The Three Sisters Inn

THREE

Cal let himself in the side door of the Unger mansion, toolbox in hand. He’d told Katherine that he’d fix the loose post on the main staircase, but that wasn’t his only reason for being there.

He’d been mulling it over, praying about it, most of the day. Prayer was still new enough to him that he wondered sometimes whether he ought to be asking for guidance about simple everyday things. Still, it was comforting to feel that Someone cared.

And this wasn’t a selfish thing. He wanted a sense of whether he should speak to Andrea about her grandmother. Seemed to him the answer was yes, although that might just be his need to do something.

Two years ago, he’d have found it laughable to think he’d be so concerned about an elderly woman who wasn’t even a relative, but he hadn’t been much of a human being, either, back then. Now—well, he cared about Katherine Unger.

Katherine was kind, proud and too stubborn to ask for help even when she needed it. She’d be appalled, probably, if she realized how much he’d learned about her concerns just by listening. If she knew he intended to talk to Andrea, she’d be outraged.

But someone had to. Emma Zook could, but she might be too much in awe of Katherine to do it. So he would. He reached the stairs and pulled out a hammer. He’d been watching for an opportunity to speak to Andrea alone since she’d returned from the hospital, but she’d been holed up in the second-floor family quarters. Maybe a little noise would draw her out.

Sure enough, it didn’t take more than a few hearty blows with the hammer before Andrea appeared at the top of the stairs, looking annoyed. She marched down to him.

“What are you doing?” She’d exchanged the pants and jacket she’d been wearing this morning for a pair of dark jeans and a green top that matched her eyes. “I’m trying to do some work upstairs.”

“Sorry. You brought work with you?”

“Of course. I couldn’t just walk out in the middle of the week.”

Even when rushing to her sister’s side, she hadn’t left the job that seemed so important to her. She reminded him of himself, the way he used to be. That probably went a long way toward explaining why she annoyed him so much. He wasn’t too fond of that guy.

He rested his elbow on the banister. “Wouldn’t your boss give you a break under the circumstances?”

For a moment she hesitated, and he could almost read her thoughts. She had the kind of superior who wouldn’t, as a matter of fact, and she didn’t want to admit it.

“I didn’t ask,” she said finally. “I have responsibilities, and I meet them.” She frowned. “What are you doing here, anyway?”

“Katherine asked me to take care of this loose place in the banister.” He wiggled the carved wood gently, mindful of its delicate reeding. “I had time to get to it this afternoon.”

“I didn’t realize you work for my grandmother.”

“I don’t. I’m just being neighborly.” He still hadn’t figured out the best approach. “Look, I know this is none of my business—”

“But it’s not going to stop you,” she finished for him. “All right. You won’t be content until you have your say, so get it over with.” She planted one hand on the railing, standing up a step so that their faces were level.

“You don’t beat around the bush, do you?”

“I try not to.” A slight frown appeared between her brows. “Does that bother you?”

“On the contrary, it makes it easier.” If she wanted it straight from the hip, she’d get it. “Your grandmother and sister have been running themselves ragged, trying to get the inn ready. They needed help even before Rachel was hurt, but now it’s worse. With Rachel in the hospital, your grandmother shouldn’t be in the house alone. Did she tell you she’s spotted a prowler out in the grounds recently?”

She sent him a startled glance, hand tightening on the railing. “No. Did she call the police?”

“By the time they got here, the person was long gone.” He shrugged. “They didn’t take it too seriously, figuring it was just someone curious about the inn. Still, there have been some minor incidents of vandalism in the area lately and a few break-ins. I’ve been trying to keep an eye on things. But she shouldn’t be staying here at night by herself.”

“You’re right about that.” She sounded faintly bewildered that she was agreeing with him. “As for the rest, I’m not sure how best to help her.”

He was surprised that she was taking it so well, but perhaps she’d been giving some thought to the problem. She just hadn’t come to the right conclusion yet.

“Move in, take over for Rachel, get the inn up and running,” he said promptly. “Your grandmother can’t do it by herself.”

“My job—”

“—can get along without you for a while.”

“You don’t know that.” If her glare had been a blow, it would have knocked him over. “I’d be risking a lot to stay here now.”

