“It’d make a great artist’s studio, wouldn’t it?” he asked Barbie. “If I could paint. Gran can, but this is too much of a haul, and she likes using her sitting room for that, or painting on the terrace.”
Taking a break, doing the shoulder rolls Abra had recommended, he prowled around the former servants’ parlor.
“Still, the light’s great. Little kitchen area over there. Update the sink, put in a microwave, update this bathroom,” he added after taking a look at the old pull-chain toilet. “Or better, have these old fixtures rehabbed. Make use of some of the furniture that’s just sitting here.”
Frowning, he walked to the windows overlooking the beach. Generous windows, great view, a likely architectural decision rather than one done for the staff’s benefit.
He moved off, into the gable, thinking of his first wandering through the day he’d arrived.
Yeah, he could work up here, he thought again. It wouldn’t take much to fix it up a little. He didn’t need much. Move a desk up, some files, shelves—and yeah, update this bathroom, too.
“What writer doesn’t want a garret? Yeah, maybe. Maybe I’ll do that once Gran’s back home. I’ll think about that.”
Which wasn’t addressing the purpose, Eli admitted, and did a second walk-through. He imagined housemaids climbing out of iron beds at dawn, bare toes curling against the cold floor. A butler putting on his starched white shirt, the head housekeeper checking off her list of duties for the day.
A whole world had existed here. One the family had probably known little about. But what hadn’t existed, as far as he could see, was anything worth the breaking and entering, or breaking the bones of an old woman.
He circled back into the wide hall, studied the old armoire against the—to him—unfortunate floral wallpaper. On close examination he saw no signs it had been moved in the past decade or more.
Curious, he attempted to do so now, putting his back into it. And didn’t budge it more than an inch. He tried reaching into the narrow space behind it, then maneuvering his arm from underneath.
Not only would no mischievous little boy be able to shove it clear, but neither could a grown man. Not alone, Eli thought.
On impulse, he pulled out his phone and scrolled through the contacts Abra had keyed in. He hit Mike O’Malley’s number.
“Hi, Mike, it’s Eli Landon. . . . Yeah, good, thanks.” He leaned back on the armoire, thought it as solid and intimidating as a redwood.
“Look, have you got a few minutes anytime today? . . . Really? If you’ve got the day off, I don’t want to interrupt any plans. . . . In that case, I could use a hand with something. A little muscle?” He laughed at Mike’s question about which muscle. “All of them . . . Appreciate it.”
He hung up, looked at Barbie. “It’s probably stupid, huh? But who can resist a secret panel?”
He trooped downstairs, detoured into his office for a minute to imagine moving his work space to the third floor. Not a completely crazy idea, he decided. More . . . eccentric.
The wallpaper would have to go, and there would probably be some issues with heat and AC, plumbing. Eventually he’d have to figure out what, if anything, to do with the rest of the space up there.
But it was good to think about it.
Barbie’s head lifted. She let out a trio of barks seconds before the doorbell rang.
“Some ears you’ve got there,” Eli told her, and headed downstairs in her wake.
“Hey. You were quick.”
“You got me out of doing yard work—temporarily. Hey there.” Mike gave Barbie a rub as she sniffed his pants. “I heard you got a dog. What’s his name?”
“Her.” Eli struggled with a wince. “Barbie.”
“Dude.” Pain and sympathy covered Mike’s face. “Seriously?”
“She came with it.”
“You can use that unless you get her a buddy and call him Ken. I haven’t been in here for a while,” Mike added as he wandered the foyer. “Hell of a place. Maureen said your family came up for Easter. How’s Mrs. Landon doing?”
“Better. A lot better. I’m hoping she’ll be back in Bluff House by the end of summer.”
“It’ll be great having her back. Not that we want to kick you out of Whiskey Beach.”
“I’m staying.”
“No shit?” Mike’s grin stretched as he gave Eli a punch on the shoulder. “Man, glad to hear it. We could use some fresh meat in our monthly poker games. And we’d class it up holding it here when you’re up.”
“What’s the buy in?”
“Fifty. We’re small-time.”