Friendship Door Sample Chapter
February 12th. 2009(c) 2006 Kimberly J. Fish
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, business establishments, or events is entirely coincidental.
Chapter One
February 8th
Colette Gardena wrapped her fingers around the handle of the sledgehammer adapting its weight to her grip. She’d hit things before, but she avoided voluntary destruction of walls. Unless, of course it was absolutely necessary. And this was exactly what she had to do if she was going to sleep tonight.
This burst of demolition really wasn’t about her. It was reconciliation for her current clients, George and Janine Ralston, and their ninety-year-old farmhouse made of river rocks and stucco. And possibly the immigrant woman that built the house by digging limestone from the creek that nestled between the roots of ancient cypress trees running beside the pasture. But it definitely, absolutely wasn’t personal.
Colette took a few practice swings. One day when they were analyzing the renovation plans, she and Janine had stood in the old nursery—soon to be a spacious walk-in closet—and Janine had told the story she’d vaguely remembered from her mother-in-law about the original builder. Eva Ralston, daughter of an unspoken heritage, used to sit and stare at this wall for hours. No one knew why, but on her deathbed she’d mumbled about a box.
Now, days away from a total remodel, Colette remembered Janine’s heartfelt “what if the rumors are true” conversation and decided to check into it. Literally. Tightening her grip on the wood, she drew back the hammer and let the iron thud through layers of sheetrock.
“What in blue blazes is going on up there?”
She did, however, regret she hadn’t waited to free the Ralstons’ family secret until after the contractor had left for his lunch break.
Heavy boots thundered up the pine planked stairway.
Dropping the hammer, she scrambled toward the doorway. She had to block Beau Jefferson’s view. Flying dust tickled her nose and she sneezed as if she released toenails.
Propping his large hands on either side of the molded doorframe, a six-foot-two-inch, 30-something man leaned into the sloped eaves. He stared at the glass doorknobs and crown molding piled in one corner before his gaze settled on the gouge in the wall. His eyes radiated confusion, anger and a smidgen of concern that kept him from looking really scary.
Colette’s stomach still dropped. Men rarely looked at her like they wanted to pitch her off a roof.
He removed his San Antonio Spurs ball cap and slapped dust off the brim. “I leave you alone to inventory the salvaged hardware and this is the racket you make? Aren’t you the same architect who lectured me about a precision home restoration?”
“I realize this situation looks a little strange.” Colette suspected her credibility had plummeted along with the chunk of sheetrock. “But there’s a good reason, and just so you know, I don’t make a habit of attacking walls.”
“I’d love to hear it, because I’m thinking you have a death wish.” Beau walked over to the wall, jerked off the loosened switch plate and revealed the knob and tube wiring leftover from a 1915 era electrician. “And you questioned my references?”
She couldn’t let him—a builder she’d only hired because Janine insisted—know that an overwhelming urge to hunt for heirlooms had overridden good training regarding electrical hazards. So she stared at him with her best narrowed gaze, but the impact lost something when she sneezed again.
Beau leaned back to shout down the stairwell. “Manuel, shut off the breaker switch.”
The light bulb went dark. Dust motes danced in the light streaming through the octagonal shaped window. Colette stared at his shoulders constrained within the thinning threads of a plaid shirt. She’d known the moment she’d met Beau Jefferson he was going to be difficult, but that was because he’d labeled her specially designed side entrance next to the garage, the “Friendship Door,” a waste of good lumber. Life-long connections with her clients notwithstanding, she’d almost fired him that first afternoon.
Janine had mediated a truce. Using a carrot cake, she’d given Beau and Colette a blueprint for how to get along. But now negative and positive energy had roared back into friction and there wasn’t a cake crumb sweet enough to put this situation in balance.
Using the same leveled tone she reserved for the architecture firm’s accountant when he reviewed her expenditures, she said, “Janine told me George’s grandmother hid personal keepsakes between some joists in the bedroom. So, you see, this was kind of like exploratory surgery. A favor, if you will. For the client.”
