Final Masquerade (34 page)

With Colette's help, Paige also began work on the templates for a new design. Together with Eva, she selected forest green and rose for the new color scheme.

Paige walked daily, at first to keep an eye on traffic. She told herself that if she spotted Stefano first, she could intercept him before he got to the inn and perhaps harmed her benefactors.

At first she walked two miles, then increased to three and then four. Two weeks passed and she didn't spot Stefano. Harry's phone conversations came again, as they'd always been, calming and generic. Stefano didn't know where she was. Harry wasn't in cahoots with him; he'd simply been on vacation and forgotten to mail the box before driving to California. Paige finally began to relax.

One afternoon, the first week of April, about two miles from the Inn, she hiked onto Wheeler Road. Just over the small chattering brook, was a sign for another bed and breakfast. The Birdcage sat high on the hill to the left. It was a towering yellow affair that certainly did resemble a birdcage, with its tall columns on either side of the front porch.

Just beyond the Birdcage's sharply sloping drive was a lopsided For Sale sign hammered into the ground before a cute red-shingled house. The clumps of yellowed grass grown around the base suggested that this property had been for sale for quite some time. She gazed from the sign to the wonderful stone foundation porch fronting the forlorn two-story Contemporary home. Its red paint was peeling, its windows black and lonely. Paige suddenly realized she was standing in front of the house, at a lopsided gate attached to a peeling white picket fence by only one hinge.

Paige stepped through the gate, careful not to catch her clothes on the broken and rusted latch. She stepped along the packed dirt walk and up four stairs to the porch. On either side of the peeling front door sat cane-back rocking chairs. Her sneakers echoed hollowly on the porch floor as she went to them and ran a palm over the weathered arms. Memories came, of times cuddled in Gram's lap, rocking and telling her troubles. Paige blinked back the nostalgia and tried the front door. Locked. She stood on tiptoe, cupped her hands around her face and peered through the windows into the dismal depths of the dining room. It had been a handsome room with lots of morning daylight and a broad mantled fireplace.

She went down the steps and followed the walk to the side of the house where she again looked through a window into a kitchen. A long countertop extended most of the length of the room. Above it, wood cabinets looked to be in decent condition. Barely visible under the window was a broken table tilted against a single captain's chair. Three doorways led out: to the back door, the dining room, and what Paige could only assume was the living room.

She followed the walk past a sturdy looking single car garage and around the back of the house, where a second porch screened and locked. A miniscule gambrel barn sat in the dead center of a large post and rail-fenced pasture.

Down near the road was a shed that was also faded and peeling, in the same colors as the house, so it was probably part of the property. Its original purpose was vague, but the door was ajar and she stepped inside. The building was empty except for some waist-high tables with boarded sides as though they'd been used to hold vegetables or something that might roll off.

Paige roamed the property for another hour, inspecting both the barn and garage, which weren't locked. She walked down the driveway, drew the cell phone from her purse and dialed the phone number at the bottom of the real estate's sign.

The agent, Lou Walton, a squat bald man of indiscriminate age, appeared twenty minutes later. He pulled his newish Chevy into the driveway, throwing up clods of mud as he slid to a stop. He exited carrying a sheaf of papers Paige knew contained the particulars about what she was determined to become her new home.

He stomped out his cigarette before introducing himself, removing both gloves and glasses as he did. He told her the property consisted of sixteen acres of woods and pasture. “The pasture, as you can see, is entirely fenced. The previous owner had a pony for their seven-year-old daughter. The little girl, er ... died."

"Oh, what happened?"

"She and the pony were struck by a truck out on the road."

He pointed to the small Y-intersection between Wheeler and Marble Roads. “Killed ‘em both."

"You shouldn't go around telling potential buyers stories like that. I'd feel so depressed living here thinking about that every single day."

Lou threw her a look that could melt pennies. “Do you still want to see the inside?"

Paige sighed. “As long as I'm here."

He took a key on a blue plastic chain from his shirt pocket and slid it into the front door. The house was cold and reeked of that closed-in smell, so devoid of life that she was instantly depressed.

