13. Snake in the Grass

Chapter 13

Snake in the Grass

"I don't think we have any more room to stack stuff in here until we clear some of those piles out," Joy announced. They'd polished off lunch hours ago, and she was wrung out.

"There's a women's shelter that serves the counties on the Western Slope. Why don't I take the household items and clothes there? That'll clear some room."

"I'd love that. And I don't just mean freeing up space but giving it to people who really need it." She'd never considered donating her clothes back in Chicago. She had merely tossed them or handed them off to the cleaning lady for her daughter as soon as the next fashion came along and made her outfits obsolete.

Joy's nail snagged on a piece of lace curtain. "By the way, do you know where I could get a manicure around here?"

"You're asking me ?" Hailey held up her hands for Joy to inspect.

All right, so Hailey wasn't the expert Joy needed. "Well, yeah."

"I think Luanne does them in her home. Do you want me to ask?" When Joy gave her a puzzled look, Hailey added, "Luanne is one of Noah's servers. She was on shift the other night but wasn't working in your section, so you probably didn't notice her. She's a hardworking lady with lots of side hustles so she can support herself and her teenage son."

Would this woman have the knowledge—and the equipment—to do gels? As Joy eyed the heap of sad clothing, she had to ask herself if, in the grand scheme of things, her nails really mattered when some women didn't even have clothes to call their own.

"Yes, please ask her." What the hell? Maybe Joy could contribute to the woman's livelihood, gels or no gels.

Hailey left with a promise to help again tomorrow if Joy needed it, and Joy quickly accepted the offer. Not only did Hailey's presence keep her focused, but it made the task less overwhelming. The camaraderie also kept her demons at bay.

With Hailey gone, Joy didn't have the will or the energy to resume the sorting, so she checked email on her phone. Between her smartphone and her smarter PA, she'd managed to keep in touch where she needed to, but if she was going to stay in this town a little longer, it was probably time to get internet. Did they even have internet? Of course they did, or how else could the businesses operate their point-of-sale systems?

You're being too tough on this town , inner Joy admonished.

She had just picked up her device when the front door opened, tinkling the little bell above it. That bell, pleasant as it sounded, was a harbinger of uninvited visitors. Now it announced the arrival of a snowy-haired stranger. On closer inspection, his long hair was actually a blond so pale it appeared white, and the thought occurred he bleached it. His forty-something face had an orange fake-tan cast to it, and his baby-pink Versace polo shirt seemed purposely a size too small so it would display the muscles on his muscles. He reminded her of the egocentric CEOs she often dealt with, complete with the premium label clothes, minus the bodybuilder physique. This broad-chested guy was obviously very conscious—and quite proud—of his appearance, but the appeal he was trying to project had the opposite effect. It was a total turnoff.

Just as her inner voice was calling out her kettle labeling the pot black, Hulk closed the door and gave her a laser-white smile. He held out his hand in introduction.

"I'm Bruno Keating. You might have heard of me? I own a well-known restaurant one street over. "

She shook, giving him her extra firm grip. "Dell's?"

His expression turned smug. "You have heard of me."

Joy folded her arms across her chest. "Not until yesterday, when your contractor stopped by to see if he could convince me to use him to renovate this place."

"And was he successful?"

She decided against sharing with this bozo that all Carl Weatherly had managed to do was solidify her choice of contractors. "I have a number of options. I'm weighing them all."

Bruno parked his hands on his hips, making a big deal out of flashing his Rolex and a gold pinkie ring with a diamond way too big for the setting. Opulence on full display. He gave the interior of the shop a deliberate sweep of his gaze before settling his eyes back on her. They were an icy blue, not so different from Hailey's, but unlike hers, his held no warmth. Only a cunning, calculating coldness.

"You're the executor of Helene's estate, correct?"

Joy nodded.

"While you're weighing those options, here's another one for you to throw into the mix."

Keeping her face bland and her body perfectly still, she waited. The silence on his part was premeditated; he wanted her to jump in so he could read her reaction and plan accordingly. When she didn't give him that satisfaction, he cleared his throat. "I understand you're not too enamored of our little oasis in the mountains and that you're anxious to get back to Chicago."

