Spell of Shattering Page 2

  She said good-bye, and her hand hovered over her phone to dial a different number when it buzzed with an incoming call.

  “Good morning. Jessa McAvoy with Ryan Rohmer Real Estate. How can I help you?”

  “This is Anastasia,” greeted a brusque female. “Please hold for the mayor.”

  Chapter Two

  Jessa’s mouth went dry. The mayor?

  She’d left a short message with his assistant a couple weeks earlier. Maybe word had gotten around and he wanted to sell his big, beautiful house on River Road.

  “Jessa McAvoy?”

  “How can I help you today?” she replied smoothly, though her insides were in turmoil. She’d never dealt with a client as important as Mayor Paul Westfield. “Would you like me to transfer you to Mr. Rohmer?”

  “No, young lady,” Paul said. “I’m calling to talk to you.”

  “Me?” she blurted out, and then pulled herself together. You can do this. “Sorry. Of course. How can I help?”

  “I’m on my way to your office,” he said. “I’d like you to show me some properties.”

  “Sounds wonderful,” she said. “I’ll be here.”

  “See you soon.” He hung up.

  Jessa took a step toward Ryan’s closed office door and then froze. If she ran the idea by him, he would definitely ask her to hand over the mayor to him. There was nothing wrong with showing Mayor Westfield a couple properties. Jessa had a Realtor’s license, after all.

  So, she double-checked the contents of her messenger bag, straightened her mauve skirt, and waited in the vestibule, unable to tamp down a burst of shiny hope. Everything was going to work out. She finally had a potential client of her own, and she was going to start her own realty business. There was no doubt in her mind.

  A glossy black town car rolled up to the sidewalk, and a female driver in a tailored navy blue suit stepped out to open the rear door.

  Smiling wide, Jessa ducked inside and dropped beside Paul onto a plush bench seat.

  “Good to see you again, sir,” she said.

  He gave her a firm handshake. “You remind me so much of Rebecca.”

  Jessa heard that a lot. She took it as a compliment. Rebecca was a personal hero of hers. “Thank you.” She tugged at her skirt, flipped her honey gold hair over her shoulder, and fired up her tablet. “Tell me exactly what you’re looking for, and I promise I’ll find it for you.”

  “It was Ms. Powell, oddly enough,” he said, “who inspired me to invest in local business. I want to build a meeting hall in town. A luxurious, open space with both interior and exterior venues that can be rented out by the public.”

  “What a brilliant idea,” she said. Auburn needed more quality meeting spots. “I’ll run a quick search.”

  “Actually.” He signaled their driver to start moving with a gesture in the rearview mirror. “I have a place already picked out.”

  “Oh. Lovely.” This might be even easier than she’d hoped. “What’s the address?”

  “We’ll be there soon.” Clouds swept by the tinted windows, darker than normal, and he shifted to see her better. “You used to work for Rebecca Powell.”

  It wasn’t a question. “I sure did.”

  “What made you leave, if you don’t mind my asking?”

  “It was a mutual decision.” Sort of. When Rebecca had decided to leave Auburn—which she still hadn’t actually done—Jessa switched real estate groups. “But I’m very happy at Ryan Rohmer’s office. It’s an excellent company.” For full-time agents. It was a prison for so-called junior agents like her.

  “I’ve heard great things about them,” he said, “and about you.”

  She blushed. Couldn’t help it. Something about being squished in the backseat of a nice car with a handsome older gentleman paying her compliments. And Paul wasn’t just the mayor. He had only recently announced he’d be running for governor of North Carolina next election. From there, he could be a senator. Or the president. He came from an old family of North Carolina tobacco barons and could literally do anything he wanted.

  The driver turned off the main boulevard onto a narrow dirt road, and Jessa recognized every inch of their destination.

  Disappointment crowded out most of her optimism. She knew the address. Knew the owner. And knew, without a doubt, it wasn’t for sale.

  “I’m sorry, sir,” she said as they parked in Derek Walker’s driveway. “But this house isn’t currently on the market.”

