Page 25 of The Fixer

“Who did you pick?”

Mary’s voice was charged with challenge, and Joy’s defensive dander got up. “Past Perfect Restorations. My research indicated they’re the best at dealing with these old structures, and there’s no one with a better reputation within a hundred-mile radius.”

“Charlie Hunnicutt? Exactly who I would have recommended, had you asked my opinion.” An unexpected compliment laced with a barb that struck at Joy’s frail fortress walls. She took a swig of water to counter the sting. Mary’s voice took on a wicked tone. “Not to mention that man is what dreams are made of.”

Joy nearly choked on her sip. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me. Even you, Joy Holiday, are not immune to those eyes … those muscles … that flowing blond hair.”

“He doesn’t have flowing blond hair!” she sputtered. Had she just admitted to admiring his eyes and his muscles? Crap!

“That’s a crying shame, though it doesn’t take away from the other stuff, including the tats. Yum.”

Mary had never mentioned men and appeal in the same sentence, and Joy’s head spun. The effect paralyzed her mouth.

Mary didn’t seem to notice, running full steam ahead. “Here are my two cents, whether you want them or not. Mom would have been thrilled to know Charlie Hunnicutt was chosen for the job. She loved Charlie—like the rest of the women in town.” Mary dropped her voice into a husky range on the last bit. “He always took care of little things that went wrong with the house and never charged Mom. When he’d be here fixing things, they would talk on and on about improvements and making that place shine for all the town to see. That was a dream of hers, you know, but she ran low on money and faculties, and those hopes faded like her hair color.”

Joy held back a frustrated snort. “Why would I want to risk the estate’s only asset to fulfill the dream of a woman who’s no longer here and who didn’t care enough about me to even tell me shehadthat dream?” The words were out, and she couldn’t reel them back in.

“What exactly is at risk? It should sell for top dollar once it’s done, and we’ll split the profits.”

“And who’s going to pony up the money for this renovation? Mom certainly didn’t leave enough for that kind of extravagance.” Dead silence.I thought so. “You expectmeto pay for it, don’t you?”

“You have more money than God, Joy.” Mary had no clue how much Joy was worth. Nevertheless, her resentment toward whatever she imagined it to be rang clear in the bitterness of her tone.

“That’s a teeny-weeny exaggeration, Mary, but what I do have I worked my ass off for. We all make choices, and you made yours and became a health care professional, for which I commend and admire you. I went a different route, and I’ve done well with it, but I’m not planning to piss it away on someone else’s dream. That would be a nice deal for you, though, wouldn’t it?” Joy’s heart slammed against her chest, and she drew in a deep, calming breath to stave off an anxiety attack.

“What do you mean?” Mary snapped.

“I put up the money and do all the work, while you sit on your hands. Somehow, you still collect half when it sells.”

“Charlie’s the one doing the remodel, not you.”

“Doesn’t work like that. I have a laundry list of responsibilities, including supervision, making sure the utilities stay on, keeping insurance in place, and paying for Charlie’s services and the materials—to name a few.”

“You could pay yourself back from the proceeds. With interest.” Mary didn’t sound quite so bold now.

“Unless the interest rate is bumping up against usury limits, it won’t be enough.”

“You are such a bitch, Joy. No wonder Mom didn’t want you around.” Joy refused to take the bait, pressing her lips together until Mary capitulated. “Fine. Deal with the store howeveryouwant.”

“I will because that’sexactlywhat an executor is supposed to do.” She wanted to add—but refrained—that their mother had chosen Joy because she was the best woman for the job.

They hung up, and Joy caught her breath and brought her pulse back under control. She’d avoided a panic attack, so there was that. Progress.Wait till I tell my therapist. Yay, me!

Absently, she wondered how many more conversations she would have to have with her sister through this process. And would they talk at all once it was over? Other than their parents, they had zero in common, so probably not.

She stood staring at the filthy crystals suspended in the store’s front window. They had been pretty once, their shiny surfaces catching and reflecting the light in tiny prismed rainbows. Now they were caked in years of dust, hidden beneath layers where the light couldn’t reach. It was a sad metaphor for her mother’s last years.

It was also time to purge.

Gnawing on a pieceof leathered jerky, she taped a box together and began sorting debris on the floor so she could clear a path to the crystals.Might as well start somewhere. Some of the items could be donated, while others were headed to the nearest dumpster. But there was a third category she hadn’t expected: pretty things someone might pay for once they were cleaned up. Wasn’t that her job as executor too? To capitalize on anything of value?

A giant geode caught her eye, and she crouched down and traced its grimy surface with her fingers. Thishadto be worth something, didn’t it? Without thinking, she polished its smooth side with her forearm, using her designer sleeve as a buffing cloth. The thing was beautiful, made of turquoise stone ringed in dark blue. Charlie had mentioned a company who did estate sales. Maybe if she—

The front door whooshed open, revealing a fifty-ish portly man with a receding hairline and tinted glasses that changed according to the light. Right now they were a dark blue, quickly clearing to a light blue. He flashed her a white-toothed smile. “Ah, good! I’ve been stopping by for weeks now, hoping to catch someone here.”

Who had left the front door open? Joy had come in the back way.

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