Steve, Lars, Bethany, and Morgan poked around the house for the next two-plus hours, longer than I had expected for this first walk-through. I was getting a bit tired, but I was also glad to see the team investigating the place so thoroughly. I mostly let them be, pacing in the library and making my own lists of tasks for the days and months to come. The light turned gold and began to fade in the hushed parlors. After a while, I stepped out onto the front porch for some air, only to see Carroll’s car wending its way down the long drive leading to the house. I approached once she had parked and stepped out.
“Hey, stranger. Had enough of primary sources for one day?”
“You said it. I had to get out of there. What’s going on here?”
“Morgan and I were planning to meet up with his crew and look at the house tomorrow, but he called and changed it to today. They’re in there now. It’s been a while, actually, and I don’t know how much more day I have in me.”
“You want me to go in there and check their progress? I can pretend I’m the boss-lady foreman and tell them to get the lead out.” She looked slightly giddy at the prospect.
“I don’t know if all that is necessary, but feel free to check in and meet the new people. I didn’t talk to them much, but Morgan brought them on board, and they seem to know what they’re doing.”
Carroll nodded. “Very well, then. I’ll pop in, not boss anyone around, and let you know how it’s looking.”
She disappeared into the house, and I sat on the front steps, looking out at the yard and the road beyond it, stretching back toward town. The house was nestled in its own shallow valley, with gentle hills rising on three sides. I imagined floating above the place like a bird, looking down at the house and its grounds. From that imaginary vantage, the mansion’s placement among the swells of land gave the impression of a heavy box placed on a cushy pillow. And it was something of a mystery box indeed, though we were learning more about its history and inhabitants with each passing day. The thought of history put Josh in my mind. I pulled my phone from my pocket and dialed his number. No response. I hesitated as his voice mail message played, and hung up before the beep.
After about twenty minutes, Carroll came back out, leading Steve, Bethany, Lars, and Morgan behind her. She seemed to have marshalled the troops after all, for which I was quietly grateful. Carroll and Bethany were chatting amiably about town history—not that Carroll was from around here at all, but she was a quick study—and Steve grumbled about some detail of the house’s layout while Morgan nodded, somewhat grimly, though he didn’t seem to be engaging with the conversation. Steve and Bethany waved goodbye and headed out to their respective trucks, and Morgan stayed behind.
“Well, we’re all done here, Kate. Thanks again for rearranging your time. Much obliged.”
“Is everything okay with Steve? He seemed kind of brusque.”
“Oh, he’ll be fine, I think.” Morgan looked out at the driveway, where Steve’s and Bethany’s trucks were now receding toward the street. “We can get under each other’s skin sometimes, is all. But he’s respected around here—his family has been in the building trades for generations, in fact—and I know he’ll do fine work. Don’t you worry.”
“I just hope you’ll let me know when there’s something I need to know about.” I looked him right in the eye as I spoke.
“You bet, Miz Kate.” He returned my look and nodded. “Shall we speak tomorrow and set a date to start work?”
“That sounds great.”
“You take care now.” And he was off.
Carroll and I looked at each other and I meekly said, “Pizza?” She nodded. We locked up and headed back toward town in our separate cars.
Back at the B&B, Carroll and I sprawled on sofas and ate generous slices of Florentine pizza from a local shop, talking over the day’s events. I realized that I was due to update my board members on recent developments—hiring Morgan, finding and removing the body, the imminent commencement of work on the house—and climbed the stairs to the bedroom to make some calls. Could everyone get together at the house to get on the same page, meet Morgan, and save me having to tell seven different people the same story? I could only hope. I called Frances, Mac, and Lisbeth; sent quick emails to Mayor Skip, Ryan, and Ted; hemmed and hawed about Josh, whom I hadn’t heard from, finally dashing off a text message; and bellowed down the stairs to Carroll, who responded with a thumbs-up. Miraculously, everyone except Mayor Skip and Frances were available to get together the next day at lunchtime. Frances had an unmovable doctor’s appointment—I hoped nothing serious—and would call me later for the updates. Skip was busy attending the town’s budget committee meetings all week, but said he was happy to be informed of anything significant via email. I said a silent word of thanks for level heads in public service, and went to bed.
