that had belonged to the beast who had destroyed everything, and she had to at least see to fixing it up enough that she could sell it. Get rid of it. Remove any demand that she ever return here.
The street was quiet, but it was early on a Monday afternoon. Kids in school, parents at work and weather less than hospitable.
The key in her hand felt acidic, hot, as if it would eat a hole in her palm. She wanted to fling it into the snow.
Just get it done, she told herself. Just walk in there, face the memories that lurked and would probably pounce to remind her that this had once been a favorite place of hers to visit. She’d arrange whatever needed to be done, then get the hell out of this town before the whispers started, before people began to ask each other if that was Milt Welling’s daughter and hadn’t he been a fool to trust that Higgins guy with everything he owned?
As she walked up toward the porch, freshly laid salt crunching beneath her feet, she felt a sharp gust of icy wind. After twenty years she had no intuitive understanding of the weather around her, but to her that gust spoke of an approaching snowstorm, as did the clattering of leafless branches on the trees that lined the street.
Or maybe she was imagining it. Why not? She was walking toward the door of a house that had populated her nightmares. All that was missing was some spooky, threatening music.
How over the top could she go, she wondered as she leveled the key at the lock and felt a small burst of self-amusement puncture her anger and apprehension. Bob, the man who had ruined her family, was dead. He couldn’t hurt her anymore. And leaving her his house? Probably his final laugh at someone else’s expense, not an attempt to atone at all. That would fit.
It wasn’t as if he hadn’t stolen money from anyone else. He’d just stolen more from her father. As in everything.
Just as she turned the key in the lock, the door opened and she stood face-to-face with a tall man wearing a khaki work shirt, dusty jeans, work boots and a loaded tool belt slung around narrow hips. His eyes were the same gray as the leaden sky above, his face perfectly chiseled and showing some faint smile lines around his mouth and crinkles at the corners of his eyes. His dark brown hair was tousled and dusty. Um, wow?
“Hi,” he said, his voice deep and pleasant. “Something I can help you with?”
Well, this was totally unexpected. This was her house, yet there was a stranger in it. Could he help her? But then her memory kicked in. Hadn’t the lawyer said something about sending someone to look over the condition of the house?
She found her voice at last. “I’m Vanessa Welling. Who are you?”
His dark eyebrows lifted, then he smiled. “Ah. I guess Earl didn’t tell you he’d hired me to check out the place, and he told me he didn’t expect you before the weekend. I’m Tim Dawson. I’m a building contractor—Earl sent me. If you want, I can wait outside while you look around. Or just come back another day.”
Why should he do that? But then she realized he must think that she might be uncomfortable about entering an empty house occupied by a man she’d never met before. She ought to be, but strangely she wasn’t. Anyway, if anyone should leave, it ought to be her. She didn’t want to be here at all.
The door still wide-open, both of them poised to leave, Vanessa shook her head a little and thought that her life had turned into a series of vignettes written by someone else from the minute Earl had told her she’d inherited this house. Nothing had run in its usual course since then.
“No,” she said. “You’re working. Frankly, I’d be happy never to see the inside of this place.”
“I heard from Earl you didn’t want it. That stinks.” He stepped back, giving her space to enter if she chose. “It always bothered me that someone could just deed a property to someone else even if they don’t want it. Never understood that one.”
“I’m still trying to wrap my brain around it.” Hesitantly, she stepped through the door into the wide foyer. It had once been an elegant house, but it had been a long time since anyone had lived here. Some of the wallpaper was peeling. “How bad is it?”
“The place got winterized before the previous owner...left, so there’s surprisingly little damage to important stuff. Plumbing still works, in other words. No broken pipes. Right now I’m finishing up work on the heater to see if I can get it operating again. It’s an old model, but I don’t imagine you even want to consider a new one.”
“Not if I can help it. I don’t want to live here, I just want to get to the point where I can get rid of it without having tax liens and code violations follow me through life.”
“I can see that. Well, I was just going out to my truck to get a valve, so take a look around. I’ll be happy to answer any questions I can.”
She watched him walk out the door, thinking that it was criminal that a man that good-looking had walked into her life in the last place on earth she wanted to be.
She watched him cross the street to a white truck with small lettering on the side. That explained why she’d never guessed someone would be in here.
Then she forced herself to turn and face the inside of the house. To face memories that should have been good but had turned to ash.
* * *
Vanessa Welling was a pretty woman, Tim thought as he crossed the wet street and opened a compartment on the side of his pickup. Maybe more than pretty, but since she was clearly unhappy at the moment he couldn’t be really sure. Right now, she was simply a catalog of externalities: auburn hair, mossy-green eyes, a bit on the tiny side.
Earl Carter, father of the local judge, was a font of history when it came to this county, especially the ugly legal parts. The story of how Bob Higgins had managed to rob the Welling family blind was the stuff of novels or movies...except according to Earl, this kind of thing happened all the time. Con men, con jobs—and the Wellings hadn’t been the only ones robbed. Apparently, a number of others had fallen for Higgins’s financial planning business, to their detriment, but only the Wellings had lost more than a retirement fund.
Sad story. Vanessa would have been a kid when it all happened, but from what Earl had said, she remembered enough to be filled with loathing. Imagine inheriting the house of the man who had ruined your family. Tim couldn’t make up his mind if Higgins had been diabolical or regretful.
Anyway, Vanessa had a problem to deal with, and he’d bet she wanted to make her decisions and get the hell out of Conard County as fast as she could.
Shame, because he’d like to get a chance to know the woman behind that haunted, heart-shaped face. Not that it mattered, really. Just a reaction to a new face. He had his hands full enough raising a seven-year-old boy whose mother had died. A change of pace might be nice, but it would be transitory.
He was just crossing the street again with the valve he wanted in hand when a black Cadillac pulled up. It was an older car, kept in scrupulously good shape by its owner, Earl Carter. Earl pulled up against the curb on the far side of the street and rolled his window down. “She’s here?”
“Oh, yeah.”
“I just got her message.” Earl, a pleasantly plump man who was awfully popular around town for a lawyer, shook his head faintly. “Sorry, I didn’t think she would be here so soon.”
“It’s
