Sheet-covered shapes loomed like ghosts in the dim light.<\/p>\n
Tia Jordan pushed the door open further and entered the room, stirring up dust and setting off a series of sneezes. A half brick lay on the hardwood floor, along with shards of glass, but other than the broken window, the room looked much like the others she\u2019d viewed\u2014lifeless, dirty and neglected for nearly half a decade. The huge old house had all kinds of potential. It would just require weeks of work to make it livable.<\/p>\n
But she wasn\u2019t one to look a gift horse in the mouth.<\/p>\n
When she\u2019d gotten the call from the attorney saying she needed to be present for the reading of Elizabeth Sloan\u2019s will, she\u2019d been pleased but not surprised. She\u2019d met the woman only a handful of times, when she\u2019d participated in the services her church had held at Mrs. Sloan\u2019s adult living facility. In the three years since opening her emergency abuse shelter, Peace House, Tia had benefited from numerous fundraisers organized by the citizens of Harmony Grove and been the recipient of several grants.<\/p>\n
She\u2019d gone to the lawyer\u2019s office expecting to be ushered into a conference room with family members and possibly representatives from some other charities to receive a small cash donation. Instead, she\u2019d sat alone with the attorney and learned that she was the primary heir to the estate. A son, George, would inherit ten dollars, and a grandson, Jason, would receive the personal effects inside the house, if he could be located within six months of her death.<\/p>\n
Tia flipped the switch, and a floor lamp came on, its glow chasing the shadows into the far reaches of the room. Along the back wall, heavy drapes hid a bank of windows. She pushed one aside to peer out. A blanket of steel-gray clouds hung low in the sky, the midday sun somewhere behind.<\/p>\n
She swiped a hand down one of the dirt-coated panes and squinted at the back yard. Actually, yard<\/em> wasn\u2019t the right word to use. Yard<\/em> implied at least a loose sense of organization\u2014grass, shrubs, flower beds, with some kind of defined edges for each.<\/p>\n Instead, the landscape looked as if someone had come in with a bush hog every few months and mowed down thigh-high growth. It was currently overdue.<\/p>\n Ten minutes ago, she\u2019d stepped from her car onto the cracked concrete drive, then made her way up the front walk, an unruly blend of weeds and grass encroaching from both sides. She\u2019d been nervous. There\u2019d been too good of a chance of running into a snake. Or two. Central Florida rarely got cold enough to slow down the creepy-crawlies, even in early December.<\/p>\n She let the drape fall and moved away from the window. The yard had a lot of potential, just like the house. It was large, with plenty of room for outdoor living, places where tormented souls could find serenity. That potential was what she\u2019d focus on\u2014the end result. Not all the work it would take to get there.<\/p>\n Of course, she\u2019d have help\u2014volunteers from local neighborhoods and businesses, high schoolers doing their community service for scholarships, even some of the battered women she took in. Some who came through her doors threw themselves into activity, hoping to outrun the demons that pursued them. Others sat alone, quiet and withdrawn, temporarily disconnected from life.<\/p>\n Tia had done both.<\/p>\n She moved back through the room, toward the open doorway. Judging from the shapes of the sheet-covered furniture, the space had been used as a den. It would be her office. With its location at the end of the hall and its own exterior door, she\u2019d be able to bring in new clients without traipsing them through the living areas until after she\u2019d spoken with them and they felt ready to face the others.<\/p>\n Finished with her tour of the first level, she turned off the light and headed toward the grand stairway. With as long as the place had been abandoned, she\u2019d been surprised but relieved to find the power on. Leaving a house closed up in Florida without the A\/C running at least occasionally was a sure-fire way to end up with a moldy mess.<\/p>\n She\u2019d almost reached the entry when the ominous creak of hinges sent a chill up her spine. She froze, then backtracked into the den, her sneakered steps soundless against the wood floor.<\/p>\n She\u2019d locked the front door after entering. She always <\/em>locked her doors. The practice almost kept at bay that ever-present sense of vulnerability. Did someone pick the lock or enter with a key? A caretaker maybe?