Colette didn’t know if the brow quirking over one hazel eye meant he didn’t believe anyone would hide stuff in the wall or that anyone else would go looking for it with a hammer. But she didn’t have to justify herself to him. He was in a loosely technical sense her employee. Turning on the fine point of her Prada boot, she went back to work clearing away wall debris. Maybe if she pretended to be unflustered, he’d fall for her ploy. The accountant usually did.
“George used to tell us kids ghost stories about Crazy Eva. So I’m a little confused about why they’d want anything she might have hid?”
Beau’s voice had returned to its usual timbre, one she likened to what spicy barbecue sauce might sound like it if molasses, mustard and ketchup made a melody. Thankfully she could ignore the craving for brisket because she preferred to wonder why her mystery woman was the subject of chicken heart-type tales. Crazy as it was, insanity just made Eva more appealing.
“It was sort of a speculative search.” She shrugged in the manner her French mother taught her. It was one of the better skills she’d acquired, particularly suited for those moments when she stepped out on pure guts. “No big deal.”
“Gouging a wall is a big deal, at least in my book. I end up paying for it.” Beau’s gaze traveled over Colette’s gray knit slacks and the white blouse peeking between the folds of a denim jacket, as if he could read the original price marked over in red during the annual Macy’s clearance sale. “I’ve known the Ralstons a long time and I’ve never heard about buried treasure.”
Colette moved away from the doorway wishing Beau Jefferson would find a rusted pipe or dripping socket to fixate his attention. Family mysteries were her sick fascination. Bending down to gauge the damage done to the wall, she saw decayed newsprint used for insulation. Colette could hear her uncle’s tinny voice in her head, a man who was an architectural visionary, list points sixty to seventy-three of the hundred different reasons she should have had the foresight to run from this construction time bomb.
Beau squatted next to Colette. The window’s light picked out highlights in Beau’s hair, which was sun-streaked into about twenty shades varying between decadent caramel sauce and vanilla ice cream. And the man needed a haircut. The San Antonio Spurs ball cap he’d been wearing earlier had forced hair into curling wings around his ears.
Her fingers itched to see if the hair was soft as it looked. She shook good sense back into her head. Poster boys for faded Levis and good Texas living did not have a place on her radar. She’d have scooted away, but his knee brushed hers and cold fusion glued her boots to the floor.
“So?” Beau readjusted his tool belt.
It took her longer than she liked to remember what their strain of conversation had been. And she wasn’t going to get it back by staring at the hairline scar marring a cheekbone. “From what Janine said she’d been told, Eva wasn’t lucid at the end. She might have suggested she was royalty. I doubt they’d brag about an unsubstantiated legend. Besides, the best secrets are kept within family.”
“In this town, family secrets are Comfort’s table talk.” Beau reached his hand forward and rapped his knuckles against the wall. Colette assumed he was searching for a hidden stud. “Been there, done that, got the t-shirt.”
Colette vowed not to check under his flannel shirt for proof as he tore splinters of drywall with his hands. Scattering chunks from her knees, she was tempted to wonder why a guy who could break apart a wall was afraid of gossip. If she had to guess, she’d bet it had to do with a string of broken hearts. Even with dust settling on his face, picturing him surrounded by Dixie Chicks and cheerleaders was no stretch.
But instead of comparing Beau’s charmed love life to her dull one, she pulled her toile tote bag closer. She clutched her fingers around her hammer, a gift from her sorority sisters. She did not need to waste any more time wondering about a man who’d be in and out of her life in less time than it took to. . .though now that she’d thought about, she and Beau would be seeing each other a lot.
Nine long months, if the remodel stayed on schedule. A year, if it didn’t. And Beau Jefferson was just the kind of man to second-guess her decisions every step of the way. “I can do that myself,” she said as Beau made the hole big enough for a toddler to crawl through.
“If you had any muscles, maybe. But a strong wind would blow you over.”
True, she was as tall and slim as her mother, but last year she’d made it to the yellow belt level in her Tae Kwan Do class so at the very least she could wow him with her fancy foot work. “I’m a lot tougher than I appear.”
