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He went off the deep end.
Throwing me under the bus would be the understatement of the year, really. He threw me under the bus, then backed over me a few times with it. All the bills were suddenly my fault. Everything was in my name, and I was stuck with the debt. My bank accounts were drained, my credit cards maxed out, and my reputation ruined.
It didn’t end there, either. He made up lies about me and spread them to our mutual friends, making me the pariah of what limited social group we had. Then he called my job the day I told him we were done and claimed I had stolen from the company. Even without any proof, they fired me, and I was suddenly without a job, drowning in debt, and all of my prospects for a future were ruined.
It was then that I started thinking about my grandparents’ house. It seemed like serendipity, really. I could escape to Murdock, where no one would bother me, live in a house that I already owned, and use the time to work on myself and fix the place up. Maybe I had watched too many house flipping shows on TV, but I really felt like doing the work on my own was something that I could do and would make me feel less vulnerable.
There was only one problem: I didn’t have the key. I hadn’t been there since they’d sent me the information about it being abandoned and in bad shape. I had to go by the management company and get the key first.
“Left here,” I said, following the directions on the GPS. Ryan had gracefully offered to use his charging port to get my phone going again, giving me a chance to direct him to the management office rather than straight to the house, where I would have to hope there was a hidden key somewhere.
“Well, here we are,” he said, as he pulled into the parking lot. “Would you like me to stay?”
“No, you have been more than helpful,” I said. “I can get a ride to the house from out of town if I have to, but I don’t know how long all this will take. I can’t ask you to stay here and wait for me.”
“All right then,” he said. “If you’re sure.”
“I am,” I said, smiling. “Thank you. Seriously, thank you.”
“Of course. Welcome back to Murdock,” he said. “You can keep the umbrella if you need. I have a couple of them.”
“Thank you,” I said, and slipped out of the truck.
As I shut the door, juggling the two duffels and the backpack along with the umbrella, I waved at Ryan until he was out of sight, then headed toward the building.
“Good afternoon,” said a woman behind a desk across the room. She was putting on a jacket, clearly getting ready to leave. It was right at five, and I could tell by the look on her face that she was in no mood to stick around. “How can I help you?”
“Hi, my name is Allison Daniels. I own the place on Fairview,” I said.
“Oh,” she said, pausing mid-jacketing. “Hold one second, please.”
She went into the back hallway behind the reception desk. Stopping at the last door, she knocked and looked back at me, holding up one finger. When the door opened, she slipped inside, and I could just barely hear the murmur of their voices. When they came back out, she was noticeably happier and grabbed her purse before smiling back at me.
“Ms. Daniels, this is George Caldwell. He will help you from here,” she said.
“Thank you,” I said, as she brushed by me and went out the front door.
“Ms. Daniels,” Mr. Caldwell said, holding out his hand for a shake.
I took it and shook back, smiling as brightly as the day would allow me to.
“Nice to meet you,” I said. “I just came by to grab the keys if possible. I know there’s paperwork and information I need, but since it’s closing time, I don’t mind doing all that tomorrow.”
“That is very kind of you,” he said, “but unfortunately, I cannot hand the keys over without discussing a few things with you.”
“Oh,” I said. “Is it worse than what I was told in the letter?”
“I won’t lie to you, Ms. Daniels,” he said. “It is.”
“You can call me Allison,” I said, taking a seat on one of the ancient couches in the office. Much like the rest of Murdock, it was as if interior design stopped evolving somewhere in the nineties.
“And you may call me George,” he said, sitting across from me and leaning forward with his elbows on his knees.
“So what’s wrong with it?” I asked.
“Well, I won’t sugarcoat things for you,” he said. “The house is not in good shape. We tried to get in touch with you about it when the previous tenants left, but we had some issues getting a response.”
