Danger on Her Doorstep

“I know. He’s the one who taught it to me.” Gideon reached past Maggie, and since she had the door unlocked but couldn’t seem to get it pushed open, he placed one hand gently over hers on the knob, slammed his other open hand against the wedged wood, and the door fell back with a shudder. “I should do something about that door,” he offered.

But Maggie had stepped inside and was already looking around the great foyer that opened upward to the stud-walled second floor. “I think we’ve got plenty of other projects that are more pressing.”

“Where do you want to start?” Gideon asked.

With a long sigh, Maggie shook her head. She clearly felt overwhelmed by the immensity of the project and all that needed to be done. Not that he could blame her. He’d lain awake the night before, trying to break down the renovation process into manageable steps until he’d lost track of where he’d started. It was such a large house and needed so much work.

“This place will be spectacular once it’s finished,” he said in hopes of encouraging her.

She didn’t look encouraged. Instead, she looked as though the responsibility of transforming the house into something spectacular weighed on her even more heavily than simply making it habitable. Gideon was reminded that he didn’t know exactly what her plans were. She’d told him a few things, and he’d inferred the rest based on what he’d have done if the place were his. Those two were likely very different things.

“What are your plans for the house?”

Maggie took a gulp of air. “I want to be able to sell it. My father bought it as a foreclosure after Lorna Creel fell behind on her mortgage payments. From what I can tell, Dad’s plans were to convert it back into apartments.”

“I didn’t realize this place had ever been apartments.”

“That was before either of us was born,” Maggie explained. “I found some of the history my father had collected about the house, and Susan Isakson, the Realtor who’s representing my dad’s other properties, let me in on what she knew. This house was built in 1912 as a single-family home, but it was converted into apartments during the Depression. Then in the 1950s Len Turner bought it and turned it into a funeral home.”

“That’s how I always remembered it.” Gideon stepped into the front parlor, arguably the nicest room in the house, though the elaborate wallpaper had to have been several decades old and the wood-inlaid parlor set was worn and rickety.

“He spent his whole career here,” Maggie continued. “Somewhere along the line, he hired Lorna Creel as an assistant. She helped with the funerals and took care of the cleaning and upkeep, as well as living upstairs. When Len retired he sold the house to Lorna, who wanted to continue living here.”

“But she fell behind on her mortgage payments.” Gideon patched the story together.

“Yes. The First Bank of Holyoake held the mortgage, and from what I understand they didn’t want to foreclose on her. They gave her plenty of chances, but she refused to talk with them or refinance, so ultimately, they did what they had to do.”

“And they sold the house to your father?”

“Yes. He gutted the second floor. I found several of his drawings showing how he intended to convert the house back into apartments.”

Gideon recalled from his years working with Glen Arnold when he was younger that the man had a knack for buying up older, unwanted properties and updating them, eventually renovating them into more practical living spaces. Gideon had long been impressed with the man’s ingenuity. “And you’re planning to move forward with your father’s plans?”

Maggie looked stricken. “No.” She shook her head firmly. “It always bothered me the way he took lovely older homes and carved them up into cramped apartments. I thought we could just put it back the way it was—a gracious, single-family home.”

Gideon nodded and suppressed his smile. Something had lit up behind Maggie’s eyes as she stated her plans. Perhaps she wasn’t as afraid of the old house as he’d thought.

“And then you’re planning to sell it?”

“Yes.” Her eyes bent up at the corners. “I’m selling all my father’s properties. The hospital where I work in Kansas City is building a new addition, including an expanded pediatric unit. If I can get fair market value out of what my father left me, I can have one of the rooms of the unit named in his honor. It’s been the one thing that’s kept me going since his death.”

Gideon turned and looked at the room behind him so Maggie wouldn’t see his smile. The shy girl he’d gone to school with had grown up into a private woman, but whether she realized it or not, she’d given him a glimpse of what made her tick. Much as he appreciated Glen Arnold’s skill in converting old houses into apartments, his daughter’s approach more closely paralleled his own preferences. He’d love to see the old house as it was meant to be again.

Maggie’s voice echoed behind him. “I know it’s going to take a lot of work to bring this place up to code, but as Susan explained it, that’s the only way we’re going to see any profit.”

“She’s right,” Gideon agreed. “There are probably a dozen older homes in Holyoake that have been sitting on the market for years now, mostly because no one wants to put the money and effort into restoring them. But none of those houses has the potential of this place. It could be…” he let his eyes rove over the walls and tried to envision what it would look like with woodwork gleaming instead of caked with coats of paint “…beautiful,” he concluded, spinning around to face Maggie.

Maggie turned her face away before Gideon could see her blush. He’s not talking about you, silly. She knew he was referring to the house, but there had been a moment as he’d spoken when his eyes had landed on hers with a softness that made her heart catch. Like Gideon Bromley would ever call you beautiful.

