Chapter Thirty-One


“What in heavens name is going on?” Maile Everrett put down the oven cleaner and hurried behind her daughter as she ran inside.

“Smythe is on his way over. We’ve got”—she looked down at her wrist—”about ten minutes to make my office look like an office.”

“Oh, my.” Ava’s mother hurried behind, grabbing Doug by the arm as she passed him in the hall. “We need you for a few.”

“Should I get Forrest from upstairs?” Doug glanced up the stairs.

“No.” Maile almost snapped. “This will only take a minute.”

Ava caught her friend’s gaze. Her mother was still not warming up to Forrest, and, considering how warm Ava and Forrest were getting, this couldn’t be good. “Okay. Those two chairs in the parlor, let’s move them in front of the big desk in the back.”

Maile took two steps into the newly cleaned office. “I’d better grab the furniture polish. This is clean but…” Before Ava could say the dull desk was the least of her problems, her mother disappeared.

“What’s going on?” Doug came in with the requested armchair.

Ava slid on a clean long sleeved button down shirt she’d pulled from a hook by the back door. It wasn’t the same as showering and changing, but at least it hid her bandaged arm. “Smythe is coming.”

“Now? Here?”

“Yes.” She grabbed all the drop cloths scattered around the floor. “Thank God we painted this room first this morning.”

Doug set down the second chair and looked at Ava. “Now what?”

“Dump these in any closet. I’ll grab a lamp for my desk, so it doesn’t look so bare. Then put the rug from the porch back in the front hall.”

“Got it.”

“Don’t forget to shake it out first. I haven’t gotten to the rugs yet.”

Maile whizzed past her daughter and, with a fast spray and a few circular motions, had the desk shiny and bright. “Too bad we didn’t know to bring your drafting table over.”

The determined way her mother stood, hands fisted at her waist, shaking her head, gave the elephant in the room that Ava had been ignoring the last few days a shove out the door. “So you don’t mind I’m moving my offices out of the house?” She’d been afraid to broach the subject. Her mother had been so giddy about having Ava home again.

Maile smiled up at her. The determination on her face gave way to a softness that reminded Ava of childhood skinned knees, teenage broken hearts, and a mother’s comforting hugs to make it all right again.

“Of course not.” Maile ran a feathered touch along her daughter’s cheek. “All I ever want is what’s best for my children. This old house feels right. Besides, my big important daughter needs a big important place of business.”

“Oh, Mom.” Ava threw her arm around her mother and was still hanging on tight, when she heard a rap on the door followed by the sound of footsteps.

“Hello,” her former boss called out from the front door.

“Welcome.” She forced a smile and extended her hand. “Why don’t we go to my office?”

Smythe followed her direction, his gaze taking in the surroundings, as they walked through what would be the reception area and back to the room they’d thrown together as her office.

“Have a seat.” Elbows on the desk, fingers steepled, she focused on Smythe. “What brings you to Kona?”

“We have a situation.”

As her boss began telling her what she already knew, thanks to Brad’s phone call a few weeks ago, the sound of voices and rustling in the kitchen caught her ear.

“I’m here,” a voice that sounded like Annette Deluca announced. “Bought a few supplies.”

Maile Everrett blew out a soft “Shh!” and the rest of the conversations blended in with what the old coot in front of her was saying.

Ava could have sworn Annette said something about “candles,” just as Smythe mentioned FJM Global. Her mom mumbling something about “Not so loud” was mostly drowned out by the unrolling of blueprints on her desk.

“As you can see, the drawings are lacking your touch.”

Did old man Smythe actually give her credit where credit was due? So maybe skipping the moat hadn’t been such a bad idea.

“Yes.” She perused the drawings that frankly looked like they’d been done by a first-year architectural student. Even Brad was better than that. “I’m afraid I don’t understand what you’d like from me.”

“Not yet,” Maile muttered from the other room, and Ava turned her head.

“We see that you’re in no position to return to Emerson & Smythe.”

Ava faced her former employer.

“But as a start-up company, I’m sure you have room in your schedule for some contract work?”

Fixing up this house right would cost a pretty penny. Even with the Bay Area job, that was only one deal.

“We’d offer the usual rate for seasoned architects,” Smythe continued.

If she had extra income from another contract, she could certainly get further on the rehab than paint and furniture.

“Of course, we’d be willing to pay a bonus.”

Bonus? Repairing and refinishing the floors upstairs wasn’t cheap.

“Perhaps a small profit-sharing incentive.”

Holy crap, this guy was desperate. “How small?” she finally responded, amused to see the nervous glint in Smythe’s eyes diffuse slightly.

Like a used-car salesman, Smythe took a pen and pad from his breast pocket, scribbled numbers down and shoved it across the desk at her.

Fortunately she was already sitting down or the shock might have knocked her over.

“If that’s not enough…” Smythe sputtered.

“No. I think this is a very reasonable offer.” The second floor would be looking good in not time. “If you’ll send the contracts my way, I’ll have my attorney look them over.”

For a second Smythe seemed taken aback but regained his composure and nodded at her. “Very well.”

“I’ve got the drain upstairs unclogged, but you’ll need to replace some of those old pipes with…” Drying his hands with a towel, Forrest stopped in his tracks. “Sorry, didn’t realize you had a visitor.”

Smythe coughed. The look in his eyes shot straight past nervous and landed at full-on panic. Which surprisingly matched the expression on Forrest’s face.

Forrest’s gaze shifted from Smythe to her and back. She was no help. She had no idea who Smythe thought he was.

“Forrest here has been helping with the renovations. Stanley Smythe is my former employer.”

“Forrest?” Smythe muttered.

“Excuse me.” Maile Everrett knocked on the door jamb. “Sorry to interrupt but there’s a delivery man in the kitchen who needs to speak with you.”

“Oh. Excuse me for one minute.” She followed her mother into the kitchen. The empty kitchen. “Where’s the delivery man?”

“There is no delivery man,” Annette said.

“Mother, what is going on?”

Maile lifted her arms in a casual shrug. “Don’t ask me.”

Blowing out a jagged sigh, Annette shifted in place. “There’s something you need to know.”