Chapter 19. Holly
Holly
Ethan returned in the morning with his tools and know-how. Holly wasn’t staring, she told herself, she was just … noticing. Maybe for a beat too long …
But she crash-landed. He had used the pronoun “we,” and although she didn’t see a ring, he must be spoken for.
Some lucky girl would get to watch It’s a Wonderful Life with this hunky handyman, and it wouldn’t be her.
If nothing else, it was amusing fodder for a book: Captivating carpenter stirs inner turmoil.
She had to focus on money over personal pursuits, anyway.
To that end, she had a meeting with the lawyer, Allen Spellman, scheduled in thirty minutes.
Still, there was no harm in appreciating Ethan’s aesthetics.
And if she couldn’t get money right away, this might be the last time she’d lay eyes on him.
He approached with a smile that could melt ice.
Why did he seem so familiar to her? Why did little alarm bells go off in her head as he neared?
He wasn’t even her type. Almost all of Holly’s past boyfriends were artists of some sort.
There was the sculptor with the alcohol problem, the fellow writer with the bank account problem, the musician with the honesty problem, and the actor with every problem in the book.
The only notable exception was Max Egan, the boy with a mop of brown hair and caramel-colored eyes that swam with depth and sincerity. Did Ethan remind her of Max? Was that the source of her strange reaction?
“I have my pressure washer and solvent in the truck to remove the graffiti,” Ethan said. “I believe it’s high time Joey and Emily’s love affair gets washed away. My gut tells me their relationship ended a long time ago.” He smiled. It was adorable.
“That’s great, Ethan. Do you mind if I write you a check just for today’s work? Hopefully, my meeting with the lawyer will go well, and I’ll be able to pay for everything in your estimate … but in my line of work, I’ve learned not to count any chickens until they’re hatched.”
He held up his hands, objecting to the prepayment, but Holly thrust a check at him anyway. He glanced at it, eyes widening. Oh no, Holly worried. Do I owe him even more?
“How cool! I might make a copy of this and paste it into my book,” he joked.
Holly didn’t get what he meant at first, but then remembered that Gail introduced her as a local author. But did that mean…?
“I own a copy of Beyond Horizons. Didn’t want to be presumptuous and bring it with me to get it signed. I don’t know how that works—you’re the only published author I’ve met.”
Holly was in shock. “I’d be happy to sign your book. But—you actually read it?”
Ethan nodded. “Read it and loved it,” he said. “Wait, I’m trying to remember—it was Dove, right? And what was the name of the shopkeeper?”
“Emma Lou,” Holly said, awestruck.
It was one of her early works, placing Ethan among a highly exclusive group of twelve or so people Holly knew for certain had read it. Wait, is he sensitive and hot? Or is this a tactic he uses to get girls to fall for him? Either way, he’d scored points with Holly, which upped his dangerousness.
“I’ll be back in a few hours,” Holly said, wrapping up their mini book club before she was head over heels. Her dry spell had been long, her bed was cozy, and her repairman fantasy was quite vivid.
It was time to go.
The law office of Allen Spellman wasn’t much to look at. Neither was Allen Spellman. He was short, squat, and balding, but appeared industrious. The sleeves of his button-down shirt were rolled up, his navy-blue tie hung askew, and his sport coat was draped over the back of his black leather chair.
She had no trouble finding his office. He worked on the second floor of a small brick building that had received historical designation from the town of Beauport, a label the committee handed out like candy on Halloween. Everything in Beauport was historic, even dull, boxy buildings like this one.
Spellman’s workplace was as bland as the man seated at his desk.
There was no ocean view. The walls were painted gray, the windows covered with vinyl mini-blinds, and a few black metal filing cabinets lined a back wall over which hung a single framed seascape.
Holly scanned the books on the shelves of the built-in bookcase, seeing a collection of legal publications, which meant nothing to her beyond offering assurances that she was in capable hands.
She was nervous as she took a seat across from him.
This will go better than expected, she told herself as she shook Allen’s hand.
“Holly, Holly Sinclair,” he said brightly. “It’s nice to finally put a face to the voice.”
