Permanent Vacancy. Katy Lee

pieces of equipment. Spy-like even. That settled it. She needed to open for business fast and stop spending her nights watching too many television shows. She zeroed in on Colm’s Hollywood-handsome face. Watching too much TV was what gave her a warped sense of reality in the first place. Did she dare believe Colm McCrae’s show could really help her get on her feet?

      “No saw here,” Len responded to Colm’s inquiry. “Found this crowbar on the attic stairs.” He passed it over to Gretchen. “Thought the crew out back might need it.”

      Colm darted to the curtainless window. “My crew’s here? They’re early.”

      “Well, I don’t know anything about that, but you should have seen that ferry come in this morning all loaded up with machinery and crates and even trailers. That show of yours must be some operation, Mr. McCrae. I’ve never seen the Sunday ferry make the two-and-a-half-hour boat ride out here for anyone on a Monday.”

      “Money talks,” Colm said as he turned and rushed into the hall. The sound of his boots echoed through the empty house as they hit each step rapidly. The front door slammed.

      “Now,” Gretchen said, leaning the crowbar against the wall and taking a step closer to Len. “Tell me why you’re really here, because it’s not for a tour. You could have asked for that before I bought the home. In fact, you’ve lived on this island since after World War II, so you’ve probably walked the rooms of this house a million times before it was deserted after Hurricane Bob in ’91, and probably after that even. So tell me, Len Smith, what brings you here? More warnings from the islanders? More requests for lengthy dead-end discussions about how I’m ruining the island? How tourists are sure to upset the way of life we’ve had for generations? I’ve heard it all. I’ve listened and taken everyone’s feelings into consideration, but no one has done the same for me. Including you.”

      Len frowned. He walked to the window and leaned his bent frame forward to grip the chipped sill. “I’m old, Gretchen. I don’t have much time left.”

      “Don’t say that,” she retorted, unable to deny his remark. Especially after she thought how old he looked a moment ago.

      He turned toward her, a toothy grin on his cute, wrinkled face. “You want truth? I’m giving you truth. Now listen. You’re not too old to bend over my knee, you know.” He looked at her with grandfatherly eyes, the love in them sobering her.

      She smirked back at him and stepped up to the window. “Whether you all want to believe it or not, I’m not a child anymore. I can make my own decisions now.”

      Len huffed. “Tell that to your boyfriend.”

      She felt her lips tighten. “Billy’s not my boyfriend anymore. And he never will be again.” The television crew down below caught her eye, but her vision was blurred by anger.

      “I wouldn’t think so with the way he’s riling up the town by calling all these meetings to stop you from rehabbing this place. If there was a possibility of a bridge, I’d say he’s burned it.”

      “That has nothing to do with my reason for ending it with him. I needed something he couldn’t give me.”

      “And what was that?”

      “Freedom.”

      Len grunted before saying, “I figured as much.”

      Gretchen shot a look his way. Did Len know? A geyser of shame doused her. No, he couldn’t. There was no way. She averted her gaze back out the window. She caught sight of the director she had met three months ago. He was speaking a little too closely to Colm, although Colm held his ground with folded arms, muscles in forearms flexed. Gretchen wished she could read lips, but by the way Colm’s face took on a reddish tinge, it didn’t look positive. Was Colm asking Troy about putting her fall through the basement on the cutting-room floor? Or at least what she admitted to after the fall? Gretchen looked back at the director. What say you, Troy Mullen?

      “No need to pretend with me, Gretchen. I know Billy held on to you a little too tightly. Some would say he meant well.”

      “Meant well?” She whipped her attention back to the one man she had hoped to have on her side about this. If she was ever able to tell. “You have no—”

      Len held up a gnarled hand. “I said some would say. But still, he’s a deputy in the sheriff’s department. That holds water. The townspeople like him protecting their island from others with agendas.”

      “There are no agendas here other than my opening a small bed-and-breakfast to support myself. The crew from Rescue to Restoration isn’t here for any reason but to help me. When they finish they will be gone forever.”

      “Are you positive about that?”

      “Now you sound like everyone else. Of course, what other reason would there be for them to be here?”

      Len shrugged. He leaned in and kissed her forehead. “Just keep your eyes open. Things aren’t always what they seem. People aren’t always what they seem. Take that TV host for example. I thought he had an Irish accent. When he was in here, I heard no sign of his heritage. What kind of man turns his back on his roots, unless he’s got something to hide or gain? I should know. It was over sixty years ago I fled for my life from a Soviet-occupied Germany. I ran with nothing but the clothes on my back and my—”

      “I know. Your family’s heirloom painting. The painting hung above your family’s fireplace for generations and now hangs in my mother’s restaurant.”

      “And will soon hang above your fireplace here.”

      “What?” Gretchen gasped. “What are you talking about?” Maybe the man was touched, as Colm had put it.

      “I’ve told everyone that I’m leaving you my painting.”

      “Everyone? Len, the islanders will form a mob against me, my mother in the lead. Why me?”

      “Like I said, I’m not getting any younger. It’s time I put my ducks in order. As long as my painting hangs, my heritage lives on.”

      “But my mom would never take it down! You don’t have to worry about that.”

      “I know, but I want you to have it, and that’s final.”

      “That painting has always hung in her restaurant.”

      “Before the restaurant was your mother’s, it was mine. The place represented my new beginning when I came here and opened it for business. If I’m correct this home is your new beginning, right?”

      Gretchen nodded, her throat tight with emotion.

      “Then I chose well for my legacy to continue.” Len looked out the window. “Unlike that television personality down there. What would his father say if he knew his son had let down his family name?”

      Gretchen located Colm again below, this time stomping up the steps to a trailer that was placed along the tree line to the woods. Something had made him angry. Had Troy said no to his request on her behalf? Or no to some plan or agenda Colm had on his own? Without knowing who the real Colm McCrae was, she couldn’t be certain.

      “Maybe you’re right,” she told Len. “I shouldn’t be speaking for people I don’t know. I would like to say the crew is only here to help me renovate, but I may be wrong.” She reached for Len’s hand. “Will you pray for this whole situation? I hate being at odds with the islanders. But I also can’t go back to the way things were.”

      “That bad?” Len squeezed her hand and brought tears to her eyes. She bit the inside of her lip to stop the flow threatening to spill. All she could do was shake her head. If she opened her mouth to speak, only wails of pain and betrayal would come.

      “Okay, sweetheart, you don’t have to tell me today.” Len cupped her cheek so gently it nearly erased the memory of pain there. “But don’t wait too long. Nothing can be resolved if you hold it in. Plus, my days are numbered, and I have those ducks