Page 16 of Dangerous December
“Good to meet you, Carl.”
Overhead, a massive chandelier hung in the center of the two-story entryway. Beyond lay a wide hallway flanked by a curving, open staircase with a dark, burnished oak railing.
Beth had always been as intimidated by the grandeur of the house as she’d been by her in-laws’ subtle disapproval.
From the stiff set of Dev’s shoulders, he didn’t have happy memories about the place, either.
No wonder.
With his mother’s charitable works and social life, and his father’s total dedication to medicine, they’d earned sterling reputations in town. But they sure hadn’t put a priority on understanding and supporting their only child’s wishes.
Carl led them to the dining room, where the gleaming cherrywood dining room table and chairs for twelve still took center stage.
A patrician silver-haired man, probably in his early sixties, studied them as they walked in.
Beth recognized the austere, elegant woman across from him as an infrequent customer at the bookstore. Her upswept, coal-black hair and perfect manicure were badges of prosperity, so what was she doing here?
Carl cleared his throat. “This is Frank Ferguson and Reva Young. Our newest residents, Elana Mendez and her boy, couldn’t be here.”
Beth cast a quick glance at Dev, but he shook his head slightly, turning the discussion over to her.
“As you know, Dev and I are taking over the management of Sloane House, to satisfy the promises his mother made to each of you. We’d like to meet with each of you privately to discuss your concerns and needs. But first, are there any questions we should address with the group?”
Carl scowled. “About the costs...are they going to be the same?”
Wishing Dev had been more willing to discuss details out on the porch, she shot another glance at him. At his almost imperceptible shrug, she continued.
“According to the Sloane House financial records, you all pay a flat hundred-dollar monthly rent for your room, plus a hundred dollars for your share of the food, supplies, and lawn care. We have no plans to change that at this time.”
Pugnacious as a boxer spoiling for a fight, Carl sat forward with his jaw jutting, drumming his fingers on the table. “When do you plan to kick us all out and close this place?”
“The agreement you had with Vivian was for a six-month stay—renewable based on need, on a case-by-case basis. Her will stated that should she pass away, the full six-month period would start fresh for everyone living here.”
“Then what?”
“We’ll do our best to help you all get a good start at renewed independence,” Beth assured him. “Just like Vivian did. No one will be thrown out in the street. If there are problems, we’ll talk. However, this was never intended to be a long-term boarding house.”
Beth felt a tug at her heart when Carl nodded bleakly. For all his crotchety bluster, he wasafraid.
Whatwouldhappen to these people if successful independence wasn’t attainable within six months or even a year? She shuddered.
If Nora and Harold were ruthless in assessing progress per the terms of Vivian’s will, Stan would inherit everything, kick these poor people out of Sloane House, and lead the town to ruin.
So much hinged on how well she and Dev could work together. She’d forgiven him for the past...but could she trust him to follow through?
CHAPTER SIX
After fielding a few more questions, Beth and Dev moved to the parlor across the hall to meet with the residents individually. With each passing hour, Beth’s concern grew. Was it evenpossibleto meet the stipulations of Vivian’s will?
Carl was a childless widower with no family to watch over him. Asthma and advancing congestive heart failure had led to his early retirement at fifty-six, with a minimal railroad pension and little stamina for the only kind of blue-collar work he knew.
He was regaining his strength after a subsequent heart attack. But, disabled at fifty-eight, was he even able to be self-supporting? And would anyone actually hire an older man with such a dour outlook on life?
Reva Young came in next. At close range, her perfectly coiffed black hair revealed a band of silver at the roots. Her bearing was regal as she settled into a chair and folded her hands primly in her lap.
The tight compression of her lips and her white knuckles betrayed her anxiety. She eyed the leather folder on the end table next to Beth’s chair as if it were a snake ready to strike. “I suppose you have information about all of us. Is there anything left to say?”
Beneath the acid tone, Beth heard a glimmer of fear.