Holly’s spirits lifted. He wouldn’t be Mr. Chipper if he were about to share doomy, gloomy news.
“I was so sorry to hear about your mother’s passing,” he began.
“We didn’t know each other well—I took over the firm after she had set up her will.
But she gave me power of attorney over the account used to maintain the beach cottage, and as you know, I’m also the executor of her will.
I’ve been busy working through all the probate issues before the remaining funds pass to you. ”
Holly added her own narration: You are a lazy daughter who should have been more involved in your mother’s finances, but you left it all to an expensive stranger.
Shit. She really wasn’t the best daughter. But her mother had checked out of life after Anna’s death, so neither of them deserved the Family Member of the Year award.
It took a moment for Allen’s words to click: Probate issues … double shit. That doesn’t sound good.
“I know money was tight for your mom,” Allen continued, “and I want you to know I did a lot of the work for a reduced fee.”
“I appreciate that,” Holly said, omitting that she, too, was in desperate straits. “The house needs some serious attention, especially now that I’ll be living there full time.”
Allen’s face lit up. “Oh, you’re going to be a local again. That’s great—welcome back!”
Holly managed a strained smile. “Thanks, I, uh … I really need to fix up the cottage to make it livable. Publishing is a fickle business, and money is a little tight. This probate thing won’t take long, will it?”
Allen coddled her with his eyes like she was a naive child.
“The good news is you can live in the house even while it’s in probate, and you can legally make the necessary repairs.
You’ve lived there in the past and there are no remaining relatives to contest the will.
But unfortunately, I can’t legally distribute assets until the statutory period for creditors to make a claim has expired, which is one year in Massachusetts.
Since the assets weren’t in a trust, I’m afraid that’s the law. ”
Holly’s face fell. She thought there had been a trust. She heard the voice again—loud, clear, and quite cutting: Why weren’t you on top of things, Hol?
Why did you neglect your mother’s affairs?
You’ve been so self-involved—obsessed over words and characters that nobody cares about, lamenting over reviews and paltry sales.
Now it’s come back to bite you in the ass like a cartoon dog.
Holly’s heart began palpitating. “Allen, I’m really short on cash.
I’ve got a handyman ready to do the work, and I can’t pay him in tuna casseroles, not that I’m much of a cook.
Can’t I get some money for repairs? I could use a little for myself, too, until my ship comes in. ” Or sinks to the bottom of the sea.
Again, Allen cleared his throat in that “sucks to be you” way. “Holly, I’m sorry. The law is the law. When your mother was alive, we could distribute funds for home maintenance. Now that she’s gone, those funds are frozen.”
Holly’s blink-and-make-it-all-better trick didn’t work. “Wait, you’re telling me that I can’t get any money—not a dime—until a year from now?”
“Well, less,” said Allen. “More like eight months. It’s been some time since your mother passed.”
Holly hadn’t thought to check on the will because her mother had no money or assets other than the house and the fund established to pay for it. She thought her mother had put the money into a trust, but she never followed through. How careless she had been.
Holly tried to avoid clichés in her writing, but sometimes they said it best: She was up shit creek without a paddle.
“The good news is you have plenty of money in the account to take care of the property. Here, I’ll show you.”
A moment later, Holly was scanning a printout of several months’ worth of statements.
Indeed, there was enough money to do the repairs and more, but she noticed something else.
There were regular monthly transfers to unknown recipients—not utilities, taxes, or legal expenses—and always for the same amounts.
She pointed them out to Spellman. “What are these?” Holly sifted through the pile, confirming that, as she suspected, the transfers went back years.
Allen studied them for a moment. “Honestly, I’m not sure.
Those were in place before I began managing the accounts.
I recall asking your mother about them. Her explanation was vague, but she was adamant that they be kept in place.
And that’s my job—to see that things are handled according to your mother’s wishes. ”
Holly nodded. The transfers hadn’t drained the account, and now those were likely frozen as well. “Is there any way I can draw money for a short period—you know, like take out a loan against myself?” She imagined the cold of October when temperatures plummeted and winds tore off the ocean.
