Fillin up, p.1
Fillin' Up, page 1
FILLIN’ UP
REAL ESTATE RESCUE COZY MYSTERIES, BOOK 11
PATTI BENNING
SUMMER PRESCOTT BOOKS PUBLISHING
Copyright 2024 Summer Prescott Books
All Rights Reserved. No part of this publication nor any of the information herein may be quoted from, nor reproduced, in any form, including but not limited to: printing, scanning, photocopying, or any other printed, digital, or audio formats, without prior express written consent of the copyright holder.
**This book is a work of fiction. Any similarities to persons, living or dead, places of business, or situations past or present, is completely unintentional.
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CONTENTS
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Epilogue
Also by Patti Benning
Author’s Note
Contact Summer Prescott Books Publishing
CHAPTER ONE
Flora Abner stood in the entryway of her house. Beautiful, shining hardwood floors extended down the hall that led past the stairs to the kitchen. The trim was pristine white, not a scuff or a smudge on it. The walls were a soft, pale blue-gray, and the air smelled like buttery cookies, thanks to her newest candle.
After a little more than a year and a half of hard work, the once-neglected house was just about perfect. The roof no longer leaked. All the water damage had been patched over, the once dry and scratched floors had been refinished, and the kitchen counters had been redone. The house was over a hundred years old, and while she had kept the old farmhouse charm, it didn’t feel its age any longer. It felt comfortable, cozy, and sturdy enough to stand another hundred years. It felt like a home.
Flora took a deep breath and lowered her phone. She had been comparing the entranceway to one of the photos she had taken when she first moved here. Even though she had done the vast majority of the work herself, the comparison still astounded her. She felt a bittersweet mixture of pride and wistfulness as she considered the progress she had made.
She was making huge strides toward her desired career as a house flipper, but she had made one big mistake. She had fallen in love with this house. Selling it was going to be difficult.
That didn’t mean she wasn’t going to put her best effort into it, of course. With all of the big repairs out of the way, it was time to focus on the little things. Right now, most of her furniture was the cheapest secondhand stuff she had been able to find. It was fine for her, but in just a few months, she was going to start the process of getting the house listed. She had done a lot of research about selling houses, and she knew just how much difference a good set of photos could make. She had to pay her aunt back a sizable loan, and she also needed to make enough money to get started on fixing up the next house she bought, which meant she had to sell this house for top dollar. Anyone who looked at the listing had to fall love with the place. And that meant doing something about her ragtag collection of furniture.
She wasn’t going to get rid of what she already had, but she could store it in the nice, rebuilt shed behind the house while she found some nicer pieces to showcase in the listing pictures. She could also offer to let the furniture go with the house, which might help the sale.
It was time to say a temporary goodbye to her ratty old pullout couch, the comfortable yet worn recliner, and the coffee table someone’s puppy had chewed on a lifetime ago.
“We’re in the homestretch now, Amaretto,” she told her fluffy white Persian cat as she walked into the living room.
Amaretto was in her customary spot on the back of the couch, gazing out the window to the porch and the dirt road and field beyond. Although Flora vacuumed the couch whenever she cleaned the floors, there always seemed to be a layer of white fur where Amaretto liked to lay. She was already planning to send the cat to stay in her friend’s apartment when she started showing the house, both to keep Amaretto out of way of the viewers, and to make sure the cat didn’t slip out during a showing and get lost in the woods… and also to keep the amount of fur in the house down to a negligible level.
That was still a few months away, though, so for now she contented herself with running her fingers through the cat’s long, silky coat, and casting a judgmental eye around the living room.
It would be nice to get a matching set of furniture, but she wasn’t going to fork over the money to purchase something brand-new. She hadn’t used up all of the loan her aunt had given her, and she didn’t want to. She was going to have to pay it all back before long. Her own, personal income from the hardware store was enough for the essentials, but she wasn’t going to get rich off of it anytime soon. Her business partner and boyfriend, Grady, took home the bigger salary since he was the majority owner of the business and also put in the most hours there. She split her time between the hardware store and her home, and she knew once she moved on to her next flipping project, she would have even less time to put in at the store. In other words, money was tight, even if things weren’t desperate yet.
“I’m sure whatever house we buy next will have a view you enjoy just as much,” she told the cat. “No more apartments for us.”
It was nice having more space. She had found that she enjoyed hosting get-togethers for her friends. Sydney’s birthday was next week, and they were going to have the party here, with no worries about disturbing her neighbors.
The cat’s tail twitched in response to her words, or maybe in response to the bird that had landed on the porch railing. Even though neither of them moved, the bird took off in a sudden, alarmed flutter of feathers. Flora shifted to look out the window from a better angle and spotted her elderly neighbor, Beth York, coming up the driveway with her droopy Basset hound beside her.
