Daniel followed Andrea’s progress as she cut across to Beachland Boulevard. She was a beautiful woman—smart—and she knew her stuff. But what was that nonsense about deal-brokering for Sting? He didn’t question Andrea’s veracity. She’d probably sold the rock star some property in Miami, thereby becoming a bona fide groupie with privileges. That sort of thing didn’t impress him. Still, there was something fragile about her, and he couldn’t pretend he didn’t feel an attraction. More than that, he sensed a well of sadness in her, and all he wanted to do was take her in his arms and make things right…
Stop!
Daniel put the kibosh on that daydream. His personal life was a mess, and he didn’t need one more complication, especially one involving a woman!
As he ambled toward the side lot, Daniel vowed to put all thoughts of Andrea out of his mind. He would keep their relationship strictly a professional one and stay focused on the business at hand. His phone vibrated, and Daniel dug it out of his pocket and eyed the display. When he saw Kara’s number, he grimaced. He was tempted to ignore her call, refuse to allow this evening to end on a sour note. But he was a businessman, not one for putting things off, unpleasant though they might be. Daniel slid the accept call prompt.
“Hello, Kara,” he said, a resigned note to his voice. “What is it?”
“We agreed I was to get Sweet Dreamer!”
Kara’s shriek hit him with the force of an open-handed slap, and Daniel recoiled in a futile attempt to dodge the blow.
“You said I could have it, and now your lawyers are waffling. What’s that all about, Danny? You can’t renege on me at this late date.”
Daniel opened the car door and folded himself into the low-slung seat. “Kara, you know, as well as I do that we agreed to a dollar amount.” He pressed the ignition, and the engine fired.
“Sweet Dreamer is the one house I’m asking for, you tightwad. And what do you care, anyway? You don’t fool me. This is a power play, pure and simple. Hell, you don’t even like the islands.”
“The Sweet Dreamer property is simply out of the question.” Daniel turned the air to max and rolled out to the main lot, only to have to brake to allow a young family on foot to cross in front of him. “Darling, if you insist on the Barbados property, you will receive a much smaller lump sum, and given the lifestyle to which you’ve become accustomed, I don’t think you’d be satisfied with that. Why not trust me? I truly am looking out for you.”
“Sure, you are, Mr. Altruistic. My knight… Well, forget it.”
The one thing, Daniel repeated silently, plus a ten-million-dollar settlement, plus the Miami property, plus twenty K a month for expenses. And it still wouldn’t appease the woman, still wasn’t enough to compensate her for seven years of cohabitation, two of which had been happy. No. He wasn’t going to budge. Kara was not going to wrest away the Barbados estate.
Daniel took his foot off the brake, and the powerful automobile coasted to the intersection. “The one house?” His voice oozed sarcasm. “What about your domicile, my love? You know… that monstrosity of a residence on Singer Island?”
“I have to live somewhere! Do you want me on the streets, Danny? That would come back to haunt you.”
As he spun out onto Ocean Drive, Daniel was picturing that very scenario. It was an appealing image. In his mind’s eye, he could see Kara—poor, little rich girl, clad only in rags—panhandling the mean streets of Philly in hopes of scoring enough pocket change to purchase a double latte with non-fat cream, maybe a secondhand, consignment shop Versace bag.
“You’ll get your blood money, Kara,” he muttered. “Just let the lawyers earn their windfalls. We shouldn’t have to duke it out. They can do the heavy lifting. You’ll be fine. I promise. Good night.”
Daniel powered down his cellphone before Kara’s shrill reply could further accost him. He tooled a half-block north to the Vero Beach Hotel and Club, vowing to vanquish all thoughts of women. Turning right onto a paver drive lined by towering queen palms, he pulled up to the glitzy hotel entrance. Out of nowhere, a valet appeared. The fellow jogged around the car and deftly opened the driver’s side door. Daniel shifted to park, and hopped out, eager for something—anything—to dispel his sudden irritation. On the spur of the moment, he decided to grab a quick nightcap, check out the activity at the bar before retiring to his penthouse suite. The evening was still young, he thought, ruing his former resolve. What the heck? Weren’t vows meant to be broken?