“Of course you are.” Beau looked at her as if he knew her workout routine had dwindled to an occasional Saturday morning yoga class. He dusted debris from his hands. “But I happen to recall when we discussed the construction agreement and I signed off on providing insurance to the workers on site, your name wasn’t on the roster. And you look like you’d be awful expensive to handle if something went wrong.”
As his gaze seemed to tally every indulgence from her smooth skin to hair bobbed under her chin, she fought against an instinct to defend spa therapy. No one ever appreciated the tension that came from being an only child torn between two families.
“Don’t worry about me.” She’d worry enough for the both of them. Last month’s cover of Texas Monthly flittered through her mind. Her uncle had snagged the most coveted architectural bid in the state. “I’m covered by my firm.”
“Yeah, I’ve heard how that works.” Beau grimaced as he pulled back several more inches of plastered paper. “Sheridan’s takes care of its inner circle. Gotta keep the profit machine churning.”
Her rags-to-riches-to-rags story had nothing to do with her role as a junior associate, or so she’d been told. But with her mother’s hand-me-down diamond on her right hand, she’d have a hard time proving she had to live on a budget. “Sheridan Architectural is a prestigious firm. My un—I mean they design for an impressive list of clients.”
“Let’s just say, I’m not one who sees wearing a Sheridan name badge as a bragging right.”
Great. Beau had a grudge. If she’d learned nothing else from her uncle, she’d learned to stay ahead of the competition—even in a pecking game. She glanced at the paint smear on his jeans. “Let me guess, they wouldn’t let you bid on construction for the barbecue restaurant they designed?”
He smiled. He actually grinned. He was supposed to be offended.
“Something like that.” Beau reached his arm into the enlarged hole, felt around, then he pulled his hand out and rocked back on his heels. “Congratulations, princess, I just found your treasure.”
Colette stared at the brass buttons bouncing in his palm. “That’s it?”
“Gotta wonder if this worth nearly electrocuting yourself.”
“There’s bound to be more.” Colette inched around Beau’s shoulder to reach her left hand into the gaping sheetrock. Even the joist she’d thought she’d hit wasn’t within reach. “Janine mentioned a box, maybe letters.”
“Here’s hoping they were sealed or you’re not going to find anything but dust.”
“Truly, your observation skills are amazing.”
He looked deep into her eyes and chuckled. “Just trying to be helpful.”
If he really wanted to be helpful, he needed to leave the room. He was breathing all her oxygen.
Threading her arm deeper into the space, she mentally chanted, God is faithful, as she tried not to picture the eight-legged creatures that festered in dark, dank spaces. “This might be a good time to tell you the Ralstons want to walk through the house one last time before they leave for their extended vacation.” Colette squeezed her eyes shut as her hand pushed through old newsprint and imagined saucer-sized spiders. “They’ll be here during lunch. Maybe you should do some work to justify that hefty salary they’re paying you.”
“Sorry to disappoint you, princess, but I haven’t had this much fun in years.”
“Then you need to get out more often.” Colette opened one eye. He was reasonably attractive, if one liked the rugged, outdoorsy type with a broken nose in his past. Which, she didn’t. “The Ralstons hired me to make sure you build according to my plans. So let’s clarify. . . I’m the head honcho, the big enchilada or whatever else appeals to you. But do not call me princess.” It struck too close to home.
Beau aimed the flashlight beam near the space where her arm had disappeared. “Apparently you have issues with authority so if I can help the process along then I’ll just consider it a form of workmen’s compensation.”
Colette had a comeback, but it evaporated the moment her fingers collided with a solid chunk that did not feel like the cross bars on a two-by-four. She extended her body and stretched her fingers to discern a sharp, smooth corner. “You wouldn’t happen to have a crow bar, would you?”
Beau crouched next to her so he could peer over her head into the hole. “Eva may have meant for the treasure to stay hidden, Indiana Jones. What if snakes slither out to curse you for unleashing the mystery?”
“I. . . need… something to pry this loose.” She gritted her teeth to distract from the tingles crawling over her arm as she reached beyond what she could normally manage in the Warrior One pose. Her fingertips felt out a definite box.
