Page 12 of Flippin' Cowboy
This town was just waiting for a preservationist’s touch to bring its historic district back to vibrant life. A familiar jolt of excitement raced through him, and he fought the temptation to stop his car and explore.
Time enough for that later, he told himself.
If this initial meeting with Ms. Jones and Mrs. Snowberry went the way he hoped, maybe he’d get the chance to work on some of these buildings in future seasons ofReviving Snowberry Springs.
Still, he couldn’t resist the temptation to drive all the way around the square, taking in the sights, before following the map app’s demands that he head down a street that ran parallel to the railroad tracks.
A cluster of vehicles parked along the side of the street in front of a wide, overgrown lot alerted Nick he’d reached his destination.
He parked behind a white Toyota Tundra with Washington State license plates and got out.
His heart began beating faster as he spotted a wide, elegant two-story brick Victorian mansion looming behind an enormous hedge of spiky, dark-green holly bushes heavily dusted with snow.
A rusted wrought-iron gate set into the hedge squealed loudly on its hinges as he pushed it open.
Someone had halfheartedly shoveled a narrow path to the mansion’s wide, roofed front porch. He strode up an uneven brick walkway marred by missing bricks, then stopped to evaluate the building’s exterior.
On the phone last week, Mrs. Snowberry had told him the house was originally built in 1883 as a residence by her husband’s great-great-grandmother, Caroline Snowberry. The next owners had converted the mansion into The Snowberry Springs Inn during the Roaring Twenties and constructed a spa pavilion in the back garden to channel a natural hot spring on the grounds.
The inn and spa had remained in operation until ten years ago, when the current owner passed away without a will. Since then, the building had stood vacant.
Nick pulled out his tablet and took a photo of the house. Then he began jotting down a running list of needed repairs as he studied the mansion.
Other than the porch, which was missing most of its original slender turned columns and railings, the building looked better than expected from the outside.
The white dentil molding running under the eaves appeared to be original, as did the double-hung windows and the stained-glass transom over the modern front door.
All of the woodwork and trim direly needed restoration and painting, but most of it appeared salvageable.
The most urgent issue was the roof. Someone had replaced the original cedar shakes with cheap asphalt shingles that looked way past their expiration date.
He caught the faint sound of voices inside the house and snapped out of his reverie. The porch steps creaked and bounced alarmingly under his boot soles as he approached the ugly 1960s-era front door.
He couldn’t help glancing at the roofed porch that stretched nearly the width of the mansion’s front. Both the wide painted flooring boards and the narrow planks of the porch ceiling were in bad shape.
A faded plastic plaque fastened to the brick beside the front door read, “Welcome to the Snowberry Springs Inn & Spa. This Way to Check-In Desk.”
He tried the doorknob. It turned easily in his hand, though the door stuck in the frame when he pushed gently.
“—it might be more cost-effective to demolish this building and sell the land than it will be to fix all the problems and restore everything,” he overheard a woman say somewhere inside the mansion.
What the fuck?Nick thought, overcome with fury.Did The Renovation Channel lure me all the way out here in the middle of winter just to propose sacrilege? There’s nothing wrong with this house that a little TLC can’t fix!
Desperate to get inside before anyone made a final decision regarding this building’s fate, Nick rammed the door with his shoulder.
Chapter 5: The Devil in a Pink Tool Belt
The door stuck fast in its frame for an instant longer before whooshing open.
Two women, one petite and silver-haired, the other taller by a head and at least forty years younger, turned to face him with startled expressions. The younger woman wore a heavy parka with The Renovation Channel’s logo embroidered on the breast and upper sleeve. Brand-new, dark-blue jeans hugged her long, sturdy legs above well-worn steel-toed work boots.
She had big hazel eyes and long brown hair caught up in a ponytail under a wide knitted fuchsia pink headband, and a wide, generous mouth outlined in pale pink lip gloss.
Is this Karla Jones?Nick wondered.
She looked familiar, though he couldn’t place her.
“Demolishit? Over my dead body!” he snarled. He glared at the older woman. “Mrs. Snowberry, when I invested in this project, youpromisedme we’d save it and restore it to its former glory!”
