Chapter 5

“So let me get this straight. You inherited this house, and it’s on the historical register in Mendocino County, correct?” Caroline asked.

“Correct.”

“Not surprising. Most of the town is on the historical register.”

“So I’ve been told,” I seethed through gritted teeth. I was on the phone later that night with Simon’s girlfriend, Caroline, whom I’d met at the high school reunion I’d attended last December. She seemed cool, and Simon was totally over the moon for her, something I never thought I’d see. “So is he right? I can’t make changes to it?”

“Can’t say yes or no at this point; let me do a little research. Typically, if

a house is on the historical register but hasn’t received any kind of federal funding, then the owner is free and clear. But don’t quote me on that. Do you know if your aunt ever received any kind of grants or anything?”

“I have no idea. I can try to find out, though. I’m meeting with her attorney tomorrow.”

“Okay, sit tight and I’ll do a little digging on my end. Who’s the guy

that’s causing so much trouble?” “The librarian. Who knew?”

“Sounds interesting. The whole thing sounds interesting, actually. I love

that area! Those old homes are fantastic; I can’t wait to see it,” she gushed. “I’ll be glad to see you too,” I replied dryly, and she caught herself.

“I mean, we’re coming to see you, of course,” she said. “But the house, holy shit! You said it had four bedrooms, is that right?” she asked, and I could hear Simon telling her to wrap it up. I laughed, and let her gush

another moment before she said good night, handing the phone back to Simon.

Apparently one of Caroline’s best friends had a vacation home in the area, so another couple was traveling up with them. Frankly I didn’t care who the hell showed up, as long as someone could get Clark off my back.

“Viv? You still there?” I heard Simon ask. “Yep, sorry. So, Friday afternoon?”

“Yeah, we’ll try to get out of the city as early as we can, but with traffic

it’ll probably be late afternoon before I get up there. You want us to come straight to the house or—”

“Sure, just come on over and then we can head into town for dinner. The place is still a mess, not exactly ready for a house party.”

“No problem, I’ll call you when we’re on the way. And, Viv?”

“Yeah?”

“It’ll be good to see you. I’m glad you called us.”

“Christ, Simon, are you an ‘us’ now?” I teased, hearing him sigh into the phone.

“Nice. I’m coming to help and you’re busting my balls?” he asked, and I heard Caroline in the background chime in with, “No busting the balls, they’re great balls!”

“Oh, for God’s sake, good night!” I said, hanging up.

Simon had gone through hell when we were in high school, losing both his parents in a car accident only a few months before graduation. As a result, he’d left Philadelphia and never looked back. I was glad he had someone as great as Caroline seemed to be, especially after bouncing around from woman to woman for years. She seemed to keep him on his toes.

And speaking of toes, I was ready to get off mine and have some dinner. Awhile after Jessica had left, I’d headed into town to grab some things from the grocery store. I’d shopped in a frenzy, still worked up after the Battle of the Balustrade. As a result I came home with things like three jars of peanut

butter, but no jelly. But I did have salad fixings, so I used those to compose my dinner. I ate on the back porch, watching the waves roll in. They calmed me down: the tension that had been in my body since this afternoon all began to leak out as I relaxed while I ate. I could see the chickens still pecking about in the yard, not yet ready to head into their coop for bed. I knew literally nothing about chickens. Except that I liked to eat them. And eggs. Hey, did I have access to fresh eggs now?

I was going to have a chat with Hank the next time I saw him about what

exactly he did and what exactly he was being paid to do. Wait, was I paying him? I added it to my mental list of things to talk to Mr. Montgomery about. I’d called him after getting off the phone with Simon earlier, and he’d agreed to meet me in town tomorrow to go over a few more things.

