Granddad's House (On Geneva Shores) (4 page)

“I’ll call him from the office. What time is best for you?”

“Anytime this afternoon. I’m going to the club for lunch. I’ll be home no later than two.”

She nodded. “I’ll tell him.” She exited the sunroom.

“Aren’t you forgetting something?” He called after her.

She returned, gave him a kiss, and headed for the hall where the halfdoor into her cubby was located.  She opened it, flicked on the light and kneeled down. Deep in the recesses of the small space under the stairs she spied three dolls clustered together in a casual pile. Next to them was a doll house, its furniture scattered haphazardly through the tiny rooms. Pieces of a child-size tea set lay on the carpet remnant close to the entrance. She glanced at her watch.
Too late to do anything about this now.
She would come back and rearrange them. Maybe if that family with the children saw this, they would know this was a family house, perfect for children and their parents
. I should send out emails and emphasize “togetherness in classic Old World style.”
  Maybe she would change her flyers, too. That decided, she left the house, stopping long enough to pluck a pink peony bloom off the nearest bush. It would look perfect on her desk.

“Good morning, Olivia. Lovely blouse, lovely bloom. It looks like you’re ready to sign something on your granddad’s house. That didn’t take long. Your dad would be proud of you.” Genevieve handed her a fax. “This came in a minute ago. My, my. This is the kind of buyer we should have every day. The cover sheet acknowledges your request for the bank statement, from a Mr. James. The man must be King Midas.”

“Let me see it.” Her heart skidded into her toes. This was proof of what she’d been dreading—that he actually had the money to buy Granddad’s house. The words “cash, quick close” blinked in neon red in her mind. She looked at the statement. He had enough money in
this company account to cover two such homes. Architects must do pretty well.
I have to Google him.

Keeping her voice dispassionate, she remarked, “Well, I guess he can afford to buy it then.” 

“Ya think?” Genevieve continued standing next to her desk.

“Is there something else?” Olivia asked.

“Do you want me to send this on to the escrow office—along with the offer?”

“Granddad hasn’t agreed to the sale yet.”

“Well, why not? The buyer certainly can afford it. Didn’t you say it was a cash offer?”

“And a quick closing, though he agreed to sixty days for possession.” Elements of the man’s offer kept circling like a vulture in her mind’s eye.

She handed the offending paper back to the receptionist. “Why don’t you make an extra copy of this? I’ll need one in the file and one to show Granddad when he comes in to look at the offer.” She sighed then smiled when an idea occurred to her. “Genevieve, could you do a search on this guy and his firm? He was at my open house and it was so busy, I forgot to ask him the usual questions. See what you can find out about him. Maybe he inherited all this money.” Except he’d mentioned an LLC and he wanted to turn it into a B&B. “He must be new in town. I don’t recall hearing about him.”

“Not that we work with that many architects.” Genevieve added. “I’m on it. When’s Mr. Brown coming in, or are you going to see him at home?”

“The appointment isn’t set yet. I need to make some other calls. Did anything come in that I need to deal with right away?” If only that other family had been forthcoming about an offer. What were they waiting for? She looked for her list of other visitors from the open house.

“Two calls from agents. Irwin will call you back after eleven. He’s got a counteroffer for you on the Snyder farm. And Melanie wants you to go with her on a listing appointment. It’s scheduled for four, but if we need to bump it, that’s okay.”

She nodded. “I’ll talk to Melanie.” She went into her office and closed the door. Ten minutes later, the listing appointment had been moved back to five and she reviewed her open house list of buyer leads. The two people with agents were at the beginning of their search and one wasn’t in a position to offer more than five hundred thousand.

The phone rang as she waited for the buyer to pick up.

“Mr. Harris? This is Olivia Brown of Brown Family Realty. Thank you for calling me back and for coming to my open house the other day. I’m following up on your interest in that home.”

“Oh. Well, that’s nice.”

“I was wondering if you would like an additional tour. And, given how busy it was the other day, I don’t believe you saw the carriage house or the garden building in the back.”

The man’s voice was pleasant, but noncommittal. “That’s true. You seemed to have your hands full.” He paused. “I’m not sure my son and his wife are strongly interested in your house, but I’ll let them know.”

