Page 9 of Manors & Mischief

I immediately bring my phone to my ear. “Hello?”

“Is this the handyman?”

I pull my phone away and peer at the number. I don’t recognize it. Putting my phone back to my ear, I say, “It is.” I have a sneaking suspicion I know who this is, but I want to know who the jokester was who gave her my number. My mother, probably. She walks back onto the street and waves into shop windows like she does every morning. I know what she’s thinking. If we can bring back the Fall Ball, Heritage won’t have a chance at beating our festivities this year. We’ll still be on top, and she can safely reclaim her crown of Fall Queen, or whatever she thinks she wins by making Harvest Falls the place to be this time of year.

Only, I thought I made myself quite clear yesterday that I wouldn’t be helping Ember. Why do I feel like this meeting with my mom was orchestrated now?

“Hello?”

“I’m still here, and yes, I’m the handyman.” It couldn’t hurt to make sure it’s Ember. It could be someone else I actually do want to help. “What do you need?”

“Well, I’m the new owner of Sleepy Hollow Manor.” And that confirms it. The pride in her voice irks me. She doesn’t even know what she has. She’s an outsider. She doesn’t have the long history of the place like those of us who were born and raised here.

She asks me to come take a look at the ballroom, and I find myself agreeing, even if only to see her face fall when I show up.

Yes, I’m a bastard.

I might even string her along a little to hear her ridiculous plans.

But mark my words, before Ember leaves Harvest Falls, I will own Sleepy Hollow Manor.

I pull my truck up to the curb in front of the big house. It’s hard to see it like it is now. My mind can still picture it sitting there pristine. Lawn perfectly manicured, painted to perfection. Mr. and Mrs. Lewis were known to change the paint colors often. Sometimes even with the seasons. Red and green for Christmas. Orange and yellow for fall. Purple for Halloween, which is what it’s been for the longest time.

Old Man Lewis lost his wife the day before Halloween and Sleepy Hollow Manor was never the same. After he passed, the townspeople tried to keep it up, but it’s a gargantuan task. Old pipes. Historic siding. Don’t get me started on the electrical.

A quick glance at the front porch tells me Ember somehow freed herself from the porch that swallowed her up yesterday. A bucket sits over top of the shoe-sized hole.

A wave of guilt hits me. She could have been injured. I didn’t even think to ask. Then again, I did ask if she was comfortable, and she agreed, so that one is on her. Though, I’m not normally that much of a dick.

I get out of the truck, think briefly about grabbing my toolbox, but honestly, there’s no use in pretending I’m going to help her. I honestly don’t know if I’ll even make it up the stairs before she sees me. I’ll get in a good laugh, and she’ll be crushed into a million pieces.

Best case scenario.

I step gingerly up the front stairs. The creaking and groaning with the added wobbling of the wood on every step is an indicator that this needs extensive repair. The porch itself is even worse. No wonder she fell through it, and if she did, I could easily be next.

Reaching over the bucket, I knock on the antique door and step back. I hear her voice from inside, but it’s muffled. I wait another minute and knock again. This time, her voice is a little closer. “Come in!” It’s still garbled, but I try the doorknob, and it swings open freely, so I step inside.

“Sorry, I’m in the parlor. Just come on in.”

She sounds breathless, and I smile to myself. She’s nice to have around for entertainment. That’s for sure.

Closing the doors behind me, I walk through to where I heard her voice coming from. I haven’t been in this house in years. Despite its shabby appearance, it still feels the same. I wipe my fingers on the dust of a side cabinet just before the parlor door. Yeah, this place could definitely use a good cleaning.

My footsteps give me away, and Ember’s excited voice lifts up from behind a bookcase. “I found a hidden door!”

“How exciting,” I say dryly.

Her head pops out around the bookcase, and her gaze immediately narrows. “You.”

“Me.” I rise up on my toes and back down again. The stinging smell of lemon and disinfectant reaches my nostrils. “I see you’re free from the jagged jaws of the porch.”

She steps out and crosses her arms in front of her chest. She’s wearing a handkerchief around her head and a rag peeks out of a closed fist. “No thanks to you.”

“You said you were quite comfortable.”

“I don’t have time for this, Devon Lachey,” she says, as if she’s been repeating my name with disdain for quite some time. “I’m waiting on the handyman, and as you can see, the house needs a lot of cleaning.”

“And you found a secret door.”