Renovating the Richardsons Read online

  A moment of dead silence met his suggestion. Though Al dared not look directly at any of his friends, he felt the weight of several panicked gazes.

  Jerry tilted his head, considering. “Well, if Al doesn’t want to… ”

  Beneath the table, a shoe stomped on Al’s foot. He opened his mouth to protest, but then he was caught in Bill’s direct, round-eyed stare. The man’s expression clearly said, Do something before it’s too late.

  His stomach sank. He was the one who’d inflicted Thacker on Goose Creek. It was his civic duty to minimize the damage.

  “I’ll do it,” he told the mayor.

  Millie grasped a dangling corner of the hideous paisley wallpaper between her thumb and two fingers and pulled upward at an angle. A foot-long section of multicolored flowers and sprawling vines peeled away from the plaster. She raised her voice to shout over the sound of the steamer’s motor. “There’s something satisfying about stripping wallpaper, don’t you think?”

  Violet, her best friend and former next-door neighbor, passed the steamer’s pan across the wall with a circular motion. “When it’s all gone and the wall’s got a fresh coat of paint, that’ll be satisfying.”

  “Yes, but there’s something about peeling off the old to get ready for the new.” Millie scraped the bare plaster to wipe off the sticky glue left behind and then cleaned the scraper with a cloth.

  “Out with the old, in with the new, eh?” Violet tilted her head and considered the wall. “I used to peel the skin off Byron’s back when he got sunburn. It’s the same sort of thing.”

  Though Millie didn’t consider the two actions remotely similar, she merely muttered a noncommittal, “Hmm.” To her, ridding this bedroom of several layers of decades-old wallpaper—and whoever hung paper without going to the effort of first removing the previous layer should be shot, in her opinion—was akin to spring cleaning, when the accumulation of winter’s dust and dirt was scrubbed away in preparation for the spotlight that summer’s sunshine would bring. The process itself was restorative. Since Violet rarely bothered with deep cleaning of any sort, the comparison would be lost on her.

  The scent of clean laundry filled the room. One of the ladies at church had relayed the tip of using fabric softener to loosen the old paper instead of the more expensive commercial solutions. Another had suggested vinegar, but the idea of that odor permeating the house wasn’t appealing. Fabric softener not only made the entire house smell nice, but it worked well, especially since Millie gave up trying to strip by hand and bought the steamer. Al had groused about the expense until she pointed out the cost of renting the equipment for the number of days required to remove decades’ worth of wallpaper in the entire six-bedroom house. She’d saved a lot of money with the purchase.

  Of course, she hadn’t yet told him the cost of three dozen antique glass doorknobs. But those were a necessary purchase. The travesty of using modern doorknobs in a lovely Victorian-era house was unthinkable.

  Violet finished with a section and moved sideways, taking care to pull the hot steamer hose out of the way. “When will you be able to go back to part-time at the clinic?” she shouted.

  Millie stepped into the spot her friend had just vacated and tackled the paper before it had a chance to dry. “Alice Wainright starts Monday. I’ll spend two days training her, and by Wednesday she should be able to handle the afternoons on her own.”

  For several years she’d been employed as the morning receptionist at the Goose Creek Animal Clinic, a job she enjoyed immensely. Half-days suited her perfectly. But when the former veterinarian sold the clinic last month, she’d been forced to work full time. She enjoyed working with Susan, the new vet, and she couldn’t deny that the extra income had come in handy since she and Albert bought this house and began the renovation work. But between putting in a full day at the clinic and cooking supper and taking care of Albert, she had no energy to spare in the evenings. Since she staunchly refused to work on Sundays—a holdover from the old days, perhaps, but one she believed important—that left only Saturdays to focus on the house. At this rate she and Albert would be in their nineties before the bed and breakfast opened.

  “Do you want me to come over Wednesday afternoon?” Violet shouted.

  A satisfyingly long strip of gaudy wallpaper peeled off from the floor all the way to the height of Millie’s waist. “Make it Thursday,” she answered. “But come at four for tea on Wednesday.”