How does he know that? Hailey's words about people in small towns knowing your business floated back. Joy neither acknowledged nor denied, merely lifted an eyebrow in answer.

Bruno continued. "I'll take it off your hands now , cash on the barrelhead. No inspections, no appraisals, no hoops to jump through. Nice and easy and quick." He made a gliding motion with his hand—the one sporting the clunky ring. "The only thing I need is clear title, and we can get that resolved in a few days."

"I suppose you have a figure in mind?"

"I do." He launched into a laundry list of everything that was wrong with the place, along with a few things that could be wrong with the place, building up to the big reveal: a number that was a quarter of the lowest range Charlie had quoted when they'd tossed around values.

Joy stifled an outraged laugh as Bruno studied her with his beady blue eyes, using her most even tone. "Are you willing to put that in writing?"

An evil grin split his burnt-orange face. "Happy to. Shall I write up a contract that spells out the terms? I'm an attorney. From Aspen."

Was this her cue to gasp? Puh-leeze. He wasn't the only one with a law degree in this room, though she wasn't about to flaunt it or give him any hints of who he was dealing with. "A letter of intent will be sufficient."

He raised an eyebrow, opened his mouth, closed it, and raised his other eyebrow. "That's not as binding as a contract. Makes it risky for you if I withdraw the LOI."

She was mildly surprised he hadn't thrown in a "little lady."

"I'm willing to take that risk."

His tan face darkened to a ruddy red. "All right," he blustered. "If that's what you want." An idea seemed to strike, and his tone became more conciliatory. "Why don't I do this, Joy? I'll include a signature line at the bottom where you can accept the offer after you've had a chance to look over the letter. It's the best offer you're going to get."

"I appreciate that, Mr. Keating."

"Bruno. Please." He flashed her another disingenuous smile, like a light switching on.

Matching his fake smile, she opened the door as a silent signal for him to get the hell out. "Thank you, Bruno. I look forward to seeing that letter."

She closed and locked the door, feeling an overwhelming need to take a shower. Instead, she turned her attention to the defensive chord twanging deep in her chest for Charlie Hunnicutt, the man who thought it was sacrilege not to turn this broken-down building into a gleaming grande dame—yes, the man who was advocating to save the very thing she needed to destroy in order to bury her painful memories.

Though her inner self advised she slow down and re-analyze her options from every angle, that voice was puny—because it was being shouted down by outrage. Joy's impulse control checked out and went on hiatus. With it in her rearview mirror, she picked up her phone and swiped a number. Her call was answered on the first ring.

"Past Perfect Restorations. "

"Hi, Charlie. This is Joy Holiday. I'd like to know if your offer to partner on this project still stands."

Charlie sat behind the wheel of his parked truck, staring at his phone for a beat before putting it back to his ear. "Yeah, definitely. When do you want to meet?"

"Now works." Joy's voice was neutral without a hint of a bite, and try though he might, he couldn't detect any deceit either. "Give me fifteen. Do I need to bring food?" Christ, that woman could eat! Where the fuck she put it all, he had no idea.

She laughed, and the sound was surprisingly … warm. "No, thanks. Your brother already took care of that." She explained how Hailey had been helping her and how Noah had brought them lunch. "Best stew I've had in a long time, and that's saying something when you consider where I live."

"Dewey's Irish stew is the best. I'm sorry I missed it, but I'm glad you got to try it. What about coffee? Are you set in that department?"

"For now, though I really need to invest in a coffeemaker. Does Amazon Prime deliver here?"

"Of course," he scoffed. "It might not always be a two-day window, but it's usually close. If you want something sooner, there's a Walmart Supercenter in Montrose. It's about a three-hour round trip."

She gave him a noncommittal, "Huh," in response. Joy Holiday had probably never set foot in a Walmart in her entire life.

They hung up, and he executed an unrestrained fist pump. "Yes!" This was better than he could have hoped for. What had changed her mind?

With a little more pep in his step, he strode from his vehicle to the job site he'd pulled up to moments before, a new build a few miles outside of Fall River proper.

Cully shaded his eyes with his hand. "What are you so happy about?"

