The doorbell chimed through our rented house on Grover Lane, a block from Appleseed Creek, Ohio’s central square. Becky lay on her stomach in front of the television on the hardwood floor, legs bent, her feet stirring up the air. Her upper half lay across a huge pillow with the word woof embroidered on top. Her chin rested in her hands. She’d been so proud when she bought that pillow with one of her first paychecks from Young’s, where she worked as a part-time waitress, that I didn’t have the heart to tell her it was a dog pillow. The pillow reminded me that Becky may look like any other English teenager, but she still had a lot of Amish left in her.
My Siamese cat Gigabyte curled up on her back while a Paula Deen marathon played on Food Network. Becky wasn’t going anywhere any time soon. “I’ll get it.” I shook my head. She didn’t even move.
I tried to settle my nerves as I placed my hand on the doorknob. I peered through the peephole and was relieved not to see Curt and Brock on the other side—not that I thought they would ever politely knock on my front door.
Instead of the two newly freed criminals, a man in his early thirties stood there wearing bold plastic-rimmed glasses over green eyes. His hair was coal black and precisely parted on the side as if he created the part with a ruler. He held a pair of gray earmuffs in his bare hands, and behind him, snow fell in large dime-sized flakes. I opened the door. “Dr. Tanner?”
He blushed. “You can call me Dylan.”
“Okay.” My forehead wrinkled. Why is the chair of the biology department on my doorstep? “Is something wrong at the college? Is your computer down? I didn’t get a call or a text.” I served as the Director of Computer Services at Harshberger College in town, and it wasn’t unusual for me to get a frantic call from a faculty member during the weekend about an uncooperative laptop or a corrupted flash drive. However, this was the first time any of them made a house call.
“No, no, everything there is fine. At least as far as I know.” His eyes grew wide behind his glasses. “Is this a good time for the walkthrough?”
I blinked. “The walkthrough?”
He frowned. “The walkthrough of the house.”
“House? What house?”
“This one.” His Adam’s apple bobbed up and down like an ocean buoy.
“This house? My house?” He spoke in riddles. Why did the chair of the biology department want to walk through my house?
Becky poked her head out of the door. “Chloe, what’s going on?”
Dylan held out his hand to her. “You must be Becky. I’m your new landlord.”
My mouth fell open. “You’re what?”
Concern flashed across his pale face. “Didn’t the previous landlord tell you? He was supposed to send you a letter.”
“Letter? I didn’t get a letter.” My landlord was a faceless man who owned a Cincinnati-based realty company. The only confirmation of his existence was the cashing of my rent check each month.
Dylan twisted the earmuffs so tightly that the plastic headband threatened to snap. “I’m so sorry. He was supposed to do that. I take it you didn’t know I was coming today either.”
I shook my head and stepped back, knocking into Becky as I did. “Please come inside. It’s cold out.” I closed the door behind the professor.
Dylan removed his leather gloves and tucked them into the pocket of his dark wool coat. “It’s freezing out there. I predict snow on Thanksgiving.”
“That’s what everyone’s saying.” I gestured to the sofa. “Would you like a seat?”
He shook his head. “No. Why don’t you give me a tour? I’m eager to have a look at the house.”
I hesitated. “I didn’t even know the house was for sale.”
Dylan ran his hand along the marble mantel. “I’ve been watching this house for a while and snatched it up the minute it was posted online.”
“You bought the house before seeing it?” I asked.
“I drove by a few times. Your old landlord told me you were the tenant. I knew it would be an easy property to manage. It was going for a great price and I didn’t want to chance losing it. When I called and inquired about the property, I made an offer to the seller. I think he was grateful to be rid of it.”
You knew I was the tenant and didn’t say anything to me about it? Our offices were in the same building. How hard would it have been for Dylan to call me or even drop by my office at Harshberger to talk about it?
He walked across the wooden floors and peered through the large picture windows. Several of the panes still had the original handblown glass. “It has charm. It’s one of the centennial homes in town. I always wanted to restore an old house like this.”
Becky picked up Gigabyte from the floor and perched on the sofa. “Have you restored a house before?”
He swallowed. “No.”
Becky arched a white-blonde eyebrow at me. I cleared my throat. “It will be nice to have a landlord in town when problems come up.”
Becky squinted at me. “Timothy has always fixed everything around the house.” She hopped off the sofa. “My brother works on the house when he can. He’s the best carpenter in town, and now, he’s starting his own contracting business.”
Dylan unbuttoned his coat. “I’ll keep that in mind in case I need any help.”
“I want to give the tour,” Becky piped up. “That way I can show him all the good work Timothy’s done. You may not have noticed, but Timothy completely rebuilt the front porch of the house. When we first moved in, the porch was a mess. The floorboards were warped and the support beams swung back and forth.” She tugged on his sleeve. “Let’s start in the kitchen.”
Dylan allowed Becky to lead him into the kitchen. She opened the cabinet under the sink. “See here. Timothy replaced the garbage disposal and the pipes.”
He bent at the waist for a closer look. When he straightened up, he voice was stiff. “How much does Timothy charge for all these improvement? The previous owner didn’t tell me he authorized any home improvements.”
Becky didn’t give me a chance to answer. “He doesn’t charge anything. He uses materials that he has left over from jobs and his labor is free. We’re family.”
Dylan’s jaw twitched. “That might be all well and good for you, but did he research the historical accuracy of the pipe and latches he installed?”
“I doubt it.” I tucked one of the kitchen chairs under the table. “We were more concerned with making the house livable than historically accurate.”