“I get it. I had bosses like that once.” He had a feeling he’d been that kind of a boss.

“Then you should understand. Maybe I can hire someone to help out.”

He shook his head. “I’m not saying more workers wouldn’t make things go faster, but what’s needed is someone to oversee the whole project. Your grandmother isn’t up to that anymore.”

“You think I don’t know that?” She fired up instantly. “She shouldn’t be attempting something so ambitious at her age. She ought to just relax and enjoy life.”

“How is she supposed to do that? What’s she going to live on, air?” He clamped his mouth shut. He’d gone too far, even though his intentions were good.

“What are you implying?” She grabbed his arm to keep him from stepping away. “My grandmother doesn’t need to worry about money.”

Was she putting on a front?

“Maybe you ought to have a serious conversation with your grandmother.”

Her grip tightened. “Tell me what you meant. What do you know, or think you know?”

Fine, then. “I know I offered to lend her the money for the renovations, but she took out a loan on the house instead. I know Emma works for free half the time. I know the signs of financial trouble. If someone doesn’t step in, namely you, your grandmother could lose this place that means the world to her.”

He yanked his arm free and grabbed the toolbox.

“I’ll come back later and fix this.”

Andrea was actually shaking. She watched Cal’s broad back as he retreated down the hall. She should talk to Grams—no, she should find out first from someone she trusted if there was any truth to Cal’s allegations. Emma. Emma knew everything that went on here.

But even as she thought it, there was a tap on the front door, followed by a quick, “Anyone here?”

“Uncle Nick.” She hurried to the door, to be swept into a hug. Soft whiskers and a scent of peppermint—that was Uncle Nick.

He held her at arm’s length. “Well, if you’re not a sight for sore eyes, Andrea. You’re looking beautiful, as always.”

“And you’re the biggest flatterer in town, as always. You haven’t aged a bit.”

She made the expected response automatically, but it was true. Maybe the beard and hair were a little whiter, his figure in the neat blue suit just a bit stouter, but his cheeks were still rosy and firm as apples. He had an aura of permanence and stability that was very welcome.

“Ah, don’t tell me that. I know better.” He shook his head. “This is a sad business about Rachel.”

She linked her arm with his. “She’s going to make a complete recovery—the doctors have promised. Come into the library. We have to talk.”

He lifted bushy white eyebrows. “Where’s your grandmother?”

“Taking a nap, thank goodness. She needs one, after yesterday’s upsets.”

He nodded, glancing around the room and taking in the computer setup and file cabinets. “It’s sad to see this fine old room turned into an office. What your grandfather would have said, I don’t know.”

There didn’t seem to be an answer to that. She gestured him to a chair, sitting down opposite him.

He was surveying her with shrewd, kind blue eyes. “You’re worried, aren’t you? Tell Uncle Nick about it.”

She had to smile. He wasn’t really their uncle, nor was his name Nick. Caroline had called him that when she was three because to her eyes, James Bendick, Grandfather’s junior partner, looked like St. Nicholas.

“That’s what you always said. And you solved our problems with chocolate and peppermints.”

“It’s a good solution.”

“Not for this problem.” The worry, dissipated for a moment in the pleasure of seeing him, weighed on her again. “Tell me the truth, Uncle Nick. Is Grams in financial trouble?”

“Who told you that? Not your grandmother.” His voice had sharpened.

“No. Cal Burke told me. He seems to think she could lose the house.”

“I’d call that an exaggeration.” He frowned. “And I’m not sure what business it is of his, in any event.”

“Never mind him. Tell me what’s going on. I thought Grandfather left her well-off. I’ve never questioned that.”

“Your grandmother never questioned it, either. Sad to say, maybe she should have.”

“But the properties, his investments…” She couldn’t believe it. “Explain it to me.”

Uncle Nick’s lips puckered. “I’m not sure I should. Your grandmother—”

“Grams is depending on me.” Normally she’d appreciate his discretion, but not now. “I have to know what’s wrong in order to help her.”

He hesitated, looking distressed. Finally he nodded. “Your grandfather decided, a few years before his death, to sell most of his properties. He didn’t want to take care of them.”

