Page 35 of Mourner for Hire
“Thank you.” She flops on the couch. “I always loved it here. It was a safe haven of sorts. All my girlfriends loved it.” She stands again—the woman cannot stay still for more than thirty seconds. “So tell me what your vision is?”
I raise my eyebrows. “With the renovation?”
“Yes. I picked you because you don’t do the average bland palette. I know your vision will be everything I ever dreamed of.”
“How do you know that?” I venture.
“Because I did my research. I know you worked really hard building your interior design business, and I’m so sorry it didn’t work out, but I have seen the pictures and watched the videos, Vada. You are a talented designer. And smart. And hardworking. And I know you fell on hard times and now this has become your business, but I know that when dreams aren’t accomplished, they don’t die. They don’t go away. They just sit in the pit of your heart until you let them breathe again. I want you to let it breathe again.”
She really did stalk me—I mean, do her research.
“Gut job,” I answer quickly, rolling my suitcase against the wall.
“Come on. I know how you work—” it’s strange how much this woman stalked me “—humor me.”
I smile despite my annoyance with her and take in the space. The living room is to the right, and the kitchen and eating area are to the left. “Well, for starters, I’d keep the bones and the character of the archways. Replace the wallpaper, paint?—”
“What color?” she interrupts with inept enthusiasm.
“Probably white.” She winces at my answer. “It creates an easy canvas. Then I can go in and wallpaper—probably where you have it. Repaint the cabinets.” I open one, and it squeaks. “New hardware, but the doors are in good shape. Open shelving to display the colored vases you have in the old china cabinet.”
She lets out a dream-like sigh. There’s a wooden ladder thatleads to a loft situated on the back of the house, most likely on top of the main floor bedroom and bathroom.
“What’s up there?”
She shrugs. “Just a bunch of old toys and stuff.”
I give her a quizzical look.
“I always wanted grandchildren!”
I roll my eyes and walk down the small carpeted hallway. “Get rid of the carpet.” I poke my head in the bathroom. The floors are white and black penny tile. Dirty and stained but gorgeous. “I’d replace the toilet and vanity. Keep the clawfoot tub, of course, and repair the broken tile on the wall.”
“Great. Great.”
“New furniture.” I open the French doors leading to the back deck. The wood is warped, and the weather strip is almost nonexistent. “New doors. Refinish the deck before the rain comes, I guess. Fresh flowers.” I eye the cedar hot tub off the deck and turn to her. “Does the hot tub work?”
“Oh, yeah. It’s made with western redcedar—never rots. That tub is perfection. You’ll probably need to get some firewood for the firebox and fill it, but other than that, it’s good to go.”
I mentally make a note to have that be at the top of my list.
“Dominic was the one that built it.”
I raise my eyebrows and let go of an unamused, “Ahh.”
“Yeah, he’s handy but doesn’t always have an eye for design—at least not an eye that like. Not that it really matters anymore because, well, I’m dead.”
“Right,” I say, mustering up the tact I need to deliver this with grace while also holding up my boundaries. “Well, before I get started, I need to set up some ground rules.”
“Yes, right—” She claps her hands together. “Ground rules.”
“First off, I need space. You can’t just always be here. I know you’re a ghost or whatever, but can you please pretend to be human and do normal things like knock or say excuse me? Don’t just appear out of thin air.”
She nods. “Done.”
“Fantastic.” I hold open the door.
“Are you kicking me out?”
