Diana replied in her haughtiest tone.
A flush rose up Hope’s neck. She didn’t bother trying to mask her cringe when she realized her sister thought she was schooling this poor man on how to properly address members of the British peerage. She didn’t have the heart to tell Diana title stuff didn’t even play in jolly old England anymore. At least, not with anyone who had anything better to do than keep track.
“Stop, Di,” she said, her voice quiet but firm.
Taking a step toward the house, she smiled at the man. He was small and slender. The kind of man whose physique never quite filled out after puberty. He held out a large clipboard with a number of official-looking documents and gestured for her to come closer.
“Good news and bad,” he told her as she reached out to take the documents from him. “Good news is, this old house is running off three circuit boxes. Most likely because of additions made over the years, and to upgrade to meet modern electrical demands.”
He glanced nervously at her sister. Hope stifled her exasperation as Diana came to a halt behind her and started to read over her shoulder. She’d done the same thing at every meeting they had with the people involved with their parents’ estate.
“The team shut down the main, which will keep the other two breaker boxes safe from a power surge when the service is restored. The big problem was the box at the back of the house. From what I could read on labels, that box handled most of the main floor power with a few exceptions. You’ll want an electrician to look at everything before you even think about switching the main back on.” He paused and scratched his head thoughtfully. “If you need the names of some service providers in the area—”
“Not necessary,” Diana interjected, but Hope cut her off at the pass.
“I already have a referral.”
Both the inspector and her sister turned to look at her, but only one of them appeared pleased to hear the news.
“You do?” Diana inquired, incredulous.
“Excellent!” The inspector beamed at her as he leaned in and pointed at the form on top of the pile. “If you’d sign this acknowledgement, I’ll leave copies of my assessment for you, your insurance adjustor, and your contractor.”
“Who? What contractor?” Diana demanded. “How can you possibly have a reputable referral? You’ve hardly been in town for twenty-four hours.”
“And yet, seems like a lifetime,” Hope muttered as she scrawled her signature on the form.
The gentleman chuckled, but her sister did not. He shot Diana another sidelong glance, then peeled back the first page. “And initial here, here, and here.” He indicated to spots he’d already marked with an X. She did as he instructed, and the man flipped to the last of a thick sheaf of papers. “And sign this last one here.”
Diana made a grab for the clipboard. “You can’t honestly expect her to sign such a document without reading it first!”
Hope yanked the paperwork back. “I’m the reckless and wild one,” she growled. Without sparing her sister a moment to launch into formal protest, she signed her name with a flourish. “Took me less than twenty-four hours to set the house on fire, remember?”
“Hope!”
The inspector took the clipboard and hurriedly started disassembling the triplicate copies. “Thank you, ma’am.” He shuffled a few into a stack. “I’ll be out of your hair in a minute.”
Hope smiled, amused by the man’s haste. He was clearly of a mind to evacuate before any explosion could occur. But she knew exactly how to defuse the D-bomb. Turning to her sister, she widened her eyes imploringly. “I’ll call the referral I have, but I’m sure you and Richard know some others to call. We’ll need more than one estimate.”
Diana blinked, caught off-guard. “Of course.”
“Would you make a few calls?” She waved a weary hand at the stacks of paperwork. “I’ll handle the paperwork, call the insurance, and collect a few things I left behind last night, but I’m sure you know the best of the best when it comes to having work done.”
“Oh, certainly.” Diana sniffed and tipped her chin up a notch. “You can’t be too careful, you know. My friend Melinda hired someone to renovate her kitchen. They came in one day, completely demolished the place, stripped the place down to the bare floor and the studs, then they never came back.”
Hope gasped. “A nightmare.”
“Unbelievable nightmare. Her cook quit.” She waved a dismissive hand. “Refused to work in such conditions.”
The corner of the inspector’s mouth quirked, but Hope kept her expression suitably grave. “Hard to cook without the proper appliances.”
“Her housekeeper left, too,” Diana added, a gleam of glee shining in her dark eyes. “Of course, I didn’t think the housekeeper was much of a loss. I always had to ring the bell twice before she could stir herself to answer the door.”
“Like the postman,” Hope said solemnly. Diana’s perma-smoothed brow tightened in an attempt to frown. Her sister was never quick with the pop culture references. Another thing that set them apart. Hope had been known to hold entire conversations using only lines spoken in movies, and Diana had never once caught on. “Run and make your calls, darling, then I’ll catch up with you after I’m done with mine,” she promised. “We want to get this resolved as soon as we possibly can.”
Diana shot the fire inspector one last disdain-filled glance. “Fine. Yes. I’ll do that.” Hitching her handbag higher on her arm, her sister gave her a perfunctory nod, then turned on the sensible heel of her bone leather pumps. “I’ll be back in one hour.”
“Please let it be two,” Hope said under her breath. Mustering a tired smile, she accepted the packets of papers from the inspector. “Thank you for coming so promptly.”
“My pleasure, Mrs. Elliot.” He ducked his head, then made a beeline for his car. “Good luck!”
Hope snorted as she pulled the last strip of caution tape off the doorframe. “Thanks. I’m gonna need some.”
* * * *
As the only son of a proud Irish-Catholic family, Michael McInnes was blessed with five saint’s names. Three, he’d been saddled with at birth—Michael, James, and Thomas—which covered his father and both grandfathers. At the time of his confirmation at St. Bartholomew’s boys’ school, his mother insisted he take Finial to honor her only brother and Luke because he wrote her favorite of the four gospels. Until the day she died, his sainted mother had been the only person allowed to use any, or in a few cases, all, of the five names.
Everyone else called him Mick.
Everyone except his daughter. Though she was grown and a parent in her own right, she still called him Daddy. Something Mick loved and hoped never stopped.
“I know you have a lot on your plate, Daddy, but she seemed like such a nice lady, and I don’t think she knows anyone around here,” Kelly said, the earnestness in her tone keeping shy of wheedling. “I hate the thought of her picking a name out of the phone book and then getting fleeced because she has money.”
