The Barn Identity (House-Flipper Mysteries #8)

Chapter 1. Barn To Run

BARN TO RUN

I was the conductor of the Underground Railroad for eight years, and I can say what most conductors can’t say—I never ran my train off the track and I never lost a passenger.

—Harriet Tubman

WHITNEY WHITAKER FLYNN

On a chilly Monday in late March, I sat at the counter in my kitchen, watching my husband Collin prepare breakfast. “You have never looked sexier than you do right now working that toaster.”

He slid me a sideways glance. “That’s just your pregnancy hormones talking.”

“Maybe. Maybe not. After breakfast, let’s see how hot you look pushing the vacuum cleaner.”

He cut me another look, one that said he was on to my subversive plot to get him to do all the household chores.

Can’t blame a girl for trying.

I sipped my orange juice. Folic acid was critical to the health of the itty-bitty baby growing in my belly, so I made sure to drink a glass each morning.

My cat, Sawdust—named for the color of his fur—lay on my lap.

It wouldn’t be long before he’d have to share my lap with the baby, but I had no doubt he’d happily surrender some of his space. Sawdust was the sweetest kitty ever.

My cell phone buzzed with an incoming call.

Sawdust looked up as I checked the screen, his curiosity activated.

The caller wasn’t in my contacts and the number wasn’t familiar.

I was in no mood for a sales pitch. I’d woken feeling nauseated.

My baby might only be the size of a lemon, but my future offspring was wreaking havoc on my body.

I tapped the screen to decline the call and turned my attention to the avocado toast Collin placed in front of me.

Collin was a homicide detective for the Metropolitan Nashville Police Department.

I wondered if he’d still find time for his daily runs once the baby arrived, or if his physique would give way to dad bod.

Maybe we could buy one of those fancy jogging strollers so he could take our child with him on his runs, giving me time for a long soak in a bubble bath.

I also wondered if our son or daughter would have his dark hair and green eyes, or whether our child would be blonde and blue eyed like me.

Maybe our DNA would mix, and the child would have dark hair with blue eyes, or blonde hair with green eyes.

No matter what, I knew one thing for certain.

I’d love that baby to pieces. I also knew I needed to do something about the calluses on my fingers.

Baby skin was soft and supple. I didn’t want my child feeling my thick, rough skin and thinking Mommy was some sort of monster.

I picked up a slice of toast and gave Collin a smile. “Thanks, Detective Daddy.”

He set another plate at the spot next to me, and slid onto the adjoining stool.

I was one bite into the delicious toast when an image popped up on my phone’s screen, sent from the same number as the call I’d ignored.

The photo featured an old, expansive horse barn with three cupolas atop the gambrel roof, as well as a long row of windows along the side to allow light and air into the stalls.

Atop the second floor was an open hayloft door with a protective roof, or hay hood, extending over it to keep out the elements and provide a place for anchoring the pulley system used to lift bales into the loft.

The image was followed by a message: Hello, Whitney.

I’m Gail Pittman. A real estate agent suggested I contact you about a possible rehab job on a livery stable.

Gail had me at rehab. I lived to breathe new life into old properties, to see dilapidated buildings restored and renewed, or reborn as something else entirely. I swallowed the bite of toast and enlarged the photo to take a better look. Interesting.

I texted Gail back, asking for the property address, a convenient time to meet, and her asking price.

She gave me an address in Leipers Fork, a small rural community southwest of Nashville.

Leipers Fork was named after either Hugh Leiper, an early land surveyor, or his brother, Captain James Leiper, who died in 1781 in the Battle of the Bluffs in Nashville, then known as Fort Nashborough.

Regardless of who the town was named for, tradition had it spelled without the possessive apostrophe before the S.

Some say a mapmaker left off the punctuation long ago and the misspelling stuck, though some punctuation purists insisted on spelling the name with an apostrophe.

Gail asked if I could meet her at the barn the following day at ten o’clock, but she didn’t mention her asking price. No problem. If the barn looked like a good prospect for a flip project, we could work out the money later. I texted her back: See you then.

After I’d set my phone down on the counter, Collin asked, “Was that an old barn I saw on your screen?”

“A former livery stable, to be exact. I’m going to take a look at it tomorrow.”