When Andrea slotted her shiny white Mercedes in next to Margaret’s sixteen-year-old silver Volvo, a wave of relief washed over her. In the last few years, her daughter had become self-sufficient, more so than she’d ever imagined possible. But the child’s naiveté was a continual cause for concern, and she couldn’t bear the thought of Maddy coming home to an empty house. “Hello,” she called out, as she entered through the garage door entrance. “I’m back.”
Except for the hum of the dishwasher, the house was silent. Andrea crossed through the kitchen in four long strides. A quick look around told her the family room was unoccupied, but then Maddy’s high-pitched voice came to her from the back patio, and Andrea’s concerns vanished.
“Watch me, Nana.”
Andrea stood before the French doors, her eyes drawn to the pool deck.
“Are you watching?” Maddy poised on the diving board, her arms hanging loosely at her sides. In the gloom, the girl’s features were indistinguishable; she was but a shapely silhouette cast against a sky awash in the luminous glow of a radiant moon.
“Yes, yes! Go for it, Maddy,” Margaret encouraged.
The teen began a series of small jumps, each successively higher and more forceful than the one preceding. Gracefully raising her arms, Maddy reached skyward. Then, with index fingers touching, she sprang off the board, her body forming a compact elliptical arc moments before slipping beneath the water’s surface.
Beau had been curled at Margaret’s feet, but, at the sound of Maddy hitting the water, he bounded to his paws, barking frenziedly.
“Whoo-hoo!” Margaret cheered as Madison’s head broke the surface, a grin splitting her face.
Andrea pushed open the door and was immediately swaddled in a damp blanket of humidity. “Hi, guys.” She reached out to pat the terrier on his shaggy head. “Hey there, Beau.”
“Hi!” Maddy tread water, beaming. “Did you see my dive?”
“Hello, honey,” Margaret cried. “What do you think of our very own fish?”
“I did, indeed, Maddy.” Andrea held out a palm. “High five. You rock.” She turned to her mother. “Our fish is incredible. You always were the best instructor.” Andrea collapsed into a lounge chair beside Margaret. “So, how’s it going?”
“Come in, Mommy, the water’s great,” the teen wheedled.
“Aw, Madison, Mom’s so tired. I just want to rest while you dazzle me.”
The girl needed no more encouragement. “Okay. I’ll practice the butterfly. Watch me,” she said, before cutting through the water in rhythmic strokes.
“Thanks, Mom.” Andrea turned toward her mother. “I know it was last minute, but…”
“Not a problem, Andy. I’m delighted to help. Anytime with my granddaughter is time well spent.”
“What did you have for dinner?”
“We scrounged around in the fridge and pantry to see what ingredients we could come up with. Whipped up some pasta Athena.”
Andrea arched a brow. “And just what is that?”
“It’s what you concoct when all your scrounging yields is a box of penne, some moldy goat cheese, a bag of wilting spinach, and a jar of kalamata olives.”
“Sounds wonderful.”
“It was, and Madison was a big help.”
Madison swam to the pool steps and clambered out. “I’m beat, too,” she announced.
“You should be,” Margaret said, offering her a towel. “You had quite a workout.”
Madison wrapped herself in the towel and then hunkered down next to her grandmother. “You gotta try the pasta we made, Mom. It’s terrific!”
“I see you’re not only a fish, but a chef as well, huh?”
“I like to cook,” Madison agreed.
“Great. Because tomorrow’s Saturday, and we’re going to the Farmer’s Market downtown to pick up some fresh vegetables from Daddy’s garden. We’ll have a feast tomorrow evening, but now it’s time for you to call it a day, sweetheart. Tell Nana goodbye and then hop into the shower, okay?”
“Okay, Mom.” Madison rose and wrapped her arms around Margaret’s neck. “G’night, Nana,” she said. “Thank you.”
Margaret planted a kiss on the girl’s damp forehead. “You are welcome, my dearest. Sweet dreams and have fun tomorrow.”
“Okay.” Madison extricated herself from her grandmother’s embrace and then trotted to the French door. Margaret and Andrea watched as the girl let herself in. Then they turned to one another and smiled.
“She is becoming a very attractive young woman.”
“I know, Mom. Sometimes I wish she were plain.”
Margaret chuckled. “I know the feeling. I felt the same about you.”