<\/p>\n No, there hadn\u2019t been any caretaking done at the place in months. It wasn\u2019t the grandson, either. After leaving the lawyer\u2019s office, she\u2019d come straight here with the key, anxious to see what had just been dropped in her lap. The preliminary search for the grandson had so far turned up nothing.<\/p>\n Whoever was inside the house with her had entered without ringing the bell or knocking. That made him a threat.<\/p>\n Footsteps sounded, moving closer, and she squatted behind a sheet-covered object. It was probably a desk, judging by its shape and size. Particles of dust sifted into the air around her, and it started again\u2014that tell-tale tickle in her sinuses.<\/p>\n No, not now. <\/em>She pressed a shaking finger to the space above her upper lip. Wasn\u2019t there supposed to be a pressure point somewhere, something that could hold off a sneeze?<\/p>\n The sensation passed, and she released a silent sigh. She\u2019d remain hidden until she was sure her unwanted visitor posed no threat. Running a home for abused women and children had made her wary. More than once, an irate husband or boyfriend had railed outside the shelter, threatening to kick in the door if she didn\u2019t open it. On both occasions, she\u2019d called the police. With her location a block from Main Street, they\u2019d arrived almost immediately.<\/p>\n Now, she was a good ten minutes from the outskirts of Harmony Grove. But that wasn\u2019t her only problem. With her purse sitting on the kitchen island and her cell phone inside, calling for help wasn\u2019t an option.<\/p>\n Screaming wouldn\u2019t bring assistance, either. Since she was closed up in the house, the nearest neighbor a quarter mile away, no one would hear her. She\u2019d be hard-pressed to defend herself, too, if the need arose. Her rifle was locked in its case back at the shelter, and her pepper spray was in her purse, along with her cell phone.<\/p>\n The footsteps stopped. \u201cHello? Anyone here?\u201d<\/p>\n The voice gave her pause. He didn\u2019t sound<\/em> threatening. With that warm, smooth baritone, he could be hosting a late-night radio show\u2026or singing love ballads.<\/p>\n Of course, that didn\u2019t mean anything. Neither did good looks, charm or a charismatic presence. All too often, those were just tools used to con unsuspecting, naive women. And once those men got them where they wanted them, they had all kinds of ways to keep them there.<\/p>\n Tia pressed her hand against the silk scarf draped just below her throat and ducked even lower. Her safest bet was to remain hidden until the man left, or if he ventured upstairs, she could slip out and drive away. The footsteps began again, heavy male ones, and that sneeze she\u2019d successfully stifled erupted with almost no warning. She clamped a hand over her nose and mouth, trying to seal off any spaces where noise might escape. It didn\u2019t work. Instead of a full-blown sneeze, she ended up with something between a snort and a half-hearted raspberry.<\/p>\n \u201cHello?\u201d<\/p>\n She rose from her hiding place. Whoever he was, he wasn\u2019t going to find her cowering in the corner, plastered behind a desk. She\u2019d worked hard to shed that \u201cvictim\u201d label. It had apparently worked. People described her as having a lot of spunk, bold and fierce.<\/p>\n She put on a good front.<\/p>\n She crossed the room and stepped into the hall. Not ten feet away stood the man behind the voice. He had her beat by a good eight or nine inches. Of course, at five foot two, she didn\u2019t meet many people who didn\u2019t beat her height. He far outweighed her, but she couldn\u2019t guess by how much. He was well-muscled, athletic\u2014someone large enough and strong enough to inflict some pain, especially with no one to come to her aid.<\/p>\n Except there was kindness in his eyes, and though he wasn\u2019t smiling, his jaw was relaxed. Dark brown hair curled over his ears and against his shirt collar, and the end of his nose was just shy of straight, as if it had been broken at some point. Maybe he got hit in the face with a softball during Little League.<\/p>\n He lifted his eyebrows. \u201cWho are you?\u201d<\/p>\n She frowned. \u201cWho are you<\/em>?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cJason Sloan.\u201d<\/p>\n She nodded slowly. The long-lost grandson. The attorney must have found him. Or more likely, he\u2019d heard his grandmother had passed away and had come hoping to get something. It was amazing how kids and grandkids could ignore their elderly relatives for years, then come out of the woodwork when there was possible money or valuables to claim. He probably wasn\u2019t happy, thinking she\u2019d swooped in and stolen his inheritance.