Page 154 of Road Trip
“He parks it under the carport around back, ever since busybody Esther Trabert made it a point to remark on my overnight company to Aunt Fran,” Therese said.
“Good thinking.” Maeve opened the refrigerator and scanned the shelves. “Any of that pizza left?”
“Sorry,” Scotty said sheepishly. “But I can DoorDash some more.”
“Perfect,” Maeve said. “There’s no DoorDash in Tarrymore. Come to think of it, there’s not a pizza place in the village either.”
“Welcome back to civilization,” Therese said.
“You didn’t tell her the good news yet,” Scotty pointed out.
“Oh yeah. Maeve, I signed the paperwork today. The bank totally wrote off Mama’s mortgage.”
“What?” Maeve threw her arms around her big sister’s shoulders. “That’s fabulous. How’d you manage it? Last I heard, Hoot Wooten was stonewalling you.”
“Scotty helped,” Therese said.
“Nah. Don’t let her fool you,” Scotty said proudly. “Your sister marched into that bank with the receipts. She had the proof that Letha warned her bosses your mother was not competent to be making financial decisions and that the bank had failed to protect one of their customers.”
“And also, Frannie and Bernie play mahjong every week with Hoot’s wife, and they gave her an earful.”
“That’s such a huge relief,” Maeve said. “Speaking of paperwork, I’ve got a bunch of documents Billy Mac needs for you to sign for Esme’s estate stuff.”
“Is that why you came home?”
“That’s part of it. I’ve decided to sell the carriage house. My tenant moved out last week, so I need to clean it out and pack up the stuff I’m going to ship home to Tarrymore. And also, I want my clothes. And my books.”
“Ahh.” Therese looked stricken, as though she’d just had the wind knocked out of her sails.
Her voice cracked with emotion. “You’re really doing it? Permanently?”
Maeve was touched by her sister’s reaction.
“This was all your idea, you know. You were the one who stole my passport and hid it so I couldn’t come back here.”
“You stole her passport?” Scotty asked, elbowing her in the ribs. “Baller move, babe.”
“It was for her own good,” Therese insisted. “And look how it worked out. How’s Liam, by the way?”
“He’s good. I wanted him to come with me, but it’s busy at the distillery, and he’s dog-sitting Sinead. I’ve also got news about Lady G.”
“About time,” Therese said. She pointed to a stack of mail on the kitchen counter. “The bills keep rolling in. I had no idea how much home ownership costs. The light bill, water and sewer, property taxes…”
“Tell me about it. Billy Mac, our solicitor, says we can start drawing funds from the trust as soon as probate is done, which should be soon, since Geoffrey Rossington is in no position to file a lawsuit from prison. I got a text message from Billy today saying we have an offer on the painting.”
“I thought we agreed to sell it at auction.”
“Hear me out. An anonymous donor wants to buy the painting and give it to the National Trust—so Lady Geraldine can be returned to hang in the portrait gallery at Tarrymore.”
“How much?”
“The offer is for seven hundred and fifty thousand dollars.”
“Is that all? Hell to the no. Remember, Esme’s painting sold for almost a quarter million more than that.”
“But she didn’tnetthat much money. The auction house charged a commission, which I figured out was twenty percent. They also charge for shipping, marketing, cleaning the painting, et cetera. We know our painting would need to be restored and reframed, which can be expensive. And we’d probably have to wait for the auction house to put it in their next fine art sale, which could be months from now.”
“I don’t have months to pay these bills,” Therese said.
