, and dealing with it was Iris’s problem. She had mixed feelings about that responsibility because she wasn’t good at detail management, but it had to be done, whether she liked it or not. At least she’d gotten an inventory list from Mr. Davis, so she knew exactly what the house held in store.
By selling Gertie’s car, Iris had gotten enough cash to pay off her roommates in Ohio, freeing her to hit the road. Two weeks ago, she’d been forced to turn off her cell phone; first order of business, get a prepaid SIM with some data and minutes on the cheap. She’d probably donate more plasma to install Wi-Fi. She couldn’t live without that, and her prospective roommates would expect to use it too.
The long drive had given her lots of time to think about the future, at least. Iris had a vague idea about renovating the place and turning it into a bed-and-breakfast, but she was wary of her own enthusiasm.Just look at the boxes of jewelry-making supplies in my trunk. With a sigh, Iris stretched, popped her back, and started unloading.
As she stacked boxes near the porch, a woman cut across an immaculate yard that was somehow still emerald green even though summer was over. Idly Iris wondered if they paid to have the dead grass painted. The woman was tall and statuesque with carefully curled hair, and she beamed a smile that alarmed Iris for some reason.
“Hey there! So good to get some fresh blood in the neighborhood!”
“Right,” said Iris, hoping she wasn’t about to meet her first real-life sanguine vamp.
“I’m Susan Calhoun. You must be moving into Crazy Gertie’s place. So glad she’s finally out of the way. Now you can spruce up the place! That porch is positively a death trap. I told her so many times that the mailman would fall through someday and then she’d get sued.” Susan clicked her tongue against her teeth. “But did she listen? Ofcoursenot!”
Before Iris could get a word in edgewise, Susan took a breath and kept going. “Anyway! I just wanted to welcome you to the neighborhood. I would’ve brought a casserole, but these days people aresopicky. ‘I don’t eat meat, don’t eat dairy,’ and don’t get mestartedon people who think they’re allergic to gluten.”
Yelling at her new neighbor probably wasn’t the way to go, so Iris mumbled something noncommittal. She was actually kind of impressed at how wrong and awful Susan had managed to be in the space of two minutes. “Uh, thanks. I need to get my things inside, so…”
Susan didn’t take the hint, peering at Iris with judgmental eyes. “Hmm. At least youlooknormal. I was scared to death that a real weirdo would move in next door. You know, one of those types,” she added.
“I don’t follow,” she said.
The other woman shot her an incredulous look. “You must’ve read the news! Humanity is under siege. Witches have been intermingling with us secretly foryears. They’re a major threat to our way of life. And I’ve read that—”
“Sorry to cut this short. If I don’t get these boxes inside soon, I’m afraid they might get rained on.”
“Right! We’ll talk more later. I do appreciate someone whoknows the value of hard work. I’m expecting good things from you, oh, what was your name? You didn’t tell me.”
You didn’t let me.
“Iris Collins. Gertrude Van Doren was my great-aunt,” she said deliberately.
Susan let out a nervous cough. “Right. Well, I’m sure you knew she was a few hot dogs shy of a picnic, so it’s not like I spoiled the ending of a good movie. TTYL!”
“Who says TTYL?” Iris mumbled, hoisting a box and hauling it into the house.
She wished she’d put Susan in her place, but at this juncture, she couldn’t cope with additional problems. Once she got settled in, she’d make it clear to that awful woman just where Iris stood on all that bigoted BS. It took her an hour to drag everything inside, and she left it cluttering up the foyer, too tired to put anything away after the long drive.