<\/p>\n Let him think what he wanted. She wouldn\u2019t lose any sleep over it. The fact that she\u2019d just moved to Harmony Grove four years ago, and she\u2019d seen his grandmother more times than he had, spoke volumes. He didn\u2019t deserve any more than he was getting.<\/p>\n She didn\u2019t, either. But the women and children who would benefit did. If he hoped to talk her out of anything she\u2019d been left, he was in for a rude awakening. She had a legitimate will and needed every bit of her unexpected inheritance. Her rented ranch-style home was filled to capacity and bursting at the seams. With a much larger facility, she\u2019d have the means to help so many more women and children.<\/p>\n He stared down at her. \u201cAnd you are?\u201d<\/p>\n She squared her shoulders, ready to do battle. \u201cTia Jordan. Of Peace House.\u201d If he hadn\u2019t heard of the shelter before, he\u2019d know it now since it had been listed in the will.<\/p>\n Jason stood studying her, as if expecting some kind of explanation. Finally, he shook his head, confusion etched into his features. \u201cDid you work for my grandmother or what?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cNo, I didn\u2019t.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cSo what are you doing here?\u201d<\/p>\n Was he serious? Did he really not know? \u201cHave you read the will?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI have. A copy has been in my mother\u2019s possession for some time.\u201d<\/p>\n A sliver of her defensiveness slid away. \u201cI guess you\u2019re here for the personal effects.\u201d<\/p>\n That look of confusion returned. \u201cI will<\/em> be going through the personal effects, but I plan to get the place cleaned out and sold as quickly as possible.\u201d<\/p>\n Her chest heated as irritation shot through her. Maybe he was used to pushing people around and getting his way. It wasn\u2019t going to work this time. She had a will and that decided it, regardless of what he<\/em> thought was fair.<\/p>\n He was named; his grandmother had included him. His father was named also. There was no oversight. Both men could fight it all they wanted, but they didn\u2019t have a leg to stand on.<\/p>\n Except Jason didn\u2019t seem combative. She\u2019d gotten much better at reading people, and the only emotion she was picking up from him was confusion.<\/p>\n She narrowed her eyes. \u201cYou do know that, except for the personal effects, your grandmother left everything to Peace House?\u201d<\/p>\n He shook his head, one hand planted firmly on his hip. \u201cThat\u2019s impossible.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWhy do you say that?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cBecause I have a copy of the will, and she left everything to me.\u201d<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" Sheet-covered shapes loomed like ghosts in the dim light. Tia Jordan pushed the door open further and entered the room, stirring up dust and setting off a series of sneezes. A half brick lay on the hardwood floor, along with shards of glass, but other than the broken window, the room looked much like the […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"parent":24,"menu_order":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","template":"","meta":{"footnotes":""},"class_list":["post-1842","page","type-page","status-publish","hentry"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/caroljpost.com\/dev\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/1842","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/caroljpost.com\/dev\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/caroljpost.com\/dev\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/page"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/caroljpost.com\/dev\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/caroljpost.com\/dev\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=1842"}],"version-history":[{"count":4,"href":"https:\/\/caroljpost.com\/dev\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/1842\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":2004,"href":"https:\/\/caroljpost.com\/dev\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/1842\/revisions\/2004"}],"up":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/caroljpost.com\/dev\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/24"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/caroljpost.com\/dev\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=1842"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}