  “Let’s not allow a minor detail stop us.” He climbed out of the car, brushed at his impeccable suit, and strolled for the kicked-in front door.

  “It’s not quite legal, sir,” Jessa exclaimed, hurrying to catch up. “We can’t enter private property without the owner’s permission.”

  “The house is abandoned.” The further he walked into the building the more muffled his voice became. “It’s not quite illegal, either.”

  She was fairly certain this was trespassing, but she followed him through the front door anyway.

  Derek’s house still smelled funny, like burned plastic, and nothing remained but the large sofa in the living room and some broken dishes in the kitchen. The last time she’d been in the house, she’d served Derek mac and cheese on those plates. Not that he had cared.

  To think, she’d sat by his hospital bed after the car accident, praying he would wake up, and then when he’d finally opened his eyes, praying his brain damage would reverse itself.

  It had. Little by little. He’d even learned to talk again. And one of the first things he’d said to her with his newly remembered language was, Go away. Don’t come back.

  It still stung.

  Paul reappeared in the hallway. “Yes, this will do nicely.”

  “This?” She couldn’t help the shock and dismay in her tone.

  “Not the house. Naturally.” He made a dissatisfied clucking noise. “But the property is perfect.”

  “I have to be honest, sir,” she said, “the owner is no longer in the area and, as far as I know, not willing to sell.”

  “I think we can persuade him,” Paul said, his dark eyes twinkling. “Don’t you?”

  No. But she didn’t say so. “Do you mind finishing our conversation in the car?” The dust and sour smell was getting to her. A buzzing started in her ear, faint at first, and then so loud she wasn’t sure she was imagining it. She rubbed at her ear, and the phantom irritation subsided.

  Outside, the driver stood by the hood of the Town Car, her arms crossed. There, in the gravel, was a bunch of spray painted symbols Jessa hadn’t noticed before. Embarrassed Derek’s home had fallen into such disrepair, she kicked dirt and gravel over the marks. She hoped the graffiti artists hadn’t tagged any other parts of the home.

  “Ma’am?” The driver held open the rear door.

  Nodding, Jessa slid into the seat.

  “You’re familiar with the owner, aren’t you?” Paul asked, joining her in the vehicle.

  “Yes,” she said. “But I can’t share private information with you.”

  “Let me re-phrase.” He chuckled good-naturedly. “Derek Walker owns the house. He used to work with you, didn’t he?”

  “Yes.” She was growing increasingly uncomfortable. This felt more and more like a prank, but she couldn’t figure out how. “I don’t know where he is.”

  “He’s in Alaska,” Paul said, matter-of-fact. “Hasn’t he kept in touch?”

  “How do you know that?” Pain swelled in her chest, as fresh as the day he had disappeared. Derek had gone to Alaska? Why hadn’t he told her? Or even said good-bye?

  “I like to know everything about the people I do business with,” Paul said. “You see, I haven’t had much luck enticing him to return, but I think he’ll reconsider if you ask him.”

  She nodded faintly, lost in her memory of the last time she’d talked to Derek. In only a handful of words, he’d sent her away feeling like an idiot. And yet, she continued to worry about him, wherever he was hiding because he’d been
her friend and she cared about him.

  “But I’m afraid there’s a bit of a time crunch,” Paul said. “You have to deliver him by Friday, or I will have to find another agent.” He gestured to the driver, and they headed into Auburn.

  Friday? How was she supposed to convince a man who wouldn’t even speak to her to fly home in four days?

  She opened her mouth to express her uncertainty when her earlier conversation with Ryan pushed its way to the forefront. She may not be able to get in touch with Derek so soon, but it was worth a try.

  “I’ll do my best,” she answered. “In the meantime,” Jessa typed into her tablet, “I’ll email you similar listings.”

  “Thank you.” He acknowledged her with a brief smile. “I expect to be dazzled, young lady.”

  Confused as to what he meant exactly, Jessa leaned back and made notes. Local properties. Forms to sign. Loan officers. When the car rolled up to Ryan’s building, she collected her things, stepped out, and then reached back to shake the mayor’s hand. “I’ll do everything I can to secure the property,” she assured.