Andrea gaped. “What? I never heard that before.”
“Sweetheart, I don’t think it’s a unique concept. Mothers of beautiful girls worry about their vulnerability—that they will be beset by predators.”
“My sentiments exactly.”
“Honey, you’ve got to loosen the apron strings. Madison has come a long way. It’s time you let her fly on her own.”
“Come on, Mom. She’s clueless. I need to protect her.”
“But you can’t. You can’t be there for her every minute. You need to give her the tools to cope.”
Andrea turned her face away, her voice thick with emotion. “I’m trying. You must believe me.
Margaret reached over and took her daughter’s hand in hers. “I’m sorry. You have so much on your plate. And you’re doing a wonderful job of it. I mean that. Have I told you, lately, how proud I am of you?”
Andrea looked up through watery eyes. “I know, Mom.”
“So,” Margaret exclaimed, clearing the air. “Tell me about your client. How did it go?”
“Ugh,” Andrea grumbled. “I don’t know. Daniel’s very sweet… but an enigma. I can’t seem to get a handle on him.”
“Are we talking about real estate or something else?”
“No, no. Strictly business. It’s just that… he’s very specific about what he wants… and yet all over the place. The man is driving me crazy.”
“Not just real estate, then. I get it.”
“Mom!”
“What is it he’s after? Besides my lovely daughter, that is?”
“Not that. Trust me.” Andrea gazed out over a river fast disappearing into the lengthening shadows, and then she dropped the bombshell.
“Actually, I think he’d like your house.” She mentally cringed as her words struck home.
Margaret didn’t answer immediately. Instead, she seemed to consider Andrea’s proposition. “How much do you think you could get for it?” she finally asked.
“More than it’s worth, just now. More than you’d ever get on the open market.”
“But it’s Daddy’s place… Papa John’s.”
“I know. But, Mom, you need a new roof, new windows, four new air conditioners, the kitchen, and baths have to be gutted and completely redone… We’re talking a huge amount of cash. In this recession… most clients want to waltz into a turnkey property. They can’t see the forest for the trees, and they certainly don’t want to have to retain an architect, an interior designer, and a contractor, and then wait for their delayed gratification. I don’t care how special a place might be. They want to move right in, and if there are designer furnishings included and the kitchen is fully stocked, so much the better.”
“I can understand that—”
“Mom, I think I might have a buyer who would be willing to pay top dollar for a fixer-upper: your place. And this opportunity might never come again. At least not in our lifetime.”
“Oh, hell.”
Andrea came to her feet. “I’m going to pour myself a glass of wine. Will you join me?”
“Love to.”
The moon was at its zenith, yet it still seemed incredibly oversized. The two women sat in companionable silence, marveling at this simple gift. Darkness had descended around them, but the river was striated with reflected golden moonbeams, and a few twinkling lights dotted the horizon, spilling from houses across the causeway.
“What do you think, Mom?” Andrea asked.
“About?”
“Mother…”
“Oh, honey, I don’t know. I guess you should show it to him. We’ll just go from there, huh?”
“I believe that’s the best course. No sense getting all worked up about it until we know if he’s interested.”
Margaret drained her glass and rose to her feet. “I should go. Set the place to rights. Make sure my underwear isn’t festooning the laundry room.”
“You don’t have to do a thing. Believe me, if Daniel were a woman, it’d be another matter. This guy’s going to take one look at the setting, check to see if the foundation’s solid, and make his decision. He wouldn’t notice your leopard print push-up bra if it were hanging from a chandelier.”
“What if it was a thong?”
Andrea choked, and a rivulet of wine ran down her chin. “You are a crazy woman,” she snorted.
“Takes one to know one. And you’ve got my genes.”
Over the past several years, the Farmer’s Market had grown from a haphazardly staged, poorly attended event to a weekly happening. Now, as every Saturday morning, the parking lot across from Humiston Park was bustling with patrons eager to sample the produce and wares displayed in pop-up booths. A carnival-like atmosphere prevailed, and the various purveyors were all doing a brisk trade.
“I never know if this stuff is fresh-picked.” A heavy-set woman mopped her brow as she eyed baskets of green zucchini, red and yellow peppers, rose and orange speckled heirloom tomatoes, fragrant arugula, and a variety of leaf lettuces. Andrea arched her brows and kept her own counsel, but Madison wasn’t as circumspect.