  A smile lit Violet’s face beneath the helmet of hairspray-stiffened curls that remained as tight as when she arrived that morning, despite several hours’ exposure to steam. “I’ll bring egg salad sandwiches.”

  Millie rolled the sticky paper and tossed it onto the trash pile in the corner. Violet tended to be heavy-handed with the mayonnaise, resulting in egg salad that had very little taste of actual eggs. “Would you bring muffins instead? I have a new recipe I want to try. It’s supposed to be healthy. No mayonnaise at all.”

  The next section of paper proved difficult. Millie tackled the corner with her scraper, and in doing so applied a touch more force than necessary. The metal edge gouged into the plaster, and a chunk crumbled away. “Oh, dear,” she murmured. Now she’d have a hole to patch, a task she had not yet mastered. Working carefully, she slipped the edge of the scraper beneath the thick layers of wallpaper and pried upward. More plaster crumbled away. She put a finger in the hole, dismayed when a sizeable portion tumbled to the floor. The wall felt damp and almost squishy. Either the steam was penetrating all the way through the plaster, or—a sense of foreboding settled in her stomach—the dampness was coming from inside the wall.

  “Violet,” she called, “look here.”

  Her friend switched off the steamer’s motor and stepped to her side. “You’ve poked a hole in the wall.”

  “Yes, but look.” Millie hooked her finger inside the plaster and gave a slight tug. Another section crumbled away, leaving an opening big enough to see wood inside. Obviously very old wood, since the house was over a hundred twenty-five years old, but was old wood supposed to darken like that? The anxiety in her stomach blossomed. Using her finger, she tore at the crumbly plaster until she had uncovered a sizable section of the interior. She and Violet bent forward to look inside.

  Violet straightened, shaking her head. “That wood’s moldier than month-old bread.”

  Millie shut her eyes against the sight. Albert’s attitude must be rubbing off on her. All she could see in her mind’s eye was a huge, flashing dollar sign.

  Stripping Wallpaper–the DIY Method

  Items Needed:

  Fabric softener (use the inexpensive store brand)

  Water

  Sponge

  Putty knife or scraper

  Box cutter or razor blade

  Combine one part fabric softener with one part water. Using the sponge, saturate the wallpaper you wish to remove. Wait ten minutes. In the bottom corner of a panel of wallpaper, use the scraper to lift an edge of the paper, and then pull slowly upward and diagonally. When you’ve peeled off as much paper as possible, use the scraper to remove the rest. Reapply the solution if necessary. If paper is stubborn or is in layers, slash the paper with the box cutter before applying the fabric softener solution. Take care to only slash the paper and not the wall. You will need to wash the wall with clean water and may need to patch damaged areas before painting or repapering.

  Chapter Two

  I’m afraid it’s been leaking for quite a while. Years, by the look of it.” Justin, also known as Hinkle the Handyman, delivered the news with a sympathetic grimace. He’d interrupted his work on the B&B’s roof at Millie’s request and now stood in the front bedroom with her and Violet, peering at the disturbing dusty growth inside the wall.

  Millie received the pronouncement with a stoic mask firmly in place. Beside her, Violet tsk, tsk, tsked.

  They stood before a sizeable hole in the plaster that Justin had made with a hammer in an attempt to discover the extent of the mold. They had
yet to find a section of unmoldy wood, which meant the damage was widespread enough to cast a cloud of worry over Millie’s normally cheerful attitude.

  Justin seemed to sense her concern. He forced a smile. “On the positive side, at least we found the cause. The copper pipe looks intact and in good shape. The corrosion appears to be limited to the leaking elbow joint where it comes around the top of this wall.”

  Millie looked where he indicated. A network of plumbing branched off and headed toward bathrooms in a couple of different directions. “Does that mean it’s only this wall that’s moldy?”

  He hesitated, his expression cautious. “I hope so. If the damage is confined to this one pipe, then the wall in the upper floor is probably okay. But we’ll need to check the room below.”

  “There’s no arguing with gravity,” Violet intoned as one delivering sage wisdom. “It will always win.”

  Millie bit her tongue. Normally she enjoyed Violet’s endless store of quotable quotes and overused clichés, but just now she wasn’t in the mood.

