Читать книгу Permanent Vacancy - Katy Lee - Страница 13
ОглавлениеThe picture before Gretchen was ludicrous. Len Smith held a crowbar in his withered hand. The ninety-five-year-old man could barely stand up straight, never mind raise the tool above his slumped head to fight Colm, who couldn’t be older than twenty-eight.
“Colm, put the hammer down,” she instructed the younger, very ruggedly strong man who was no match for the elderly, declining one. “This is Len. He’s like my grandfather. In fact, he’s a grandfather to everyone here on the island. I would say he would never hurt me, but lately those words have lost their weight when it comes to the islanders.”
Len grunted, but remorse traced his droopy eyes. “I’m sad to say it, but I would have to agree. It pains me to see such upheaval in Berlin.”
“Berlin?” Colm repeated.
“You mean Stepping Stones, Len, don’t you?” Gretchen asked.
“Yes, yes, of course.” Len looked at the corners of the ceiling. “All because of this house? I don’t get it. You have a fine home, Gretchen.”
“Well, I appreciate that, Len, but it’s going to be a whole lot better when I’m done.”
“I don’t doubt it, and I don’t doubt you. You have to believe that I am on your side.” He smiled. “I hope you don’t mind I gave myself the tour. Nobody was around when I came in. That attic is impressive, by the way. Are you going to finish it and claim it as your living quarters and let out the rooms on this floor to guests?”
“I would have loved that, but I think I’ll make a better income booking the attic. I had hopes it might be an extended rental for the whole summer for someone. I’ll make the servants’ quarters out back my home.”
“You’re a wise businesswoman. Always have been, though. The way you helped your mom run the restaurant, it’s no wonder Tildy is bent out of shape for losing you. You were more than a waitress and businesswoman, though. You’re also a fabulous cook. Your guests will go home ten pounds heavier when they taste your handiwork in the kitchen. I might sell my house and move in.” He cackled his oh, so comforting laugh, one that made her want to crawl up into his lap the way she had as a little girl. “Let you take care of me in my last years.”
“You’re practically a fixture at the Underground Küchen restaurant. Mom would never allow you to leave, too,” Gretchen said.
“True enough, especially with the holes in your floor. So many bombs. When will they end?” Len’s eyes flitted around the room and his shrunken shoulders folded in. He looked so forlorn that Gretchen reached for his arm.
“Len, is everything okay? You seem confused.”
“Is he touched?” Colm whispered into her ear. She shot a questioning look at him. He mouthed back, Dementia?
“Of course not,” she replied, but the old man’s behavior said otherwise. “Len, there are no bombs. I think you’re just remembering the war. All is safe here.”
Colm grunted. “Your floor’s been cut. You call that safe?”
“Cut? What’s he talking about? Who cut your floor?” Len snapped back to the present day.
“Everything’s fine, Len. Don’t worry.”
Len eyed them. She was glad to see his keenness restored but wished it weren’t focused on her. “Glad to hear it, but you might want to make repairing that hole downstairs a high priority. Wouldn’t want you facing a lawsuit so close to your grand opening. Could put a damper on your plans.”
“Interesting you should say that.” Colm had brought his hammer down but still held it in front of him, tapping the face of the tool into his palm. “Do you have any other tools on you besides that crowbar? A saw, perhaps? One with power, I’d imagine.” His threatening stance made Gretchen think he cared about her.
For a split second only.
In actuality, he probably thought the camera was still on him, because the show seemed to be the only thing he cared about.
But he had just helped her through a breathing fit, and there hadn’t been any cameras on him then. Unless...
Gretchen’s gaze zipped around the room, but quickly she shook her head at her overactive imagination—or a bit of Len’s paranoia rubbing off on her. Cameras in the rooms would have to be minuscule pieces of equipment. Spy-like even. That settled it. She needed to open for business fast and stop spending her nights watching too many television shows. She zeroed in on Colm’s Hollywood-handsome face. Watching too much TV was what gave her a warped sense of reality in the first place. Did she dare believe Colm McCrae’s show could really help her get on her feet?
“No saw here,” Len responded to Colm’s inquiry. “Found this crowbar on the attic stairs.” He passed it over to Gretchen. “Thought the crew out back might need it.”
Colm darted to the curtainless window. “My crew’s here? They’re early.”
“Well, I don’t know anything about that, but you should have seen that ferry come in this morning all loaded up with machinery and crates and even trailers. That show of yours must be some operation, Mr. McCrae. I’ve never seen the Sunday ferry make the two-and-a-half-hour boat ride out here for anyone on a Monday.”
