Back in the kitchen, Liddy loaded the dishwasher, feeling once again the weight of all she’d lost. Seeing Grace here, seated in the same chair she’d sat on so many times as a child, broke Liddy’s heart all over again. If only Jessie and Grace had been able to keep up with their friendship the way Liddy and Maggie had. Would Jessie have confided in Grace, told her why she had to leave this world, if they’d still been close? Would they have been able to stop whatever self-destructive train Jess was on?
Just one more question that will never be answered, Liddy thought as she slowly climbed the steps to the second floor to dress for work.
Between customers, Liddy put in a call to Gretchen Smith, who owned a real estate agency in town.
“Lydia Bryant. So nice to hear from you,” Gretchen said in her usual cheery manner. “How’ve you been? I hear your bookshop is the place to see and be seen in Wyndham Beach.”
“I’ve been fine, Gretchen. And yes, the store is going gangbusters right now. I’m hoping it continues.”
“I apologize for not making it to your opening. With all the new construction on the old Wilson estate on the other side of Route Six, I’ve been busy as a bee in July.”
“What new construction?”
“The new town house development. A first for Wyndham Beach, but a lawsuit was filed a few years ago, calling out the town for not having housing diversity—and let’s face it, we’ve always been mostly single-family homes here in town. Anyway, the suit was settled some months ago, the Wilson property was sold to a developer, and the houses are going up quickly. Not many of them, because the settlement included a restriction on how many lots are permissible on less than an acre of ground. You should come over and take a look. They’re really lovely, and the construction is top notch. You being in that big house all by yourself, a town house could be just the thing.”
“I’m not thinking of moving, Gretchen, but if I were ever to put my house up for sale, you know the listing would go to you.”
“I would hope so, Liddy. Now, if I can’t sell you a town house, what can I do for you?”
“I need a property appraiser. A good one, and I need one fast.”
“I thought you just said you weren’t thinking of selling.”
“There’s a small house on our—my—grounds that’s actually a separately deeded lot. That’s the property I’m selling.”
“Oh. You mean where the insurance office used to be?”
“Exactly. I already have a buyer, but I don’t know what to ask for it, so I need it appraised. It’s in dreadful condition, so I need a number as is.”
“How much ground is it sitting on? Do you know?”
“No. I’m not really sure, but I think the property line is somewhere around the woods behind it. I think the edge of the driveway is the line on the left side if you’re standing in the street, and the right side line is where the big holly bush marks the beginning of the Martins’ property next door. Other than that, I don’t know. Of course it’s marked on the deed, which I do not have in front of me.”
“Not to worry. I can check that easily enough.” Gretchen’s pen could be heard scratching on paper as she made notes.
“Gretchen, are you still writing everything with a fountain pen?”
“Ha ha. Only when I’m in the office. So I’m looking at my list of appraisers. Any of these familiar to you? Assuming you’d prefer someone you know.” She began to read off a list of names, but Liddy stopped her.
“You just pick one. Whoever is fine.”
“All right. Listen, you wouldn’t mind if I stopped down there and took a look at the place, would you?”
“You’re welcome, but Gretchen, I’m not listing it. It’s already spoken for.”
“I understand, but let’s make sure you’re asking the right price. I’ll call someone to appraise and get back to you.” Gretchen hung up.
“I’ll set my own price, thanks anyway,” Liddy said under her breath as she ended the call and placed her phone facedown on the counter.
Within the hour, Gretchen returned the call and confirmed someone would be there that afternoon to take a look.
“Can I pick up the key at the shop?” Gretchen asked.
“I’ll have someone meet you there at four,” Liddy told her.
She walked to the back of the shop and called up the stairs to Grace, who’d breezed in smiling fifteen minutes earlier. “The appraiser will be at the house at four,” Liddy told her when she appeared at the top of the stairs. “Can you be there to open the house?”
“Sure, if you don’t mind my leaving.”
“If I’m telling you to go, I obviously don’t mind. A Realtor is going to be there as well: Gretchen Smith. Do not tell her you’re the buyer, and for the love of all that’s holy, don’t tell her what your plans are. She’ll jack up the price and try to talk me into charging you more.”
“You should charge me what it’s worth, Liddy. But why would she care how much you charge for your property if she isn’t handling the sale?”
“I suspect she’s trying to keep the comps—the comparables in the neighborhood—high. We had this discussion. I will ask what I damn well please.”
There was a customer at the counter, so Liddy returned to take care of him. “I love all the posters,” he told her. “So colorful and imaginative. Are you selling reproductions?”
“We will be in the future, so stay tuned,” she told him, then told him about Jessie. She mentioned she’d sold some of her paintings at the Toller Gallery in Boston.
“Oh, I know it well. I’ll be in the city next weekend, so I’ll be sure to stop in and check out more of her work. Thanks for the tip.” He took his package and smiled at Liddy before leaving the shop.
Evelyn came in at noon and took over at the cash register to give Liddy a break, which she spent in her office, reviewing the orders Grace had placed over the weekend. After a half hour, she went across the street and picked up a pizza to share with Grace and Evelyn. She left the three remaining slices in the box on her desk, intending to wrap them up and put them into the small office refrigerator. When she went back onto the floor, she noticed Fred Lattimore talking to a customer in the nonfiction section. His white hair stuck up in tufts, and he was wearing khaki pants and a wrinkled blue shirt, some of the buttons missing their mark.
As she approached him, she heard him say, “Of course we can order that for you. Any book, really. I probably can have it in for you by Friday, if that’s okay.”
“Oh, that would be great, thanks. I’ll stop back over the weekend.” The customer, a woman who appeared to be Liddy’s age, returned the book she’d been holding to the shelf, thanked Fred again, then left the shop.
Liddy watched Fred straighten out a shelf and then greet a new customer. His gait was uneven, and one look at his feet told the tale: one black shoe, one navy slipper.
“Oh, hello there. Come on in. This your first visit?” He shook the man’s hand. “What can I sell you today?”
Dear Lord, he thinks he still owns this place.
Liddy caught Evelyn’s eye, and Evelyn shrugged. Liddy waved her from behind the counter and took her place. She grabbed her phone and looked up the number for Fred’s son. She was about to place the call when Fred came over to the counter.