He adjusted his glasses. “Becky, please show me the rest of the improvements.”
Becky guided him through the rest of the downstairs and led him to the second floor. Inside my bedroom she said, “He replaced the latch on Chloe’s window.” She demonstrated how to use the brass latch, which was most definitely not historically accurate. Becky pointed her thumb at the other window. “The other one doesn’t open yet. Someone painted it shut. Timothy’s going to fix that next.”
“Hmm.” Dylan sounded wary.
“You girls ready to go?” Timothy called from downstairs.
Becky abandoned the window and headed for the door. “That’s my brother now.” Timothy stepped into the room just as she reached the doorway. The siblings nearly collided.
Timothy held her by the shoulders. “Where’s the fire?” He pulled up short when he saw Dylan standing next to me. “Am I interrupting something?”
Becky wiggled out of her older brother’s grasp. “This is Dylan. He’s our new landlord, and he also works with Chloe at the college.” She shot Dylan an apologetic smile. “I forgot what you teach.”
“Biology,” Dylan answered.
Timothy pursed his lips. “I thought your landlord lived in Cincinnati.”
“He does—did. Dylan recently bought the house,” I said.
Dylan held out his hand and Timothy shook it. “Dylan Tanner. I’ve heard a lot about you.”
Becky continued. “I showed him all the great work you’ve done on the house.”
“I noticed you didn’t use appropriate fixtures during repairs.” Dylan smiled stiffly.
“I used what was available,” Timothy said.
“That’s admirable,” Dylan adjusted his glasses. “However, your Amish techniques aren’t in keeping with the period of the house.”
Timothy’s eyebrows shot way up. “My Amish techniques?”
“You are Amish, aren’t you? That’s what I’ve been told.”
Timothy’s lip curled. “By who?”
Becky jumped in. “Timothy and I grew up Amish but we have both left the church.”
Dylan nodded as if that confirmed something for him. “From here on out, please don’t make any more changes to the house without my authorization.”
Timothy crossed his arms. “Your authorization?”
“I’m planning to restore this house to its original grandeur, using only historically accurate materials. A charming centennial home like this can sell for three times what I paid for it after restoration.”
“You’re going to flip it,” Timothy said.
Dylan fiddled with a button on his coat. “I prefer the term restore.”
Becky looked from the biology professor to her brother. “But we live here.”
“I’m not asking you to move,” Dylan assured her. “Your lease is still valid. However when I do sell the home, you will have to move.”
“How long will this take?” I asked. “How extensive will the restoration be?”
He waved away my questions. “We will settle all of that in time.”
I didn’t like the sound of that.
Timothy shook his head. “I’ve worked on Appleseed Creek houses for years. Most people in town don’t have the kind of money you want for this house, and you will price it right out of the neighborhood.”
Irritation flashed across Dylan’s face. “All I need is one buyer.” He brushed his hands on his jeans. “I’d better get going. I’ll see you at work tomorrow, Chloe.”
“If you have time, I can show you the rest of the rooms on this floor,” Becky said.
Dylan paused, then nodded. “I have a few more minutes.” He followed her out of the room.
Timothy pushed my bedroom door nearly closed. He spoke quietly, as if half-listening to the tour going on down the hall. “How well do you know that guy?”
“He’s the chair of the biology department at Harshberger. Our offices are in the same academic building, so I’ve run into him on campus. I don’t know him more than to say hello.”
“Isn’t he too young to be working at Harshberger?”
“I’m younger than he is. What is he . . . thirty?”
“You’re different. You’re super smart.”
I hid a smile. “Timothy, most of the folks working at Harshberger are super smart. It’s a college after all.” I locked the latch on the window Becky had opened.
“Did you know he was your landlord?”
“No, it was a surprise when he dropped by today. The previous owner was supposed to send a letter notifying me of the change. You know how great communication is with him.”
“How do you know if it’s true?”
“What do you mean?”
“How do you know this guy really bought the house? Did he show proof of the sale?”
I frowned. “I didn’t think to ask him. Why would he lie about it?”
Timothy paused, as if considering his answer.
Becky called up the stairs. “Chloe, Dylan’s leaving. Do you want to come down and say goodbye?”
I poked my head out of my bedroom door. “I’m coming.” To Timothy, I said, “You have a point. I’ll ask him now.”
Downstairs, Dylan buttoned his coat. “Thanks for showing me around. Becky, you were a superb tour guide.”
My face grew hot. “Dylan, I should have asked you this when you first arrived, but do you have a document that proves you’re the owner of the house?”
Dylan’s eyes cut over to Timothy as if he suspected where this question originated.
Timothy held his gaze.
“I do.” He reached into his coat pocket and removed a folded piece of paper. “Here’s the promissory note with my bank.”
I read the note over. It looked legit to me. Timothy leaned over my shoulder in order to read it, his warm breath brushing the top of my head.
“When will you begin restoration?” Timothy asked as I refolded the paper and handed it to Dylan.
Dylan replaced the paper in his pocket. “I want to start right away.” He nodded to Becky and me. “I’ll be in touch, ladies.”
Becky walked him to his car.
Timothy gripped the back of the armchair. “I don’t like that guy working on the house while you two are here.”
“Don’t worry,” I said. “It will be nice to have a landlord in town, and with the expansion of your business, you can’t be wasting your time on this creaky old house.”
“I don’t consider it a waste of time.” He sighed. “Even more, I don’t like the way he looks at you.”
My brow shot up. “How does he look at me?”
“The way I do.”
If I didn’t know better, I would say Timothy Troyer was jealous.