“It’s all fresh,” the teen cried in, an indignant tone to her voice. “My dad grows this stuff and it's right out of the ground.”
The woman turned toward the girl. “Really? Does he truck it in from Homestead?”
Madison eyed her mother, a question on her face.
“Absolutely not,” Andrea interjected. “He owns acreage west of town. As does Seald Sweet, Oceanspray, Becker Farms, and Hale Groves. You’ve heard of those outfits, I imagine.”
“Oh,” the woman exclaimed, taken aback. “Of course, I have. The soil’s okay, then?”
“The soil’s good,” Madison said. “Dad farms organic, no chemicals or pesticides.”
Impressed, the woman widened her eyes. “I’m pleased to know that. I’ll try a little bit of everything he’s got here.” She gestured toward the produce and then turned to Andrea. “Allow me to introduce myself. I’m the new sous chef at Cobalt, and I’m trying to offer as much local as possible.”
“You’ve come to the right place,” Andrea said, shooting her daughter a conspiratorial grin. “Go find Daddy, Madison. Tell him he has an important customer.”
The woman pointed with her chin. “I’ll take all the peppers you have here—both the red and the yellow.” As she made her purchases, Andrea bagged them in paper sacks.
“Hello.” Derrick appeared before them. Clothed in bib overalls, a bandana tied around his scraggly mane, he looked, Andrea thought, like an aging hippie. Madison was close on his heels. He thrust an arm out toward the woman.
“I’m Derrick Nelson,” he said.
“Esther Grandpierre.” The woman took his hand. “Your wife and daughter have been extolling the virtues of your produce.”
Esther let go of Derrick’s hand, rummaged through her satchel, and dug out a business card. “I’m at Cobalt. I imagine you’re familiar with it?”
Derrick’s eyes gleamed. “Yes,” he said, barely able to contain his excitement. “I’ve been following you… your blog… and on Facebook. You’re pushing the farm-to-table envelope, Ms. Grandpierre.”
Esther laughed. “Well, it’s nice to be recognized, Mr. Nelson.”
“Please, call me Derrick.”
“Only if you’ll call me Esther. Now, tell me about these lovely greens.” She waved toward a bin overflowing with crinolines of dusky green escarole.
Andrea watched the exchange with interest. Derrick could certainly use another buyer, and this woman seemed heaven-sent. She only hoped her ex-husband would follow up, nurture the relationship. Derrick could be charming and personable when he chose to be, but he was a horrible businessman, couldn’t balance a checkbook if his life depended on it. Like Madison, he took people at their word, and was the sadder, although not-the-wiser fellow for it. Andrea smiled, indulgently. She still loved him, and she always would. She just couldn’t live with him. They were complete opposites. Whereas she was organized and methodical, an A-type personality, he was a total slob thriving on spontaneity. She swore his erratic brain activity gave her a headache. They were as different as chalk to cheese and simply no good together.
“We make pretty babies, though,” Derrick had once said, and Andrea agreed.
Esther took her leave, and Andrea and Derrick smiled at one another. “You’ve got a great potential client there,” Andrea said.
“Thanks to you.”
“Me, too,” Madison cried.
“You, too,” Derrick agreed, grinning at his daughter. “So, pumpkin-head, what’s up for the rest of the day? Are you two going to hit the shops?”
“Actually,” Andrea interjected. “I was wondering if Maddy could help out around here for a couple of hours. I have a showing.” She ruffled Madison’s hair. “You don’t mind, do you, Maddy?”
The teen shook her head. “Can I help, Dad?”
“Sure thing. You go, Andy. We’ll be fine. Won’t we, sweetie?” He winked at Madison.
“Thanks, Derrick. I’ll be back no later than one.” Andrea turned to go. “Bye guys. Wish me luck.”
She made her way through the crowd and scurried down the sidewalk to where her car was parallel parked in front of the Costa d’ Este Hotel, with its dazzling fountain and art deco-inspired facade. If she hurried, she’d be at the office in plenty of time to meet Daniel by nine-thirty.