“That would be just fine. In case it’s important, the carriage house has a small apartment upstairs. If you are thinking you’d like to live with your son and his family, but you want your own space, that might be perfect for you.” She mentally crossed her fingers.

“Oh, really? I didn’t know that. I’ll tell them.”

“Please do. I’m happy to show it to you—anytime.”

After she hung up, she jotted notes next to his name. Still a possibility. Over the next hour, she answered several phone calls, and then remembered her grandfather’s request to meet with the buyer, Mr. James. She rose and opened her door.

“Genevieve, did you find out anything about the buyer for Granddad’s house?”

“Sure did.” The woman handed her a sheaf of papers. “Check it out. That man is enough to make any sane woman swoon, even an insane one. And I couldn’t find any references to a wife. If he shows up here and he doesn’t have a ring on, I’d like to put one in his nose and take him home.” She waggled her eyebrows at Olivia. “If you know what I mean. Check out the picture I
Googled. But I guess you already know what he looks like.”

Olivia reached for the papers. “Let me look these over.”  She retreated to her office and looked over the documents. Architect, interned with a Minneapolis firm and one in Seattle, recently relocated to Evergreen. Thirty years old. His was a two-man firm, including George Dunston, previously with a kitchen design firm, now defunct.  He had to be the nice man who’d asked for a tour the day before the open house. Mr. James’ business address—where was that? She quickly
Binged the address. One of those high-rise, super-efficient steel and glass buildings that overlooked Lake Geneva. She wondered idly if he was the architect for the building, recalling that the project had been delayed more than a year before finally being completed.

She went into the office next to hers. Bruce Wingate, an agent who had been with the firm for twenty years, was sprawled in his chair, his red Converse-covered feet resting on the windowsill as he talked rapidly into the phone. She knocked on his desk, held up one finger and mouthed, “When you’re off the phone,” before returning to her office.

Minutes later, Bruce wandered in, his shirttail untucked, his hair mussed.

“Did you sleep in the office again? You look like you just got out of bed,” she remarked. “Dad would have sent you home to get prettied up.”

He tucked in his shirt. “Sorry. I’ve been working a commercial deal that’s going to be the death of me. Buyer and seller won’t come together and they’re only a couple apart.”

“Thousands?”

“Actually, two hundred k. The other agent is Celeste Fairbanks. You know how she can be.  But we’re working on it. You need something?”

“What do you remember about the newest high-rise on Lake Geneva? Wasn’t it supposed to have retail spaces at street level and condos above? I seem to recall it was stalled for some reason a couple of years ago.”

He nodded. “Permit problems. The development company, Castle Enterprises, fired the architect and the building contractor, and had to start over. Seems the people they fired tried to cut corners during construction and the county caught them.”

“Hmm. Then what?”

“They hired some new people who got the job done and the building got built. I think Celeste handled some of the retail space. Want me to call her for the details?”

“Not necessary. I was wondering. Do you know the architect they hired?”

“Just a sec. One of my clients made an offer on a unit. I think I still have the specs on it.” He disappeared into his office and came back with a full-color glossy brochure. “Here it is. James and Dunston, LLC. They are members of AIA, American Institute of Architects, if that matters.”

“Thanks.”

“You have a client wanting an architect to do up some plans?”

“I have a buyer who wants to buy my grandfather’s house and make some changes.”

“Oh. Well, Celeste can give you the skinny on those guys. I seem to remember she was impressed with the way they worked—the plans and securing the permits and things. They also had some connections with the contractors. Could be one reason the high-rise came in under budget, once they got past the legal problems the other people caused.”

“That’s good to know. Thanks, Bruce.”  She turned back to her desk, picked up the phone and fumbled briefly for the phone number before dialing.

The man answered shortly after the receptionist transferred the call. “Beau James here.”

Her pulse jumped as she brushed away a piece of lint on her skirt. “Mr. James. This is Olivia Brown of Brown Family Realty.”

“Good afternoon.”

“My seller would like to meet you.” She paused then added, “
before considering your offer.”

Silence ensued.

