Chapter 7. A House Divided

WHITNEY

First thing Friday morning, I dropped the quitclaim deeds at our attorney's office so that her assistant could get them filed in the county records. I parked my SUV at the fire station but, rather than going inside, I circled around the corner to Joanna's townhouse to give her the good news. When she opened her door, a haze of cigarette smoke hung in the air. Looked like she'd been smoking. Judging from the thickness of the cloud, she might've fudged when she told Macy and Holden that she was down to two cigarettes a day. As before, she held her pack of cigarettes and her lighter in her left hand. They seemed to function as a security blanket of sorts.

"Good news!" I told her. "We got all seven of the Bottiglieris to sign. The place is ours."

"Wonderful!" She put her right hand to her chest, and released a long breath. "I can't even begin to tell you what a relief this is. My husband and I worked hard to afford this place. I feared I'd see it fall into ruin." She lowered her hand. "When will you get started on the rehab?"

"The fire station is our number-one priority," I said. "It has to be completed by mid-November. But Buck and I will be working on the townhouse simultaneously. My guess is we'll have it done by year end, January at the latest."

She stuck her head farther out the door and looked around before whispering, "Don't forget I want first crack at the place. Macy, Holden, and Alyssa don't have much space in the two-bedroom they're in now. It'll only get worse after the baby comes and, even with Alyssa heading off to college next year, she'll still need a bedroom when she comes home on school breaks. I'd love to buy it and lease it to them on a rent-to-own arrangement."

Her request made me a little uncomfortable. "I can't make any promises," I said. "Buck and I have a silent partner who's invested quite a bit of money, too, so it won't be entirely our decision. We'll have to put it on the market and go with the best offer."

She frowned. "You'll at least give me a chance to match it, won't you? I can pay cash."

It was a reasonable request, one I knew Buck and Presley would agree with. A cash buyer was always preferable to one who'd need to secure financing. Much less paperwork was involved and there was less chance of the deal falling through. "Sure. If you match the highest offer and pay cash, the townhouse is yours."

She gave me a thumbs-up with her empty hand. "Thanks, Whitney."

After leaving Joanna's, I returned to the fire station. Buck and I spent the rest of the day finishing up the demo work. Buck had already gone for the day, and I was using a dolly to transport an old, cracked toilet to the dumpster when Collin pulled up to the fire station at half past six. My hair and coveralls were coated in dust, and my skin was dewy with sweat.

A grin tugged at Collin's lips as he climbed out of his car, dressed in faded jeans and an old T-shirt. "You've never looked prettier."

I rolled my eyes and lifted my chin to indicate the dumpster. "Give a girl a hand?"

He helped me heave the heavy porcelain toilet over the edge. It fell into the metal bin with a clunk. The task complete, we went into the station. While a Friday night date spent sweeping and vacuuming was hardly romantic under normal circumstances, the fact that Collin and I were readying our wedding venue added a touch of romance to our chores, nonetheless. We ordered a pizza for dinner and ate it sitting atop overturned five-gallon plastic buckets.

"You know," he said, finagling a second piece of pizza from the box, "we haven't decided where we're going to live after we get married."

I circled my finger in the air to indicate the fire station. "We won't be able to afford this place once it's fixed up." There's an irony for you. I can build it, but I can't buy it. It would cost too much to buy out Buck's and Presley's shares of the fire station at market price. Besides, as unique and trendy as the firehouse would be once it was finished, my personal tastes tended to be more traditional. I wanted a backyard and flowerbeds.

We briefly debated our options. Collin had a small, older house that he'd bought a few years back and I, of course, had the cottage—half of which technically belonged to Buck. I also had a roommate—two if you counted Emmalee's cat Cleo. The cottage was in a better neighborhood than Collin's place, and more centrally located. Though it was worth quite a bit, its value would be significantly less than the remodeled fire station. "What would you think about the cottage? I could get an appraisal and we could buy Buck out. And Emmalee would probably be fine with moving out."

Collin cocked his head. "Would you be willing to give up half your closet space?"

"Heck, no! But the master bedroom is big enough that I could build you your own closet along the front wall." The additional closet space would help with resale value further down the line, should we ever choose to move. "I can customize it any way you'd like."

"Works for me," Collin said.

"I'll call the Hartleys," I said. "They'll list your house for you and get you top dollar."

We finished our pizza and got back to work. By the end of the evening, the floors and surfaces were dust free. We parted ways in the parking lot with a warm kiss.

Colette had given herself the day off on Saturday and, naturally, Buck wanted to spend time with his wife. Collin had been an avid jogger since junior high, when he'd joined the cross-country team where he'd met his best friend—soon to be his best man—Ren Fujita. The exercise relieved the stress of his job, and he'd recently decided to up his game to trail running. He'd joined a local running club, and he and Ren were off to complete the 5.3-mile Mossy Ridge Trail at Percy Warner Park. In other words, I was on my own today.

