heart jumped into her throat. She had raced through the store and up the stairs before she realized she was even moving. “Meghan? Meghan, answer me. Are you all right? What happened? What—”
She pushed open the kitchen door and found Meghan standing in the middle of the room, covered with plaster dust. She was holding the metal pull chain that belonged to the ceiling fan. The fan itself—or at least what was left of it—was on top of the kitchen table along with about a million shards of glass that sparkled like diamonds in the morning sunlight. The acrid smell of fried electrical wires filled the air.
“I’m sorry!” Meghan must have mistaken Libby’s expression for anger instead of the relief it was. Meghan’s face was coated with plaster dust, and when she started to cry, the tears left rivulets on her cheeks. “I didn’t mean it, Mom. I was just trying to turn the fan on. It’s hot and there’s no air-conditioning and—” The rest of her words were lost in a wail of despair.
“It’s okay, honey. Honest.” Libby did a quick assessment of her daughter’s condition. Except for a cut on her arm, it didn’t look as if Meghan had sustained any injuries. The fan and the ceiling it had once been anchored to were another matter. One Libby would deal with after she took care of Meghan.
She led her to the bathroom. “It’s no big deal. We’ll get the fan fixed.”
Meghan was beyond being consoled. She was scared, she was shocked and she was embarrassed as only a fourteen-year-old can be. She was crying so hard Libby could barely understand her. “And the ceiling? How are you going to fix the ceiling? It fell down right on top of me. I hate it here. Mommy, please, please let’s go home!”
It was the worst time in the world for the phone to ring. Libby left Meghan in the bathroom to wash her face and hands and grabbed the phone.
“Mrs. Cartwright! How’s everything going there?” It took her a moment to recognize the voice of Will Harper, the real-estate agent. “You enjoying our fair city?”
Libby looked at the wreckage in the kitchen. “It’s not exactly a good time to be asking that,” she said. “We’re having a little electrical problem here.”
“I’m not surprised.” She could picture Will shaking his head in an I-told-you-so way. “That property has seen better days.”
Meghan was still crying and Libby could barely hear. She retreated into the living room. “What can I do for you, Mr. Harper?”
Will laughed. “Oh, no. That’s not what you’re supposed to be asking. I’ve called, Mrs. Cartwright, because I’m going to do something for you.”
“Like?”
“Like admitting you were right and I was wrong. Doesn’t happen often, let me tell you. I know this market like the back of my hand.”
“And—”
Meghan peeked into the room. She saw that Libby was on the phone so she didn’t talk loud—at least not too loud—when she wailed, “I can’t find the bandages anywhere!”
Libby trailed into the bathroom, sure they’d unpacked a first-aid kit the day before. She looked in the medicine cabinet and on the shelves under the sink. She checked the linen closet in the hallway.
“I’m sorry,” she said when she remembered that she still had the phone to her ear. “You’ve caught us at a bad time. You were saying….” She found the first-aid kit under a stack of towels, flipped it open and whisked out a bandage. She handed it to Meghan at the same time she whispered, “Put some antibacterial ointment on that first,” and then got back to her conversation. “About the market?”
“I was saying that you were right and I was wrong. You see, Mrs. Cartwright, I just heard from the Tip-Top folks. You had them pegged from the get-go. You turned down their initial offer and as it turned out, so did the folks who own the other property they were considering. You’re a genius. You caught them between a rock and a hard place. They just called me. They’ve upped their offer.”
“More money? How much?”
Meghan couldn’t have had any idea who she was talking to, but she did have a sixth sense as to what they were talking about. She sniffed and hurried over to where Libby was standing. She jumped up and down, her hands folded in supplication.
“Please!” Meghan knew better than to take the chance of disrupting the deal and kept her voice at a stage whisper. “It’s those drugstore people, isn’t it? Please take the offer, Mom. Let’s get out of here.”
Libby hushed her. It was hard to listen to both Will Harper and Meghan, but she did catch the figure. It was fifteen thousand dollars more than Tip-Top had originally offered, nearly all her original asking price.
“It’s a gift,” Will said.
“Maybe, but—”
“But you’ve seen the property, Mrs. Cartwright. You’re there now, right?”
“I am, but—”
“You really think you’ll be able to clean up that mess?”
She did. At least she had until the ceiling fell down.
Libby’s shoulders drooped with the weight of the reality that seemed to crash down along with the ceiling fan. Sure, she’d had great plans for the place and, yes, she’d had every intention of carrying through with them. But now…
She looked into the kitchen at the pieces of glass that littered the place like confetti. She remembered the endless to-do list down on the front counter. And the mice. She thought of how, in spite of what she’d hoped, there wasn’t one clue about Barb or her life anywhere. A trickle of sweat glided between her shoulder blades. She read the desperation in her daughter’s eyes.
“Give me twenty-four hours,” she told Will. “Let me sleep on it. Tomorrow I’ll let you know for sure if I’m going to stay. Or take the offer from Tip-Top.”
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