Chapter Sixteen Raine
Chapter Sixteen
Raine
The contractor’s large gray truck was parked in front of Hale House. Lawson Contracting. I’d gone to high school with the owner, Brad Lawson. He was two grades behind me and had played JV football. Five years ago, he’d taken over his father’s remodeling business.
If his numbers were reasonable, I’d ask around about references. In a small town, it was hard to hide trouble.
I walked toward his van. Brad unfolded himself out of the driver’s seat. I’d forgotten how tall he was or how massive his shoulders were. Gray hair feathered among the black, and he’d traded a good bit of muscle for fat.
“Brad,” I said.
He grinned. “Miss Hale.” His embrace swallowed me whole, pressed bruised ribs. If I’d wanted out, I couldn’t.
“How are you?”
“Can’t complain.” He loosened his arms. “Dad has fully retired. I run the whole outfit. More work than I know what to do with. But a good problem, right?”
“Thanks for making the time.”
“How could I refuse?” He grabbed a clipboard from the front seat and closed the door. He studied the house. “Been wondering what you’d do with the house. She’s been sitting alone for years.”
“I returned for one quick visit last year.” I’d walked the house, inventoried more decay, and then left. I’d never spent the night in Hale House until this return. “And Maria and Gabe kept an eye on the place.”
His expression dimmed. “How’s she doing? Did she really have a heart attack?”
“That’s what the doctors are saying. She’s a little better. We’re waiting on more tests.”
“Tell her everyone is pulling for her.”
“I’ll do that.” I nodded to the front door. “Ready for the grand tour?”
“I am.”
As we climbed the front staircase, he laid a hand on the banister and gave it a shake.
It wobbled several inches left and right.
I wasn’t sure if saving this place was affordable or wise.
My portion of the Alexandria home sale wouldn’t put a dent in a renovation like this.
I’d have to sell land to make this fix happen.
In the entryway, I fiddled with the switch until the light flickered on. Brad pulled out his clipboard and scribbled notes.
“I’m not sure where to start,” I said. “Every room has an issue.”
“The basics is where I’d begin. Roof. Windows. Plumbing. Electric. Paint and wallpaper can wait until the foundation is solid.”
“Fair enough.”
“I’d like to inspect your attic. I noticed you’re missing shingles on the roof. Good to check for leaks and water damage.”
“Lots of snow the previous years.”
“Cold as hell for most of last winter. Here’s hoping this one is milder.”
We climbed the central staircase. The third step from the top creaked badly when Brad’s booted foot stepped on it. “My big feet can put anything to the test.”
“This house isn’t up for any exam.”
We moved past the second floor up a narrow set of stairs that took us to the attic door. When he opened the door and tested the light switch, the bulb didn’t turn on. He unclipped a slim flashlight from his tool belt and clicked it on.
A rustic staircase led to an enormous, unfinished space. Mom or Dad had never bothered to finish it off. They’d said the extra space was unnecessary, but I realized now, they’d struggled with finances for years.
Brad’s beam swept the space from east to west over boxes, crates, and unwanted furniture no one had bothered to toss.
Floorboards creaked.
An animal scurried to a darkened corner. The space smelled of old must and faintly charred timber.
“Smells like fire,” I said.
“Yeah.”
When Maria and I were kids, we escaped up here in the fall and spring when it wasn’t sweltering or icy cold.
We’d lay out a blanket, eat lunch, and tell ghost stories—Maria was the master.
She spun stories of ghosts and demons inspired by tragic Hale family deaths.
An uncle who’d shot and killed himself. A cousin who’d died in a fire she’d set in one of the outbuildings. A drowning in the creek.
We’d rummaged through all the dresser drawers, trunks, and cabinets. I’d found an old pearl necklace in a drawer. Maria unearthed clothes dating back a century.
I flipped open a steamer trunk. Inside, a purple hat with beaded trim. The last time I’d seen this hat, Maria had been wearing it. She loved our grandmothers’ hats.
Brad was watching me. “Maria loves hats.”
“She sure does.”
“It was nice you gave her a place on the property.”
“I wanted to do right by her.”
Brad’s brow furrowed. He motioned me over and lifted his beam to blackened and cracked rafters.
“Looks like you did have a fire here,” he said.
“I don’t remember one. Rumor had it we had a distant cousin who liked to play with matches. Do you have any idea when? The house is almost two hundred years old.”
Amy had once asked about the attic door. She’d been so curious. I’d told her it wasn’t safe. Nothing of value remained. She’d accepted my explanation—but I suspected she’d come up here when she was alone with Mom.
“Not that old,” he said. “In the last year, I’d say.”
“What caused it?”
“Hard to say. Ignition point is where the wall meets the floor. Soot patterns rise high. But the burn patterns are only a few inches.”
“Small fire. Big smoke.”
“Someone extinguished the flames quickly.”
“Any theories?”
“Could be electrical, a lightning strike, or a vagrant trying to keep warm.”
An intruder churned worries—strangers in my house. “Someone was up here?”
“It happens.”
He opened a knife and dug into the charred wood. “I’ll get on the roof and check for signs of a lightning strike. But I think this fire started inside.”
Lightning was the most comforting theory. Better a big storm than faulty wiring or a trespasser.
“I won’t know about the wiring until I open the walls. It’s not the outlets I worry about, but what’s behind the walls.”
“Open the walls?”
“If we do this renovation right, the walls should be stripped to the studs and then we rip the wiring and plumbing out. Start anew. A patchwork system is just asking for trouble.”
“Cha-ching, Brad.”
“Old houses always have surprises.” He tapped his clipboard against his thigh. “I can give you three prices. Bronze, silver, and gold. And we can do the work in stages.”
“Work up a bid, and we’ll talk.”
“Might be a week or so.”
“No rush.”
“Mind if I poke around the house a little longer? Bathrooms, kitchen, basement.”
“I’ll be in the kitchen. Take your time.”
“Good to have you back, Raine.”
The jury was still out on that one. “Thanks, Brad.”