Chapter 2 #3
I nodded. “I was the one who found her, about two days later. I’d been calling her, but she hadn’t been answering. So I came to check on her. I was already scared for her.”
“Christ, that must’ve been hell.” His hand tightened. “Did he ...” He hesitated, clearly afraid to ask. “Had the burglar hurt her?”
“Not as far as they could tell,” I told him. “The chain on the door was broken. The TV, computer, and stereo were gone. And Lucia’s jewelry. Just a petty thief, I guess.” I tugged my hand away. “Let’s get back to practical matters, okay?”
His smile flickered. “Whenever you like. There’s no rush.”
“I imagine you’re losing money right and left as the clock ticks,” I said.
“Not really,” he said. “I’m self-employed. And I choose not to see my time in that way. There’s always time for a cup of tea and condolences for a lost friend.”
“Ah.” Well. Just call me brittle, shallow, and uptight then, why didn’t he. “Okay. Anyhow, I have no idea what kind of arrangement you made with Lucia, but?—”
“How about if I just tell you now?”
I retreated behind my tea mug. “Ah, okay.”
He pulled a square of folded paper out of his pocket, which proved to be a floor plan of Lucia’s ground floor. Several notes and edits had been made in Lucia’s distinctive, elegant script. It hurt to look at it.
“We chose this date to start the work,” he said.
“She was going to make the changes to the ground floor that you see on that plan—build a new deck, put in teak flooring, redo both bathrooms and the kitchen, update the stairs, enlarge the upstairs closets, finish the attic, and add skylights in the upstairs bedrooms.”
“Ah ... wow.” I stared at the plan, bemused. “I am so sorry that it all went up in smoke. I imagine that will create big problems for your work schedule.”
He shook his head. “I’ll be fine. I have plenty of work, and for this job, I’d only hired one assistant. But I do have a truck full of building materials parked outside, and another full load in my barn back home—bought and paid for. That stuff’s not smoke.”
I was startled. “Bought already? Lucia bought it?”
“Yes. Forty-two thousand dollars and change.”
My jaw dropped. “Forty-two ... oh my God! Is it refundable?”
Knightly hesitated, gazing into his tea mug. “Ah, no,” he said, reluctantly. “I knew a guy who was going out of business and liquidating stock, so I took Lucia there a few weeks ago. We picked out supplies at a quarter of the list price. No refunds. And the lumber’s already been cut.”
I blew out a shaky breath. “Oh, man. That’s a kick in the ass. Forty-two thousand bucks’ worth of lumber, flooring, tile, and bathroom and kitchen fixtures.”
“I’m sorry,” he offered. “I really liked her, so I was trying to save her money.”
“Well, thanks for that,” I muttered.
He drummed his fingers against the table thoughtfully.
“You’ve got a couple of different choices here,” he said thoughtfully.
“You can try to sell the stuff on eBay or Craigslist and probably recoup at least a portion of what she spent. Or you can go ahead with the renovation. It’ll definitely boost your property value.
Though I have no idea who currently owns the house. ”
There was a delicate pause. “My sisters and I,” I supplied. “In equal measure.”
“Ah. Good, then. So all you’d have to pay for now is labor, and a few odds and ends for whatever comes up last minute. You’d recover that and more in the increased property value. That way, the investment won’t be wasted. If you intend to sell the house, that is.”
“We don’t ‘intend’ anything.” My voice came out more sharply than I meant it to. “The funeral was yesterday. We have no plans yet.”
He lifted his hands. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to seem like I was pressuring you.”
His quiet tone shamed me. This was not his fault at all. It was so hard to think clearly. I kept losing the thread, getting muddled and lost. “My sisters should know about this,” I said. “Would you mind if I called them right now?”
He set his cup down and rose to his feet. “That’s fine with me. I’ll step outside while you make the call. To give you some privacy.”
“Oh, no, it’s fine. Please, sit down.” I waved him back down and dialed Vivi’s number.
Nell, the impractical bookworm scholar, had a smartphone in her possession, but she may as well not have it, since she almost never turned it on or charged it up, and when she did, she never had the ringer on, or even kept it anywhere near her person.
Nell considered smartphones evil in general; annoying, probably carcinogenic, and worst of all, a diabolical sinkhole for her precious attention.
Chances are she was right about all of that, but in practical terms, this philosophical position drove Vivi and me nuts. Which Nell thought was hugely funny.
Or at least, she had thought so before what happened to Lucia.