In no particular hurry after dinner to head inside, I wandered around a bit in the backyard. Staying away from the barn, in case Hank was right and I was in fact spooking the animals, I poked around in the old kitchen garden. I had very clear memories of when I’d visited before and seen row after row of raised beds, just off the side of the house beyond the kitchen. Aunt Maude was big into home remedies, the more natural the better. She always had beds filled with lavender, comfrey, calendula, echinacea. If you could find it at a health food store, you could also find it in her backyard. Of course all your better herbs were represented: You had your parsley, your sage, your rosemary, and several varieties of thyme, the lemon scented being my favorite. And the most gorgeous and well-tended vegetable garden I’ve ever seen. Before growing heirlooms was something everyone was talking about, she had her seeds she’d saved year after year. Carrots, tomatoes, poles of bean runners that I swear grew fast enough you could see them move, and blackberry bushes thick with purply fruit.

Now? It was a mess of weeds. The occasional volunteer carrot poked through here and there, but mostly it was an overgrown mess. That was something I was going to have to remedy. Might not be able to get it done right away, but it would be nice to have some growing going on back there

again. I gazed out over the pasture on the other side of the barn, thinking back to how much land used to belong to this plot. Sold off in parcels over the years, it was still a nice spread, and the pasture still stretched over the hill. But so much less than it used to be. I sighed as I shuffled through the dusty soil, turning back toward the house. Lots of work to do. But no more tonight.

I spent the rest of the evening sprawled out in front of the old television, watching the one channel I could get with the rabbit ears. Honest-to-god rabbit ears. The TV was one of those old box ones, with the wood veneer surround and actual legs. The rabbit ears were made out of a wire hanger wrapped in aluminum. I was too tired to care, and I dozed in front of it watching Lawrence Welk on PBS. I began to doze off before he could get through the a-one-and-a-two.

Sometime after midnight, I headed up to my bedroom, automatically dodging the stacks and piles that littered the floor. Falling into the soft bed, I wrapped myself in the cozy blankets and fell asleep once more to the sound of waves crashing.

The next morning I slept in until 5:30 a.m.! Considering that was eight thirty back home, I pronounced it a triumph. I was planning on staying in this morning, having some cereal and getting a jump on the day, but then I remembered how antiquated the coffeepot was. Technically, it might even be a percolator. Technically, I wasn’t messing with it. I put “coffeepot” on my list of things to buy, and got dressed to head into town.

Deciding to walk again this morning, I said hello to the Bel Air in the garage. I needed to find the key to that beauty. There were several junk drawers in the kitchen that it could be in, to say nothing of the thousand other crazy places it could be in that house.

As I walked down the drive, I heard a dog barking nearby. I was suddenly struck with the realization that if I stayed here, I could get a dog!

Not that I couldn’t back home, but I never liked the idea of keeping a big dog confined to an apartment. And big dog I would have, no tiny yippy yappy for me. And with this house and pasture? A dog would be perfect. I’d put a pin in it for now and think about it later, but it was definitely a plus in the Stay in Mendocino column. Which was growing ever larger the longer I was here.

Heading down the road into town, within minutes I was on my stool at the end of the counter, and ten minutes after that I had a plateful of breakfast and an earful of observations from Jessica.

“I just couldn’t believe what I was seeing! I have never seen him so worked up!”

“Don’t blow a gasket, he wasn’t all that worked up,” I replied, poking my sunny-side-up egg with a piece of bacon, making the yolk run all over.

“Listen, I’ve known Clark Barrow since we were in grade school. He never gets worked up. He is always Mr. Calm, Cool, and Collected. The only time he was remotely this excitable was when they announced they were making the Lord of the Rings movie.”

“I think you’re making too big a deal of this. Tabasco?” I asked, forking up a mouthful of hash browns. “You’ve known him that long?”

“Girl, I’ve known everyone that long.” She handed me the hot sauce.

“Clark was two years younger than me, but yeah, I’ve known him a long time.”

“Thanks,” I said, sprinkling the hot sauce liberally over my plate. “And he’s always been this uptight?”

“You know, it’s not that he’s uptight. I don’t want you to get the wrong idea about him. He’s just . . .”