“I thought he enjoyed that.” One of her earliest memories was of riding along with Grandpa when he went out the first day of every month to collect the rents from his tenants. That had been her first taste of business, and she’d wanted to be just like him.

Uncle Nick shrugged. “People change. He wanted to invest the money himself.” His gaze dropped. “He wasn’t very good. If only he’d held on to the property until the real estate market went up, your grandmother would be sitting pretty.”

“As it is…” She could hardly take it in. Still, she’d certainly known how determined Grandpa was to do as he chose. Something chilled inside her. She, of all people, knew just how stubborn he could be.

“She has this place left, but not enough to maintain it.” His voice was brisk, as if he didn’t want to dwell on what had been. “I’m not sure how you feel about this idea of theirs to turn the place into an inn.”

“I think it’s a bad move,” she said promptly. “Rachel is a great cook, but she doesn’t know anything about running an inn. And Grams doesn’t need the stress at her age.”

Nick beamed at her as if they were the only two sensible people left on earth. “The practical course is for your grandmother to sell. She could pay off the home equity loan she took for the renovations and have enough to live very comfortably for the rest of her life.”

“I wish she agreed.”

He nodded. “She has her own stubborn streak, that’s for sure. I was worried about her living here alone since your grandfather died, but she’d never listen to me. It was a little better after Rachel moved back, but even so…”

“Cal Burke is out at the barn.” With the phone he never answered. What good did that do?

“Burke.” He repeated the name. “I suppose he’s better than nothing, but what do we know about him?”

Not much. She shared his concern.

“And there have been a rash of thefts. People breaking into isolated farmhouses. You know what this area is like—folks have lived here for generations, never giving a thought that Great-aunt Eva’s dough box might be worth a small fortune to a crooked dealer.”

She almost wished she hadn’t asked, but it was better to face the facts, no matter how unpleasant.

“What are we going to do?” It was good to feel that she had an ally. “Rachel and Grams want me to stay and open the inn. They don’t seem to understand that I have a position I can’t walk away from.”

He patted her hand. “If you make it clear you can’t, they’d have to face facts.”

“I’ve tried. Without success.”

“You’ll have to keep trying.” He rose. “Give my best to your grandmother, and tell Rachel that I’ll see her later.” He gave her a quick hug. “I know you’ll do the right thing. You always do.”

“Can I carry that for you, Andrea?”

Andrea stopped reluctantly. She’d noticed Cal down the block when she’d left Snyder’s General Store to walk back to the house, but she hadn’t been eager to talk to him. Just because he was right about her grand-mother’s finances didn’t mean she had to like it.

He caught up with her, and she handed over the shopping bag, taking in the dress shirt and neat gray slacks he wore. She blinked, exaggerating her surprise.

“You didn’t know I’d clean up this well, did you?” He smiled, apparently ready to forgive and forget.

“Have a hot date?”

“No, just out for supper at the Dutch Inn. It’s chicken and dumpling night. What about you?”

She gestured toward the bag he now carried. “Grams needed a few things from the store, and I didn’t want to drive to New Holland to the supermarket.”

“So you went to Snyder’s, where you get a hot serving of gossip with every bag of groceries.”

She couldn’t stop a smile. “Some things never change.”

“Did you get the latest popular opinion on who I am and why I’m here?”

She was surprised that he spoke so easily about it. “Opinion is divided. You’re either a famous author hiding from a deranged fan or a bank robber sitting on his loot until it cools off. That one came from Etta Snyder’s ten-year-old son. Her teenage daughter considers you a tragic figure recovering from a terrible loss.”

She felt a sudden qualm. What if any of them proved true?

But he didn’t seem affected. “I’ll let you guess which it is.” They walked past the Village Soda Shop and Longstreet’s Antiques, their steps matching. “Did you get the whole scoop from Bendick? I saw him come in.”

She stiffened. Her family troubles weren’t his affair. Didn’t he understand that?

His eyebrows lifted. “Okay. Right. I’m interfering.”

She fought with herself for a moment. Interfering. Aggravating. But he already knew, so who was she kidding by refusing to answer him?

“Uncle Nick confirmed what you said.” She bit off the words, resenting the fact that he’d known what she should have.

“Sorry. I wish I’d been wrong.” His voice had just the right degree of sympathy.

