Love It or List It

Chapter One

AUSTIN REALLY needed a dishwasher.

So he told himself, cursing, as he scoured his kitchenette for any clean vessel he could put in the microwave. None presented itself. This was a problem. After ten hours in the garage putting on winter tires and sweet-talking a very temperamental BMW, Austin was starving—hangry even.

He should probably buy another bowl. More cutlery too, while he was at it. He didn’t have time to clean the caked-on macaroni out of the ones he’d left in the sink. He might die first.

Could you put SpaghettiOs in the microwave just in the can? Metal wasn’t a problem anymore, right? Or did that depend on the microwave? Austin couldn’t remember and didn’t want to find out the hard way.

Was it safe to eat this shit cold?

He was debating the merits of rolling the dice on that when his cell rang.

Austin was off the clock, technically. He only had one phone and didn’t use it for personal reasons.

But he also hadn’t been a small-business owner long enough to just ignore calls.

And the call ID was from a lawyer’s office.

Lawyers had fancy cars, and that meant fancy repairs. “Taylor’s Repairs, go for Austin.”

“Hello,” came the polite, professional voice on the other end of the line. Not a service call, then. “This is Josephine Kelly from Keller and Associates. Am I correct in assuming that I’ve reached Austin Taylor?”

Oh fuck, he wasn’t getting sued or something, was he? “Uh, yeah. That’s me.”

“Mr. Taylor, are you acquainted with a Diedre Mitchell?”

The dull ache that had lived in Austin’s chest for six months gave a sharp throb. “DeeDee, yeah. Out on County Road 8?”

Austin didn’t have a lot of friends. Actually, now that DeeDee was gone, Austin didn’t have any friends.

If it were left up to him, he wouldn’t have had her either, but little old ladies who lived on their own in ramshackle farmhouses knew how to get their way.

He was called out to fix her riding lawn mower over a year ago, and somehow he’d gone back to fix something or other once a week after that.

DeeDee always insisted he stay for lunch.

In the spring, they ate on her side patio, soaking up the weak sunshine; in the summer, they took refuge in the shade of her crumbling front porch. He’d never actually been inside.

Then she died, and now he never would.

“Yes, that’s correct. I’m pleased we’ve reached the correct Austin Taylor.”

Were there a lot of them? Austin wondered. “Can I ask what this is regarding?”

There was a click of a pen or a keyboard on the other end of the line. “One of our clients, Chris Mitchell, has been named executor of Ms. Mitchell’s estate.” Pause. “Most of it was divided up between her relatives, but there is the matter of the house.”

Austin blinked, feeling hollow. “The house?”

Josephine made an affirmative-sounding hum.

“Ms. Mitchell has listed you as a co-beneficiary of that particular asset.” More tapping—definitely keys this time.

“We’ve been trying to track you down so the ownership transfer can be finalized.

Would you be available tomorrow to go over some paperwork? ”

“Uh.” DeeDee Mitchell left him a house? Why? She had family. Case in point, this Chris guy.

“Mr. Taylor?”

Right. Availability. Paperwork. Austin forced himself to close his mouth and consider his schedule. He only had two appointments tomorrow, both protective sprays for the upcoming road-salt season. Tomorrow was a Wednesday, so a slow day for walk-in business. “I could do sometime after two?”

Click-clack-click. “Perfect. We’ll see you tomorrow at two thirty, Mr. Taylor.”

In a daze, Austin took down the address of the office. Then he and Josephine Kelly hung up, and he set his phone down on the counter. He stared at it for a handful of seconds, waiting for her to call back and tell him this had all been a weird misunderstanding.

The phone remained stubbornly silent.

Austin took a deep breath and considered the yet-unopened can of SpaghettiOs.

No, he decided. If he was about to become a homeowner—or a half-homeowner, or whatever—then he was going to splurge. He snatched his keys off the peg near his front door and left the apartment. McDonald’s dinner it was.

THE CLOCK read 2:11 when Joe pulled his truck into the lot at Keller and Associates. He’d misjudged the traffic from Oldcastle; he should’ve known the streets would be dead at this time on a weekday. But it would be brutal on the way back—nothing but school buses and parent pick-ups.

He shook off a sense of wistfulness. That was one thing he’d never miss. His kids might be mostly grown-up now, much less easy to wrangle into a hug, but on the plus side, Joe never had to wait in the kiss-and-ride line.

He clicked the lock on his truck and jogged inside.

Keller and Associates was housed in a strip mall in central Windsor, industrial beige inside and out.

Joe let the receptionist know he was there for a meeting with Ms. Kelly at two thirty and took a seat in one of the beige pleather chairs.

