Chapter 22
Harlow switched her phone to her other ear. “What sort of PR nightmare?”
“The worst kind…family drama,” Janice said.
“Great. What has Robert done now?”
“This wasn’t Robert’s doing. Where are you?”
“Home. At my father’s cottage.”
“Are you close to your computer?”
“I am.” Harlow began making her way toward her laptop. “I have my laptop up and open.”
“Do you know where Robert is right now?”
Harlow’s stomach churned. “Seriously…what stunt has he pulled?”
“He hasn’t, at least as far as I know, although it involves your lunch meeting yesterday.”
“When we discussed the upcoming movie project.”
“And argued about Derrick Flynn?” Janice pressed.
“I wouldn’t necessarily call it arguing. I’ll admit it wasn’t the most pleasant conversation. I pinned him down about when he found out Flynn had signed onto the same movie deal.”
“I figured as much. It appears a rag magazine has sent one of its guys to Mackinac Island to keep tabs on you. He was somewhere in the vicinity when you were discussing Flynn.”
“Great.” Harlow braced herself. “How bad is it?”
“Pretty bad. I think you should see for yourself.”
“Standby.” She typed her name in the search bar and hit the enter key. Up popped story after story. At the top was a grainy photo of Harlow and Robert seated across from each other at the restaurant.
Without even clicking on the photo, Harlow recognized the look on her face—a mixture of aggravation and irritation. “I found it. This must have been when Robert admitted to knowing about Derrick being cast in the role opposite me.”
“Scroll down a little and you’ll discover the snoopy reporter elaborated on the conversation, even mentioning Flynn by name.”
“Wonderful,” Harlow said sarcastically. “He and his publicist are going to read this if they haven’t already.”
“Everyone in the biz knows what a pain Flynn is. I’m hoping that by the time you arrive on the movie set, this will be old news.”
Harlow clicked away from the story. “I guess I had better watch what I say and do while out in public.”
“Which is why I called. To give you a heads-up that someone is spying on you, maybe even on Robert if he’s still there.”
Harlow thanked her for the warning and ended the call. She started to set it down when it rang again. Thinking Janice forgot to tell her something, she promptly tapped the answer button.
“Harlow?”
“Yes.”
“It’s Allie Zehnder.”
“Oh, hey, Allie.”
“I hope I didn’t catch you at a bad time.”
“Not at all. What’s up?”
“I have some good news. The original buyer for Lighthouse Lane has backed out of the deal.”
Harlow’s heart skipped a beat. “They did?”
“Yes. The sellers have accepted your backup cash offer.”
“Are you sure?”
“Absolutely. I just found out.”
“Thank you, Allie.” Harlow whooped loudly. “This is fantastic news!”
“I thought you might be happy.”
“Happy? More like over the moon.”
“I’ll need the earnest money deposit within twenty-four hours, along with proof of funds.” Allie offered to meet Harlow at the property to pick up the check to which she promptly accepted and promised to be there shortly.
Making quick work of freshening up. Harlow tracked down her checkbook, wrote out the check and made a beeline for the door.
She hopped on her bike and took off. Pedaling as fast as she dared on the icy road, she cruised along the lakeshore and around the bend. Lighthouse Lane appeared. A flutter of excitement bubbled up inside her.
Harlow turned onto the driveway, dodging the drifting snow. She reached the door and parked off to the side. Front and center was the million-dollar view of Lake Huron and the Mighty Mac off in the distance.
The faint roar of an engine echoed and grew louder. A red snowmobile with a lone rider sped down the driveway, coming to a quick stop a few feet from where Harlow stood.
Allie cut the engine and slid off. “You beat me.”
“I left as soon as I wrote out the check.”
“Let’s go inside.” The agent removed the keys from the lockbox and unlocked the door.
A whoosh of warm air greeted them, mingled with the fragrant aroma of cedar and something else…a hint of pine.
“It smells like Michigan,” Harlow said.
“Cedar, pine and forced air,” Allie quipped. “You’re buying one of the best views on the island.”