  “The front parlor is beneath this room.” Her favorite room in the house, with the beautiful bay window and ornate crown molding and the gorgeous ash hardwood floor she planned to have sanded and restored. The parlor wasn’t on her list to be worked on until early next year, after this bedroom and the one with the second-best view in the back of the house.

  Justin fixed a kind smile on her. “Maybe it hasn’t gone all the way down. Let’s hope for the best.”

  Violet took her hand and gave it a sympathetic squeeze. Swallowing against the lump of gloom that had lodged in her throat, Millie nodded.

  A noise in the hallway alerted them to the arrival of someone else. A voice called, “Millie? Are you up here?”

  Panic gripped her insides. She whirled toward Violet and grabbed her other hand. “It’s Albert. What will I say?”

  Albert, whose pessimism over the house was a mounting conflict against which she struggled daily, would no doubt view this setback as an omen. She’d be forced to listen to his complaints about the unanticipated expense, the incompetence of the inspector who should have detected this before they bought the house, and at least a dozen other I told you so’s. Could she hide the hole? Alarm pinged in her brain as she cast a frantic glance around the room. Maybe one of the longer sheets of wallpaper?

  “There you are.” Albert sauntered in from the hallway, a small smile on his heavy features. He nodded a greeting at Violet. “You’ll never guess what I agree—oh.” He stopped short when he caught sight of Justin. “I thought you were working on the chimneys today.”

  “I am. Just lending a hand here for a minute.” The young man gestured toward the giant hole in the plaster.

  Albert inspected the wall, a frown gathering on his forehead. “I thought the plan for this room included removing the wallpaper and painting. Why are you tearing down a wall?” He stepped forward, bending at the waist to examine the damage.

  Millie forced an even tone. “That’s what we were doing, but then we found—”

  “Mold!” Albert jerked upright and whirled on her. He stabbed an accusing finger at the hole. “That’s mold.”

  Justin examined his shoes while Violet edged toward the window and became fascinated by something on the front lawn.

  Mustering her courage, Millie faced her husband. “Yes, I know, but Justin has already found the cause, and it can be repaired.”

  “Repaired?” He drew himself stiffly upright. “Mold is deadly, Millie. Poison!” A hand waved frantically in the air between them. “We’re breathing poison at this very moment!” He grabbed the collar of his polo and ducked his neck to shield his mouth and nose. “I knew this place would be the death of us.”

  Her patience nearly exhausted, Millie folded her arms across her chest. “Don’t be so dramatic.”

  Justin stepped forward. “Al, I’m not a mold expert, but I’m pretty sure this isn’t black mold. If you’re allergic to mold it might make you sick, but I don’t think it will kill you.”

  “That explains this headache.” Al’s voice was muffled by his shirt. “And the nagging cough. I haven’t felt well for a month, not since we moved in.”

  “Now you’re being ridiculous,” Millie snapped. “You’re not allergic to anything. I haven’t heard you cough a single time, and you haven’t complained of a headache.”

  “I’ve suffered in silence,” came his aggrieved reply.

  A ridiculous claim, not worthy of an answer. In all the years they’d been married, Millie had never known her husband to endure anything, even a hangnail, in silence.

  Millie faced Justin, presenting her back to her husband. “So what’s the plan? How do we determine the extent of the damage, and what can we do to fix it?”

  With a quick glance at Albert, the young man cleared his throat. “I know a mold removal specialist. Want me to give him a call?”

  “A specialist?” Albert repeated. “That sounds expensive.”

  Violet offered an appropriate cliché without turning from the window. “There’s no such thing as a free lunch.”

  Gritting her teeth, Millie ignored them both. “Please do. Ask him to come at his earliest convenience.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Justin hurried from the room, obviously relieved to escape.

  Millie faced Albert. “If you want to help strip the rest of this wallpaper, you’re welcome to stay. Otherwise, there’s a Honey-Do list on the refrigerator.”

  She thought he might offer further arguments, but after only a moment’s hesitation he followed Justin with a long-legged stride, his shirt collar still clutched to his face.

  Violet finally turned away from the window. “I’m glad that’s over. The tension was so thick you could cut it with a knife.”