Vagrants often loitered on park benches. Garrett Olson was fully aware of that fact. But today was Saturday, and most working stiffs, himself included, had the day off. So, he didn’t feel conspicuous. Just chilling on a metal bench in front of Humiston Park, enjoying the fresh air and watching the tide of humanity swim by. No harm in that. His eyes followed the good-looking older chick as she climbed into her Mercedes, but what caught and held his attention was the dark-haired babe working the vegetable stand. She was as ripe looking as the produce she was hawking. And there was something else about her; she seemed utterly unaware of her beauty, not all stuck-up and snobby like most pretty girls but approachable and sweet. He was long overdue for a girlfriend, had made a mess of his two most unsatisfactory former relationships. His mother was always harping on him to get out from behind the computer screen and live a little. Maybe it was time. He tapped the camera icon on his phone, waited for the girl to turn in his direction, and captured the shot.
Andrea pushed through the door at Prestige Realty only to find Heather, the freckle-faced redhead, manning the phones. Expertly, the receptionist cradled the handset between her jaw and shoulder. “Okay, Sally,” she said while catching Andrea’s eye. Andrea smiled and made as if to zoom past her, but Heather shook her head. Andrea stopped before the receptionist's desk, and Heather tore a message sheet off the steno pad and handed it to her.
Andrea glanced at the note. It read Nice work at the Ocean Grill last night. Then she turned a puzzled face to Heather. “What?” she mouthed silently.
“I’ll take care of it,” Heather said into the receiver, at the same time giving Andrea a conspiratorial wink and a grin. “Now relax, boss, and enjoy your weekend.”
Andrea nodded and gave the receptionist a thumbs up before hiking back to her cubicle to collect her briefcase. She'd nearly made it when Margo popped out of her office, barring her way.
Uh-oh. Here we go.
Andrea forced a smile. “Hello, Margo,” she said, her stomach souring.
“Hi.” Margo’s voice was flat, her mouth set in that typically grim fashion she affected. “Got a minute?”
“Uh…” Andrea glanced at her watch. It was nine twenty. “Five max.”
“Good.” Margo ducked back into her office, rounded her desk, and seated herself in the leather executive chair. She indicated that Andrea should sit as well, and the last vestiges of Andrea’s good humor evaporated. She perched on a guest chair, somehow managing to maintain a pleasant expression at the same time tilting her head to one side in a silent question.
“It’s come to my attention that you may have more than a professional interest in one of our clients.”
Andrea’s first reaction was to deny, deny, and vehemently deny. But then she realized that would be playing into Margo’s hand. Despite the fact that her blood pressure was spiking, she mustered all her resolve and projected an unruffled exterior.
“Really?” she said. “I can’t imagine to whom you are referring.”
Margo was not fooled, and she was out for blood. “You know exactly who I’m talking about. We, at Prestige, have an image to maintain…”
Yeah, you humorless wretch. How about pulling yourself up by your bootstraps and working on that one?
“Margo, you’re imagining things,” she said through clenched teeth. “I am the quintessential professional, and you know it.” She rose from her chair. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a client. I’m sure you wouldn’t want me to keep him waiting.”
Andrea strode out of Margo’s office without a backward glance, her heels making a satisfying click, click, clicking sound that somehow managed to convey her barely concealed irritation. Too late, she realized she had left her briefcase behind.
To hell with it.
Instead of taking the more direct, A1A route, Andrea turned onto Ocean Drive and headed south. Once past the posh commercial district, the road narrowed. As she wended down picturesque, tree-lined lanes, Andrea hoped that Daniel would fall under the enchantment of Old Riomar. “I’m sure you’ve noticed that some of the streets are unpaved.”
Daniel responded with a noncommittal, “Um.”
“Don’t get me wrong. I like a clean car as much as the next guy. But that’s what the residents seem to prefer. Time seems to pass at a slower pace here. I guess there’s something to be said for it.”
Daniel leaned forward, taking in the gently winding road with its canopy of live oaks wreathed in Spanish moss.
“There’s the old St. Edward’s Lower School campus,” Andrea pointed to the right. “I went to school there as a kid.”
“Really? I thought you lived in Miami.”
“No. I settled there after college. I had a boyfriend, and his family owned a real estate company. So—”
“You sold real estate,” Daniel interjected.