“Holly, I wish I could help you, I really do. But there’s no way around this probate stipulation. I do understand your conundrum…” His voice trailed off, and he leaned his head on his hand. A smile spread across his face.
“Let me write you a check from my account. Think of it as a personal loan. Just a little something to tide you over, and you can pay me back when the courts release the funds. I’ve worked with your family for years now. I’m sure I can trust you.”
Holly felt elated and pathetic at the same time. She wasn’t holding a paper cup and a cardboard sign at the entrance to a highway, but she wasn’t that far off. “Would you? I’m sorry to take you up on that, but I’m in a tough spot, and no bank will give me a loan when I’m out of contract.”
“Don’t give it another thought,” said Spellman, who pulled his checkbook from a drawer. “I’m happy that the cottage will be loved and cared for.”
She beamed when she saw the amount. It was a loan, so she tried not to feel too guilty. But it was odd that there were literally no strings attached—no paperwork, no agreement to sign, no formal commitment to repay it. Then the adage of not looking a gift horse in the mouth came to mind.
“I can’t thank you enough. I missed Beauport, but it’s been hard not to dwell on the past. This will help me focus more on the future,” she said.
A dark cloud passed across Allen’s face. “Yes … your sister. I’m sorry about that as well. Terrible accident.”
“Or not,” said Holly, almost as an aside.
Allen perked up. “Do you think—?”
Holly’s brief silence filled in the blanks. “I didn’t want to come back. Too many awful memories and not enough closure.”
Allen looked sympathetic. “Being here must be like reopening the wound. But what are you suggesting?”
Holly leaned forward, pressing her elbows against his desk. “You’re this town’s only lawyer.”
Allen brushed off the observation like it was a compliment. “There are three of us, to be precise, but I might be the most well-known.”
“Then you must know the police in town. You’ve probably heard things.” Holly’s voice dipped a degree lower. “I don’t think Anna’s death was an accident,” she said. “And for some reason, the cops gave it the brush-off.”
Allen straightened. “Th-that’s a pretty big claim,” he stuttered. “Do you have any evidence?”
“Call it a gut feeling,” Holly said, her voice subdued. “In my opinion, there were suspects who weren’t properly investigated—powerful people in Beauport.”
The look on Allen’s face all but named those people without saying a word. It was a small town.
“But why would anyone want to harm your sister?” he asked.
Holly decided less was more. “Tom Walker was one of the officers on the case, and I don’t think they were thorough—there were leads they should have followed.
They never even learned how the fire started.
I saw him the other day and picked up on the not-so-subtle message I’m not welcome in town.
Why would that be? I’m guessing Walker thinks I’ve come back to start trouble. ”
Allen’s expression softened. “Look, consider me a friend of your family after all this time. I know Tom Walker—and yeah, I’ve heard things.
In fact, he’s come under fire recently. I don’t know much about your sister’s death, but I do know Walker is bad news.
The details have been kept hush-hush, but his wife left him recently, and I think it’s related to his troubles on the force.
I’ll try to get some info for you without being overt.
“But, Holly, believe me when I say the cops in Beauport like to let things lie, if you know what I’m saying. You need to tread very lightly.”
Holly left Allen’s office feeling much more optimistic.
His check would keep Ethan around and Chester fed.
Jade, too. The girl was part of her life now.
Not only that—talking with Allen had been a big step in confronting her past. And Allen had validated her concerns.
Tommy Boy was a crooked cop, and people were catching on.
She knew what she had to do next—go to the police station and ask to look at Anna’s old case file. She needed to see the hard evidence.
Holly marched along the boardwalk with purpose. She’d spent enough time being passive, ignoring the family finances and burying old trauma. She was forty years old, and it was time to get a handle on it all.
As Holly approached the police station, she passed the Bean There Café. The busker was planted outside, singing his sad songs in his horrid off-key tone. He looked up at Holly and stopped mid-chorus.
Keeping his eyes locked on hers, he slowed down his strumming and switched to a different song.
She recognized the tune immediately, even if his rendition was sorely lacking.
She could feel his cold eyes on her as he began to sing “Every Breath You Take” by the Police.
She rushed past as fast as she could, his words trailing behind her: “I’ll be watching you… ”