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I listened. Why did I listen? “Wait, these spindles are hand milled. They’re original to the house!”
“So you’ve told me.” She pulled one of my hands between them. “Come on, let’s get moving so I can sneak out the back.”
“This is nuts,” I told her. “He’s going to call the cops. I’m going to get arrested.”
“Nah.” She hooked my other arm through the post and, with a decisive click, closed the second handcuff over my wrist. “Just smile that pretty smile and give him the whole spiel about what this place could be, and he’ll be eating out of your hands.”
“That would be awkward, since you handcuffed me sitting down.”
Daphne conceded that with raised hands. “Not my best move.”
I glared up at her.
“Your hair is a mess.”
“Thanks,” I bit out.
She tried to tuck some of the stray pieces behind my ears. “Sorry, Charlie Brown, I think I need to make my exit.”
“I will never forgive you for this,” I told her.
She blew me a kiss. “Good luck!”
When she disappeared out the back of the house, I laid my head on my arms and moaned.
For a few moments, the only sounds I could hear were the erratic thud of my heart in my ears and the creak of the house in the wind.
Then ... the heavy slam of a car door from the front of the house.
I closed my eyes. “This was a very, very bad idea,” I whispered.
Chapter Three
BURKE
It was worse than I thought.
And I’d prepared myself for bad.
All I remembered from my brief visit with Chris wasbig. Big with windows and a lot of land.
The house was set back off the road and had a picturesque driveway lined with towering oaks that encased the blacktop in a green, leafy tunnel. Spring growth was still new on the trees, so if there’d been sunlight in the sky, it would’ve filtered through. And as much as I hated the fact that I was there, I immediately found myself imagining what it would look like in the fall—fiery colors covering you as you drove through.
Unfortunately for the house, the driveway was the high point. The carriage house, small and neat and covered in what looked like a fresh coat of white paint, was empty when I knocked. It was set away from the house, tucked back behind a grove of spruce trees. With a quick peek in one of the windows, I saw a small kitchen with cabinets stained in a warm brown color, a plush couch in dark red, and a braided rug covering wide-plank wood floors. On the counter were a coffee cup, a stack of books, and a half-eaten muffin, so I knew someone was there.
The driveway and the carriage house weren’t so bad, but when I stood facing the main house, that’s when all the good stopped. There was no ignoring the giant, falling-apart box in front of me.
It looked haunted. Or one bad storm away from falling over.
I couldn’t decide which was worse.
The structure itself was one of those big, boxy, flat-fronted designs. Six sizable arched windows stretched along the second story, and four windows on the main floor flanked the door, which was anchored right in the middle of the box. When I peered up, hands settled on my hips, I saw missing shingles. Broken glass. Rotting wood around just about every single one of those windows and the curved woodwork framing the front door. The siding had faded into a sad brownish gray, with no hint as to what it might have been before.
The entire thing needed a can of gasoline and a lit match.
My jaw clenched, and a useless pulse of frustrated energy had my hands tightening into fists.
I’d stood in that exact spot with Chris fifteen years earlier, both of us in dress shirts and ties, after he buried his grandma. I’d known him for only a few months, but even then, I hadn’t been able to stomach the idea that he’d do this alone.