“Yes. Got my license when I was twenty-three, and the rest is history.” Andrea angled her head to the left. “There’s the newly renovated Riomar Golf and Country Club.”
“Nice,” Daniel commented.
“Yes. This is a very desirable area, especially for young, upwardly mobile families. It’s a quiet neighborhood. There’s a sense of community. And you’d be surprised how many people prefer not to live behind walled enclaves.”
“Not really.”
Andrea turned onto Greenway and headed toward the ocean.
“How did you end up back here?” Daniel asked.
“My love affair with real estate stuck—the man… not so much. Although he did give me Madison. It just seemed natural to come back to Vero. How was I to know he’d follow me here?”
“Seems like an awfully small town for a girl like you.”
“I don’t know whether to be flattered or insulted.”
“The former was my intention.”
“Don’t sell Vero short, Daniel. For a small town, Vero Beach is chock full of big city amenities. We have a first-rate professional theater that’s been reviewed in the Wall Street Journal, a great art museum that’s been featured in the New York Times, a world-class Opera Society, and our own resident opera divas. The list goes on and on.”
“I gather you like it.”
Andrea glanced at her passenger, her eyes lingering on his sculpted jaw with its barely perceptible dimple. “That’s an understatement,” Andrea said, thinking the conversation was slipping away from her. She needed to rein it in, concentrate on selling the property.
“Notice how the golf course abuts this parcel,” she said, navigating a sharp curve in the road. “What you see now is the Sheridan Estate.”
“Impressive.” Daniel peered ahead, taking in the lushly planted acreage that rolled toward the glistening blue Atlantic.
Andrea removed a small remote from the ashtray and pointed it at an imposing, black, wrought iron gate flanked by two columns upon which a pair of lion statues perched, guarding the entry. The gate slowly swung open to reveal a paver driveway leading to a sprawling Spanish-style villa with pale yellow stucco walls and a coral-colored, barrel tile roof.
There was a timeless elegance about the residence; it seemed perfectly at home in its surroundings. Two immense oak trees, dripping Spanish moss, shaded the front portico and a tangle of bougainvillea framed the six-bay, side garage with thousands of brilliant magenta blossoms.
Andrea pulled up in the circular drive and shifted to park. “Let's take a look.” She hopped out of the car, and Daniel followed suit.
Overhead, a mockingbird was practicing his repertoire, showing off his trills. Andrea rang the bell and waited. “I'm pretty sure there's no one home, but it never hurts to announce. Just in case.” When a minute passed, and no one answered, Andrea drew open one of a pair of massive arch-topped, mahogany doors only to be greeted by a refreshing whoosh of cool air.
The large foyer featured a darkly stained, wood coffered ceiling, which presented a textural contrast to the stark white walls and gleaming Mexican tile floors. A pierced, metal sphere pendant was suspended over an antique pedestal center table, and an ancient church pew flanked one wall. The austerity of the room was offset by a boldly patterned kilim rug and a scattering of embroidered pillows embellished with tiny bits of sparkly mirror.
There was a pleasing, minimalist quality to the room, and Daniel nodded his head in approval. “Very nice.”
Andrea scurried on ahead into the great room. “The house was built back in the fifties, and it was last renovated about thirty years ago,” she said. “It'll need some work to bring it into the twenty-first century. The wood beamed ceilings are sixteen feet high, and as you can see, the transoms over the French doors let in lots of natural light.”
“The furniture is awesome.”
“Antique, most of it. But the white linen upholstery keeps it from feeling heavy, don't you think? I'm quite sure the furnishings will not be included, mind you.” She indicated a side room. “Through here is the kitchen and the not so good news.” Andrea led the way into a room, which—after the grandeur of the great room, with its lofty ceiling—appeared drab and cramped.
“The cabinets were replaced in the eighties, but they're hopelessly outdated, and you'd want all new appliances. Unfortunately, the kitchen and baths need total makeovers. I don't know if your client’s up for that kind of a project…”
Daniel narrowed his eyes, countenancing the bones of the room. “He could be,” he said.
“Back here is the pantry and the original maid's quarters.” Andrea disappeared around a corner. “If you did away with these rooms, knocked out the partition walls, you could expand and reconfigure the kitchen. And this closet could be transformed into a combination pantry and wine cellar.”