The next morning, I woke from dreams of pipes and copper wire rising like shoots and branches all around me. Surprisingly, I felt very well rested. As I brushed my teeth and dressed, I remembered that I also needed to confer with Morgan about whether we could salvage the original appliances—at least the sink and the humongous stove—or if we’d have to start over. Obviously, we’d have to come to some decision about the staircase space—just open it up and tear it out altogether, or leave it, if a bit more open, to show the building’s architectural lineage? I decided I would hold out for keeping the staircase, but making it more visible. It might be an unforeseen delight to lead visitors up the stairs from the kitchen and magically appear in a back bedroom. I made a mental note to have Morgan make sure the steps were still structurally sound after all these years.
I plodded downstairs and found Carroll at the dining room table, papers spread all around her. I cleared my throat, and she jumped about a foot in the air.
“You scared me! I didn’t hear you come in.”
“You must have been really interested in what you were reading. Anything good?”
“I’ve been working up a family tree for Henry. We know he had brothers, that they were all reasonably successful, and that none of them had a claim on Henry’s property when he died. So they might’ve been dead already, I figured—or maybe they just hated Maryland and didn’t want to own a house here? From what I’ve seen in the Civil War records, they weren’t all part of the same army unit or anything, but they did serve. So what I just figured out this morning is that Henry was the baby of the family, and he outlived most of his brothers. The oldest seems to have visited once, around 1880, but for some reason he never came back, and then he died at home in Massachusetts. That would explain why no obvious close relative was on hand to deal with the estate.”
“No sisters?” I asked.
“None that I’ve come across. They would’ve had different surnames if they’d married, of course, but I don’t see birth records for them anyway.”
“I see.” I scratched my head, thinking of my overfull to-do list scrawled on a legal pad upstairs. “Carroll, do you think once we get organized, we’ll be able to plan our days better?”
“‘Organized’—what’s that? Ha. But … maybe? I have a friend in Philly who can set up a basic web presence for us at a reasonable rate, if you want to get that rolling.”
“Oh, right. Yes, that’s a good idea. Morgan’s from around here, but he didn’t even know about this project! I guess news travels slowly sometimes. Do we need to have social media accounts for a historic mansion?”
“It probably wouldn’t hurt. Just think of it all as communication. You want people to know about something, you have to tell them. In this case, with pretty photos and some punchy copy attached.” She wrinkled her nose. “Speaking of communication, where is Professor Josh? Is he on the project or what?”
“I don’t know, really.” I sighed. “He’s been off at his summer teaching gig. Which I know is important, but I can’t tell if he’s really interested in this project. I need a commitment one way or the other. But he’ll be at our meeting today—I think that’s what his text said—so maybe we can hash it out this afternoon.”
“That’s decisive talk, Ms. Hamilton! Well, you’ve got your work cut out for you. Want to eat breakfast and head over to the mansion in a bit?”
I nodded and proceeded to raid the fridge for the remaining eggs and bacon in our stash. As we ate, Carroll outlined the basics of her genealogical research methods, and I nodded as if I knew what she was talking about. My eyes drifted to the clock. It was still early, but I was itching to get back to the mansion.
We drove out of town and along the winding local highway leading to the Barton property. I opened the gate to let us in, then drove slowly down the sweeping drive. There was mist lingering in the hollows. I could understand why Henry had fallen in love with the site, and I hoped Mary had been happy here. Carroll’s phone rang just as I was parking, so she stayed outside for a few minutes to deal with what sounded like a student loan administrator, while I went on inside. I let myself in by the front door. Inside, I paused for a moment to enjoy the opulence of the interior. And then I heard noise coming from the kitchen. Morgan? Josh? An early-rising thief? Or, God forbid, a raccoon? I slipped quietly down the hall toward the back of the house, hugging the wall and scouting for blunt objects close at hand—and I was surprised to find Steve poking around the room.