“Rigid? Unrelenting? Stick up his ass?”

“Studious. Methodical. Organized,” she said with a pointed glance. “Okay, okay, if you say so. But from what I’ve seen—”

“From what I’ve seen, you can’t keep your brain from scrambling around Hank. What’s that about?” she asked before I knew what was happening. I

crammed a forkful of hash browns into my mouth and made a show of chewing. She laughed out loud, pouring me and everyone else at the counter a hotter upper. Any time she made a move toward my end, I shoveled in another mouthful.

This thing with Hank had turned me inside out. I’d never acted like this in front of a guy before. But I was now living out my own romance novel, right? I mean, that’s what this had all been about. The mysterious phone call in the middle of the night, the move across the country, the cowboy riding a horse on the beach without a shirt on? Who has a tough exterior, but inside, down deep, deeeeeep, there resides a heart of gold? Right?

Was he the one? The man who would finally say those words I’d never before heard? Had I finally met my I Love You Man? My instincts were telling me yes, in fact I had.

Patience, Viv. Peel that onion. Reveal the layers. Anyone with a chest like that is worth waiting for. Worth sneezing for.

When the plate was metaphorically licked clean, I waved her over. She came quickly, eager to dish.

“Okay, I’ll bite. Tell me all about Hank.”

“Hmm, let’s see. I’ve known him about as long as Clark, he’s actually a year older than I am. Played football with John; they used to pal around back in the day. Hank is . . . hmmm . . .”

Handsome we knew. Incredible to look at was a given. Here came the real insight into the enigma that was Hank. Sweet? Kind? Passionate? Hung?

Get a grip, Viv.

“Simple,” she said, setting down my check. “That’s it? Simple?”

“Mm-hmm. That’s all I’ll say for now,” she replied mysteriously, and walked away.

“Simple?” I yelled after her, causing everyone to turn and stare at me. I stared them all down. “Morning Mr. Martin.” I laid my bills on the counter

and sauntered out the front door.

Back at the house I spent some more time in the second bedroom, steadily making my way down the hallway. I was leaving Aunt Maude’s room for last; I couldn’t even imagine taking that on yet. And besides, the Legless Knight seemed to have things pretty well under control in there. I kept the laundry moving, washing sheets for the bed even though I was pretty sure I’d picked my bedroom. As I cleaned and organized, divided piles, and sorted through years of accumulations, it felt better to be able to walk by two bedrooms that looked livable.

Clean white cotton sheets now covered the bed in the second bedroom. I’d washed them twice and added extra softener so they didn’t have that folded-in-the-linen-closet-for-years look to them. I’d lucked out in a hall closet and found stacks of lovely old quilts, folded neatly and encased in Aunt Maude’s favorite storage container, Hefty bags. They’d done their job, though; the quilts were in great shape. Now the old iron bed was dressed with a simple but very pretty nine-block piece in lemony yellows and dusty pinks. Not my taste, but chrome and black leather would be out of place here. In this house, quilts just felt right. And if I was being honest with myself, I liked the look more than I thought I would. I scrubbed the wood floors not only in the second bedroom, but down the hall as well. Slowly but surely, clean spots were starting to take over. I’d nearly used up my meager cleaning supplies, though, which meant another run into town.

I consolidated Post-its and to-do lists from all over the house and made

one big master list. I needed to hit the grocery store once more, lay in supplies for the weekend. Simon and his gang weren’t staying here, but I still wanted to have some snacks and drinks on hand.

I made a cursory pass through the kitchen drawers, looking for the key to the Bel Air, but found nothing. No matter, I’d add that to the list of

questions I would be asking Mr. Montgomery. I was meeting him after my shopping trip.

I drove into town, thankful I had a rental car but still not entirely sure how long I’d actually need it. If I was going to live here, I’d have to either bring my car out from Philadelphia or sell it and buy something here.

Or you could drive the Blue Bomber 2.0.