The room didn’t have any other occupants, so presumably his co-owner had not arrived yet.

Which made sense, because Joe was stupid early.

Why had he come inside? He could’ve sat in his truck and listened to music or something. Now he was in a public space. It wasn’t like he could just flip through TikTok for twenty minutes; he hadn’t brought headphones.

He should’ve known that the kids would never let him be bored… or give him a moment’s peace. He hadn’t even had time for his butt to warm the cold plastic before they started blowing up the family WhatsApp.

Meg Mitchell: Okay, so who is this guy? How did they finally track him down?

Gavin Chalmers: Yeah, and what the hell took so long? I am DYING to go explore that place

Alex Jones: Dude. Too soon

Gavin Chalmers: Oh shit, sorry Meg.

Meg Mitchell: Whatever, Grandma DeeDee would’ve laughed. Also, same, no one from the family has been in there in 20 years

This was news to Joe, who suddenly heard alarm bells going off in the back of his brain.

Joe Romano: Wait, for real? She died 4 months ago!

Meg Mitchell: Yeah, and Dad says we’re not allowed in because the house and all its contents belong to you and this Austin guy EVEN THOUGH HE’S THE EXECUTOR. He could totally go in, he’s just chicken

Gavin Chalmers: What if there’s like

Gavin Chalmers: Mummified rats in there

Will Wiebe: Ew

Will Wiebe: Don’t speak that evil into the universe, Gavin

Yeah, Gavin, Joe thought. Keep that shit to yourself. He made a mental note to buy a respirator mask and a Costco-size box of disposable gloves.

Joe Romano: None of you gremlins are getting in there until it’s been declared safe by some kind of public health authority, okay?

Meg Mitchell: boo

Will Wiebe: boo

Gavin Chalmers: booooooooo

Alex Jones: Have you met the other owner yet? You have to tell us what he’s like

Joe didn’t know why any of them cared. It wasn’t like he planned to keep the house with this guy.

From the sound of things, it was in rough shape.

They’d probably just agree to put it up for sale and split the proceeds.

Joe could use some extra money to tuck away.

Meg was likely to land a scholarship or two, what with the swimming thing, but Gavin, Will, and Alex might want to go to college one day too.

Joe couldn’t afford to just send them, but he could help.

And he could stand to put some money away for himself, since winter tended to be slow on the whole tree-trimming-and-landscape-work front.

Meg Mitchell: Yeah, how’d he know Grandma DeeDee anyway?

Gavin Chalmers: Maybe he was her boyfriend!

Alex Jones: Gross

Gavin Chalmers: Yeah sorry didn’t think that one through

Alex Jones: Is he a senior citizen?

Meg Mitchell: Is he a serial killer?

Will Wiebe: Is he hot?

All three of them reacted to that with the finger-pointing emoji. Et tu, Meg? Joe thought. Evidently being uninterested in ever having a love life of her own wouldn’t stop her from meddling in his. Who raised these hellions?

Oh. Right.

Joe Romano: Oh my God

Joe Romano: I’m muting this chat

He didn’t. He just put his whole phone on mute.

Then he frowned, looked at the time, and opened the chat again.

Meg Mitchell: He’s just worried about you cause you haven’t dated anybody since Assface

Alex Jones: You need to get over him. He sucks

Gavin Chalmers: And the best way to get over him is to get under someone else!

Jesus Christ.

Joe Romano: Aren’t you all supposed to be in class right now?!

He swore to God these children were going to make his hair fall out before he turned thirty, and then he’d have to kill them all.

They weren’t technically his kids, even if he loved them like they were.

He’d been Meg’s first swim instructor, back when she was a little tadpole of a thing, seven years old and all arms and legs.

Of the bunch, Meg had the best family life.

Her parents worked a lot back then, but Grandma DeeDee was a steady presence; she’d supervised every lesson Joe gave.

Meg also had the only house with a pool, so Alex, Gavin, and Will had gravitated to her place and often ended up waiting around for her to finish.

Joe had clocked the way they watched the water, the holes worn in the toes of Alex’s sneakers, the fraying hem of Gavin’s shorts, and then he’d seen them all flailing in the shallow end, and—look.

Meg was never going to become a Division I swim champ if she had trauma from one of her friends drowning in her pool.

It wasn’t like it was that hard to teach the rest of them how to stay alive.

And if Grandma DeeDee suspected Joe did it because he was an only child of divorced Mexican Catholic and Italian Catholic parents, and all his cousins had gobs of siblings and he’d always been kind of lonely, she was kind enough not to say so out loud, and simply suggested she repay his kindnesses with lunch.