Gideon had been far more popular than she’d been in high school. He’d graduated one year ahead of her, and while he’d been in the homecoming court and on the student council, she’d always done her best to stay invisible. After all, she knew how the Bromley family and the rest of Holyoake felt about the safety hazards her father had rented out. The people in her father’s largest rental house had often complained about strange odors that made them feel light-headed, but her father had never been able to find the source of the poisonous gases. Then, during Maggie’s freshman year of high school, several people had fallen ill from the fumes and ended up in the hospital, including Gideon’s niece, Kayla, his brother Bruce’s daughter, who had nearly died as an innocent toddler.

Pinching back the memory, Maggie turned to face Gideon with a decidedly neutral expression. “I want the house to be safe. Everything needs to be brought up to code. I won’t cut corners just to save money. This has to be a house where a person could feel comfortable turning their children loose to play without fearing something might happen to them. But at the same time—” she took in the faded elaborate furnishings, which had once been the top of the line “—I don’t want to spend any more money than I have to.”

Gideon nodded. “The profit goes to the hospital, correct?”

“That’s right.” She felt glad he’d followed what she’d said so far.

“Safety first,” Gideon echoed. “I’d like to reinforce that cellar door.”

Relief filled Maggie at his suggestion. After she’d gone back to the spare apartment where she’d been staying in town, she’d lain awake worrying that the intruder might return. “I think it needs to be barricaded,” she agreed. “Obviously the board across the door didn’t stop anyone the last time.”

“Let’s see if we can find something to park in front of it,” Gideon said as they headed to the back of the house and the interior stairway that led to the basement. “As I recall there was quite a lot of furniture in the basement.”

Maggie let Gideon take the lead on the way downstairs. Though he’d tightened the door back into place the day before, and he’d apparently already checked it from the outside that morning, she still didn’t feel certain the house was secure against intruders. But if someone was crazy enough to be lying in wait for them just around the corner in the basement, she was confident they’d get a lot more than they’d bargained for in Gideon Bromley. He didn’t appear to be armed, but between the size of his biceps and the hammer he carried, he’d still make a formidable opponent.

To her relief, they made it to the large back storage room without encountering any surprises. Gideon gave a low whistle. “I can’t believe all the junk that’s crammed back here. I wish I’d had a chance to do more than peek in this room before.”

“So you haven’t searched through this stuff?”

“No. I’d planned to. Your father said he found something suspicious in this old house, and I got the impression from what he said that it was down here in the basement somewhere. If his death was related to what he found, it might be the only clue we have to go on to lead us to his killer.”

Maggie stepped slowly around in a full circle, taking in the piles of boxes heaped upon old furniture that filled the room. “I think I’ll need to move this junk out eventually, anyway. To my understanding all of it came with the house. Lorna acquired it when she bought the place from Len Turner, and who knows where Len got it all? It may have been junk that renters left behind when they moved away over the years before Len even bought it. Some of this stuff certainly looks old enough.”

While they’d been speaking, Gideon had poked around the room and now stopped in front of a large armoire piled high with ancient catalogs and other random objects. “This wardrobe looks solid. If we could park it in front of the door it would keep out just about anyone.”

The idea sounded good to Maggie. “It looks like it will fit through the doorway. Let’s get it cleared off.” She plucked up an old paperboard globe that teetered atop a stack of books on the armoire and set it out of the way.

Gideon followed suit, hefting the entire stack of books in one armload. “Do you think you can help me carry it?” he asked from behind the dusty stack of hardcovers. “It looks heavy.”

Feeling only slightly injured by his words, Maggie defended herself. “I may be short, but I’m strong. I’m used to lifting children in the pediatric unit all the time.” Feeling the need to prove herself, she shouldered a large box, which looked only slightly heavy until she felt its full weight. About that same time she realized she wasn’t sure where to put it down.

“Got a spot for this?” she asked, her embarrassment increasing when she realized the strain carried clearly through her voice.

“Here you go.” Gideon quickly moved aside some bottles from a dresser top, revealing just enough space for the box.

Maggie staggered in that direction and felt the aging cardboard giving way.

Before she could warn him, she tipped in Gideon’s direction and felt his strong arms brush hers as he lifted the crumbling box from her shoulders, depositing it on the dresser before the cardboard gave out completely.

“Okay, so maybe not that strong,” she admitted, em barrassed.

“Actually, I’m impressed you were able to carry that thing at all. It must weigh a hundred pounds.” He peeled back a loose cardboard flap. “This is full of old window weights.”

“Not worth keeping, in my opinion,” Maggie determined, brushing the dust from her hands onto her jeans.

“Yeah, I wonder if any of this stuff has value. Some of the old furniture pieces might be antiques, but a lot of it just looks like junk.”

Maggie scrunched her nose at him. “I suppose I should sort through it as I go. Anything that appears valuable I can take to an antiques dealer, but the rest I’ll just toss. And if I find anything that looks suspicious…” Her throat tightened as she spoke the word her father had used to describe whatever he’d found in the basement—the thing that may have gotten him killed.