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“I detest those kinds of labels, but that is beside the point. Richard and I were sitting at the counter when this tall, dark,handsomestranger walks in.” She leaned forward, clearly caught up in story time. “He sits down next to Richard and starts asking all these questions about the area, and if we’d heard of Campbell House, because he couldn’t find much information online.”
I wasn’t sure what tall, dark, and handsome had to do with anything, but boy was I not going to ask her.
“Okay. What else?”
“Naturally, I start asking him questions, because why on earth would a total stranger pop into town wanting to know about the specific house where my darling goddaughter lives and works?”
“Did you tell him that?”
“Hell no! He could be a serial killer or working for the government.”
My hippie aunt, who’d never quite lost her ’60s sensibilities, would somehow equate those two things. I hid my smile. “And then what?”
She leaned forward again. “He inherited the house when Chris and Amie died. He wanted to come here to take a look at it because, apparently, he has no desire to own it.”
“What?” I breathed. I gripped her hands. “He’s gonna sell it? To who?”
Daphne shook her head. “No idea. I don’t think he knows yet.”
“Holy shit.” I stood from the bench and paced the room, careful to avoid the weak spots in the floor. “What’s his name?”
“Burke something,” she said. “I missed the last name because, honestly”—she laid a hand on her chest and closed her eyes—“I got distracted by his shoulders and mouth and hands. Big hands too.”
“Daphne.”
“He could toss a woman around so easily.”
I sighed. “Does this feel helpful?”
“Depends on what you need help with.” She batted her eyelashes. “I may be in my seventies, but I can appreciate a fine human specimen when I see one.” She grinned. “Richard told me to stop gawking when we left the café, but it wasn’t easy, let me tell you.”
“Were these thoughts before or after the serial killer thing?”
Daphne paused. “After.”
I gave her a look.
She gave me one right back. “You’ve got a plan, right?”
“For what? I just found out about him thirty-two seconds ago.”
“Charlotte, you have a plan for everything.”
“Okay, fine.” I blew out a hard breath. “I may have prepared a PowerPoint just in case someone showed up and wasn’t sure if they wanted to keep the house.”
Her mouth puckered like she’d just sucked on a lemon. “A PowerPoint.”
My aunt detested computers and regularly reminded me that cell phones were a blight on humanity. Half the time when Richard and I lost our phones, it was because Daphne had “accidentally” tossed them behind the couch.
“PowerPoint is incredibly effective when done right.” I shoved a hand through my messy ponytail. “I’ll go get my laptop, have everything ready. Because, honestly, the most important part is seeing the before-and-after renderings from the architect. If I can show him those—and the proposed budget—maybe I’ll sway him.”
“Stop.”
“What?”
“It won’t work.”
I gave her an incredulous stare. “How do you know?”