What is the matter with me—that he makes me so nervous?
She thought she detected a smile when he replied, “I’m honored. When and where?”

“Three o’clock. His house. You know where it is.”

“Indeed I do,” he drawled. “Will you be there, too?”

How I wish!
But Granddad didn’t want her there.
Oh, damn. Maybe if I was a fly on the wall.
“No.” She cleared her throat. “Just him—and you.”

“Please tell your seller I’ll be there at three. Thanks for calling, Ms. Brown. Olivia.”

Her heart was galloping again. His voice dripped with sex appeal.  A problem she had to get over. Her brain kept shooting messages she didn’t want to acknowledge. She called Sally again, puzzled that her best friend had yet to reply. She left her grandfather a voice mail and met with Melanie to go over the listing presentation later that day, trying with some difficulty to avoid thinking about what might be happening during her grandfather’s meeting with Mr. Beauregard Elias James.

Chapter 4

Minutes ahead of his appointment with the owner, Beau drove slowly past the house, then angled his car at the curb, the better to see the spacious side yard. The big Victorian was the kind of home he’d often imagined for himself—if he were married and his wife had a similar appreciation for old houses. He recalled a brief conversation with Heidi about homes, but she’d liked modern and sleek, not classical. His condo had been more her style. He knew no women who saw the possibilities in older homes like he did. In fact, none of the women he’d spent time with seemed to care about the kind of renovations that made up the bulk of his growing architecture business. 

His thoughts turned to the realtor and her profusion of wild red curls. Her comments about her grandfather’s house suggested that she, too, loved old homes. Or maybe just this particular home. In spite of his misgivings, he wanted to tame her and her curls, if that was possible, or caress them into further abandon.
Auburn
, she’d insisted. He chuckled. They were red, no matter what she said. That delightfully rounded bottom of hers was no less fascinating; he’d enjoyed its provocative swaying in front of him when Olivia had led him to the front door. That picture of her in the newspaper hadn’t exaggerated her beauty. If anything, it didn’t do her justice.

Olivia, you are lovely
. He had to stop assuming the worst about women in business. George was right. All women couldn’t be like Heidi.

But something told him Olivia Brown wouldn’t be easy to win over. He now regretted that she might have misinterpreted his earlier comments. Olivia clearly wasn’t into flirting with strangers or customers, and now that he was interested in getting to know her, he wondered if he
shouldn’t apologize. Would she accept his remarks or simply shove him deeper into the hole he’d inadvertently created by asking the male broker to call him? That house was obviously a family home,
her
family’s home. Maybe her grandfather would tip him off how best to approach Olivia. And why wouldn’t she be at this meeting? He was sure that wasn’t her preference. He’d never known a realtor not to be present when buyer and seller met.

He speed-dialed. “George, I’m meeting with the seller of that Victorian we talked about. I’ll let you know how this meeting goes and when we can get this purchase wrapped up—or if I need you to run interference with the agent.”

“If you say so. Just let me know.”

Beau pointed his silver Mercedes SLK into the driveway of the Victorian. As he exited the driver’s side, he hesitated. Were his casual grey sport coat and knife-creased charcoal slacks sufficient to convince the seller he was serious? Maybe he should have worn a suit and tie.

An image of Olivia came to mind again. That green outfit of hers had shown off her curves in a subtle but unmistakable manner. Her legs, tangled in bar stools or not, were long and shapely, tapering to thin ankles. And that pouty look when she’d mistaken his concern for something else made him think about kissing her, even if it would have offended her. She was all about being the professional, trying so hard to convince him she was all business.  Maybe an invitation to dinner after the seller accepted his offer would make amends.
I’ll treat her like a lady. The lady she is—even if she can’t manage barstools.

Lips begging to be kissed
. The phrase just came to him. First time, post-Heidi, anything like had come to mind. Maybe he really was over the conniving bitch. He rang the bell.

An elderly gentleman answered the door and peered out at him.

“Mr. Brown, sir. I’m Beau James. Your realtor said you wanted to meet me.”

The white-haired man nodded. “Come right in. By the way, who was the fourth president of the United States?”

“James Madison, sir. Why do you ask?”