At the sight of the dog, Amaretto’s tail puffed up and she darted off the couch. Flora sighed. She loved dogs, but she didn’t think owning one would be in the cards for her, not while she had Amaretto. The cat couldn’t stand them.
She walked over to the front door and pulled it open, slipping out while blocking the exit with her legs out of habit, since Amaretto had a bad tendency to try to dart outside whenever the door opened. Shutting the door behind her, she waved to her neighbor, who waved cheerily back.
“What a nice morning,” Beth called out. “Are you doing well, dear?”
Barefoot, Flora lingered on the porch as Beth approached. Sammy, the Basset hound, paused to sniff intently at a patch of grass in her yard. Beth lingered while he examined it.
“I’m feeling a little sentimental today, I think,” she said. “It is a nice day, though. How was your morning walk?”
“It was lovely,” Beth said. “This autumn weather is my favorite, and I think Sammy likes it too. The summers are just too hot for us. Enjoy your youth while you have it, Flora. Once you reach my age, you’ll constantly be either too hot or too cold. Sometimes both at once, if you’re unlucky.”
“This is my favorite sort of weather too,” Flora said. “I’ve always loved fall. Do you want to come in, or are you just stopping by for a chat?”
“I just thought I’d swing by and say hello,” Beth said. “You should join us on our walks sometimes, dear. I’ve seen you out with that cat of yours on her leash. Maybe she would get more used to Sammy if they took some walks together.”
She thought there was a much greater chance that Amaretto would squirm out of her harness and hide at the top of a tree, but she didn’t say that. Still, Beth had become a good friend to her over the past year and a half. She could always go on a walk without her cat.
“Maybe next time. If I spot you going by tomorrow, I’ll pop out and join you.”
“That would be wonderful,” Beth said. “What do you have on your plate today?”
“Furniture shopping,” Flora told her. “Or at least, browsing. I want to get some nice, matching furniture for the house. I don’t want to buy it new, though, and the thrift store usually has a random assortment of pieces. Do you know any secondhand furniture stores that might have matching sets?”
“I’m afraid not,” Beth said, her brow furrowing as she thought. After a moment, her expression brightened. “A friend of mine is having an estate sale this weekend. I think it starts tomorrow. She has some lovely furniture, and I think she’s selling almost everything. Her husband passed away last month, and she’s moving into assisted living.”
“Oh, that’s horrible,” Flora said.
“I don’t think it was unexpected,” Beth said. “If you get me a notepad, I’ll write down her information for you. I think you’ll be able to find some lovely items there.”
“I’d appreciate that,” Flora said. “Let me just go grab a pen and some paper. I’ll be right back.”
She popped back inside to fetch the supplies. With anyone else, she would have had them type the information out on her phone, but Beth wasn’t a fan of touch screens, or technology in general. Flora had been helping her with the ancient desktop she and her husband owned, and while Beth was now able to get news from the town’s social media page and check l ocal business hours online, Flora was certain she didn’t enjoy the experience.
Using the porch railing to support the notepad, Beth wrote down the name Marjorie Beckman, and then an address underneath it before handing the notepad back to Flora.
“If you end up buying anything from her, I’d love to see whatever you get,” Beth told her. “I’d best be getting back home with Sammy now. Tim will be wanting his breakfast soon. You have a nice day, dear.”
“You have a nice day too, Beth. I’ll see you later.”
She watched as the elderly woman and her dog tottered off down the street, then slipped back inside to figure out how far away the address was and see if Grady wanted to go with her tomorrow.
She hoped she had similar tastes to Beth’s friend. It would be nice to knock all of the furniture shopping out in one trip.
CHAPTER TWO
Flora pulled up to the curb in front of the apartment building across from the hardware store at nine the next morning. She and Grady had gotten involved in some deadly drama surrounding an apartment for rent a couple of months ago, and once the apartment was unexpectedly available again, he had realized that not only could he now afford to live there, but that living right across from the hardware store made a lot of sense.
Leaving the trailer he used to call home to his brother, Wade, he made the move, and was now settled into the little two-bedroom apartment where he could look out the window and see the hardware store across the street.
Since their only employee, Ellison, was now experienced enough to open and close the store on his own, Grady had more time off than he was used to. This was one of the mornings neither of them was working, and he had been happy to accept her invitation to go furniture shopping at the estate sale today. Since the house was in town, not far from his apartment, she had offered to pick him up on her way.
Now, she got out of her truck and made her way toward the door that led up to the apartment. Before she could press the buzzer, it opened and Grady came out.
“Hey, I saw you pull up,” he said, pulling her in for a hug. “Did you have a good morning?”
“I spent most of it drinking coffee and watching Amaretto get increasingly frustrated at a brave little bird that kept hopping around on the windowsill,” she said. “You?”