I slept in, enjoying some extra snuggle time with Sawdust. At ten, I slid out of bed, started the coffee, and took a quick shower. The aroma of the warm brew had roused Emmalee, who I found curled up in her papasan chair with a steaming mug and her cat.

After pouring myself a cup, I sat down on the couch and broached the subject of our living arrangements. "Collin and I talked last night about where we'll live once we're married."

Emmalee pointed downward to indicate the cottage. "He's moving in here, isn't he?"

"That's the plan. We hate to put you and Cleo out on the streets, though."

"No worries. I saw this coming since he proposed. I wouldn't mind living closer to the café anyway. With the restaurant doing so well, I can finally afford a place of my own."

Seemed life was moving along for all of us. "Sawdust sure is going to miss Cleo."

She ran a hand over the calico's head. "We'll get them together for playdates."

"Perfect." I finished my coffee, kissed my sweet boy on the cheek, and bade my roommate goodbye before heading out.

The electricity and water had been turned on at the townhouse late Friday afternoon. I decided to go by and take another look at the place Saturday morning, determine what else might need repair. I used a ladder to get inside the same way Buck had, by climbing in the second-story window. I'd expected there to be additional items, and my expectations were met. Although the water heater had been turned on for well over twelve hours, the water that came out of the faucets was tepid at best. The dishwasher worked, though it was an older, low-efficiency model. What's more, the racks were bent and the silverware basket was missing. We'd replace both appliances with new energy-efficient models. Same for the oven and refrigerator. The washer and dryer still worked fine and, though older models, were in decent shape. I'd list them online as a free giveaway. Someone would want them and come take them away, saving us the trouble.

After donning my gloves, I pulled the electric oven out from the wall, wrestled it onto a dolly, and rolled it out the front door. I was easing the appliance down the intact side of the front steps, hoping they wouldn't collapse under me, when a female voice came from behind me.

"Excuse me. Are you cleaning the townhouse?"

I turned to see the couple from earlier in the week. As before, they were walking their baby and their mismatched dogs, both of whom wagged their tails as they, too, stared my way. The baby banged a hand on the plastic tray on the front of the stroller, like a judge banging a gavel to call for order in the court. "Ba-ba-ba!"

I couldn't help but smile at the adorable tyke.

Before I could answer the woman, the man strode over. "Can I help?"

"That would be great."

He helped me carefully maneuver the oven off the steps and onto the sidewalk, where I parked it and thanked him for his help. I turned to his wife and answered her question. "My cousin and I plan to fix the townhouse up for resale. I'm working by myself today, but I figured I could remove some of the smaller appliances that we need to replace."

Her brow furrowed in confusion. "You own this house? How? I thought there was a legal fight among the heirs, that several people claimed to own it."

As was typical, the rumor mill hadn't quite gotten things right. I explained the situation, and told them how Buck and I had acquired the property through the quitclaim deeds.

The two exchanged a look and conversed briefly in another language—Hindi, maybe? Bengali?—before turning back to me.

The woman sighed. "I wish we had known such a thing was possible. May I ask how much you paid for the townhouse?"

I saw no harm in sharing the information. I looked up and mentally calculated. "One hundred seventy-five thousand five hundred and thirty-eight dollars."

The two exchanged another look, and the man's brow furrowed now, too. "That is a strange number."

"A couple of them were holdouts. We had to sweeten the deal with another check and what we had in our wallets."

"Ah." The man and his wife exchanged another glance before he held out his hand. "I'm Dhananjay, but I go by D-Jay." He angled his head toward the woman. "My wife, Samira."

As I shook D-Jay's hand, Samira smiled and reached down to stroke her chubby son's cheek. "This is our son Kavish."

I bent down, putting my hands on my knees. "Hello, Kavish. You're a cutie."

He slammed his hand on the tray a second time and repeated his mantra. "Ba-ba-ba!"

I couldn't help but laugh at his enthusiasm. "Ba-ba-ba to you, too!"

Their dogs wanted in on the action, and came over to sniff my coveralls, probably scenting Sawdust and Cleo on my clothing. It was clear they were well-socialized, so I gave them each a few pats, their fur soft under my fingers.

When I stood again, D-Jay asked, "What will be your asking price for the townhouse when you sell it?"

"I'm not sure. We haven't gotten that far yet. We just turned the paperwork over to our attorney for filing yesterday."

Samira's grip tightened on the handle of the stroller. "We are wanting to buy a place in Germantown. Would you consider owner finance?"

In light of the question, I assumed the couple must have less-than-perfect credit. "Sorry, but we're not in a position to accept installment payments. We need to get our money back out of this property so we can invest it in our next flip project."

Samira seemed to feel the need to explain her request, or maybe she hoped she could win me over. "We are very responsible people. We both work in government. Dhananjay is the chief of staff for a state senator. I work for the Department of Veterans Services. We are not wealthy, but we earn a good income. We owned a condominium not long ago. It was a one-bedroom we bought when we married. We had a fifteen-year mortgage, and we made an extra principal payment each month, so we paid down the loan quickly. We had only seventeen payments left when my father in Bangladesh got injured on the job and could not work for several months. We had to send money to help my family. We were late on three mortgage payments in a row, but we made up the past-due amount in only four months' time. We learned right after that that I was pregnant. We put our condo up for sale so that we could buy a bigger home. We did not realize until that time that the banks would not give us a new mortgage with the late payments on our credit reports. By then, it was too late. We had already sold our condo."