“Yeah?” Vivi picked up immediately. “You okay?”
“I’m fine, but I’ve discovered a new wrinkle.” I outlined the situation just as Knightly had described it, then waited while Vivi relayed it to Nell.
There was some muffled back-and-forth on the other end before Vivi came back with the verdict.
“Our combined opinion is that if Lucia wanted it done and went to the trouble of buying all the supplies, we should respect her wishes. Problem is, I don’t have any cash on hand to pay the crew.
” Nell said something emphatic in the background. “And neither does Nell,” Vivi added.
“Okay. Maybe I can look into getting a loan. Later, babes.” I ended the call and turned to him.
“This is the situation as it stands,” she said.
“My sisters and I are disposed to proceed, so as not to waste Lucia’s investment.
But we don’t have cash on hand to cover your labor—at least not yet.
Lucia had some money tucked away, I assume, but we don’t know how much or when we’ll be able to access it.
I can look into taking out a loan, but in the meantime?—”
“Don’t worry about it. I’ll just go ahead and get started. Pay me later. When you sort it all out.”
I was startled. “Are you sure that’s wise? I don’t even know when I can get the cash. I wouldn’t want to put you in a bind.”
His shrug was nonchalant. “I can cover costs for a couple of weeks. I only have Eoin to pay, for now. We’ll just see how it goes.”
“On just my word?”
His eyes gleamed over his cup. “I know your word’s good.”
“Ah … you just met me fifteen minutes ago,” I pointed out.
Knightly glanced at his watch. “Eighteen minutes. That’s more than enough.”
His gaze was so intense. It wiped my mind clear of coherent thought.
All thoughts but one.
No. Not today. I was grieving, wobbly, my judgment shot to hell, and I was probably imagining all these wildly inappropriate, ill-timed vibes. No, no, and no.
Or maybe I wasn’t imagining them, and that was even worse.
He was way too big for my tastes, for one thing.
There was just too much of him. I steered around big men who gave off those commanding alpha-dog signals.
I avoided them like the plague. And perfect though Knightly’s manners might be, mellow though he might act, there was no mistaking a man like that.
I could spot one disguised in any costume—a dress suit, a military uniform, or jeans and a T-shirt.
The force field of Liam Knightly’s natural machismo tickled my skin, all the more dangerous for how deliciously subtle it was.
It wasn’t a bad thing. It was how he was, like having brown hair, or a nice ass. But even so. I had to run the show when it came to relationships, romance, sex. That detail was non-negotiable. And a guy like him would want to be on top.
Figuratively speaking.
My gaze skittered around and landed on the plastic tablecloth. Ah. Yes. Something to do. I grabbed the package, ripped open the wrapping and headed for the living room.
Knightly followed me, mug in hand, still sipping in that leisurely way of his.
I’d long since nervously gulped down all of my own tea.
He watched as I unfolded the tablecloth and shook it out.
The stink of new, raw plastic overwhelmed even the scent of the funeral flowers.
I positioned it carefully over Lucia’s intaglio writing table.
“It’s none of my business,” Knightly said. “But why on earth are you covering that beautiful thing with that godawful plastic?”
“Camouflage,” I said. “In case the burglars come back. My sister and I will take the smaller pieces of fine art home with us, for lack of a better plan, but none of us has a place for this table. Did Lucia tell you the table’s history?”
“Yes, actually. She told me the SS officers used it during the Nazi occupation. That they used her father’s palace for their headquarters.”
I was startled. Lucia had not usually been so forthcoming about her family history. “Yes. The Nazi officers were the ones who made the graffiti,” I said, tracing some of the brutal scratches carved into the delicately carved tangle of flowers.
“Bastards. But now that’s part of its fascination. It’s a piece of living history.”
“Lucia’s father was a count, you know? The Conte de Luca. So Lucia was technically a countess, even though she lived over half her life here in New York.”
It felt good to talk about Lucia. Like a pressure valve releasing steam.
“I’m not surprised,” Knightly said. “She looked the part. She was a class act.”
I blinked back fresh tears and shook the tablecloth into place with an angry jerk. “Yes, she was.” I positioned the jade plant in the center. “There. Who would guess?”
“Looks butt-ugly,” he said judiciously.
“That’s what I was going for,” I said. “Thanks.”
Knightly laid his hand gently on the table, as if he were stroking a living thing. “I’d love to study it someday. Figure out how the guy did it.”
“Did what?”