Three Christmas Wishes. Sheila Roberts

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       Chapter Four

      Riley called Noel shortly after the invaders had left. “How’d it go?”

      “He wasn’t fooled. And he wants to buy the house and flip it. He’s talking about taking down walls and ripping out counters and all kinds of things. He’ll ruin its character.”

      “Too bad the rats didn’t work.”

      “Please don’t say that word,” Noel begged, looking over at the useless rodents in their cage.

      “Sorry. I’ll come over and collect them for you.”

      “No need. The house thief already did that.”

      “He saw the cage?”

      “What can I say? I screwed up. It’s just that they had me so icked out I couldn’t concentrate.”

      “We’ll think of something,” Riley said. “And I’ll come and get them tomorrow, okay?”

      “In the morning?” If she had to look at them all day...

      “Yes, and don’t worry. I’m sure this will all work out.”

      Perhaps, but meanwhile, she had to be proactive. She said goodbye to Riley then pulled out her laptop and did an internet search for Ben Fordham. She found him under Fordham Enterprises. We Turn Nightmares into Dream Homes, he promised on his website. And there was a picture of the dream-maker himself. He looked like an HGTV star in his jeans and T-shirt and tool belt, with his muscles and dark hair and trust-me smile. He was on the front porch of a pretty Victorian, sitting on the railing, one leg dangling casually. Underneath that was a before-and-after example of his work, two shots of the same house. In one it resembled something out of a Halloween movie, with peeling paint and a front lawn overrun by unruly shrubs; in the other, it had turned into a sweet, two-story charmer with a freshly mowed lawn and flowers blooming along its front walk. Very impressive.

      But her house wasn’t a nightmare. And she had her own plans for turning it into a dream home.

      She poked around the site, checking out more examples of what he did. Various pages offered visitors a chance to sell a property (You need out, we’ll step in) or buy property (We did the work, you reap the benefits), and his contact information gave not only his email address but the physical address and phone number of his business, as well. She knew that building. It was downtown, around the corner from the Wiltons’ hardware store. It had once been a little on the derelict side, but now housed both his business and a real estate office, plus an escrow company and an interior decorator. Very handy. No doubt he worked hand in glove with the Realtor, and she supposed the home-decorating woman helped him stage his stolen homes.

      Stolen was about what they were, she was sure. He probably never paid full market value, probably preyed on poor widows who were desperate for money. Like Mrs. Bing.

      Except Mrs. Bing drove a new car and lived in a rambler in a nice neighborhood. Noel didn’t believe she needed the money as badly as she claimed. Of course, in all fairness to Mrs. Bing, you never really knew about a person’s personal finances.

      Still, darn it all, she’d been providing the woman with a monthly income in the form of rent for two years now. Why couldn’t Mrs. Bing have given her a chance? Greed. It came down to that.

      Well, she wasn’t going to let her house go without a fight.

      That’s the spirit, whispered Marvella, who sometimes hung around even when Noel wasn’t working on a story.

      She returned to the Fordham Enterprises home page and studied her nemesis. What a phony, insincere smile! She studied that naked ring finger on his left hand. The man was single, which might make him susceptible to female persuasion. A hot outfit, a plate of cookies...

      Except, unlike Riley, she was a lousy baker. Okay, then, wine. Most people liked wine and that was more sophisticated, anyway. She knew nothing about it, but there was a new shop in town that sold wine. They could help her choose something classy.

      That took care of the bribe. The hot outfit was another matter. The clothes in her closet fell into the lukewarm category.

      But Jo the stylist had a whole closet full of clothes that didn’t happen to fit at the moment. And she and Noel were the same size. Noel collected her cell phone and made the fashion equivalent of a 911 call.

      “I need wardrobe assistance,” she said, hardly giving Jo time to answer.

      “The rats didn’t work?”

      “No. And he’s over at Mrs. Bing’s right now, making her an offer she probably can’t refuse.”

      “That sucks. Hey, if you need a place to stay while you’re looking for a new house, you can stay with me.”

      “That’s really nice of you,” Noel said, “but I intend to stay here. I’m going to talk him out of buying my house.”

      “Sounds like it’s too late for that.”

      Deep down, Noel had the awful suspicion that her friend was right. “I’ve got to try. Maybe I can convince him to take back his offer.”

      “Ah, so when you say wardrobe assistance, you’re thinking wardrobe malfunction.”

      “Nothing that extreme,” Noel said. A vision of sexy Ben Fordham tugging at her top and setting a boob free à la Janet Jackson set her face (and other body parts) on fire. Oh, no. We’re on a mission. We’re not going to think about costume malfunctions and sexy men with brown eyes and a black heart. And she certainly wasn’t going to think about those big, strong-looking hands. He probably had big...everything.

      Whew! Had Mrs. Bing turned up the thermostat? She walked over to check it. Nope, still set on sixty-eight. So the only thermostat getting turned up was hers. “I just want something sexy. I know you’ve got a lot of great stuff in your closet and we’re the same size.”

      “We were, once upon a time, before I morphed into a whale,” Jo said. “Yeah, come on over tomorrow morning. I can fix you up.”

      Fix you up, fixer-upper. Yes, she was the human equivalent СКАЧАТЬ