Chapter 20

twenty

W hen Isabelle woke on Sunday morning, the events of the previous night rushed back to her. Squeezing her eyes shut, she pulled the covers over her head and prayed for sleep to return. But her efforts were a lost cause. She'd never been one for sleeping in, and since she couldn't hide, she might as well get out of bed and face the day.

After being awake half the night, Isabelle needed caffeine, and because there was none in the cottage, she dressed and walked over to the main house. She could hardly believe her eyes when she found the kitchen spotless.

Blossom looked up from opening a can of dog food. "Morning! You must be starving after last night's commotion. Coffee is perking and mini muffins are warming in the oven."

Isabelle gave her head a bewildered shake. "I don't understand. Was the kitchen spared vandalism? Or did you do all this?"

"I've been cleaning for hours," Blossom said, even though she appeared as fresh as a daisy in jean overalls and a pink cotton shirt. "I've never seen such a mess in my life. They smeared condiments from the refrigerator all over the counters and emptied the trash on the floor."

Isabelle experienced an unfamiliar emotion. Was this what gratitude felt like? "That magic wand of yours comes in handy."

Blossom chuckled. "I'll take that as a thank you. And you're welcome."

"What about in here?" Isabelle asked, walking toward the closed door leading to the butler's pantry.

Blossom warned, "I wouldn't go in there if I were you. You should wait for Pritchard and Shelby before inspecting the rest of the house. Here. Your coffee's ready." She handed Isabelle a mug, the coffee prepared the way she liked it with a dollop of cream and a spoonful of sugar.

The back door opened, and Silas, Pritchard, Savannah, Harper, and Shelby filed in, with Shelby bringing up the rear. She stopped short at the sight of the gleaming kitchen. "Whoa," she exclaimed, turning to Blossom. "You did this, didn't you?"

Blossom shrugged. "Maybe. I figured y'all could use the kitchen as home base these next few days."

Shelby threw her arms around Blossom. "You're a godsend."

Blossom let out a belly laugh. "Don't I know it?"

"Can't you fix the rest of the house too?" "Shelby asked.

Blossom kissed the top of Shelby's head and drew her away. "I'm sorry, baby girl. I've already used up all my energy for today."

"All right then," Pritchard said, inhaling a deep breath. "Are we ready to assess the damage?"

Isabelle slowly rose from the table. "No time like the present."

Blossom shooed the small crowd out of the kitchen. "Go! Make your rounds. I'll have breakfast ready when you come back."

Isabelle had expected the damage to be bad, but she was unprepared for what awaited them in the other rooms. The walls, furniture, and hardwood floors were covered in a sticky substance, which Shelby identified as Champagne. The shattered remains of her china and crystal collections covered the floor in the butler's pantry. Her crystal chandelier dangled from a single wire over her dining room table. Multiple windows and picture frames and the desktop computer screen had been smashed. Feathers from slashed pillows and down cushions covered every surface in the living room, a few still floating in the air. In the study, her husband's books had been pulled from the shelves, the spines of some broken and pages torn from others. Edward's Oriental rug was saturated with whiskey, and the bottles from his rare collection stood empty on the bar behind his desk. When they ventured upstairs, broken lamps, ruined carpets, stained walls, and shredded linens greeted them in the bedrooms.

Harper attempted to repair the bent neck of a lamp. "My storage unit is full of odds and ends, including a wide assortment of lamps. You might want to take a look," she said, tossing the unfixable lamp on the bed.

"I already have a decorator," Isabelle snapped.

Harper leveled her gaze on Isabelle. "Oh, really? Who?"

Isabelle squared her shoulders. "Rose Cain at Lowcountry Living Interiors. She has impeccable taste."

Harper nodded in agreement. "She certainly does. I bought Rose's business last summer."

Pritchard nudged Izzy with his elbow. "I told you that, Mother. Don't you remember?"

"Apparently not, Pritchard," Isabelle said with a huff.

"If you're interested, I can give you the accessories at cost," Harper volunteered.

"I'm not looking for a handout, Harper." Isabelle pointed at her son. "But all this is coming out of your father's estate."

"I'm counting on insurance to pay for everything," Pritchard said.

Isabelle's eyes fell on the stained carpet. "It'll cost me a fortune to replace this wool carpet."

Harper produced a screwdriver from her backpack and pried the carpet from one corner of the room. "You have hardwood floors under here. Why not refinish them and leave them bare? Most hotels are going that route now. It's cleaner, and you don't have to worry about carpet stains."

"I like that idea," Shelby chimed in. "We'll save a fortune in carpet cleaning."

Isabelle's shoulders deflated. She suddenly felt ancient. She said little as she followed the others downstairs to the kitchen, where a smorgasbord awaited them. In addition to the warmed muffins, Blossom had made waffles, scrambled eggs, and sausage. They loaded their plates and gathered around the pine farm table.

Pritchard slurped his coffee. "I've contacted RestoreEase, a commercial cleaning and restoration service. They'll be starting first thing in the morning. Today, our goal is to restore order as best we can, pick up trash, and salvage valuables. Most of you know Savannah's brother, Will, is a building contractor. His crew will come in after the cleaners to paint, repair windows, refinish the floors if we decide to go that route, and take care of whatever else needs fixing."

Shelby crunched on a slice of bacon. "I can access the reservation system through my laptop. We don't have anyone booked for tonight. I'll cancel the reservations for this week. How long do you think it'll be before we can reopen? Is next weekend out of the question?"

Pritchard thought about it as he peppered his eggs. "Next weekend might be pushing it. But I can't say for sure until I talk to Will. Why don't you hold off canceling next weekend for now?"

"Okay," Shelby said and popped a mini muffin into her mouth.

While they ate, they divvied up cleanup chores. Isabelle was relieved to be excluded from the list. After breakfast, she remained in the kitchen to help Blossom with the dishes.

"You were awfully quiet during breakfast," Blossom noted.

Isabelle set down her dish towel and fell back against the counter. "I no longer belong in my own home. I can't stay here, but I don't have the money to leave either."

Blossom placed the last dish in the dishwasher. "Why can't you stay here?"

"Because I know nothing about running a bed and breakfast." Isabelle pressed her hands to the sides of her head. "All this is my fault. I failed to check out the group when I took the reservation."

Blossom picked up Jolene and held the dog close to Isabelle's face. "Jolene says for you to stop being so hard on yourself."

Isabelle smiled despite her dislike of the dog.

Blossom nuzzled the dog to her neck. "So, you made a mistake. You learned from it, didn't you?"

Isabelle hunched a shoulder. "All I ever do anymore is make mistakes."

Blossom frowned. "You don't strike me as someone prone to having pity parties. So you have some damage to repair, but it could be worse. Those awful people could've burned the house down."

Isabelle chipped the red polish off her fingernails. "I'm allowed to have a pity party, Blossom. I'm seventy-five years old, and my life has drastically changed, thanks to my dead husband."

Blossom cocked her head to the side. "Would your husband intentionally put you in a position he didn't think you could handle?"

Isabelle jerked her head up. "You have all the answers. Why don't you tell me?"

Blossom stood so close to Isabelle she could feel the heat emanating from the large woman's body. Isabelle would normally resent the invasion of her personal space, but after the trauma of the past twenty-four hours, she found Blossom's presence oddly comforting. "I think maybe your husband is testing you."

Isabelle's throat thickened, and she fought back tears. She was certain Edward was testing her. And she was sure to fail, just as she'd failed all the previous times.