“Still getting used to living in this place,” he said. “It’s kind of nice to be in town, though. I saw Ellison arrive at the hardware store a couple hours ago. It’s hard to see the hardware store and not feel like I should be there.”
“You’re allowed to have a life outside of work,” she said, nudging him with her elbow as they walked toward her truck. “Life’s pretty good, isn’t it?”
“Yeah, sometimes I still can’t believe how well things have gone these past couple of years.”
Life had its ups and downs, but for both of them, there had been more ups than downs. To Flora, who came from a well-off family in Chicago, it was business as usual. For Grady, who had spent his life in a trailer park in the poorer part of the small, rural town of Warbler, Kentucky, the larger salary he had as a business owner instead of an employee at the hardware store and finally moving into a nice apartment had been a big change for him.
He paused before they reached her truck. “Actually, now that I think about it, if you’re looking for furniture, it might make more sense if we drive separately. We’ll be able to haul more large items if we have both trucks with us.”
“You’re right,” she said. “I didn’t even think of that. I don’t know how much I’ll buy, or if I’ll even buy anything, but if I do end up buying a whole set of furniture, I’d rather not to have to come back for a second trip.”
“I’ll walk over to the hardware store and grab my truck,” he told her. “Then I’ll follow you over to the house the sale is at.”
She nodded and got into her own truck to wait for him. Even though the apartment building offered on-street parking, he preferred to park his truck in the hardware store’s parking lot. She didn’t blame him – something about parking on the street felt a lot less secure.
When she saw him pull the truck out of the hardware store’s lot, she put on her blinker and pulled away from the curb. Her GPS was already set to Marjorie Beckman’s house, which was only a few blocks away. Almost everything in Warbler was only a few blocks away from the hardware store, which was one of the upsides of living in such a small town.
Even without looking at the address, it was obvious which house had the estate sale going on when she turned onto the street. The driveway was packed with cars, and so was the curb in front of it. Flora found a spot to park, and watched Grady drive partway down the block to claim his own space. She waited for him on the sidewalk, and they walked up to the house together.
It was a towering old Victorian home, with an iron fence in the back and a tall, peaked roof with twin turrets rising on either side of the house. The yard was impeccably cared for, and even the grass had an expensive feel as they walked across it.
Her house and yard were nice. This was on a different level entirely.
“I hope I can afford whatever she’s selling,” Flora murmured. “I was hoping to save money by getting secondhand furniture, not spend a fortune.”
“It’ll still be fun to look, even if you don’t end up getting anything,” he said. She nodded – it would be a lot of fun to look through everything that was for sale in this house. Even if she didn’t get any furniture, she might be able to find a few pieces of decor she liked.
There was a table set up in front of the house that seemed to be working as a sign-in booth. She and Grady joined the short line, but it soon became obvious it wasn’t moving. A glance to the front of it told her why.
An elderly woman with a shock of white hair that was puffed around her head like a cloud was standing over the middle-aged woman who was seated at the table, her hands planted on her hips.
“The floors getting filthy,” the elderly woman snapped, in what sounded like the latest of a long line of complaints. “I’ve asked you three times already to tell everyone to wipe their feet coming in, and to avoid walking on the grass when they leave. And no children. Someone brought their five-year-old in, and she almost knocked over a vase. I was told your company was professional, but if it is, I have yet to see it. This is the furthest thing from the stress-free experience you promised me. You won’t be getting a tip from me, I guarantee it.”
“Please, Ms. Beckman,” the woman said, sounding weary. “I assure you, I’m doing the best I can. You should be glad it’s so busy today. You’ll be sure to sell almost everything by the end of the weekend.”
“I should never have agreed to this,” Marjorie Beckman muttered as she turned away to stalk back inside. “Strangers tramping through my home all weekend… this is a nightmare.”
The woman at the table let her shoulders droop in relief and started moving the line along again. She looked a little more relaxed by the time Flora and Grady reached her.
“Welcome to the Beckman Estate Sale,” she said. “My name is Sherry Roper, and I’m here to help with whatever you need. Please sign in with at least one of your names and your phone number, along with the time you arrived. If you see an item you want, please remove its tag and come here to this table to pay. If you pay cash, you can take it home with you today. If you wish to pay with a check or a card, you will have to wait until Monday to pick up your items, so I can ensure the payment clears. Any questions?”
“I don’t think so,” Flora said as she wrote down her name and her phone number on the list. The paper’s heading read Lorelei’s Estate Solutions. She asked Grady to check the time before she wrote that down as well. “Actually, I do have one. Is the sale throughout the whole house, or are there areas that are off limits?”
She didn’t want to do something to draw Marjorie Beckman’s ire. The woman seemed to be in a terrible mood today. Flora couldn’t quite blame her, considering the circumstances. Losing both her husband and her independence all in the span of a couple of months would put anyone in a bad mood.