A grin played about his lips. “Sounds like a project you can’t say neigh to.”

I held the toast poised at my lips. “Are you trying to make me even more nauseated with your bad puns?”

His eyes danced with amusement. “Sorry. Couldn’t resist.”

He took a sip of his coffee and I nearly groaned in jealousy. I miss caffeine.

Collin set his cup back down on the counter. “Gonna drag Buck out to the barn with you?”

“Yeah. Might as well pretend he’s got a say in things.”

My cousin Buck and I had rehabbed seven properties so far, including the cottage Collin and I now lived in, a colonial, a roadside motel, a country church, a houseboat, a fire station, and, most recently, the headmaster’s house at a defunct boarding school.

Buck was the brawn of our operation, while I was the brain.

I designed the remodels and handled the financial matters, while he did the heavy lifting, literally.

As a skilled carpenter, I performed some of the labor, too, but my relatively smaller size and strength sometimes hindered me.

Now, with a baby on the way, I’d be even more limited.

Better I not inhale fumes from turpentine, paint, or wood stain.

Still, I wouldn’t pass up a good rehab opportunity.

We could always hire subcontractors, or simply take our time with the project.

I picked up my phone and texted the photo and information to my cousin. I knew he’d agree with whatever I decided on the project. He trusted my business acumen as much as I trusted his ability to make a perfect dovetail joint.

Collin finished his breakfast and took his dishes to the sink, where he rinsed them and placed them in the dishwasher.

After I polished off the last bite of my toast, he carried my dishes to the sink, as well.

I might feel tired and queasy, but being pregnant had its benefits.

Collin had been pampering me since the home pregnancy test had resulted in double lines.

He’d even rubbed my feet with lotion last night and, trust me, steel-toed boots don’t make for pretty toes.

Once Collin had given me a goodbye kiss and left the house, I settled on the couch with a new mystery novel.

Sawdust hopped up onto the cushion next to me and nestled against my thigh.

The two cats Collin had brought into our marriage, a gray tabby named Copernicus and a black and white tuxedo cat named Galileo, preferred to lounge on the carpet-covered cat tree in the front window, where they could keep a vigilant eye on the squirrels and street.

On most days, when I wasn’t working on a flip project, I helped my uncle Roger in his carpentry business.

He was wrapping up a major kitchen remodel, though, and my help wasn’t needed with the finishing work today.

It was just as well. Though all I’d done so far was climb out of bed and walk to the kitchen, the progesterone flooding my system made me feel like I’d climbed every peak in the Smoky Mountains—twice.

I’d finished only one page when an incoming call drew my attention back to my cell phone. It was my mother with her daily check-in. She’d always been a worrier, but my pregnancy had taken her anxiety to new heights.

“How are you feeling?” she asked. “Do you need anything? I can come over if you need me.”

“I’m fine, Mom. Collin made breakfast, and I’m just lying on the couch reading.”

“Good. I don’t want you straining yourself. I have to admit, I’m glad you haven’t taken on another flip project.”

She’d be none too happy to learn I was considering another remodel.

But no sense putting the cart before the horse—or the horse stable.

If Buck and I decided to flip the horse barn, I’d tell her about it.

Otherwise, it was best to stay mum. “My doctor says a reasonable amount of physical activity is good for the baby.”

“That’s the problem,” Mom said. “You think laying a new floor is a reasonable activity.”

I didn’t have the energy to argue with her, so I settled for rolling my eyes.

She wasn’t done badgering me yet. “Did you take your prenatal vitamin this morning?”

“I did.”

She reminded me every day. I’d be more annoyed if I didn’t know it came from a place of love.

“I took it with orange juice.” Maybe she’d award me bonus points for the juice.

“All right, then. If you need anything, anything at all, call me and I’ll be right there.”

“Thanks, Mom.”

We ended the call, and I turned back to my book.

Despite the story’s complex and creative plot, within minutes I found my eyelids drooping.

No sense fighting it. My body was clearly telling me what it needed: sleep.

I placed the book on the coffee table, pulled a throw blanket over myself, and cuddled Sawdust to my chest. He activated his purr, softly vibrating against me. In seconds, I was out like a light.