“Seems like you've got it all thought out.”
“Oh, I do,” Andrea agreed. “I do, indeed.”
They toured the rest of the main house, Andrea pointing out the good features and those areas needing improvement. Then she led Daniel out the back door.
“Olympic-sized swimming pool.” She extended an arm toward the pool. “It just needs to be resurfaced and a new tile deck installed.
“Perhaps a spa?”
“Yes. Either that or a fountain would be nice.” Andrea turned and indicated the pool house. “There’s the guest cottage.” She set off toward the cabana, but then hesitated before turning back to Daniel.
“The current owner is… How shall I say this?” She struggled for the right words. “In reduced circumstances. Suffice it to say, it, too, needs to be completely redone. Would you like to see it?”
“That’s not necessary.”
“As I told you from the get-go, the place needs a little TLC.”
Daniel’s eyes flicked over the main house and then fastened on the expanse of private beach that stretched before him, the long dock jutting out over the Atlantic.
“How much property are we talking about here?”
“Nearly three acres. Like I said, the original structure was built in the early fifties—a family compound. But the children have dispersed, and the current owner is simply unable to keep up with all the expenses, to say nothing of the taxes. Still…”
“I understand completely. This…” Daniel gazed about the property. “This would be difficult to relinquish. I wouldn’t if it were mine.”
Andrea’s heart lurched, and she had all she could do to keep from dissuading him from purchasing her family’s property. Instead, she said, “One must face facts. Do what one has to do. Isn’t that so?”
Daniel clenched his right hand into a fist and put it to his lips as if to prevent his emotions from spilling over. But then it appeared too much for him to contain. A grin split his face, and he flung his arms wide. “I love it! And I’m sure my client will, too!”
Daniel’s elation was contagious, and Andrea couldn’t help but be caught up in the moment. Still a small part of her cringed. She needed to make this sale, yet she was dismayed at the prospect of losing her homestead. The transaction would entail forfeiting a part of her heritage. Then Papa John was in her head, all bossy and unemotional.
“Sell it, baby girl,” he urged. “Get you and your ma out from under this." And Andrea knew she was on the right track.
“It’s a very special property, one which could be split up in any number of ways. Naturally, we—that is to say, the owner—would prefer you keep it as a whole. But you could certainly divide it into separate building parcels if you chose to do so.” Andrea began the process of disengaging. She was going to do this thing, and she would not get sentimental about it. Still, she felt a heaviness building in the back of her throat. She'd failed; she hadn’t managed to preserve the family estate, and now she must act the part of Daniel’s agent, to rise to the occasion, and not let her personal life get in the way.
“What is the asking price?”
“Three-point-five million, a cool half mil below its appraised value, back in 2007 before the market tanked.”
“But I’ll have to put a million or so into it to bring it up to speed,” Daniel wheedled, obviously testing the waters.
“Probably,” Andrea said, conceding the point. “But it’s priced very well. This kind of oceanfront acreage—close to the town center—is rare. Honestly, I can think of nothing else like it in Vero Beach.”
“I’ll have to consider.”
“Certainly,” Andrea said. “Shall we walk down to the pier? I need to bring you up to speed about the owner.”
They sat with their legs dangling over the side of the dock, gazing out over the glistening ocean. The sun was warm on their backs, but it was still early, and the heat was not yet oppressive.
“Well, this complicates things.” Daniel looked hard at Andrea.
“It shouldn’t. I would have been upfront with you from the start, but I figured there was no need to get into it until I found out if you had an interest.”
“I can’t snatch your home away from you. Like some evil Simon Legree.”
“Pfft! It’s not like that at all. Mother needs to sell. The place is too big for her and much too expensive for her to keep up. As for my home,” Andrea paused for effect before continuing, “I have a very nice little bungalow of my own on the river in Castaway Cove. Of course, I’ll be sad to turn over the keys to this place. But, hey, it needs new blood, children scampering down the path to the beach, parties with music, and dancing into the night. Most of all, it needs a conservator who appreciates it—someone seeing to all the maintenance and doing whatever is necessary to preserve the grand old lady as she so rightly deserves.”
Andrea turned to Daniel. “Shall I write up the contract?”