Harper's Wish. Cerella Sechrist

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СКАЧАТЬ “Is that all? Sheesh. That I can help with. That I can fix.” He fished out his phone and scrolled though his contacts. Punched a number and smiled to reassure her.

      A moment later the ringing stopped and a voice came over the line in a gruff greeting.

      “Hey, Jerry! Glad I caught you! I have a restoration job you might be interested in—1888 Second Empire.”

      On the other end of the line, Jerry whistled. “You mean Belle Paix. You have got to be kidding me. Somebody bought Belle Paix off the old lady? Who are the new owners? Can I see it? Can I come now?”

      “Not new owners, exactly. The granddaughter. She’s, er, trying to renovate, and has run into a plaster issue. We could use your expertise.”

      “Just give me five minutes. No. Four. I’ll be there.”

      Kyle listened to the dial tone in his ear and then lowered the phone. Allison’s hopeful expression died on her face.

      “See. I told you. Nobody.”

      “That’s where you’re wrong.” He gave her what he hoped was a look of reassurance. After she met Jerry, though, she might not be reassured at all. “He’s coming. Right now.”

      “What? Really?”

      “He’s...Jerry’s a character. Just warning you ahead of time. He’s devoted to old houses, really loves them. I got to know him through my work with the historical society and the preservation committee. He works all over the state, and it just so happens that he’s finishing up a restoration on a house here.”

      The peal of the doorbell resounded up the stairs. It had rung three times by the time Allison and Kyle managed to get to the landing, and Jerry was starting on the fourth ring as she opened the door.

      “You’re the granddaughter? What’s the budget? Where’s the architect? Can I see the plans? We can make this old girl shine!” Jerry told her. “I can see the new paint now, and I’ll bet Kyle can find us pictures of the front lawn to restore all the shrubbery to what it looked like then— Wow, this place is amazing! She’s...Kyle?” Jerry pivoted in the hall, his head craned back. “Do you see that trim? That carving? This is all original. Man. They didn’t mess her up, Kyle. They did not mess her up. This is gonna be so much fun!”

      Allison furrowed her brow and cocked an eye at Kyle, past Jerry’s pirouettes.

      Kyle lifted his hand in what he hoped was a “wait, he’s not totally crazy, give him a minute” way. “She’s in great shape, you are right. Pretty much untouched. Amazing. But...let’s start with some introductions. Allison, this is Jerry Franklin, the restoration expert I was telling you about, although he’s not always this, er, exuberant.”

      Kyle shot a warning look at Jerry to stop acting like a kid let loose in a candy store. It had about as much effect as he expected, which was slim to none. “And Jerry, I’d like you to meet Allison Bell. She’s the owner’s granddaughter.”

      Jerry grabbed her hand and pumped it briskly. “This is an incredible opportunity. I have wanted to restore this house for years. Years, I’m telling you.”

      Allison carefully withdrew her hand. “I see. Well, first I should tell you that I don’t really have a huge budget, and so I’m trying to keep things as cheap—”

      Kyle saw Jerry’s eyes round in horror at the word cheap and shook his head vigorously to signal to Allison to avoid it at all costs.

      “Uh, I mean...” she paused “...as inexpensive as possible. I need to stretch my dollars...and focus on the priorities.”

      Jerry seemed comforted by that deft shift in Allison’s wording. “Yeah, yeah.” He rubbed his hands together. “So...”

      “So...I have this plaster problem. Upstairs. And Kyle said you could take a look at it.”

      “Sure. Upstairs.” The man was up the stairs like a jackrabbit.

      Kyle sighed. “Listen. Don’t—he’s not usually like this. But he’s been obsessed with Belle Paix for years. And he just wants to see her treated right.”

      Allison lifted her brows. “Yeah. And I just want to treat my very finite bank account right. If this guy thinks I’m a sucker and want to make everything the way it was in 1888, well, you’d better set him straight.”

      “Jerry is a bit...temperamental,” Kyle warned. “If he thinks you’re not...well, he’s been known to walk off jobs. You don’t want to see him angry.”

      “How does he keep his business then?” Allison asked. “I mean, if he argues with the home owner.”

      “Ninety-nine percent of the time he’s right, and they know it. They try to do it the cheap way, and then have to call him back in. Because...well, because he’s a genius, and because he’s one of the few contractors in the state who specializes in old homes.”

      “You’re saying...you’re saying he’s my only hope?” Allison sank onto the bottom step. “Good grief. He probably charges a fortune, too.”

      “You get what you pay for, believe me. And with Jerry, you get a lot of experience and know-how. Plus he won’t cheat you.” Kyle sat down beside her.

      “And how do I know you’re not getting kickbacks? That the two of you aren’t working some kind of scheme here?”

      But he could tell from her tone that she didn’t really believe that.

      Above them, Jerry bellowed, “Who on earth put this stuff on plaster?”

      They looked up to see his bright red face hanging over the railing of the landing, the putty gripped in his meaty fingers.

      Allison raised her hand. “That would be me. The guy at the hardware store told me it would work.”

      “Figured. Idiot.”

      Minutes later, upstairs, Kyle watched as Jerry went through a much more thorough examination than he had.

      “Yep. Condensation. I assume that the roof doesn’t leak?”

      “No.” Allison shook her head in response to the contractor’s accusatory squint. “That’s the one thing that works in this house. It’s slate, and it has never leaked a drop.”

      “Testament to when houses were built right,” Jerry pronounced.

      She made a harrumphing noise in her throat and mumbled something that Kyle thought might have been, “you try living in this old place.”

      Then she schooled her expression and clasped her hands behind her back. “So your advice would be?”

      “Tear out. Tear it all out, all the damaged sections. Down to the laths. Replaster it after you check the wiring—probably needs to be brought up to code, and it’s easier to do it then. I’d plan on doing every exterior wall up here, but downstairs, you might not have to. I’d have to look. But it’s the temperature changes and the way heat rises—that sort of stuff.”

      “How...much? And how long?” Allison seemed to stiffen СКАЧАТЬ