Thomas Kinkade: The Inn at Angel Island

Fran checked the condition of the pocket doors, which were solid oak. “Not bad,” she told Liza. “They don’t even stick much. And those plaster medallions on the ceiling are the real thing, not the plastic molds you can buy these days at the hardware store.”

Liza hadn’t known you could buy ceiling medallions at the hardware store. She hadn’t even known what the ornate plaster carvings around the light fixtures were called until this morning.

They climbed to the upper floors, where Fran took photos of a few bedrooms, those that were in the best condition and nicely decorated. She even took a few shots that showed the ocean views from different windows.

Liza found that encouraging. Some people didn’t care what a place looked like, as long as they could see the water. You could see the ocean from nearly every room of the inn. That was one of the wonderful things about it.

They finished the tour and went out again through the front door. “I’m going to take this information back to the office and work up some figures,” Fran said, pausing on the porch. “I want to have my broker, Betty Bowman, help with the asking price. She’s very good at it. There’s so little property out here for sale right now, it’s hard to find anything comparable. But we definitely need to figure in the rising market value. We don’t want to put it out there too low.”

“No, of course not,” Liza said quickly. “What about fixing the place up a bit? Will that help?”

“Some paint would help. You’d be surprised. Just the minimum to make it presentable. You can fix the shutters and those broken panes of glass-” She pointed out a window on the third floor that had been patched with cardboard. “You should clear out whatever you can inside. The less clutter, the better. Just try to stage the place with the nicest pieces of furniture.”

Liza nodded. She’d heard that term before-staging a property-and knew there were professionals who came in and did that for a seller. She would have to read up on the Internet and figure it out herself.

“I’m going to start cleaning up today,” Liza promised. “How soon do you think you can begin showing it?”

“Not long. A day or so. It sounds as if you don’t want to wait until the paint job is done.”

“No, I don’t,” Liza said firmly. “I only have two weeks off from my job. I don’t even want to stay here that long.”

“We’ll go as fast as we can,” Fran promised. “If we don’t get any offers, I’ll keep showing it after you leave. Let’s figure out the asking price and any conditions you and your brother might have about the sale.”

“Conditions? What kind of conditions?”

Fran shrugged. “Oh, I don’t know. Sometimes in this situation, people want to make sure the building will still be run as an inn…”

“We don’t care. Someone might want to restore it to a private house. That’s what it was originally.”

“Yes, I know. And someone else might want to buy it just for the property. As a knockdown. Would you be comfortable with that scenario?”

A knockdown. Liza had never even considered that, but of course, it seemed so obvious. So definitely possible.

The wind off the water suddenly gusted up, and Fran grabbed on to her hat. Liza turned her back a moment, grateful for the chance to get her thoughts together.

“I’ll have to talk that over with my brother,” Liza said finally.

Peter’s answer was easy to predict. He needed the money from the sale of the inn immediately. His divorce had made a big dent in his finances, and his business had hit a slump in the ailing economy. She doubted that sentimental feelings would win out over his checkbook.

“Yes, talk it over. I’m sure this is very stressful for you both, right on top of losing your aunt.”

“Yes, it is,” Liza admitted.

Not to mention the other dramas going on in her life right now: the tournament of champions at the office and her divorce.

“Well, I hope to guide you through the process as painlessly as possible. With all the action going on out here and all the articles in the newspaper, this island is becoming a hot spot. I just sold a little cottage on the north side, near the new beachfront. There were so many offers, we had to have an auction,” Fran said proudly.

“Really?” That was encouraging. Would they need to have an auction for the inn? Liza wondered.

“If you have any questions at all, please feel free to call me, day or night.” Fran handed Liza a business card and a thick packet of information about Bowman Realty. “I’ll be speaking to you soon, once I come up with some numbers.”

The two women said good-bye, and Fran headed for her car.

Just as Fran’s car pulled out of the circular drive, Liza saw another car pull up and recognized Claire North behind the wheel. The battered dark green Jeep suited her. It was just the kind of car Liza expected her to drive. Sturdy and nondescript.

Claire parked and walked up to the inn, carrying a cloth tote filled with groceries. Liza stepped forward to greet her, feeling relieved that Claire had not been around to overhear the conversation with Fran. Especially the part about possibly knocking down the inn.

“That was Fran Tulley from Bowman Realty,” Liza explained. “She’s going to show the inn for us.”

“Yes, I recognized her. We go to the same church, Reverend Ben’s church,” she explained. “Everyone knows her husband, Tucker. He’s a police officer in Cape Light.”

Liza should have guessed. It was such a small town. There were not even six degrees of separation among the residents around here, more like one-or even zero. She couldn’t imagine living in a place like this, where everyone knew everyone else and their business. She wondered how her aunt had coped with it. Elizabeth, for all her innate hospitality, had always been such a private person.

“Have you heard from your brother? What time do you expect him?” Claire asked.

“Oh… he’s not coming today. He’s stuck in Tucson for some reason. I’m not sure when he’ll get here. I haven’t spoken to him yet.”

“I see. I’ll get his room ready, though. I have a feeling he won’t be too much longer.”

Claire sounded so definite. Liza wondered if she had some inside knowledge. Impossible, of course. The woman was simply eccentric.

Claire went inside, and Liza checked her watch. It was just past twelve. So just past nine in Tucson? She always got the time change wrong, but it seemed late enough to call her brother.

Liza walked up to the porch and sat on the steps, then pulled out her cell phone. The air was cool, but the sun felt strong. Spring was coming, even out here. In the daylight she could see that the lawn in front of the house was sprinkled with snowdrops, the first flowers of spring, and other promising bits of green seemed to be sprouting up as well.

Across the road in front of the inn, a stretch of vacant land sloped down to the beach. The land was unbuildable, her aunt had once told her, and their wide, wonderful view would never be blocked out by a new building there. Liza hoped it would stay that way, despite all the predicted development.

Well, she wouldn’t be here to see what happened either way.

She took a deep breath of the cold, salty air and felt it seep into her lungs. She had heard that something about air at sea level was good for you, the positive ions or something. Or was it the negative ions?

Her BlackBerry buzzed, the vibration startling her. She snapped out of her reverie and checked the caller ID-Peter- Tucson. “Hey, I was just going to call you. What’s going on?”

“Something’s come up. Sort of a good news/bad news situation. Gail went away with her boyfriend, so I have some extra unscheduled time with Will. That’s the good news,” he added. “But it’s the bad news, too. If I have Will here for the next two weeks, it means I’m stuck in Tucson.”