  Millie glanced gloomily at the mold-splotched wood. “If you think that was bad, wait until he gets the bill.”

  Dr. Susan Jeffries pressed her stethoscope against her patient’s tiny chest. The rapid heartbeat tap-danced in her ears while bulging brown eyes watched her face. She inched the drum down and listened to the rumble of an active digestive system.

  Removing the earpieces, she smiled at the Chihuahua’s anxious owner. “Everything sounds good.”

  Nina Baker blew out the breath she’d been holding. “Thank goodness. Pepe will be ten next month, and I don’t think I’d be able to handle it if… ” She winced. “You know.”

  Standing on the metal table, Pepe shivered. It did feel a bit chilly in this exam room. Susan retrieved the sweater he’d arrived in and slipped it over his head, taking the opportunity to run her fingers down the slender legs to feel his patella. “I don’t see any sign of the health problems common to this breed. Older Chihuahuas sometimes develop knee problems, but his are fine. I’ll check his blood work, but I don’t see any reason why Pepe shouldn’t live to a ripe old age. Fifteen or even twenty is normal.”

  That brought a wide smile to Nina’s face. “Thank you, Dr. Jeffries.” She gathered her dog into her arms for a hug, and Pepe snuggled beneath her chin, obviously accustomed to the position.

  “Call me Susan.” She plucked a pen out of the pocket of her new lab coat and tapped on the embroidered name, Dr. Susan. A few weeks ago she’d decided her old lab coat, which identified her as Dr. Jeffries, was too impersonal. The beloved former veterinarian, from whom she’d bought the Goose Creek Animal Clinic, had been known simply as Doc. If she wanted to be accepted by the pet-owning community in this small town, she’d need to be friendly and informal. That was what Justin advised, and she agreed.

  Justin. A familiar warmth flooded her. Everything reminded her of Justin these days. And how could it not, when the image of his smile was branded on her mind’s eye, and the memory of his kiss burned in her heart?

  “Dr. Susan it is.” Nina ducked her chin toward her pet’s ear and spoke in the high-pitched, indulgent tone many pet owners used. “We like her, don’t we, Pepe? We’ll come back and see Dr. Susan again, won’t we? Say bye-bye now.”
She grasped a tiny paw between her fingers and waved it.

  “Bye-bye, Pepe. I’ll see you in six months.” Susan picked up the folder and stepped around the exam table to open the door. “I don’t expect the blood work to show anything, but if it does I’ll give you a call.”

  With a happy nod, Nina snuggled her dog and preceded Susan down the hallway and through the swinging door that separated the exam area from the waiting room. After scribbling a few notes on the chart, Susan handed the folder to the weekend receptionist. Hazel Duncan, a sturdy woman with a head full of spiky brown locks, glanced at it and began pounding on the keyboard without a word, either to her or to their customer. Susan bit back a sigh. Hazel was certainly competent, if a bit forbidding. Whereas Millie, the regular receptionist, practically bubbled friendliness and neighborly goodwill. Hopefully the new afternoon receptionist would be more like Millie. If only Millie would continue to work full time. But Susan understood her desire to spend time readying her house to open her bed and breakfast. And besides, Millie’s B&B was the reason Justin spent his days in Goose Creek, close enough that they could have lunch together several times a week.

  Again, the thought of Justin conjured his image, and Susan allowed herself a soft smile. In a few hours she’d be on the back of Justin’s motorcycle, on their way to their favorite roadside diner and a long ride through the central Kentucky countryside.

  A man emerged from the kitty waiting room. “All finished for the morning?”

  With a start, Susan looked into a familiar smiling face. “Daddy! What are you doing here?” The question came out sharper than she intended.

  His smile faded. “I’m here to spend the weekend with my little girl. Is there something wrong with that?”

  “N-no. It’s just—I mean, I—” She snapped her mouth shut. Daddy’s appearance on weekends had become rather more common than not in the past month. No doubt about the reason, either. He disapproved of her relationship with Justin, who’d dropped out of college after a year and worked a blue-collar job, two decisions Daddy viewed with disdain.