Chapter 5
Chapter Five
ELLA
H annah Jensen’s grandmother had been good friends with Nonna. The two women often got together for knitting sessions where they’d eat warm apple pie and create plush scarves and hats out of balls of fuzzy yarn. I decided to give her a call. Renee mentioned that Hannah had been rather tight-lipped about the new Grimstone owner, but that might have had more to do with the person on the receiving end of the conversation. Renee could whip out gossip at tornado speed and velocity. I decided to call Hannah and see if she’d be more forthcoming with me.
“Whisper Cove Realty, Hannah Jensen speaking. We’re here to meet all your real estate goals. What can I do to get you in your dream home?” It was such a long greeting I nearly forgot why I called.
“Hello, Hannah, it’s Ella Lovely, Maeve’s granddaughter.”
“Ella, yes, of course. How are you? And your sisters? I was in Aria’s café just yesterday morning enjoying Declan’s sublime quiche.”
“Yes, it melts in your mouth, doesn’t it? We’re all good. How about you and your family?”
“Very good, Noah is in kindergarten now, and Grant is working at a real estate brokerage in Fairview. What can I do for you?” She gasped. “Are you selling Maeve’s cottage? I’ll have ten offers before the day is out. It’s such prime real estate for a big, shiny two-story or a sprawling ranch.” And that was exactly why we’d decided never to part with the cottage. People wanted the land but not the wonderful, slightly lopsided cottage that came with it.
“Sorry to disappoint you, Hannah, but we don’t have any plans to sell the cottage. It holds far too many memories.” I could literally hear her posture deflate as she exhaled in disappointment.
“But you will call me first if you ever decide to put it on the market?” she asked, inflating again.
“Of course. And I’d like to ask you a favor as well.” Her plea helped lead me to my next question. Tit for tat and all that, not that I’d ever be holding up my end of the promise. “I understand there’s a new owner at Grimstone Manor.”
She chuckled. “Word sure zips around this town fast. He only moved in this past weekend. I took him a basket with wine and fruit, but he didn’t have much furniture. I think he’s planning some heavy-duty renovation. The place sure needs it. Looks far worse on the outside than the inside, but it still needs a lot of TLC.”
It was my turn to chuckle at her categorizing the renovations as “tender loving care.” Dynamite and bulldozers were more like it. “Hannah, do you think you could introduce us? I’m writing an article about the curse of Grimstone Manor for the online publication I work for.” I smiled to myself. It felt good to say that. I was a legitimate journalist. As long as I could deliver with this first assignment.
“I hardly think the poor man needs to hear that he bought a cursed home. Besides, as far as I know, that was all just a lot of rumors piled on top of rumors. A few incidents of bad luck...”
“Nonna told us every owner of the manor had terrible luck once they moved in. But I don’t want to bother him with that. You’re right. Just a lot of nonsense. Something to keep people entertained. You told my editor, Andrea May, that there were a lot of books and photos and artifacts from previous owners still in the house.”
She paused. “Well, that was before the house sold. I don’t know if that’s still there or not. Maybe Mr. Lockwood tossed all of it out.”
I jotted down Lockwood on the notepad I’d pulled out for the call. “That seems like quite a chore if he only moved in last weekend. So, his name is Lockwood?”
“Yes, and I really shouldn’t even tell you that. You can certainly ask him permission to peruse the stuff, but I won’t get involved with an introduction. I have to warn you though—he’s not very friendly. Kind of cold, in fact. I brought him the basket on his move-in day, and he barely acknowledged the gift. I don’t know much about him, but it seems he’s gone through something, something that has left him scarred both physically and mentally. Don’t expect much success on your quest. Why don’t you just hang out at the barbershop? Some of those old guys know more about that house than anyone.”
“I’m a journalist, Hannah.” That felt good, too. “I can’t write a story based on Elmer and Jacob’s retelling of stories they heard from their grandfathers. I need facts.”
“Then you should probably get over there soon. That old stuff has been collecting dust and cobwebs for years. I used to bring clients in to look at the place, and they’d practically run back out once they got inside. I’m sure Mr. Lockwood will be anxious to get rid of that junk. Good luck and I wish I could help you more.”
“Thanks anyway, Hannah.”
“Don’t forget to call when you decide to sell the cottage.”
“You bet,” I said with an eye roll that was pronounced enough she might have heard it through the phone. “Bye.”
I hung up and stared at Nonna’s oven. We’d never replaced it, and if I stared at it long enough, I could see the tie on Nonna’s apron as she leaned down into the oven to baste a turkey or check the crust on a pecan pie. I walked to the pantry and opened it. Good ole Isla. Her philosophy was that a house was not a home unless there was a bag of chocolate chips in the cupboard. I pulled out the bag and the mixing bowl. Isla kept a collection of recipes in a wooden box next to the cookie jar. Some were originals, straight from Nonna’s collection, and some had been updated and made even better by Isla. The chocolate chip cookie recipe had changed little since we were young. Back then we’d stand around Nonna in the kitchen with our spoons ready for a dip into the delicious dough. I browsed the recipe. We had all the ingredients needed for a batch of cookies.
Hannah’s warning and my own interactions with Mr. Lockwood had smashed my confidence. The cookies had to work, otherwise I’d be stuck sitting at the barbershop, breathing in the scent of pungent aftershave and stale cigar smoke as I listened to half a dozen men arguing about who had the best recollection of the curse of Grimstone Manor.