“Steve, what are you doing here? And how did you get in?” I reminded myself to talk with Morgan about access for the workers; I had given him a set of keys for when we started work, but I didn’t want people just wandering in at will.
Steve snorted. “I grew up around here—I know the back ways. Could be you know them too, if you went to school in town.” His face formed a smile that was part snarl. Was he trying to mock me? And what did he mean to say, exactly?
“I’d prefer it if you came in the front,” I said stiffly. “I’d like to maintain security here; there are some valuable items in the house.” I thought of the antique book I’d been reading yesterday, sitting quietly on the shelf, waiting to walk away in somebody’s satchel. “Were you looking for something in particular?”
He shrugged. “If this room was a retrofit, even in the 1880s, you’re likely to find some surprises inside the walls. Besides that dead guy, I mean. I want to get a head start, be prepared.”
“Right. Has Morgan talked to you all about a schedule?”
“We’re starting next week, he says.”
“But you just thought you’d pop in before that and … look around yourself.”
“Yup.” He looked placidly around the room, almost as if he owned it. Then he snapped his gaze back to me. “That a problem?”
He was making that face again, a sort of lizard smile. I wasn’t sure how serious he meant to be, whether or not to read this interaction as dangerous, or if I should feel ridiculous to even think that. We were only two people talking in a kitchen—weren’t we? I did some quick math: the distance from where I stood to the back door, Steve’s weight and build, what shoes I was wearing. I decided to stay put, for now. Carroll was just outside, after all.
“So you’re from around here, Steve? Had you ever been inside the house before this week?”
“Nah. People talked about the place some, but I never came here. Well—been on the lawns a few times actually, hanging out, but never in the house. I wasn’t much interested in this place in high school. Spent more time looking for beer, and girls.” He paused, as if waiting for a reaction. I didn’t bite. “The house is in good shape, even though it’s old.”
“I’m glad to hear that, since I want it to survive. I hope you’ll all be careful. I don’t want to replace any more than I have to—it’s supposed to be a historic site. The old systems are important to its educational value.”
“Yeah, I get it. You want it old. Might cost you more, though. Not everybody these days knows how to work with these materials.”
“Morgan knows what he’s doing. You’ve worked with him before?”
“On and off.”
“Well, if you and the crew do a good job with this place, there might be more work in the future.” I wasn’t about to lay out an offer on the rest of the town’s renovation, but I thought the man should know what was on the table here.
“More work, that’d be good. Been slow around here.” He paused, looking at the gaping hole in the wall. “Say, was there something you came here looking for?”
“No, I just wanted to look at it all again, before you started making changes. The board members for the town renovation project will be coming by for a walk-through in a few hours.”
Steve tilted his head, suddenly at attention. “Oh, really? I’d like to meet these ‘board members.’” He had a way of pronouncing words one syllable at a time, as if holding them up to show me.
“Morgan will be at the meeting, so I’m sure he’ll fill you—”
Steve cut in abruptly, starting to move as he spoke. “I’ll get out of your hair, then. My truck’s out back. I came in through the back fence. That’s a vulnerability of the property you should know about, if you are a ‘security-minded’ person.”
“Okay, Steve. We’ll be in touch, then.”
“Right.” He turned and left by the kitchen door.
I still wasn’t sure I was comfortable being alone with him out here. Did that bode well for our future working together? Maybe it was the lingering effect of finding a body only a few feet away. Maybe it was the comment about what the house had been used for when I was in high school. I didn’t have many happy memories of those days. Maybe I simply didn’t like the man. But I didn’t have to like all the workers, I reminded myself, as long as they did a good job.
I walked to the back of the room and pushed the door halfway open, poking my head out into the sun to watch Steve recede across the broad field toward the property line.