Straight ahead, a narrow stairway led steeply to the second floor. A large sheet of wallpaper dangled from the ceiling to the fifth step. To the left was the dining room she'd seen through the window. To the right, the lackluster hardwood floor of the living room extended the length of the house.

She went there first. Built to fit under the stairway was a gorgeous flagstone fireplace. A foot of charred ashes spilled onto the hearth. The vision of the seven-year-old girl, sitting on a quilt, holding a calico kitten was jarring enough, but when the girl looked up and smiled, Paige had to turn away. At the far end of the room, a picture window opened onto what was probably a lush, green pasture after it shed its dank winter brown.

A doorway off the living room led to a large master bedroom and bath, obviously newer than the rest of the house. Lou followed her, spouting the qualities of ‘this lovely house and grounds'.

She turned left into the kitchen. Dull oak cabinets with wrought iron handles lined the wall opposite the windows. Another picture window opened first onto the porch and then onto the same panorama as the living room. The flooring was large squares of granite tiles, which Lou was now pointing at. “Straight from a quarry in Unity, New Hampshire.” Paige decided not to ask what was so special about the quarry in New Hampshire.

They ducked under the decaying sheet of wallpaper and climbed the narrow stairs. The slanted ceilings in the upstairs made it impossible to stand completely upright in anything other than the center. It was far colder than downstairs, but the space was roomy enough for two children's bedrooms. The thought made almost her groan. Again she was thinking of children.

"Okay, I've seen enough,” Paige told Lou, who grunted.

Their footsteps echoed down the creaking, uncarpeted stairs.

"The price is right,” he offered, once they reached the bottom.

Paige shook her head. “You shouldn't have told me about the little girl."

"One hundred thousand,” he said, obviously not ready to can the deal until she knew all the facts.

She looked into his eyes with one hand on the doorknob. “You really shouldn't have told me about the little girl,” she repeated and stepped outside.

He left her on the porch and walked back through, relocking the doors.

As Paige dispiritedly strolled along the dirt path toward the gate in the picket fence, she spotted something that changed her entire attitude about the property.

At that moment, Lou appeared on the walk behind her, a cigarette clutched between his fingers.

"How much did you say they were asking for this place?"

"Eighty-eight five."

"I'll take it."

A huge grin exploded onto his face and a simultaneous one on Paige's.

"For sixty-six thousand."

"Sorry.” He hovered over the word. “That's lower than the owners gave me authority to go."

"Seventy thousand. You and I both know this place has been available forever.” They had to be dying to dump it on someone.

"Split the difference. Seventy-nine thousand."

"Consider it sold.” She stepped through the gate and along the road till she got to the end of the packed gravel driveway.

"What changed your mind?” Lou asked.

She pointed to the overgrown, tangled stems of more than three dozen rose bushes lining the inside of the picket fence.

A grin lit up Lou's stern face. He reached out a hand to seal the deal. She stopped him with, “You realize that's contingent on the home inspection?"

He nodded, the cigarette bobbing in his mouth like a frog on a lily pad. “We've already had one done, and I know you'd like to have your own done, but because of the results of ours, I feel safe in assuming our deal to be secure. As a matter of fact, I'll go back inside and turn on the heat. Owner replaced the furnace two years ago hoping to stimulate a sale. It was running at 88 percent efficiency."

"How long has it been empty?"

"Nearly three years. People left immediately after—"

Paige smiled and told Lou she'd be in the office in the morning to fill out whatever paperwork was necessary.

"What bank are you planning to use for financing?"

"I'll be paying cash,” she said, and turned away.

His grin lit the way to his automobile. “Didn't think I'd ever sell this place."

"Sometimes people don't need to know
all
the truth about something. Remember that."

As she walked back to town, she couldn't help thinking about Stefano and his thugs, who just might be around the corner, waiting to pounce on her, and this quiet, unassuming, and thoroughly unsuspecting little town. Had she made a bad decision?

