Page 5

“So, you’re keeping the inn?” Evie asked.
My eyes went wide. “Oh, my God, some jerk offered to buy the place the day I signed the papers. The inn had been mine for lessthan a couple of hours, and some opportunistic charlatan was sitting on the doorstep trying to take advantage of my mental state. How many people do they blindside that way? So rude.”
“Not the guy from JM Carlisle Group?”
I fished the wadded up business card from my pocket. I had kept it to remind myself what was at stake. If I couldn’t manage to reclaim the inn to its former glory, or close enough, I was setting myself up to have to sell out to some guy like that. And I knew the investment firms in New York City were not interested in saving the inn or bringing her back to her former glory. They would level her without thinking twice about it.
But Mountain Sweet was a late Victorian beauty, and she deserved to be rehabilitated. My mom had kept her in decent condition, but the last ten years of neglect were showing. She needed a facelift, power washing and fresh paint, with a few repairs on the gingerbread decorations and a window repair here and there. As far as I was aware, the roof was in good shape, and there weren’t any leaks. A professional inspection would be able to provide an accurate situational report. It was on my to-do list. And the rooms on the third floor really only needed some freshening up with new wallpaper, maybe a bump or two in the walls patched up, and updated plumbing. There was nothing charming about sinks and toilets with rust stains.
I held the card out. “This guy?”
Evie took it and pressed the wrinkles out. “Oh, yeah, him.” A low rumble of a growl started in the back of her throat.
If we had been anywhere other than the library, I would have expected her to let loose with a torrent of profanity. Evie knew when to keep it professional and when to cut loose.
“He had the nerve to tell me that since the family leased this place to the city, it really wasn’t my decision whether he could buy it or not. As if the lease were transferable, and then he could do what he wanted with this old place.” Her voice grew louder as she talked.
I waved my hands, pushing downward to remind her of her own volume rules in the library.
She leaned in and continued to whisper. “He said something about revitalizing the whole downtown area. And to start, they wanted to get rid of, and I quote, ‘these old eyesores’. I can’t believe he had the nerve to call the library an eyesore.”
The library was the same age as Sweet Mountain, late eighteen hundreds. It was the kind of Victorian mansion that people referred to as a painted lady with all the ornamentation and painted in all the bright colors. Were the colors authentic? Definitely not, but the teals and rich blues accented in gold tones and purples made the house such a joy to look at.
“What a freaking dick to insinuate that this place is not a thing of beauty. I mean I get it. From certain angles, Sweet Mountain could use a bit of a facelift, but she’s not ugly, either,” I grumbled.
“I wonder how many other places he approached and called ugly?” Evie pondered.
I thought about that for a long minute. “If he thinks he’s revitalizing downtown, is Dan Breaker in on it?”
“The mayor? No, he’s all mister historical preservation. He’s the one out there hanging all the decorations around the town square no matter the occasion. I mean, yes, I think the mayor would want to revitalize the town but at the same time, I don’tthink he’d be the one to want to bulldoze the historical charm. Dan Breaker is more likely to organize a cleanup and painting party than he is to partner with a real estate developer,” Evie said.
“Are you certain?” I asked.
“The easiest way to find out is to ask,” she said.
“Fine,” I said as I picked up the stack of books. “I need to check these out, and then I’m headed over to his office.”
Evie took the top half of the stack in my arms. “Let’s put these behind the counter for now, and I’ll head over there with you.”
When we got to the mayor’s office, we weren’t the only ones there to ask about this JM Carlisle Group. Dan stood in front of the receptionist desk looking at something in his hands. I couldn’t hear what he was saying. When he looked up at us, he asked, “You too?”
“Did that guy try to get you to sell the inn?” Mary from the post office asked. She was in the group standing around.
“And the library,” Evie said.
“We won’t let that happen,” the mayor announced. “We’ll need to organize a committee?—”
“I’ll help,” I volunteered and raised my hand before he had even finished his words.
4
MILES
“What the hell?” I ducked my head and looked out the windshield. I finally made it to Brookdale. After the nonsense with the airport, it probably would have taken less time to drive the entire way.
But what I was looking at was straight out of a rom-com movie. Small towns didn’t festoon swags of greenery across Main Street in the middle of the year. That was something they did at Christmas.
But I was staring right at an Easter egg and green shamrock laden swag of vines draping from light post to light post. I slowed and I turned left as the GPS instructed.