Page 3 of Holiday Hideaway
“You need to get a contractor over there and tell him to get it done,” Vanessa said. “I don’t see why you have to be the one to give up Christmas. Why can’t your sisters or your cousin help out?”
They’d been over this, in detail, multiple times in the weeks since the lawyers had notified the family about Gus’s will, but Vanessa wasn’t having it.
“You know that my cousin Layton just gave birth six weeks ago. My sister Paulette can’t take off work until after the holidays, and Abby is just Abby. Sweet, but clueless when it comes to this kind of stuff. That leaves me. I own my own business, remember?”
“What I remember is that this is supposed to be our most glorious, exciting holiday season as a couple ever,” Vanessa put in. “I texted you a photo of the absolutely perfect ring I found, by the way. Not yellow gold, not white gold—platinum. Did you see that?”
George gulped and stared down at the text she’d sent as he was driving. “I did, but I’ve been thinking, maybe we should wait? I mean ...”
“You’re overthinking things again,” Vanessa said, cutting him off. “I thought we’d announce our engagement when we’re with all our friends at my charity gala at the club. Which is another reason you need to get back here. Otherwise, we’re missing the gala, my office party, your company’s Christmas brunch ...”
George wasn’t missing any of those events. He wasn’t a party person. “You could come up here and spend Christmas with me,” he said, knowing full well she wouldn’t. “The place could really use a woman’s touch.”
Vanessa’s tone was dismissive. “I saw the pictures of the place on the management company’s website, andthiswoman wouldn’t touch any of that crap with a ten-foot pole. It looks like something out ofHarry Potter, and not in a good way. Give it all away, burn it, whatever.”
“Don’t think the township is gonna appreciate me making a bonfire out of a local historic landmark.” He leaned down to peer up the chimney, which was when he noticed the fireplace was stacked with wood and kindling. He found a match, touched it to the kindling, and was rewarded with a warming blaze. “Nice,” he muttered.
“What’s that?” Vanessa asked. “George, are you even listening to me?”
“I always listen to you,” he said dutifully.
“Okay, but all our friends will be at the country club dance. It’s the twenty-third. You definitely have to make it back in time for that. So we can make the announcement.”
All her friends,George thought. But what he said was “Umm. What day is today?”
“The eighteenth. You should be able to whip that house into shape and still make it home in plenty of time for the gala and the other parties. And Christmas, I suppose. Right?”
“Let me ask you a procedural question, Vanessa. You don’t actually expect me to dance at this country club thing. Right?”
“Of course you’ll dance. Who goes to a ball and doesn’t dance?”
Me,George thought.It’s me. I’m the problem.
“George?” Vanessa was losing patience with him. It happened a lot. She was the most beautiful woman he’d ever met, let alone dated—smart, successful, and waaay out of his league.
He was staring up at the parlor ceiling, at some crumbling plaster and ominous water stains.
“Sorry, babe. I don’t like the look of the ceilings in here. Thinking I might need to get up on the roof tomorrow to check it out.”
“No!” Vanessa shrieked. “I absolutely forbid you to go up on that roof. You know how clumsy you can be.”
“We’ll see,” George said. Years ago, there’d been a barn at the back of the property, where he and his sisters and cousin had spent many happy hours escaping adult supervision. Was there a ladder back there? And a flashlight? He’d add it to his list.
It was really remarkable, Tilly thought, how sound traveled in this old house. It felt a bit voyeuristic listening in on George’s conversation, but since she was already squatting in a dead man’s house, this was probably the least criminal thing she’d done this week.
He’d mentioned family members, a Paulette and a Layton and an Abby. The names sounded vaguely familiar. For that matter, George’s voice sounded familiar. Was he a local? She couldn’t remember knowing any George Crowes. The most alarming thing she’d overheard was that he was apparently planning on staying. At least a week? Meaning she’d potentially be trapped in this unheated attic?
Ruth was right. She needed to get out. If he caught her squatting here, he could call the cops. Which meant Denny. She’d lose her job and the new apartment. But what other options were there? She shivered again and stretched out on the sofa, tucking her feet under Smoosh’s warm, unconscious body. She pulled the sleeping bag over both of them and uneasily drifted off, hoping the solution to her predicament would arrive in the morning.
DAY 2
Tilly woke, hours later, disoriented and with a desperate need to pee. A glance at her phone told her it was 3:14 a.m. Smoosh stirred, too, then sat up and pawed at her leg.
“I know,” she whispered. “Me too.”
She tucked him under her arm and crept, in her stockinged feet, down the stairs to the second floor, where loud snores were emanating from the bedroom she’d abandoned earlier in the evening. She paused outside the door and pictured George there, stretched out on the lumpy mattress, cozy and warm, tucked under the mound of quilts she’d unearthed from a trunk at the foot of the massive carved four-poster. She turned the doorknob, peeked inside, and got a glimpse of his bare, well-muscled shoulders before Smoosh started to whimper, and she remembered why she’d risked emerging from her lair.
There was a bathroom down the hall, but it was too risky. So she kept going, wincing when the third step from the landing let out a loud creak.