“Money talks,” Colm said as he turned and rushed into the hall. The sound of his boots echoed through the empty house as they hit each step rapidly. The front door slammed.
“Now,” Gretchen said, leaning the crowbar against the wall and taking a step closer to Len. “Tell me why you’re really here, because it’s not for a tour. You could have asked for that before I bought the home. In fact, you’ve lived on this island since after World War II, so you’ve probably walked the rooms of this house a million times before it was deserted after Hurricane Bob in ’91, and probably after that even. So tell me, Len Smith, what brings you here? More warnings from the islanders? More requests for lengthy dead-end discussions about how I’m ruining the island? How tourists are sure to upset the way of life we’ve had for generations? I’ve heard it all. I’ve listened and taken everyone’s feelings into consideration, but no one has done the same for me. Including you.”
Len frowned. He walked to the window and leaned his bent frame forward to grip the chipped sill. “I’m old, Gretchen. I don’t have much time left.”
“Don’t say that,” she retorted, unable to deny his remark. Especially after she thought how old he looked a moment ago.
He turned toward her, a toothy grin on his cute, wrinkled face. “You want truth? I’m giving you truth. Now listen. You’re not too old to bend over my knee, you know.” He looked at her with grandfatherly eyes, the love in them sobering her.
She smirked back at him and stepped up to the window. “Whether you all want to believe it or not, I’m not a child anymore. I can make my own decisions now.”
Len huffed. “Tell that to your boyfriend.”
She felt her lips tighten. “Billy’s not my boyfriend anymore. And he never will be again.” The television crew down below caught her eye, but her vision was blurred by anger.
“I wouldn’t think so with the way he’s riling up the town by calling all these meetings to stop you from rehabbing this place. If there was a possibility of a bridge, I’d say he’s burned it.”
“That has nothing to do with my reason for ending it with him. I needed something he couldn’t give me.”
“And what was that?”
“Freedom.”
Len grunted before saying, “I figured as much.”
Gretchen shot a look his way. Did Len know? A geyser of shame doused her. No, he couldn’t. There was no way. She averted her gaze back out the window. She caught sight of the director she had met three months ago. He was speaking a little too closely to Colm, although Colm held his ground with folded arms, muscles in forearms flexed. Gretchen wished she could read lips, but by the way Colm’s face took on a reddish tinge, it didn’t look positive. Was Colm asking Troy about putting her fall through the basement on the cutting-room floor? Or at least what she admitted to after the fall? Gretchen looked back at the director. What say you, Troy Mullen?
“No need to pretend with me, Gretchen. I know Billy held on to you a little too tightly. Some would say he meant well.”
“Meant well?” She whipped her attention back to the one man she had hoped to have on her side about this. If she was ever able to tell. “You have no—”
Len held up a gnarled hand. “I said some would say. But still, he’s a deputy in the sheriff’s department. That holds water. The townspeople like him protecting their island from others with agendas.”
“There are no agendas here other than my opening a small bed-and-breakfast to support myself. The crew from Rescue to Restoration isn’t here for any reason but to help me. When they finish they will be gone forever.”
“Are you positive about that?”
“Now you sound like everyone else. Of course, what other reason would there be for them to be here?”
Len shrugged. He leaned in and kissed her forehead. “Just keep your eyes open. Things aren’t always what they seem. People aren’t always what they seem. Take that TV host for example. I thought he had an Irish accent. When he was in here, I heard no sign of his heritage. What kind of man turns his back on his roots, unless he’s got something to hide or gain? I should know. It was over sixty years ago I fled for my life from a Soviet-occupied Germany. I ran with nothing but the clothes on my back and my—”
“I know. Your family’s heirloom painting. The painting hung above your family’s fireplace for generations and now hangs in my mother’s restaurant.”
“And will soon hang above your fireplace here.”
“What?” Gretchen gasped. “What are you talking about?” Maybe the man was touched, as Colm had put it.
“I’ve told everyone that I’m leaving you my painting.”
“Everyone? Len, the islanders will form a mob against me, my mother in the lead. Why me?”
“Like I said, I’m not getting any younger. It’s time I put my ducks in order. As long as my painting hangs, my heritage lives on.”
“But my mom would never take it down! You don’t have to worry about that.”
“I know, but I want you to have it, and that’s final.”
“That painting has always hung in her restaurant.”
“Before the restaurant was your mother’s, it was mine. The place represented my new beginning when I came here and opened it for business. If I’m correct this home is your new beginning, right?”