Charlie slapped him on the arm, a little harder than necessary. Felt good. "I'm happy to see you , bro. Where the hell have you been? "

Cully jabbed a thumb over his shoulder. "I had some, uh, family stuff come up I needed to deal with." The guy was lying, no doubt about it. It wasn't only the whiff of beer coming off him; it was his shifty eyes that darted here and there and refused to look squarely at Charlie.

Charlie decided to press. "Yeah? Everyone all right? Your mom? Your sister?"

"Yeah, yeah, they're fine. It was just, uh …"

"You got girlfriend trouble?"

"Yeah, that's it."

"Hmm. Didn't know you were seeing anyone. Women, though, God love 'em. They make our lives pure bliss and pure hell, don't they? From the look on your face, I'd say it's hell for you right now."

An awkward half-smile adorned Cully's face. "Little of both." Yep, lying through his teeth, though Charlie couldn't figure out what the guy was trying to hide.

"Well, you're gonna want to be sure you show up for work, Cully, or else I'll have to let you go. No money equals hell on steroids with that lady of yours, which eventually leads to no lady." Charlie was talking out of his ass, trying to smooth his way into Cully's brain—which was a bag full of leaping crickets—and figure out what the hell the guy was up to. It wasn't family trouble, and it wasn't woman trouble either, unless it had to do with whether he had enough scratch to talk one into going to bed with him. The purple bags under his eyes and his greasy, disheveled hair pointed to something altogether different.

"You're not telling me anything I don't already know," Cully griped.

Charlie parked his hands on his hips and ducked to look Cully in the eye. "I need you here, Cully, running these guys. I can't be everywhere at once, and right now I need to spend my time hunting down more business. You're my lieutenant, and I trust you to cover me while I take care of the bigger picture. Like right now. I need to get to an important meeting." It was true, and while Charlie didn't mind lining up work, he liked to balance that part of the business with the escapism that came from working with wood. There had been too little of that lately.

"Lining up another project, boss ?" Cully grinned, but it held no amusement, and the way he said "boss" … like it was a bitter pill sitting on his tongue.

Charlie had a bad feeling about this .

As he strode to his truck, one of the new temporary workers headed him off. Felix, recently from Venezuela, spoke to him in broken English. "You have more work for me, Mr. Charlie?"

Charlie liked the guy. In his late thirties or early forties, he wasn't very skilled, but he tried to make up for it by working his ass off and bringing an unending eagerness to learn. Charlie also appreciated the fact that though Felix knew Charlie spoke Spanish, he tried addressing him in English.

"Yeah, Felix. I have work for you," Charlie replied in Spanish. "Tomorrow, I want you to meet me at a new demo project. I'll be able to keep you busy the rest of this week." As Charlie gave him the address for Crystal Harmony Haven, Felix's smile stretched so wide Charlie thought his face might break. "For the rest of today, I want you to keep an eye on this project. You'll be my second while you're here."

Felix's dark eyes widened. "Second to Mr. Cully?"

Charlie held a finger to his lips. "It's our secret. Don't say anything, don't do anything. Just observe and report back to me, okay?" He trusted Felix more than he trusted Cully right now, which was a disturbing state of affairs. He took solace from the fact that a hard worker like Felix was a good addition to his depleted team. Why not reward the guy for his effort and his attitude?

Felix bowed his head too many times to count. "Yes, Mr. Charlie. Yes. I watch. I let you know."

"Good man." Charlie grasped his shoulder and spun toward his truck, turning his attention to the other big mystery. What the hell had possessed Joy Holiday to change her mind so quickly? Was it guilt over her scene with Bea—to whom he owed an extra dose of groveling? No, Joy didn't know what guilt was. So who did he owe for this sudden turnaround?

Had to be Hailey.

It didn't matter. He only cared that he had another shot at convincing Ms. Uptight to do the full reno. Charlie was good at helping people share his vision. Besides, she owed him.

Seated behind the steering wheel, he ran through ways the conversation could go in his head and prepared himself to pull out all the stops to save the old beauty that housed the crystals shop. An annoying little voice in the back corner of his brain told him to be careful what he wished for—partnering with that woman and her sharp tongue might be the death of him. But if she pushed too hard, Joy Holiday would discover he had a stubborn streak as wide as Colorado's eastern plains.