Page 12 of Falling for the Grumpy Stranger

Chapter Ten

RHETT

Ipulled the creaky ladder down from the attic opening. I hadn’t been up in the space yet, but the realtor told me it was packed with old things, items leftover from past owners. The ladder seemed sturdy enough to hold my weight, so I hoisted myself up into the dank, dusty space. Cobwebs grabbed at me from every angle. I pulled the small flashlight out of my pocket and turned it on. The beam of light highlighted a stack of boxes, two old trunks and a dresser that tilted to the side and was missing a bottom drawer.

Before signing the contract, I could have asked Ms. Jensen to have the items removed, but I was interested in finding out more about the history of the house. Now, as I looked at the piles of boxes and the trunks, all thick with dust and webs, I questioned that decision. Just like I questioned my decision to let Ella peruse the items for her story. I’d had no intention of allowing it, but then she poured her soul out to me about her writing career. Something about the story, about her, thawed my usually frozen heart. Maybe there was still a bit of human left inside me after all.

I had to crouch to avoid crowning myself on the rafters. Ella was small enough that she’d be able to navigate the spacewithout bending over. I’d need to bring up a light and drop an extension cord, so she could get to the items. I worried it wasn’t safe up in the attic, and I proved that the next second by turning too quickly, smacking my head. “Damn it.” I reached up to the sore spot that was destined to be a bump. This was starting to feel like a big mistake. No wonder every subsequent owner had left everything stored in the attic. There was no reasonable way to get the items down without a pulley and rope.

I crouched over even farther, wanting to avoid a new bump. The boxes had been labeled with a permanent marker. “Old clothes and shoes.” I doubted there’d be anything of worth in the boxes for her project. That was another source of regret—her project. Did I really need a bunch of online readers hearing about a cursed house in the town of Whisper Cove? I might end up with curious trespassers trying to get a look at the cursed manor. This was a mistake. I’d made a mistake.

I blamed it on those big brown eyes.

Chapter Eleven

ELLA

Iwoke early, too anxious and excited to sleep later. I packed my laptop, notebook and pens in my backpack and sat at the table with Layla for breakfast. Ava was still sleeping, and Isla had already left to take her baked goods to the café.

I sat with a cup of coffee and one of the pumpkin muffins Isla left behind. It was my favorite kind, with nutty streusel topping. I was going to need energy for my hunt. I only hoped there was something in that house that would give me some trustworthy insight into Margaret Grimstone and her short, tragic life.

“You’re up so early.” Layla was wearing her pharmacy uniform and pin. Like everyone else in town, most especially Isla, Layla was anxiously waiting for the bakery to open. She would be working for Isla full-time, which meant she could finally turn in her pharmacy badge. Isla had left me a standing offer of a job in the bakery if I wanted it. Yesterday, as I trudged toward the front steps of the manor, I thought my writing career had taken its final bow and I’d need that job in the bakery. I was more than stunned by Rhett’s change of mind. Something told me he was stunned, too.

“I’ve got research to do for my first online story. I’ll be up at Grimstone Manor.” I realized I hadn’t told anyone yet. “In case I disappear,” I added.

“So, you sweet-talked the owner into letting you rummage through his house. Ha! Ava owes me ten bucks. She didn’t think you’d even get one foot inside after he refused to open the door to a plate of cookies. Which one of Ella Lovely’s arsenal did you use? Pleading with those big brown eyes? A long-winded, nicely worded defense of why it would be in his best interest? Or did you just break out the Ella tears?”

I rolled in my lips.

“It was the tears, right?” She shook her head as she took a bite of toast.

“Actually, it was a sprinkle of everything, and the tears were real, trust me. I was sure I’d just finished my career as a writer. No small thing, as you well know.”

“Yes, I know. Weallknow. What do you expect to find in the house?”

Her question made my shoulders sink. “Gosh, I don’t know. Maybe nothing at all, in which case my career would be over anyway. I’m hoping Margaret Grimstone kept some kind of records or journal, something that will give me insight into her life.”

“Can’t you just embellish? Make some things up? Like you do with your stories?”

“That’s just it. This isn’t a fictional publication. I’m a little out of my element here, but they want facts, interesting facts. Just not sure I’ll find any.”

“If anyone can turn a plain bird into a peacock, it’s my sister Ella. Don’t fret. You’ll be brilliant, and the publication will be thrilled they landed the multi-talented Ella Lovely.”

“Multi-talented?” I asked.

“Well, you can write … and … let’s see—remember that macaroni picture frame you made in fourth grade? That was pure genius. And you can do a perfect cartwheel in the sand. Not an easy task.”

I picked off a piece of muffin and threw it at her.

She laughed. “All right. I’m teasing. When are you heading over to the house and how many hours should we give it before we report your disappearance to the police?”

“I’m heading there at nine, and I’ll stay for as long as Rhett Lockwood allows. I don’t want to overstay my welcome. At the same time, I need to get this story started. I want it to be perfect and intriguing and factual. I want to wow the editors.” I sighed dejectedly. “How on earth am I going to manage that?”

“You’ll manage.” Layla got up to put her dishes in the sink. “By the way—what’s he like? The new owner? Is he young or old? Handsome or dreadful? Single or married? Grumpy or kind?”

“Whoa, there. Too much at once. Let me see.” I lifted my eyes in thought. “He’s youngish, like our age. Handsome.” I nodded once confidently because that was an easy one. “I didn’t see a ring but then his left hand has been injured in some kind of fire. He has bad scars on that hand and arm, and I very impolitely asked what happened, but he didn’t answer. Grumpy or kind?” I asked myself. “Hmm, jury is still out on that one, but at least he decided to let me look through the stuff.”

“Well, take your pepper spray just in case he’s a psycho.”

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