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“Why bother having a table and chairs if you’re going to stand to eat?”
“Because sometimes I’m not in the mood to sit.” I shoveled down the eggs and wished I’d remembered to buy hot sauce.
“You’ve been standing for hours. My legs are tired just watching you.”
I glanced over at her. “Then stop watching me.”
Her gaze traveled around the airy kitchen. “This house is awfully big for one person. Are you thinking about starting a family? How old are you, anyway?”
Bacon in hand, I pointed to the doorway. “Out.”
The old woman disappeared in a huff. They’d been relatively well behaved since I spared them. It was only recently that they’d grown bolder and started encroaching on my space. At least there were only two of them. London had been so much worse.
I fell asleep after lunch and awoke to the sound of dripping water. Terrific. Now I’d have a pipe to fix before bedtime. I rolled out of bed and went in search of the source.
“It’s the toilet in the downstairs half bath,” Ray said, appearing at the bottom of the staircase.
“What did I tell you about house rules?”
“I found your leak, young lady. You should be thanking me.”
“I’ll thank you for not crossing the boundaries I set.” I wasn’t a fan of witches and didn’t want to hire one to ward the house, but I would if it became necessary.
Ray floated to the bathroom door and pointed. “It’s a simple fix. You need a new washer in the tank. They sell ‘em down at Hewitt’s. Ask Clark. He’s real knowledgeable. Terrible poker player though. If you need money for all these jobs, he’s an easy mark.”
I bit my lip to suppress a smile. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
The old woman was on the front porch as I passed by. I tossed a triumphant glance at Ray over my shoulder. “See? This one knows how to follow the rules.”
“Why is Ray allowed inside?” she demanded, folding her fuzzy pink sleeves across her chest. “I don’t like these double standards.”
Ignoring her, I walked across the bridge that spanned the moat and passed through the gate to where I’d parked my pickup truck, another relic of the past I bought when I moved back to the States. The truck’s previous owner had taken good care of the vehicle, though, which saved me time and money.
I drove down the hill to the heart of Fairhaven. Although I’d given the town a cursory glance online, I’d been unprepared for the slice of Americana that it truly was. White picket fences. Clean streets. Charming shops that promised a superior customer experience. As a child, I’d driven through towns like Fairhaven on weekend outings with my grandfather. Pops liked to repurpose pretty much everything, which meant trawling nicer neighborhoods for trash that he then fashioned into our treasures. You wouldn’t think a Navy veteran would have the kind of skills required to upcycle a wooden chair as a planter, but Pops was a man of many talents. He’d done his best to pass his skills along to me, as though he’d anticipated the struggles I’d one day face as an adult. There was nothing wrong with the way I wielded a hammer, thank you very much. I was only rusty because I hadn’t needed to do any DIY during my years in London.
Hewitt’s was nestled between the barber shop and a store called Recreation that seemed to cater to cyclists and other outdoor enthusiasts. Over the past six months, my trips into town consisted mainly of visits to the hardware and grocery stores. I’d checked out the housewares store twice, but that was about it. I’d successfully avoided the bakery and the coffee shop, no matter how tempting the aromas were.
I slipped into the hardware store unnoticed and listened to the sounds of friendly neighborhood chatter that included the warm weather (to be expected), the upcoming Fourth of July parade (not to be missed), and a recent supply chain issue affecting power tools (what was the world coming to?).
As I turned down the first aisle, I was intercepted by a man in a blue-and-white striped polo shirt. He looked to be in his midsixties, with salt and pepper hair and a thick beard to match. Hazel eyes inspected me from behind wire-rimmed glasses; they were curious and without judgment.
“Hello there. I’m Clark. You must be the new lady of the manor.”
“Lorelei Clay. Nice to meet you.” Of course he knew who I was. It was a simple process of elimination when you recognized everyone in town.
“Good to meet you, Miss Clay. I’ve been waiting months to meet you. Chuck seemed to draw the lucky straw the other times you’ve been here. Sounds like you’ve had your hands full from the moment you arrived, not that I’m surprised. The Castle’s a huge undertaking for one person.”
“Feels that way too.” It didn’t surprise me that locals were aware someone had bought the Castle; the development would be big news in a town of only three thousand people. Known locally as Bluebeard’s Castle, the house had been built during the Gilded Age, five thousand square feet of glamour and grandeur. The original owner had been fascinated by cemeteries and more than happy to build his ‘summer cottage’ beside one. According to local accounts, Joseph Edgar Blue III frequently hosted seances to capitalize on his location. After World War I, his wife died, and he stopped summering in Fairhaven. After his death, the house passed to his son, Joseph Edgar Blue IV, affectionately called Quattro, whose gambling addiction sent his life into a downward spiral from which he never recovered. The house then fell into disrepair, and by the time the bank claimed it, it was a monstrous mess, with astronomical property taxes to boot. Nobody wanted it except squatters and teenagers, and it was set for demolition—until I saw it online and decided to roll the dice. Again.
Clark rubbed his hands together. “I always say I have the best job in town because I’m more likely to meet the new folks.”
“Do you get many new people in Fairhaven?”
“More than you’d think. Not everybody stays until their deathbed. We lose folks to sunnier climates, mainly Florida. You won’t catch me moving to heaven’s waiting room though. I prefer to spend time in all four seasons before I join the hereafter.”
Despite my initial plan to grab supplies and get out quickly, I felt rooted in place as Clark continued talking.
“Fall is my personal favorite. Changing of the leaves.” He paused, as though admiring them in his mind. “There’s nothing prettier in the world than a giant wall of gold and red shimmering in the sunlight.”