“Just thought I’d check to see if you know your U.S. history.” The man led the way to the sunny garden room off the kitchen. “I guess you already know this place since you were here the other day.”

Beau nodded. “It’s a classic beauty. Well loved.” He took a seat after the older man did so.
Might as well cut to the chase.
“What did you want to ask me, sir?”

“No need to call me sir, though I ’
preciate the thought.” Robert Brown seemed to study him for a long minute. “Nice jacket you have there. I just wanted to see you, now that you’re interested in buying the place. Olivia, my granddaughter, she isn’t so sure about you, if you must know.”

Beau smiled, pleased to have guessed correctly. “So I gathered. I’m sorry she feels that way. It is a very nice property.”

“Tell me what you like about it, if you don’t mind my asking.” Robert poured two cups from the silver coffee urn and motioned for Beau to help himself to cream and sugar.

Beau reached for a cup and outlined his plans. “I’m sure you’re aware of the infill opportunities the city is pushing. I want to make those buildings at the back of the property into a duplex and a triplex. There’s enough space for that to happen without destroying the gardens or the exterior look of the buildings.”

“Oh?”

“I’m an architect. I like working with older buildings, retaining them for contemporary use—so they won’t go to wrack and ruin. Not that your property is in any danger of that. I can tell you’ve taken good care of it.”

“How do you know that?” Robert looked back at him squarely.

No defensiveness there.
“I know where to look. In older homes, the closets, for example. In places where the inner structure is sometimes exposed, but where people tend not to look. Sometimes the builder wasn’t careful or didn’t complete a job—that’s a sign of shoddy workmanship. And, your granddaughter—”

“Olivia. She was named after my wife, Esther Olivia.”

“Your wife must have been a beautiful woman.”

“She was. So is
Livvy. A man’d have to be blind not to see that.”

Beau looked down and cleared his throat before replying. “My eyesight is twenty-twenty.”

The old man seemed not to have heard. “But she is a handful, that one. Her red hair—she comes by it honestly, if you get my meaning.”

Beau nodded. “I know she’s not happy that I want to buy your home. But when I asked, she showed me the carriage house. It’s a great building, too. May I show you what my client has in mind?” Beau pulled out plans and spread them over the table, allowing his words to reflect his enthusiasm for the project. “These aren’t the drawings I will use with the contractor—assuming we come to agreement—but they’ll give you an idea of our thoughts about the place.” He paused. “Actually, after I saw the interior, I came up with an alternate plan, one that might work even better.” From his pocket, he pulled out a page of penned sketches.

“Those look like something Livvy and I talked about a while back. Are you sure you weren’t listening through the keyhole?” Robert Brown asked, a smile warming his lined cheeks.

“If you thought of this, it shows you know the potential of the building.” Beau grinned. “And here’s what we have in mind for the garden building. The one you’ve been using as a shed.”

“Just that one part. Most of the rest of it once was a servant’s quarters, but the plumbing probably needs to be replaced. I have no idea if it still works. Haven’t used the building in years, not since my wife passed.”

For the next hour, the two men talked. Robert seemed to like what Beau had outlined. The older man sat back in his chair after his second cup of coffee.

“Mind if I ask you some questions, Mr. James, not related to this house business?”

“That’s why I’m here. Call me Beau.”

“You seem to be a straight shooter, and I like what you want to do with the place.” He glanced out the window. As if talking to himself, he muttered, “I just can’t figure why Olivia took such a strong dislike to you.” He turned back. “You seem to know your own mind—the kind of man I like—someone Livvy can’t buffalo, or run circles around. That girl, she can do that, you know. Maybe that’s why she, why she …” He stopped and peered directly at Beau. “I don’t like her gentleman friend. He’s a namby-pamby. No guts, no internal strength, and I don’t think he really appreciates her.” He pointed to the coffee urn. “Another cup?”

Beau shook his head.

“I’ll bet you surprised her—with your house offer and all. Maybe that’s what upset her. I’ll bet she wasn’t sure how to, well, how to respond. Don’t you agree?”

Beau folded his napkin, creasing it precisely along the edge. He had to be careful. Was Mr. Brown playing matchmaker?
How much should I say?
When he looked up, the old man’s eyes were twinkling kindly.