  “Bring him home, Miss McAvoy.” His grip was firm. “I’ll be in touch.”

  Despite the fact that Jessa had no idea where Derek was, let alone how to convince him to sell his home or return to North Carolina, she swept through the front doors of her company with a bounce in her step.

  Jessa’s luck was finally on an upswing. After everything that had gone wrong in the past year, things were finally turning around. She grinned into her hand at the thought of two potential clients falling into her lap in a matter of days.

  The moment she reached her desk she slid her purse in a drawer and pulled out her cell phone to call her little sister and tell her all about it.

  Jessa froze.

  Seven months and Jessa still forgot Jolie was gone. Like a phantom limb, the loss thrummed.

  “Not today,” she murmured under her breath. If she let the grief in, she’d never get it back out again.

  She dialed Derek’s number instead and when his voicemail came on, she left a message. “Derek? It’s Jessa. It’s important.” Not that the three dozen messages she’d left him in the past four months weren’t. “I have a solid offer on your house, and I need you to call me back. We could both make a lot of money, and it would help me,” she lowered her voice and cupped her hand over the mouthpiece, “quit my job at Ryan’s.” Clearing her throat, she spoke up. “In case you forgot my number…” She left him her cell number, home number, office line, and her email.

  After a beat, she added, “Please call me, Derek. I’m worried about you.”

  Karen piped up from across the room. “Oh, that’s sweet. But I’ll give you a pro tip. Don’t waste daylight on personal calls.”

  Jessa hung up and turned on her co-worker. “Mind your own business.”

  “Just being a mentor.” Karen gave her an amused sneer. “Sounds like you could use the help.”

  Jessa opened her mouth to fire back a retort when her office phone rang, and she ignored Karen to answer it.

  “Hey, girl. How are you?” asked a friendly female voice. After a pause, she added, “It’s Carly Pritcher. Remember? Your old neighbor with the tomatoes?”

  “Of course I remember you,” Jessa replied, picturing the middle-aged woman’s shy smile. “How have you been?”

  “Oh, you know, so-so. But I got your message. It was sweet of you to think of me.”

  “I think of you and your tomato plants all the time,” Jessa admitted. She didn’t have a green thumb and anyone who could nurture plants to life, let alone edible fruits and veggies, had her unqualified admiration. “Did they bloom for you this year?”

  “They sure did. If you want to come by today or tomorrow I’ll pick a couple for you.”

  “I’d love to,” Jessa said, already imagining crisp tomato slices on her morning bagel.

  “But the real reason I called is—” Her former neighbor’s voice lost about a thousand percent of its enthusiasm. “—I was talking to my friend at church last night, and it turns out she’s a real estate agent too. She showed me pictures of a bunch of adorable little houses in Sailor’s Bay. And, well, I’m going to use her as my agent. Sorry, sweetheart. But will you still come by and pick up some tomatoes? I saved two beautiful ones for you.”

  Jessa struggled to keep the crushing disappointment out of her voice. “Of course. I’ll try to swing by later this week. Good luck, Carly.” She hung up, unable to shake off a sense of hopelessness.

  No matter how hard she tried, no matter how positive she stayed, she just couldn’t catch a break.

  * * *

  Wiping sweat from his upper lip, Derek leaned into the circular saw as the sharp scent of freshly cut two-by-fours invaded his senses. A satisfied rumble vibrated through his chest.

  The cabin wasn’t much. Yet. More like the skeleton of something that would be amazing come the end of fall. The walls were two-by-fours covered in tarps, but the roof was finished.

  In the past, he’d helped sell houses. He’d enjoyed redecorating them. Once or twice, he’d even done some simple landscaping, but this was the first time he had picked up tools and built something with his hands.

  The work was grueling, which suited him perfectly. It helped distract him from the constant spirit chatter he was forced to endure as well as boost his energy. He was in the best shape of his life. He felt incredible. Physically.

  Mentally? Not quite as incredible.

  But he was working on it.

  Derek set the saw aside and nailed the horizontal brace into place.

