offer. The council needs to think of the whole community, and we believe this is the best outcome for everyone.”
He sounded stiff, as though he’d been rehearsing his speech in his mind.
“But we had a deal. A contract.”
“No, Amy, we had a conversation. A conversation is not legally binding.”
She gaped. She couldn’t believe he was being so slippery.
“We negotiated a contract, Reg. I have a copy at home. You were going to sign it at this week’s meeting.”
“I’m sorry, but we had a better deal come in, and we took it. I know you’re disappointed, but that’s the way these things go.”
He checked his watch then glanced up the street, as though he had better things to do than break her heart.
“Have you signed off on the deal yet?” she asked.
“No, but we will on Friday.”
“I want to talk to the other councillors,” she said, crossing her arms over her chest and lifting her chin.
“Fine. They’ll all be at the meeting. Members of the public are welcome.”
Members of the public? Yesterday the council had been ready to sign over ownership of the Grand to her and today she was a member of the public?
She was still trying to find something to say that didn’t contain the words sneaky rat fink when Reg reached out and patted her arm.
“It’s probably for the best. It was unlikely you were ever going to be able to restore this big old place on your own, anyway.”
He walked away. Amy stared at his retreating back. She was at a loss as to how to respond, how to feel, what to think.
For more than ten years she’d lived and breathed the dream of buying the old theatre that her great-grandfather had built. She’d lain awake on more nights than she could count regilding the decorative moldings in her mind, reupholstering the sectional seating, polishing the floors, imagining how glorious it could all be if she could only scrape together the money to purchase the theatre from the local council.
She’d invested the small legacy her grandparents had left her and saved her wages from working in her parents’ hardware store and taken any extra work that had come her way, planning for the day when she’d have enough for a deposit.
And finally she’d made it. At least she’d thought she had.
The shock was beginning to wear off. She didn’t understand how another offer could come out of the blue. The Grand had been an eyesore on the main street of the small Victoria, Australia town of Daylesford for years. It had ceased operating as a cinema in the eighties and had been empty for a long time, ever since the antiques dealer who’d been renting the space had found better premises. No one except Amy had seemed to give a toss about the old place. And yet suddenly the Grand was a hot ticket?
She needed to know more. She pulled out her cell phone and dialed her friend Denise, who worked at the municipal office. If anyone knew the details of this other offer, it would be her.
“‘Nise, it’s me. I need some inside info. But only if it won’t get you in trouble.”
“Fire away. I’m all yours, babe,” Denise said.
“Ulrich Construction has put in a last-minute bid on the Grand. I need to know what their prop says.”
“But the Grand is yours! I typed up your contract myself.”
“It’s not signed yet, ‘Nise.”
“Oh. Crap. The meeting’s this week, isn’t it? Give me five minutes, I’ll call you back.”
Amy paced in front of the Grand while she waited, arms crossed over her chest. It was late April and it was getting darker and colder by the minute, but she didn’t care. She wasn’t leaving this spot until she knew for sure what was going on. That her dream really was over.
Seven minutes later, her phone rang. It was Denise, and when she told Amy what she’d discovered, Amy literally felt dizzy with shock.
Ulrich Construction wanted to buy the Grand and knock down everything but the facade, replacing it with a four-story apartment block. They wanted to destroy the intricate plasterwork on the domed ceiling inside the theatre, smash the marble stairway to the balcony section, scrap the Murano glass wall sconces. They would pay lip service to preserving the Grand while wiping out everything that made the theatre so unique.
“You want me to come pick you up and pour some wine into you?” Denise offered when Amy was silent for too long.
“No. Thanks for this, ‘Nise. I have to go.”
Amy ended the call and pressed her palm against her forehead.
She needed to think. She needed to get past the panic that was making her heart race and her stomach churn.
She needed a lawyer.
Yes. Absolutely. That was definitely the first step. She needed a smart, sharp mouthpiece in a suit. Someone formidable who could arm her with the necessary information.
She started searching her phone contacts for a number she hadn’t dialed in months.
There had been good reasons for that, of course. Sensible, sanity preserving reasons. But this was an emergency. All bets were off. Her old school friend Lisa dealt with property law all the time in Sydney. She’d know how to handle this. She’d tell Amy if there was any way she could stop this disaster from happening.
Amy found the number as an unwelcome thought slunk into her mind: What if Quinn answers instead of Lisa?
Amy froze, staring at the number on the screen.
After all these years, she still couldn’t think of Quinn Whitfield without feeling a skip of excitement, closely followed by a thump of dread.
Dumb. And dangerous. He was married. They were married. Her two best friends.
Which was why she’d been deliberately trying to distance herself recently. Not returning phone calls. Being lazy with e-mails. Freezing them out.
But it wasn’t as though she’d gone to school with a million lawyers. It was either Lisa or a lawyer chosen at random from the phone book—an arrangement that would come complete with a hefty bill her tight restoration budget could not afford.
Hopefully Lisa would pick up and not Quinn. And if it was him … well, Amy would deal with it. She pressed the button and listened as the phone rang.
Come on, Lisa, pick up. Pick up, pick up, pick up.
A click sounded and suddenly Quinn’s voice was in her ear. Her stomach tensed—then she realized it was only a recording.
“Hi, there. You’ve called the Whitfields. We can’t get to the phone right now. Leave a message and your contact details and we’ll do our best to get back to you as