“I don’t know her sir, but—”

“Do you want to? Get to know her, I mean. I’ll bet she was snippy with you. Always the business woman.”

Opting for a neutral reply, Beau said, “For the moment, I’d like us to conclude this transaction so that all parties are happy with the outcome.”

Robert’s forehead creased. “Don’t give me that mumbo jumbo. If you like the girl, say so! I’m an old man, and I want to see my granddaughter settled before I die.  She needs someone like you, but only if you’re interested. Are you?”

Beau suppressed his desire to laugh out loud. The man was certainly direct. “If you’re asking, am I interested in getting to know her, the answer is yes. But, I’m not sure she feels the same. She’s not happy I made an offer on your home. I’m thinking we have to get past that before, uh, well, you know, before
I—”

“Before you ask her out. I understand. Tell you what. I told her I didn’t want her here for this meeting so I could make up my own mind about you. She wasn’t a bit pleased about that, either. No,
sirree! Let me call her and tell her to get back to you about your offer. She said she had to do some background checking. You know, what realtors do. I’ll let her do her business. We’ll see how the offer goes. Then maybe later …” The old man’s eyes sparkled, as if he was thinking of something that made him smile.

“If you mean my bank account, she’s already done that.” Beau glanced sidelong at the man. “I think she was hoping I—it wouldn’t measure up.”

Robert chuckled. “Maybe.”

Beau rose and shook hands with Robert. “She knows her business. It was appropriate that she checked. And I appreciate your willingness to talk with me about your property.”

“Good. After we come to agreement, assuming that happens, I’d like to meet your partner, too. The other name on your business card.”

“That can be arranged.” Beau left the house buoyed by the man’s comments about the house. Now to wait for Olivia to call him back. He resolved to call her if she didn’t get back to him in twenty-four hours.
Just a polite inquiry from an interested buyer.

“Okay, Melanie.  Tell me what’s going to happen this afternoon.” Olivia relaxed in the conference room as the newest agent in their office glanced at her notes. A stay-at-home mom for fifteen years, Melanie was recently licensed and nervous. “Just talk me through what I’m going to see,” Olivia coaxed.

“Okay.” Melanie took a big breath and smoothed her shoulder-length blond hair. “Helen is a friend of mine. She and her husband are in the middle of a divorce. Actually, I think it’s all done. I told her it would be better if it was final before anything happened, like her signing papers and everything.”

Olivia nodded. “Good for you. And?”

“Well, they have a really nice house, and she wants to know what it’s worth—in today’s market.”

“What have you told her?”

“I said I couldn’t say until you and I looked at it. That I wasn’t going to guess.”

“Fine. So that’s what we’re going to do—look at the house?”

“Yes. I want you to meet her, so she can see that I have help if I need it, since this will be my first listing if she signs the paperwork.”

“Okay. Let’s go see the house. When were you there last?”

“Actually, I haven’t been inside since before she and Dave started having problems, at least a year ago. And I’ve never seen the upstairs rooms.”

Olivia nodded. “No matter.  We’ll check it out together. But you do the talking. I’ll just observe. After we’re done, we’ll go for coffee and talk.”

Olivia followed Melanie as they strolled along the sidewalk in front of her friend’s home. Melanie pulled out her notebook as she squinted at the house and its immediate surroundings.

Olivia walked up the steps. “Melanie, please make a note.
The hedge needs trimming, and the exterior trim needs to be scraped and repainted.” One board on the porch squeaked in protest. A swing on the right side of the porch hung by a single chain, its left side dangling inches off the flooring. She pointed to it.

Melanie nodded. “Got it.”

“So, what do you think?” A heavy-set woman in jeans and a sweatshirt greeted them.

“H
i, Helen,” Melanie said. “This is Olivia Brown, the owner of our company. Olivia, Helen Reynolds. I wanted both of us to see your home. There are some things we may need to talk about, Helen. What we call ‘deferred maintenance issues.’”

The woman waved her arms in the direction of the yard. “I’ll bet you mean the hedge and the swing. I told Dave h
e should take care of that, but, as you can see, he didn’t bother.”