Page 27 of The Fixer

“Past Perfect Restorations, for one. Have you heard of them?” Her voice was so syrupy she could have lured flies with it.

He lowered his voice conspiratorially. “I have, but nothing good, I can tell you that. You should stay away from that bunch. They charge you superior prices for inferior materials, and they cut every corner possible.” He held up his palm like he was being sworn to give testimony.

“Can you give me examples? Maybe a job they did recently where the client was unhappy? I’m just curious.”

He pursed his lips. Now he reminded her of a fish. “I’d rather not say. Professional courtesy, you know? I’m a businessman with integrity. I try not to badmouth other companies.” He beamed again. It was like he had an on-off switch that he flicked, and it was creepy as hell.

Warning lights went off in her head. In her experience, people who had to tell you what they were, were the opposite. Suddenly, all of her wanted this scumbag out of here. Charlie Hunnicutt might be blowing smoke up her ass, but at least he hadsomeredeeming qualities. This guy? She doubted he had even one.

She opened the front door in an invitation for him to leave. Waving his card in the air, she faked a smile of her own. “Thanks for stopping by, Carl. I’ll give you a call when I have more time so we can discuss details.”

“Sure, sure.”

She practically slammed the door on his grinning mug. Then she locked it.

Chapter 8

Battle Lines

When Joy awoke Mondaymorning, her resolve wavered. But then she reminded herself she was the executor of her mother’s estate, and her first priority was due diligence. It was also finding a real shower and strong, hot coffee. The stately hotel had yet to get their plumbing issues resolved.

A stop at Mountain Coffee, then on to her mother’s shop, where she showered and dressed for her showdown. Between the lack of water at the Majestic and the disgusting condition of her mother’s shower, her mood was as sour as week-old milk left out in the sun. Once again she turned over the line Charlie Hunnicutt had fed her. And it had to be a line because it made no sense otherwise. She couldn’t tear down an old building that was more of a hazard than it was a structure? Ha! He wasn’t going to pull the wool over her eyes. She was about to call him on the carpet. The guy obviously had ulterior motives.

She spent a little more time applying her workday makeup, donned her power pantsuit, and slipped on her heels. Out on the sidewalk, she wobbleda bit on the uneven pavement. Tourists dressed in summer casual—shorts, T-shirts, sandals—gave her curious looks as she marched toward town hall.

After locating the building department’s location on the directory in the foyer—if one could call it that—she tromped up the stairs to the second floor and paused a moment to give her lungs a chance to recover after the short workout. She kept forgetting that her body wasn’t accustomed to ten thousand feet in elevation.

Gold lettering on the obscured glass of an old-fashioned door declared this to be the building department. The knob stuck when she tried to turn it—of course it did—so she wrenched it. It slipped from her grasp, and the door banged open, announcing her arrival as all eyes turned to her.

Oops!

A short, tubby, gray-haired woman wearing glasses, who obviously didn’t know a thing about current fashion, eyed Joy warily as she approached the counter.

Joy straightened the hem of her blazer. “I’m Joy Holiday, and I’d like to speak to someone in charge.”

The woman’s eyes narrowed behind her lenses. “About what, if I might ask?”

“About demolishing a building.”

The woman, whose name tag simply said, “Bea,” plucked a stapled sheaf of typewritten papers from a plastic pocket file attached to the wall. “What’s the age of the building?”

Joy flapped a hand. “Late 1800s, maybe early 1900s. I’m not positive.” She’d bet her best pair of Prada slingbacks that Charlie Hunnicutt knew, though.

The woman handed her the bundle, which turned out to be a list of ordinances. “If you’re looking to demolish part of the building in order to renovate, you’ll find our town’s requirements indexed to the building code in here.”

“I’m not looking to demolish part of a building. I want to tear the entire building down.”

A collective gasp went up. Joy surveyed horrified faces—some belonging to employees behind the counter and some to customers like her.

Bea’s brows knotted together in a scowl. “We have strict rules about destroying historical buildings. What’s its condition?”

“Deplorable.”

“Can you be more specific? Does it have a roof? A foundation? Are you able to see the exterior through the inside walls? Does it have electricity? Is there running water? Did a mountain lion take up residence and raise cubs inside of it?”

“Does that really happen?” The thought made Joy’s stomach squishy.

“Sometimes.” Bea drummed her fingers impatiently on the countertop.

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