Gretchen nodded, her throat tight with emotion.
“Then I chose well for my legacy to continue.” Len looked out the window. “Unlike that television personality down there. What would his father say if he knew his son had let down his family name?”
Gretchen located Colm again below, this time stomping up the steps to a trailer that was placed along the tree line to the woods. Something had made him angry. Had Troy said no to his request on her behalf? Or no to some plan or agenda Colm had on his own? Without knowing who the real Colm McCrae was, she couldn’t be certain.
“Maybe you’re right,” she told Len. “I shouldn’t be speaking for people I don’t know. I would like to say the crew is only here to help me renovate, but I may be wrong.” She reached for Len’s hand. “Will you pray for this whole situation? I hate being at odds with the islanders. But I also can’t go back to the way things were.”
“That bad?” Len squeezed her hand and brought tears to her eyes. She bit the inside of her lip to stop the flow threatening to spill. All she could do was shake her head. If she opened her mouth to speak, only wails of pain and betrayal would come.
“Okay, sweetheart, you don’t have to tell me today.” Len cupped her cheek so gently it nearly erased the memory of pain there. “But don’t wait too long. Nothing can be resolved if you hold it in. Plus, my days are numbered, and I have those ducks I mentioned.”
“I said, don’t talk like that,” she mumbled, wiping away the few spilled tears. “You’re going to make me cry again. Plus you’re here now, and that’s all that matters. Thank you, Len, for being here for me. I really thought the whole island was against me. I don’t feel so isolated anymore.”
“I’m just sorry you had to feel that way in the first place. So much is changing on my island. And it’s not for the better. I just hope I can change the tides back before I take my final breath. Remember what I said, Gretchen—be careful of whom you trust.”
“That’s easy. From now on, I only trust myself.”
* * *
“The scene stays?” Colm mumbled in disbelief as he snatched his yellow hard hat from the cabinet inside his trailer. Troy really was mad. Did he want the safety and health administration here shutting them down for unsafe conditions? Ratings were important, but not at the risk of the show—and definitely not at the risk of someone’s life, especially the home owner’s.
Colm adjusted the strap on the hat with a little more vigor than needed, his thoughts on how Gretchen wanted only to gain her independence from—
He stopped, his argument lingering. From whom? It wasn’t as if she was forthcoming with the details. Why should he put his neck on the line for someone so closemouthed? He felt as if he’d spent his whole life helping people who never really wanted his help in the first place. There were only so many hits a guy could take. And yet Colm knew deep down he would take them all, no questions asked. A defender of the underdog he was, through and through.
He resigned himself to asking Troy again to lose the footage, but he knew the only way Troy would consider it was if he got something in return.
Troy had loved that they captured the fall on tape, and he didn’t even know about the possibility that someone had cut the boards. Perhaps he should. Then the footage would be considered evidence and they couldn’t release it. Nay, that wouldn’t work. Knowing Troy he would want it more. And if for some reason he did agree to keep the mishap off the air, who was to say he wouldn’t set up another mishap to replace it?
But the director was the least of Colm’s concerns. Someone had set out to hurt Gretchen. She could be vulnerable for another “accident” that could leave her dead.
Colm studied the shortened strap length of his hard hat and estimated that it should fit her well now. He’d make sure she wore it 24/7.
He would keep her in his line of vision at all times. And he had to have a talk with his crew right away, tell everyone to be extra careful on the site.
If nothing happened, he could chalk up the floor as a bad accident and move on. In the meantime, the extra security wouldn’t hurt anyone, and the view—Gretchen’s lovely face—would be right pleasing.
Colm held up the hat and pictured Gretchen’s golden curls and petite face peeking out below it, her small jaw jutting in determination. The woman had real neart istigh, an inner strength as rare as the near extinct Old Irish Goat. Only prettier.
“What are you smiling about?” The door to the trailer opened wide in front of him, and his newest crew member, Ethan Hunt, crossed the threshold.
“Smiling?” Colm felt his grin drop. “Well, look at that. I guess I was.” He put down the hat and brushed it against his thigh. “Glad you’re here, though. I was actually heading out to find you.”
“Putting me straight to work on my first day, I see.” Ethan plunked his duffel bag on the bunk he would be sleeping on for the next three weeks. “What do you need me to do?”
“No orders yet. Besides, it’s Troy who hands those out.”
“Then why did you want to see me?”
“I’m a little concerned this construction site could contain some unusual hazards. I want the crew to be extra careful. Keep a watch out, especially where the home owner is concerned.”