In an instant, I saw that car driving up the coast, top down like it should always be, whitewalls shining. The woman behind the wheel had dark curly hair, not unlike mine perhaps, tied back by a cheery aquamarine scarf. There was a song playing on the radio, something beboppy and doo-woppy, something designed to make your fingers tap out the rhythm on the steering wheel and sing along, even if you don’t know the words. The woman pulled the car over to admire the view. To the left of the car, the Pacific. To the right of the woman? A man.

A man also designed to make you tap out a rhythm, on his back. His strong and magnificent back, skin of the most golden velvet, sheened with sweat earned not from a hard day’s work, although he was certainly no stranger to that. No, this sweat was of the sweet kind, brought forth from each pore as a testament to this man’s pure and unadulterated sexual prowess. His pulsating pillar of passion tall and proud, like a flagpole on the Fourth of July. But the fireworks hadn’t begun yet. Not even close . . .

Um. Yeah. I was losing it. Cowboy Hank was doing a number on me . . .

And that number was sixty-nine—

Stop it!

I went into the store and busied myself with choosing cleaning products, and damn me if Mr. Clean didn’t look particularly fetching. I slapped myself with a new sponge and kept on walking.

Stocked up and loaded for clean, I dropped off my supplies at the house and headed back into town for my meeting with Mr. Montgomery. He’d agreed to meet me at John’s, the restaurant I’d been getting my pizza fix

from. Sliding into a booth, I waved a hello to Jessica’s boyfriend behind the bar.

“Ms. Franklin, delightful to see you again,” Mr. Montgomery said. He nodded toward John. “Looks like you’re making friends.”

“Oh, I’m a regular gal about town.” I grinned, scanning the menu. I needed something light today; I’d been eating like a truck driver. “Oh look, a Philly cheesesteak. On whole wheat? Blasphemous.”

I shook my head. One thing you can’t get anywhere but back home was a cheesesteak. Or a good hoagie. When the waitress came by, I squelched my cheesesteak argument and ordered something healthy. A cheeseburger. The healthy? I didn’t add bacon.

We kibitzed for a few moments about the house, the weather, the town.

“So, you said you had some questions about the will? What can I help you with?” he asked, folding his hands across the table.

“Yeah, a few. The car in the garage, any idea last time it’s been run?”

“I’m pretty sure your aunt kept the Bel Air tuned up; she loved that car. Though she didn’t drive it the last few years, Mr. Higgins drove her into town in it a few times in the last year.”

“Mr. Higgins?”

“The man she hired to help out around the house and barn.”

“Oh, Hank! Let’s talk about him. Who exactly is paying for the cowboy?”

“The cowboy?”

“Yeah, Fabio. Mr. Man. Whose payroll is he on?”

“Ah, yes. Maude provided for him in the will as well, provided he stays on to tend to the animals. She did love her animals. Used to have more of them, you know, but now it’s just the two horses. And the chickens, of course.”

“Yeah, about those chickens. Who owns them? Do I?” “Yes.”

“And the horses? Paul and Paula? Are they mine?”

“Yes.”

“So, who does Hank work for?” “Well, technically Maude.”

“So how exactly is that going to work out long term?” I asked, taking a

slow draw on my cherry Coke.

“That’s up to you and Mr. Higgins to figure out.”

“Not helping me here. If they’re my chickens, can I use the eggs? He takes care of them, but they belong to me, so who gets the eggs?”

“Interesting question. I didn’t expect to be debating the chicken versus the egg argument today.” He laughed, and I frowned.

“Glad I could amuse. Do I get the eggs?” “In my professional opinion?”

“Uh-huh,” I said, then bit into my burger. “Oh mah gaw.”

“Are you all right, Ms. Franklin?”

I nodded, unable to speak through the best burger I’d ever tasted.

I caught John’s eye and waved him over. In the time it took him to get to the table, I ate three more bites.

“What’s up, Viv? Hey, Mr. Montgomery, how are you?” “Good to see you, John. How’s business?” he asked.