“I am.” Harlow removed her boots and waltzed into the living room. Almost instantaneously, she felt a sense of calm. Robert and Cheyenne no longer bothered her. The reporter and being spied on were merely a nuisance.
Allie trailed behind, studying Harlow’s face. “You have the look.”
“What look?”
“The look of someone who has found their forever home.”
“You have no idea how sad I was when I found out Lighthouse Lane was already under contract,” Harlow said. “Do you know why the buyer backed out?”
“They claim something has come up, and they’re no longer sure about their future plans,” Allie said.
Harlow immediately thought about Robert and Cheyenne. “Was the buyer Cheyenne Clifton?”
A look of surprise flitted across the real estate agent’s face.
“Yes. It was. I guess the CClifton name gave it away. Rumor has it that Asa and Trish, the owners of Clifton Manor, are considering selling. Cheyenne lives in an apartment on the property. It could be that she was trying to find somewhere else to live.”
“I don’t know the Clifton’s finances, but this isn’t a cheap piece of real estate.”
“No, but the location can’t be beat and is well-worth the asking price.”
“I agree.” Harlow ran a light hand over the fieldstone fireplace’s mantle. “It’s also going to be a project.”
“In full disclosure, I represent the seller. You could have considered coming in with a lower offer.”
“And risk them flat out rejecting it?” Harlow shook her head. “I wasn’t willing to take that chance.”
“I know it’s none of my business, but what are your plans?” Allie asked.
“Like I said, it will be a project. I want to keep the charm yet bring it up to modern standards, adding high-end finishes. I’ll also need to add privacy features.”
The agent pressed her hand to her chest. “I’m glad to hear this. It’s always sad when I find out a buyer purchases one of Mackinac Island’s treasures only to tear it down and rebuild it from the ground up, destroying all the character.”
“My goal is to emphasize Lighthouse Lane’s beauty, not get rid of it,” Harlow said. “It will be a labor of love.”
“I can’t wait to see what you do. I would buy it myself if I had the time and money,” Allie confided. “It warms my heart to know this gem will be in good hands.”
Harlow handed her the check. “I’ll need to schedule my inspections to make sure there aren’t any hidden issues. I think the most important point to consider is I have the cash on hand and can close ASAP. I’ll have the proof of funds over to you by the end of the day.”
Allie glanced at the check and tucked it in her pocket. “Cash is king and will eliminate several hurdles.” Her cell phone chimed. “I hate to cut our meeting short, but I have another scheduled appointment.”
“I understand.” Harlow reluctantly followed her to the door.
The agent slipped her boots on. “You can hang around if you want.”
Her eyes lit. “I would love to.”
“Don’t forget to turn the lights off, all except for the one in the hallway, and make sure the door is locked when you leave.”
“I will.” After the woman left, Harlow wandered from room to room, envisioning what it would look like when she finished renovating. The structure was solid, while the interior desperately needed updating.
Harlow could feel her excitement grow. Never in her life had a home spoken to her like this one had. The soaring ceilings, the cozy kitchen, the massive fieldstone fireplace, sliders facing out to the water with an unobstructed view of the lighthouse.
She finished exploring the first floor and climbed the stairs to the main bedroom and attached bath.
On closer inspection, Harlow found ample space for a soaking tub, a spacious shower, square footage to expand the counterspace and possibly even add onto the closet, giving her enough room to accommodate her extensive wardrobe, most of which was currently in storage.
Harlow tiptoed over to the sliders and stared out.
Lighthouse Lane enveloped her in a warm, welcoming hug.
If someone had told her a year ago she would be purchasing a fixer-upper she would have told them they were nuts.
Not only purchasing it, but looking forward to choosing every single detail, a home she hoped would finally give her the peace she so desperately craved.
It was a place Harlow envisioned owning for many years, a home she could one day pass down to her children and grandchildren.
With one last longing look at the lake view, she shut the light off and returned downstairs.
“I’ll be back soon,” she promised the house. “Back to turn you into my dream home and start making memories.”