Their situation was similar to Macy and Holden's, a growing family needing more room.

"We are stuck," D-Jay added. "Without a loan, we can only rent. We are throwing our money away."

I felt for them. One of my duties as a property manager had been running applicants' credit reports to evaluate their creditworthiness. Property owners were reluctant to rent to those with bad credit, especially if they'd defaulted on rent or a mortgage. That said, I'd learned that defaults rolled off a credit report after seven years, giving people a chance at a fresh start.

When I mentioned this to the couple, Samira said, "That does not help us. It was only two years ago when my father was sick and we failed to pay our mortgage on time."

In other words, it would be five more years before they could obtain a traditional mortgage. "I'm very sorry," I said. "I would be very frustrated, too, if I were in your shoes." They were lucky Gideon had taken a chance on them and allowed them to rent one of his units.

They exchanged another look and more words, before D-Jay turned back to me. "We will try to work something out so that we can make an offer when you put the house up for sale."

Short of robbing a bank or winning the lottery, I had no idea what options they might have for coming up with the funds, but I wished them luck. Even if they could somehow obtain financing, it was unlikely they'd be the highest bidders on the property. Joanna had already implied she'd match or beat any other bid, and she had a big motivation to buy the townhouse. She also had ready cash to buy the property outright, no pesky mortgage to deal with. I felt it was only right to let them know their odds were slim. "I don't want you to get your hopes up for nothing. Joanna Hartzell has expressed an interest in buying the property. So has your landlord."

"Gideon?" Samira frowned. "But he already owns a home. Three others as well." She gestured to the house behind her. "The entire building belongs to him."

D-Jay added his two cents. "The rich snatch up all the properties and leave no homes for anyone else to buy. Housing becomes too expensive. The average person can't afford it."

He had a valid point. It was happening everywhere. Corporations and the wealthy were buying up residential properties and driving up the prices, making it more difficult for others to become homeowners. Homeownership was one of the best ways to amass wealth, and when people were kept out of the market, they couldn't advance economically.

A voice came from the street. Gideon's. "Did I hear my name?"

Samira and D-Jay glanced back at the man none of us had heard coming, then exchanged a frantic look. Gideon was their landlord, after all, and would be none too pleased if he thought his tenants had disparaged him.

I covered for them. "I just met your tenants," I called as he approached, carrying a foil-covered baking dish. "I told them that you and Joanna came over to the firehouse to see what could be done about this place." I hiked a thumb over my shoulder to indicate the townhouse behind me. "D-Jay helped me move the oven down the front steps. We're lucky they held up."

D-Jay and Samira slipped me soft, surreptitious smiles, a subtle way of thanking me for not telling their landlord what they'd been implying about him. That he was greedy.

Gideon stepped up, bringing the smell of fish with him. He grinned a gargoyle-like grin. "Glad to see you're already at work on my townhouse."

He was looking at me, and failed to see the irritated looks D-Jay and Samira traded behind him. I told him the same thing I'd told the couple. "I've told Joanna that as long as she matches our best offer, the place is hers. It only seems right."

Gideon waved a dismissive hand. "I've got more money than I know what to do with. She won't be able to match my bid."

Looks like friendship only goes so far when a hot property is up for sale.Rather than continue to discuss the sale of the townhouse, which wouldn't take place for months, I turned the topic to the food in his hands. "Whatever that is smells delicious."

He raised the dish. "My mama's tuna casserole," he said. "I loved it as a boy, and I served it to the troops when I was a cook in the army. It's what made my partner fall in love with me." He chuckled. "'Course that was back in the ‘don't ask, don't tell' days, but we had our ways. I'd slip him an extra cookie in the chow line, and he'd polish my boots. He died before we had the right to marry, or he'd have been my husband." A pained look crossed his face before he brightened again. "Anyway, Joanna loves it, too. Thought I'd bring some over for her lunch."

How sweet and thoughtful."If I'd known you provided meal delivery service to your neighbors, I wouldn't have planned to sell the townhouse. I'd move in myself."

He chuckled. "You want to learn how to cook? Come on over sometime and I'll show you the ropes."

I didn't mention that Colette, my best friend/cousin-in-law, was a professional chef. I didn't want to sound like I was one-upping him. She'd offered to teach me how to cook, too, but I'd declined. I preferred power tools to kitchen tools, and was happy to stay in my lane. Still, no sense in insulting the man's interest in the hobby. "I just might take you up on that."

With that, I bade them all goodbye and set off down the sidewalk with the oven, feeling uneasy. I'd hoped that remodeling the townhouse would be a positive mission, but it seemed the project was pitting neighbor against neighbor.