“Here.” Beau placed a screwdriver into her empty hand while sliding down to the floor on to his right hip. He extended his legs for leverage and slid his right arm into the hole next to hers. “I’ll hold the Ark of the Covenant while you demolish the Temple of Doom.”
They were face to face, elbow against elbow. Scant inches separated their noses. He winked.
Colette sucked in her breath. The wild electricity that scorched her nerve endings had nothing to do with the possibility of wires in the wall. Without counting the ways his body touched hers, she jerked her arm out of the wall and sat up straight. This insane and completely inappropriate reaction to her contractor had to stop. She stared at the screwdriver Beau had slapped into her right hand.
This moment was for George. And Janine. And their future grandchildren who would want to know the story of the immigrant woman who had single-handedly built their creek side farmhouse.
Putting aside all reaction to him, and she decided that not saying his ironically French name would be a smart beginning, she took a deep, cleansing breath. She folded herself back into a prone position, deliberately ignoring the smirk on his face as she inadvertently touched him about a million times. Finding the box again, she also felt a few thick, calloused fingers on the path. She could ignore those. Really. She placed the screwdriver between the box and its perch on a joist. The box was jammed between two walls. Still, if she just pushed a little harder.
With lightening quick reflexes, Colette dropped the screwdriver into the insulation and grabbed the edge of box. It was tipped on its side and so narrow it slid between the wall spaces as if it wanted to be dragged toward the light.
Breathing heavily, and unfortunately inhaling decay in the process, she folded herself into a sitting position and propped the dust covered box on her knees and stared at the twelve by twelve inch treasure. Then she sneezed.
“Unbelievable.” Beau sat knees against knee with her.
She hoped he wasn’t talking about her nasal capacities. Using her gentlest touch, she brushed away decay and revealed a carved bear in a walking motion, on top of a diamond-patterned collage of light and dark woods. Its graceful lines and intricate artistry made the box look like something reserved for royalty. Maybe designed to hold chess pieces or land maps of undiscovered territory. Or the keys to a dungeon. Or–
“Bad news, princess.” Beau picked newsprint from Colette’s hair. “Without a key, we’re done here.”
Colette traced her fingers along the carvings. “Maybe Janine knows about a key. You do think Eva would have left a key, don’t you? I mean, who wants to find a treasure that they can’t open? It’s probably buried somewhere. Where would it be hidden? What if it’s not hidden? What if it’s lost forever?” She heard desperation echo in her voice and looked into Beau’s gaze. “I’m just anticipating Janine’s response.”
“Sure you were.” Beau knelt again and reached his arm back into the hole. “I can tell by the light in your eyes you were hoping some giant trove of nostalgia would land in your lap. You’re a sucker for old stuff. I’ve seen your Volvo.”
She watched his shoulder stretch deeper into the wall. “What are you doing?”
“Well, if it was me and I stashed a locked box, I’d probably hide the key somewhere near so I wouldn’t lose it.”
She should add ludicrous to her list of Beau-related adjectives. Not that she had a list because that meant she paid attention to him and she was not, she repeated, not, categorizing his qualities. “And you think Eva just left a key hanging on a nail?”
Beau pulled his arm from the hole, and his knee joints creaked as he crouched next to her. “Actually, it was perched on a beam support. Looks like you might have torn into a false wall. Eva was a sly fox. She created a hiding place in plain site.”
Colette stared at the iron key dangling from dusty, pink grosgrain ribbon. Beau had acted while she panicked. This hesitancy had crippled her choices for years.
“What’s the matter, princess? Can’t stand it when someone else is right?”
“I almost never care who’s right or wrong as long as it all works out in the end.” Unlike her uncle.
Colette rolled backwards on her heels, propping one hand on the damaged wall to help her stand up. Though she was happy that Janine and George would not only have the box Eva had hid, but also a key to unlock the treasure, there was one lingering problem. The tiny skeleton shape was rusty. That meant water damage somewhere.
Her proposed renovation budget groaned with new inflation.
Colette was so fixated on the fragile pink ribbon, she almost couldn’t decide if this was the key for the delicate box or the key to her ultimate doom with this house. They might be one and the same.