“Sweetheart, we’re your dads. That will never change.”
“Speaking of relationships, Mrs. Goode left me a video. She said she was my grandmother.”
They shifted in their seats, their sudden discomfort stunning.
“Wait, did you guys know?”
Papi bit down, his chiseled jaw working hard. “Yes, honey. We did.”
My lungs froze for a solid thirty seconds. I recovered and asked, “For how long?”
“For a while now,” Dad said in his soft Latino accent. “We made a promise—”
“You, too? That’s what she said in the video.”
“Cariña, have you watched the whole thing? It will explain—”
“You even knew about the video? Did you know about the house before I got the call?”
Another glance at each other told me everything I needed to know. “We knew your grandmother had planned on leaving it to you.”
“Did you . . . did you know her?”
“Honey, watch the rest of the video.”
I wanted to feel betrayed. I wanted to feel hurt and bitter and outraged. I failed. I loved these men so much. I trusted them implicitly. They would never do anything to hurt me. Not on purpose anyway.
“Get some rest, honey. Then finish the video. We’ll call again in the morning.”
“We love you,” Papi said, flashing his killer smile.
“I love you, too.”
We ended the call, and I sat in a state of absolute astonishment. They’d known. Questions came at me like bottle rockets, one after another. At least I knew for certain now.
A part of me thought Ruthie had the wrong person. It could happen. A mix-up with the adoption papers. A similar name and date-of-birth. But my dads knew her. It had to be legit, and that fact scared me a lot more than it should have.
I looked around. The house was just so beautiful, so dark and haunting and grim, my heart ached for Percy to be mine. I closed my laptop and put the papers aside. Then I lay back onto a down pillow, my hands clasped behind my head as I studied the ceiling. Ink snuggled beside me, his purr soothing. My lids grew heavy and I closed them.
“I can weigh my options with my eyes closed,” I said to Ink. “Just for a minute.” No sooner had I lowered my lids than another knock sounded at the door.
I startled awake, realizing I must have drifted off after all. The clock on my phone showed just past seven. I’d slept for almost four hours.
Ink had disappeared and was hopefully hunting for mice. Surely this place had mice.
Then I realized why I’d been awakened. Someone was pounding on my front door. Hard. What the hell? They’d just have to wait because my bladder would not.
Groggy and disoriented, I stumbled to the bathroom only to find a man on the floor. I skidded to a halt and looked down. Roane lay underneath the sink, visible only from the chest down. But, my God, what a lovely chest it was. And biceps. And calves. If only the kilt would slip up just a touch.
“Finished?”
I jumped so hard a little pee slipped out. Damn it.
He looked up at me from the ground, a wrench in his hands.
“Sorry. I was just admiring your kilt.”
“Ah. Do you need the bathroom?”
“I can find another one. There’s like thirty-two in this house.”
One corner of his mouth rose. “Seven, actually.”
“Plenty, then. You’re here late.”
His brows slid together, before saying, “Lot to do.”
Understatement of the eon. “I can’t believe this house has the original toilets.” The tanks were wooden and hung from the walls with a pull rope to flush. I’d never seen one in real life. Now I’d get to see seven.
“Getting parts will be difficult, but I know a guy.”
“I love that you know a guy because I don’t. I wouldn’t even know where to begin to find a guy to know and I’m going to search out a bathroom before I embarrass myself.”
“Here,” he said with a soft chuckle. He rolled onto his feet. “I need to get some parts anyway.”
“Oh, can I use the sink?”
“Sure.” He studied me for a few seconds, then added, “I’ve fixed it temporarily.”
I stared back before coming to my senses. “Great. Thanks.” He stepped around me to leave. “Oh, have you seen Ink?”
“Not since he came downstairs with an entire slice of pizza hanging from his mouth.”
Oops. “Yeah, he was hungry.”
“He’s always hungry.”
He left and it wasn’t until that exact moment that I realized something a little disturbing. To get to this bathroom, he had to come into Ruthie’s room. My room. The one I’d been sleeping in.
I turned in a circle then spotted a cabinet that sat crooked against the wall.
I stepped to it and pulled. It swung wide, the opening leading to a finished passageway. A narrow hall that was softly lit by incandescent lighting.
“No way,” I whispered to myself. A secret passageway. This was officially the coolest house I’d ever been in. And it could be mine for the low, low cost of every cent I made in the future for upkeep and restoration.
I couldn’t decide if I was happier about the fact that Percy had secret passageways or that Roane wasn’t a creeper. It could go either way.
The knock sounded again. I closed the . . . cabinet, made quick work of the call from nature, washed my hands and dried them on a small towel as I headed down the stairs. About the time I got to the door, I realized I hadn’t even glanced in the mirror.
That was okay. Whoever was knocking was clearly a pain in the ass.
The knock sounded again just as I turned the knob.
“Yes?” I said, letting my irritation show.
A man about my height with blond hair and square plastic-framed glasses stood on the other side. “You must be Ms. Dayne.”
“I must be.” Amazing how many people knew my name here.
“I’m Donald. Donald Shoemaker. I live down the block.” He pointed because that would help. “I’m here representing the North Shore Home Owners Association and the Beautify Salem Society. We just want you to know that we will no longer tolerate it. Any of it.”
“I don’t blame you.”
“Ms. Dayne, if you don’t take this seriously, we will be filing a lawsuit this afternoon.”
Damn. I hadn’t even been here a day and I already had a lawsuit against me? That beat my personal record, but just barely.
Three
MEN: Women are very hard to read.
WOMEN: Actually, we just want—
MEN: Such complex creatures.
WOMEN: If you’d just liste—
MEN: So mysterious.
-Actual Conversation
“Ms. Dayne, we’ve been trying to get Ruthie to do something about the situation for years.”
I could tell Mr. Donald Shoemaker was going to be an issue for whomever ended up living here. Sadly, it would probably not be me, because I loved few things more than dressing down with the Taylor Dooses of the world.
“She’s repeatedly refused our requests. She even ignored our registered letters.”
“She didn’t.” I wondered if I should tell Donald about the coffee stain on his starched baby-blue button-down.