Close to Home by Lisa Jackson Read Free Book Online Page B

and their wives, of course, and Mom, if she can make it.”
    â€œReally.”
    â€œDon’t worry, there’s no way,” Dee Linn said. “But if I’m inviting Aunt Marge and her family, I have to include Mom.”
    â€œI know. But it might be a little too much right off the bat,” she’d said. This “get-together” was starting to sound like too much of a big deal, a Dee Linn extravaganza she and her children would hate. “Dee, I’m not sure about this.”
    But Dee Linn had been off and running. “I’ve scheduled the party for the Saturday before Halloween. That will give you about ten days to unpack and settle in.”
    â€œBarely. From what I hear from Jacob, the house is a mess, unlivable. So I figure we’ll move into the guesthouse, but it’ll take some time to get it fully functional.” Sarah had been to Dee Linn’s parties before; they were usually lavish and over-the-top and involved more than “a handful” of friends.
    â€œIt’ll be fun! The girls will love it!” Dee Linn had predicted. “I know Becky’s looking forward to it.”
    â€œWhat? Wait. She’s already ‘looking forward to it’? So it’s already in the works?”
    â€œOh, sorry, Sarah. I’ve got another call coming in. Have to run. See you then! And remember, not a word to Walter or anyone about the money.”
    Dee Linn had been off the line before Sarah could protest, and Sarah had hung up feeling as if she’d been somehow manipulated by her older sister. That feeling resurfaced now as she glanced through the dirty windows in the dining room and toward the tree-lined banks of Willow Creek as it wound under the fence line that divided the land belonging to the Stewarts from the parcel belonging to the Walsh family.
    Sipping her coffee, she ignored the familiar little tug on her heartstrings that she always felt when she thought of Clint, whom she knew was living next door.
    â€œWater under the bridge,” she reminded herself. “And a very old bridge at that.” Of course, it was inevitable that she’d come face-to-face with him. And the fact that he was the local building inspector cinched it.
    Truth to tell, she and Clint had unfinished business, and that was the upcoming topic that made her dread seeing him again. Their white-hot, teenage affair was long over, cooled by good sense, time, and distance. Her broken heart had long since mended, thank God. She’d sworn she never wanted to see his handsome face again, and, well, she still kind of felt that way.
    â€œEnough,” she said aloud, then swallowed the last of her coffee and set her cup in the chipped sink, which was large enough to bathe a four-year-old in. With an industrial-sized stove from circa 1940, a butcher block island, and cracked linoleum floor, the room was still cavernous. The refrigerator and dishwasher were missing, spaces in the old cabinetry indicating where they had once existed. She tried several switches and realized only a few of the lights worked. Little could be salvaged here or in the bathroom, with its stained toilet, cracked pedestal sink, and chipped, loose tile.
    The other rooms on the floor were in better shape, though, so she gained heart. She ran her fingers over the pillars separating the parlorlike living area from the foyer.
    Both her girls were still sleeping soundly in their sleeping bags in front of the near-dead fire, so Sarah moved on through the massive dining room and single guest bedroom. Off the foyer, a wide, hand-hewn staircase curved upward for two stories. Beneath the flight of stairs on the first floor, just off the pantry and mudroom near the back porch, was a locked door that led to a basement that had never been finished and was probably home to all kinds of creatures who had nested there.
    Sarah had avoided the basement as a child, and just the thought of going down those rickety stairs to