  “…worthless piece of shit…how can you even live with yourself…” The spirit rattled on and on, so long his voice became an indistinct purr in Derek’s ears.

  He drove his hammer into the nail harder and harder, the force driving the bit of metal sideways, but temporarily drowning out the ghostly curses. It was worth pulling out the nail and starting anew for the three seconds of peace.

  He was so caught up in the details of nailing beams and outsmarting spirits, time got away from him, and he forgot all about Bo until Derek heard crunching pine needles and smelled cigarette smoke on the wind.

  Crap. He’d left Bo on the lake. Thinking he must have missed his employer’s call to collect him and Stubby, Derek turned repentant eyes on the approaching man.

  “I was going,” he cleared his throat to dislodge the words stuck somewhere between his brain and tongue, “to pick you up.”

  “Don’t sweat it,” Bo said, puffing on his cigarette. “Stubby’s granddaughter came by looking for him. She dropped me off.”

  He still checked his phone to see if he’d missed a call. One message from Jessa. Her voicemails always left him feeling twisted and guilty. But no calls from Bo.

  “Anyway, it’s Friday, so I brought your pay.” Bo offered him a crumpled envelope from his back pocket.

  Derek accepted it without peeking inside. He knew what he’d find. The same as every other week. Five twenty-dollar bills. No receipt. Both men agreed life would be simpler if they kept their employment relationship to themselves.

  “You oughtta put it in a bank,” Bo advised. “Don’t you think?”

  Derek stuffed the envelope into his toolbox. “I don’t trust banks.”

  “You don’t trust anyone, do you?” Bo laughed as if Derek were endlessly amusing. Then, circling the cabin, he said, “You’ve done a lot of work since the last time I was out here.” He blew thick gray smoke at Derek. “You better be done by October.”

  It was the same threat, uttered with the same undertone of severity, Bo offered him every time they spoke of the project. Just be done by October. You won’t want to be half-finished when October comes around.

  Derek wondered how much Bo hoped he wouldn’t finish by October just so he could shake his head and say I told you so when the roof caved in under the weight of the first snowfall.

  Derek may have lost his mind in April, but he wasn’t stupid. The house was
solid. It would withstand the wind, the rain, even the hail Bear Lake was famous for. It wouldn’t leak. The roof wouldn’t bend. It would keep him warm all winter and still be standing come spring.

  “What’s this again?” Bo kicked at the living room wall.

  “Window seat,” Derek grunted.

  “What’s a man want with one of those?”

  Derek didn’t respond. He was used to people like Bo not understanding his creative impulses. He’d been called foul names for it for years. It didn’t stop him from doing what he loved. Or from building a window seat in his tiny cabin in Alaska, no matter how temporary the situation may be.

  He also wouldn’t tell Bo he’d designed built-in bookshelves in the bedroom or framed a spa tub in the bathroom. Bo would only laugh louder.

  “That’s something I always liked about you.” Bo’s cigarette glowed red. “You don’t say much.” He chuckled deep in his chest.

  Derek didn’t know how to respond. He certainly couldn’t explain in a couple sentences how his voice had been stolen by a spell. So, instead, he bluffed that the remark hadn’t stung, and pulled a ladder from inside the house. Before dark, he wanted to secure a section of roofing for a galvanized steel chimney. It wasn’t pretty work, but it was necessary.

  In his previous life in Auburn, Derek had been good at interior design, and it was something he looked forward to doing again. Pairing colors and fabrics and finishes gave him a sense of purpose, like maybe he was doing good in someone’s life, making their home more beautiful and more comfortable.

  Bo inspected the window seat and then made a full perusal of the foundation, kicking at a doorjamb and rapping his knuckles on what would eventually be a picture window.

  “Stubby and I are heading up the river at first light,” Bo announced. “Be ready, and wear something warm.”

  Unlike last time, went unsaid. Derek had assisted Bo on a hunt and gone in track pants and a long sleeved tee. He’d nearly frozen his fingers off. But the rookie mistake had amused the bush pilot to no end.