Some of her resentment ebbed away. This wasn’t his fault. “I can’t grasp it. When I was small, I thought my grandfather was the wisest, kindest man in the world.”

Her opinion about the kindness had changed when Grandfather let them go without a word, writing them out of his life except for the college funds he’d provided. Surely he could have mended the quarrel with Mom if he’d really cared about them. But even so, she’d never doubted his business acumen.

“You can still have good memories of him.” His tone warmed.

She could only nod, her throat choking up. She would like to remember Grandfather as she’d once seen him, without thinking about how he’d let her and her sisters down. Or how he’d apparently failed Grams.

“Why didn’t my grandmother tell me? I would have helped.”

She could feel his gaze on her face. “Maybe it doesn’t matter why. Now that you know, you’ll do the right thing.”

He sounded like an echo of Uncle Nick, except that they didn’t agree about what that right thing was.

“Uncle Nick told me he’s been worried about Grams. He said there have been problems with antique thieves. That prowler you mentioned—” She came to a stop, frowning at him.

He stopped, too, leaning an elbow on top of the stone wall that surrounded the church across the street from Grams’s house. “Could be connected, I suppose.”

“Nick said they hit isolated farmhouses. Grams’s place is right on the edge of the village.”

“It’s also big, concealed by plenty of trees and out-buildings, and for the most part has had only one elderly woman in residence. There aren’t any houses to the east, and in the back, the farms are too far away for troublemakers to be spotted.” His frown deepened as he looked across the road toward the house.

She shivered a little at the thought. He was right—the mansion was isolated in spite of the fact that it fronted on the main road. Crossings Road, where Rachel had been injured, snaked along one side, leading toward distant farms and making it easy for someone to approach from the back. “Surely no one would try to break into the house.”

“They wouldn’t have to. The outbuildings are crammed to the roof with stuff. Furniture, mostly. And that’s not including the attics of the house itself. No one knows what’s there.”

“You mean there’s no inventory?”

His lips twisted in a wry smile. “I’m sure you’d have a tidy inventory, with the approximate value listed for every item.”

“Of course I would.” Her voice was tart. He didn’t need to act as if efficiency were a sin. “For insurance purposes, if nothing else.”

“That’s how your mind works, but not your grandmother’s.”

“I suppose not.” Her grandmother was an odd mixture—clever about people, but naive about business, which had been her husband’s prerogative. “You’re trying to give me nightmares, aren’t you?”

He gave a rueful smile and shoved away from the wall. “Sorry about that.” He touched her hand in a brief gesture of sympathy. Warmth shimmered across her skin and was gone. “I figured I shouldn’t be the only one.”

Andrea was still wrestling with the difficulties when she went up to her room that evening, hoping to concentrate on some work. A half-dozen times she’d nearly confronted Grams about the financial situation, but each time a look at her grandmother stopped her. Grams looked so tired. So old.

She’d never thought of her grandmother as needing someone to take care of her. Now she’d have to, even though she suspected Grams wouldn’t take kindly to any suggestion that she couldn’t manage her own affairs.

Well, she’d let the topic ride until tomorrow, at least. Maybe by then she’d have come up with some tactful way of approaching the subject and Grams would, she hoped, have had a decent night’s sleep.

She opened her laptop. In an instant she was completely engrossed in work.

Finally the numbers began to blur on the screen. She got up, stretching, and walked to the window. Full dark had settled in, and her attention had been so focused on the computer screen that she hadn’t even noticed. Maybe she’d been trying to shut out the human problems that she found so much more difficult to deal with than figures.

Her eyes gradually grew accustomed to the darkness. She could make out the pond now, the forsythia bushes along it, and the pale line that was the flagstone path.

She stiffened. There—by the toolshed. That wasn’t a bush—it was a person. She froze, watching the faint gleam of a shielded light cross the door of the shed.

He was breaking in. She whirled, racing out of the room and across the hall to burst in on her grandmother, who sat up in bed with a Bible on her lap. Barney jumped up, ears pricking.

“Andrea, what—”

“There’s someone prowling around by the toolshed. Call the police and alert Cal. I’m going to turn the outside lights on.”

She could hear Grams protesting as she bolted down the stairs, the dog at her heels.

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