“Ah, now the truth comes out. It’s that cute blonde that made you smile.” When Colm opened his mouth to negate the idea, Ethan raised his hands. “Hey, I don’t blame you. I’d want to protect her, too. She’s a real looker.”
Colm’s stomach churned. Ethan’s praise for Gretchen was true, but hearing the man voice such things felt offensive. At one time in Colm’s life he would have dropped the hat, then dropped Ethan to the floor. Thankfully for Ethan those fighting days were over.
“Keep things professional, Hunt. We don’t need a lawsuit.”
“Of course, sorry, I didn’t mean anything by it. I guess I’m just excited to be working on the show. It’s a real step up from painting real-estate flips. I’m grateful to you for taking me on.”
“Your credentials were stellar. Troy and I both agreed right away you would make a great fit. I said I wouldn’t have to babysit you, and Troy said you had a great face for the lady viewers to chat about with their girlfriends.”
Ethan laughed. “Glad to hear you really put some thought into it.”
Colm smiled in return, letting his ill feeling toward the man slide away. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t thought the same thing about Gretchen. She was a striking beauty, and Colm was positive every person she met thought it. What did he plan to do—fight every man who found her pretty? He couldn’t. He’d made a promise that there’d be no more using his hands for anything but hard work, preferably woodwork.
“I heard about Miss Gretchen’s fall earlier today.” Concern replaced Ethan’s pleasant smile.
“You’ve heard already?” Colm gripped the hard hat a little tighter.
“Everyone’s talking about it. She looked well enough when I saw her walking an old man out to his car, but still, it’s disturbing. Are you sure the house is sturdy enough for us to be renovating, or should we demo it instead?”
“It’s safe. The construction is old, but it’s solid. That’s the problem with this whole situation.”
“Problem?” Ethan asked with a quizzical expression.
“The house is too sturdy for a break like that to occur unless it was done on purpose.”
“Whoa. You think that break was more than old floorboards rotting away?”
A rap on the trailer door saved Colm from speculating further.
“Let’s go, Colm,” a female voice called through the flimsy steel. “Troy’s ready to film you introducing the home owner. Now.”
“That’s Wendy from makeup. Not a word. Understand? Just keep an eye out around here.” Colm headed out the door and allowed Wendy to sponge some stage makeup on him.
“No shiny foreheads allowed,” she said in a sweet singsong voice as she gave him a cheeky grin. She looked straight into his eyes when she finished up. “You’re the best canvas an artist could ask for. Just handsome.” She sighed and stepped back to let him pass.
“You’re such a flirt, Wendy. I’m glad I know you’re like this with everyone. Do me a favor, though—go easy on the new guy. I need him focused.” Then Colm caught Gretchen walking in front of the camera and thought of Ethan’s praise of her beauty. “On second thought, have at him,” Colm called back to Wendy and walked forward with the hard hat in hand, getting ready to place it on Gretchen’s head. He smiled again thinking how adorable she would look in his hat. For the camera, of course. It was only for the camera.
Colm saw Gretchen taking Troy’s direction about where to stand. The man had her backing up against a lumber pile. With all this beautiful scenery? The ocean was off in the distance on one side, the conifer forest on another. What about the clapboard Victorian they would be working on? So many places would be great backdrops. What was the man thinking?
Gretchen turned, and that was when Colm saw the hazard. A piece of lumber protruded from the pile, level with her head. Troy wanted her to bump her head?
Colm picked up his step, ready to call her to watch out. Only, the next second she reached up and pushed the wood back.
Colm opened his mouth to yell but the spillage of lumber happened so fast that even Gretchen’s scream was cut short by the tumbling pieces. All he could see of her as he raced forward was a clump of her corkscrew hair fanned out on the ground around the pile.
“Gretchen,” Colm rasped out as he reached her and fell to his knees, not knowing where to start.
“I think it’s too late for the hat.” Ethan appeared beside him and Colm looked down at the hat still in his hands. “Two mishaps in one day. You just might be onto something, McCrae.”
Colm threw the hat aside and dug in. “Help me by clearing some of the wood. Carefully.” Colm found a hand and felt for a pulse. “Gretchen, can you hear me?”
Behind him Nate loudly cleared his throat and whispered, “Colm, Irish accent.”
Colm ground his teeth at being reminded that he wasn’t in charge, but he put his pumping adrenaline into helping Gretchen. “I’m right beside you, Goldie,” he assured her with his native accent, but at the same time he thought that no matter how far he distanced himself from Dublin, he still lived and breathed under the weight of a bully.