[Back to Table of Contents]

Lou's car crunched beside her and stopped. He leaned across to roll down the window. Cigarette smoke poured out as if being expelled by a giant fan. “Can I give you a lift back to the inn?"

"You know where I'm going?"

"Everyone in town knows about the pretty lady who's been living in the attic of the Park Street Inn since Christmas."

"I forgot about the small town grapevines. Is there anything you people don't find out from each other?"

"Well, none of us knows who you are or where you came from, or why, for that matter."

Paige laughed. “Thanks for the offer of a ride. I think I'll walk back. I'm too excited to sit still. Am I right in assuming Eva and Alf will know about this before I get back?"

Lou simply smiled, took a long drag on his cigarette, and drove away.

After his car was out of sight, Paige slipped her phone from her belt and dialed Harry's number. He answered on the first ring. “Hi, Harry. Guess what? I bought a house."

"That's great news. I guess it means you're staying put. How much?"

"Seventy-nine thousand. I'll call you later with the particular."

"Okay. Take care."

"Thanks."

She clicked the phone off and hooked it back on her belt. Paige's step acquired its old lilting gait. At the inn, she was more than surprised to find that her hosts weren't already aware of her intentions.

"Something must be wrong with the Brandon grapevine,” Eva joked.

Paige told them the address of the cottage she intended to buy. Alf nodded in remembrance of the event that presaged the owner's abandonment of the property.

That night Paige couldn't sleep. At two a.m. she sat on her bed with her computer in her lap. She logged onto the Internet, accessing eBay with the intention of purchasing a book or two. Unfortunately, there was nothing worth her while.

She thought about calling Harry but knew he'd be sleeping. She'd been so excited about her house, she'd been unable—in their short thirty second phone call—to ask if he'd found Max. She'd also wanted to tell Harry of her fear for Max's life. Although it was nearly four months ago, Paige worried he lay dead in his house. His lack of friends or family meant that no one would find him, perhaps for years.

In the morning, a bleary-eyed Paige walked into the smoky real estate office. She wiped her boots on the mat. Lou waved her to a seat and finished typing something into the computer.

"I've lined up a firm to do the home inspection. They'll meet me there tomorrow afternoon,” Paige said.

"That's fine. When did you want to finalize the deal?"

"I don't see why we can't do it by the end of the week, unless something holds us up."

He leaned on his elbows and made a tent with his fingers. “The money?"

"Will be arriving today via pony express."

Lou's eyebrows made a vee down into the bridge of his nose.

"Never mind. The money will be here. Can we get on with the paperwork?"

"Sure.” He turned back to the computer, punched a few keys, and raised his eyes to her. “Name?"

"The house will be in the name of the Genesis Trust, trustee Harry—Harrison T. Berkeley, Esq. Details will arrive in the overnight mail."

On the way back to the inn, Paige stopped at Sew & Sews to purchase fabric for her next project, a throw quilt and matching drapes for the living room of her new home. Toting a slippery plastic bag of material, Paige found Eva raking mulch from the tulip bed. Eva leaned the rake against the porch and rubbed the base of her spine. “I see you've been to Colette's."

"I got fabric for my living room. I'm going to use that template we worked on."

Eva smiled. “It's so nice to know you're staying around town."

At least until Stefano's men caught up with her again. “Have you got a minute? There's something I need to talk to you both about."

"All right. I'll go put on some coffee. I think Alf is out back somewhere working on the lawn mower. Why don't you go find him and bring him in for muffins?"

"Hi,” Paige said to Alf's ample rear end.

He dropped the tool with a clang against the upside down body of the riding mower. “Trying to get this thing ready to go."

"I don't think you'll be needing it for a while yet."

"Be surprised. Once that first blade of green shows through the snow, it isn't long, and once it gets started..."

Paige placed her hands on her hips and bent, deliberately squinting at the ground. “Have you seen the first green yet?"

"Yep, right over here.” Alf walked to the sunniest corner of the house and kicked aside a layer of sodden brown maple leaves, a brutal contrast to the colorful beauty they'd exhibited a few months back. Beneath the leaves was a small clump of yellow-green spikes.