“This burger is so good, it’s stupid,” I burst out. “I thought California

was supposed to be full of vegans sprinkling sprouts on everything.”

“That’s at the restaurant across the street. You detox there, you come here when you want real food.”

“I love you,” I said, stroking my burger like a kitten.

“Me or the cheeseburger?”

“I can no longer separate the two.” “I won’t tell Jessica.” He laughed.

“You two chat about business. I’m eating,” I replied, gesturing between him and Mr. Montgomery. As the two men talked, I demolished my lunch. I could feel my pants stretching, I needed to run tomorrow. As I ate, I listened to the two men talk. Mr. Montgomery really seemed to have his finger on

the pulse of everything that went on in this small town. I assumed he lived out of town; his firm was in San Francisco.

When John went back to work, and the burger was nothing more than a memory, I looked at Mr. Montgomery. “How in the world do you know so much about this town?”

“I was born here, and I lived here for years.”

“But isn’t your firm in San Francisco?” I asked, confused.

“It is. And I live there mostly. But I’ve got a house here just outside of town, and while it used to be for vacations, as I get closer to retirement I find myself back here more often.”

“I can certainly see why. The people are great, and the landscape, it’s kind of awesome.”

“The people are great, although I hear you had a run-in with Mr.

Barrow?”

“How in the hell did you hear about that?” I asked, incredulous.

Seriously, how did word spread so fast?

“I have ears, Ms. Franklin. And he can be a great help to you, setting up a new life here. No one knows more about this town than he does.”

“He sure likes to remind me of that. But don’t worry, I’ve got some help of my own on the way.”

“That sounds mysterious.” He chuckled. “I do think perhaps you should talk with him again. He really is only concerned with maintaining the integrity of the house—a concern I’m sure you share.”

“I do, of course I do. But does he have to be so . . . so . . . I don’t know . . . librariany about it?”

“Ms. Franklin, are there any other questions you have about the will?” he

asked patiently, not without some amusement in his expression.

“Well, yes, actually. There are some issues with the house, issues that Clark seems to think are no big deal. But when there’s rain falling on your head in the middle of the night, they tend to be a big deal to the one with the wet face, you know?”

“I can imagine.” He smiled. “And you’re wanting to get the roof fixed, I’m sure.”

“Well, that’s the thing. If I stay, the house needs a lot of work. And he

—”

“You’re concerned that Clark doesn’t want you making any changes to the house, yes?”

“His exact words were, ‘You can’t change a thing in this house without going through me. Go ahead and check with Mr. Montgomery, he’ll tell you the same thing. Not one thing, Vivian,’ and he even pointed at me. So tell me the truth, is he right?”

“It’s complicated, Ms. Franklin,” he began, clasping his hands across the table from me. “Your aunt was a bit eccentric, as I’m sure you are aware.”

I thought of the dolls, the Mathis records, and the tube socks. Eccentric

was an interesting choice of words.

“She wasn’t always wise about money, and some years she had trouble keeping up some of the maintenance on the house, as you’ve no doubt noticed. She applied for and was given a grant from the historical society for some basic upkeep. She was able to continue to pay for some things on her own, her basic needs and keeping on some of the animals. She was able to continue to employ Mr. Higgins. But some of the money wasn’t spent in the wisest of ways.”

I thought of the dolls, the Mathis albums, the tube socks. Not to mention

the suit of armor. Wow.

“There are updates that need to be made to the house, Ms. Franklin, and I’m sure if you decide to stay, you and Mr. Barrow will be able to come to some kind of agreement to ensure that not only are your great-aunt’s wishes carried out, and the integrity of the house preserved, but that you also don’t have to endure a leaky roof.”

I thought for a moment. “So, the bottom line is if I decide to make some

changes, the librarian is involved. Yes?” “Yes, up to a point.”

I leaned across the table. “I’m going to need to know exactly where that line is.”