Darned if You Do by Monica Ferris Read Free Book Online

visible mold on the wall tiles in the bathroom. When Valentina pressed a testing finger on a tile above the bathtub faucet, because it looked as if the grout was loose, the tile came off into her hand. Startled, she had dropped it and it broke into three pieces in the stained and dirty tub.
    But perhaps the worst thing she saw was on the outside of the house, which she noticed when she stood alongside it. (
And why pink?
she wondered. Why on earth did Tommy think pink was a good color for a house?) The wall was crooked and bulging out near the bottom about halfway along, the bricks pushed just noticeably out of place. Not by a lot, but it was definitely crooked. When she looked down the other side, she saw more bricks pushed out a few inches, again near the bottom. That indicated a problem that probably couldn’t be fixed with a little tuck-pointing. It was surprising that the house had not collapsed when the tree crashed into its roof.
    Val put her head down on the steering wheel and closed her eyes. What was she going to tell Tommy? She had promised him she’d make his house livable again. She had promised Ms. Christianson, too. But this house had far, far,
far
more serious problems than she’d thought, well beyond her abilities. Maybe beyond anyone’s abilities.
    She started up the car. She was just too tired to think clearly about this. She would go back to her motel room and go to bed. Maybe tomorrow, after she’d caught up on her sleep, things wouldn’t look so hopeless.
    *   *   *
    T HE next morning, over breakfast at Denny’s, things still looked hopeless, but at least Valentina felt less dismayed. She had faced seemingly hopeless dilemmas before, and, somehow, she’d found her way through them. So there was probably a way through this one.
    She got James Penberthy’s office phone number from the telephone operator—there was still a directory service via phone, which was reassuring to a troglodyte like herself. He said he could see her today at eleven if she cared to come out to Excelsior.
    She did.
    Penberthy’s one-man office was on Water Street, the main street of the little town. There was a long, narrow reception area—no receptionist—and the room he worked in featured old-fashioned wood paneling, with the usual bookshelves filled with tan and maroon bound volumes. A watercolor painting of ducks flying over a marsh was the only decorative touch.
    Mr. Penberthy was a man of indeterminate age with light brown hair cut short and intelligent blue eyes. His smile was pleasant, his handshake firm. He wore a business suit of conservative gray wool and a light blue silk tie. He did not offer Valentina coffee but sat down behind his plain wooden desk and got right to business.
    â€œYou are related by blood to Mr. Riordan?” he asked.
    â€œYes, his father and my mother were brother and sister. They’re both gone now. His mother and father divorced, and she moved away, abandoned Tommy when he was ten or eleven. Remarried, I think, but then she kind of disappeared. I don’t know where she might be.” She paused to take a breath. “I’m Tommy’s closest relative—in fact, as far as I know, I’m his only blood relative.”
    â€œI see. That would make you his next of kin, as he has claimed.”
    â€œThat’s right. My mother, his aunt, committed suicide nine years ago.”
    â€œOh, how sad,” said Mr. Penberthy, though he appeared more shocked than sorrowful. He looked at her as if to encourage her to go on.
    â€œShe thought she had cancer,” Valentina said. “I don’t know where she got that idea. Almost certainly not from a doctor; she was always scared to go to a doctor, afraid of what he might find wrong with her. My dad had left her right after she had me, and all she ever told me about him was that he was like a rat abandoning a sinking ship. I never could figure out what she