Belle cocked her head at Mr. Gates. “The will just finished probate. Has this buyer even seen the property? Has it been appraised recently? This is really sudden.”
“I understand it’s a lot to take in at once, especially after your loss. However, this buyer, a judge and a pillar of the community, is very eager. He’s had his eye on this place for years. And yes, he’s seen the home. He was a particular friend of your grandmother’s. He tried to persuade her to sell for a long time, and with Marie now gone, he’s eager to restore the property to its historic charm. I can have that money in your account by the end of the day, if you’ll send me your bank routing information. You don’t even have to spend the night here. I’ll find you a suite somewhere tonight and you can return to your life in Chicago tomorrow.”
She was a designer, not an idiot. She glanced around at the property with its southern elegance and felt herself falling in love. It wasn’t in perfect condition by any stretch, but underneath that layer of dust, small cracks, and a need for paint, Belle sensed something extraordinary.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Gates. I’m not interested in selling right now, especially before I go through my grandmother’s personal effects. So I’d like to see the inside now. I’m assuming you have a key?” She sent him a tight, expectant smile.
The lawyer frowned and produced a key from his suit coat. He led her around another side of the building, up the bricked walkway, past the lovely yard, to a pair of massive double doors with an arched brow window over the top and two levels of balconies overlooking the gardens.
Seeing the house from this angle, it was official. Belle was definitely in love.
The door creaked when he opened it, and a faint musty odor greeted her, tinged by a lingering hint of perfume. But windows could be opened, fans turned on. The smell wouldn’t last, but this architecture would.
Gaping at the lovely foyer, Belle wandered inside, visually drinking in everything around her. In an instant, she envisioned the place all restored to its former glory. Mentally, she pictured the entrance with a grand, classic palate—white marble and rich floors, gray walls, crystal chandeliers, along with a pop of something bright, like red or peacock—something as bold as New Orleans. She’d drape coordinating fabric to frame the graceful windows and let light in. The area rugs would have to be replaced and the hardwoods refinished with a rich, dark stain, but the raw goods were there. No one made beautiful, solid wide planks like this anymore.
Wow.
Smiling to herself, Belle turned to Gates, ready to tell him that she had no intention of leaving. She noticed then that he hadn’t followed her inside.
He stood just beyond the threshold, his briefcase twitching at his side. “You don’t want to do this, miss. I understand that you think the place is worth more. Maybe it is, but you should take the easy money and leave this house.”
“Thank you for the advice, but I’ll be fixing it up.”
Sir’s head came up, and he started barking at an empty room.
She tried to settle him down. “Hush, now.”
Malcolm wouldn’t step a foot in the house as he pointed at Sir, who squirmed to be let down. “See, you should listen to your dog. He knows this place is bad news. Everyone who lives in the Quarter knows its…unfortunate nature,” the lawyer said with a little shudder.
“But the judge, the pillar of the community, doesn’t? Why would he want to buy this house if it’s so terrible?” God, she’d been working with lawyers too long.
“I’ve advised him against it. He’s not listening.” Gates looked somewhere between uncomfortable and spooked. “Sell it now, miss. With the exception of your grandmother, women fare poorly in this house.”
Was that some sort of veiled threat? It didn’t really sound that way, but Belle couldn’t decide exactly what that note in his voice was. “What does that mean?”
He cleared his throat. “Two women hung themselves here. Young women. Rumor is, the place is haunted. Now, whether you believe that or not…”
What she was more inclined to believe was that Gates meant to scare her away. He probably made money if he persuaded her to sell the house to this judge. Too bad.
“I don’t like the thought of you living here all alone,” he went on.
Sir’s whole body began wriggling, so Belle set him down since he seemed determined to run. He immediately found a spot in the middle of the room and started barking, but this was a happy sound. His tail wagged, and he did a little dance as though he was excited to see someone.
Except no one at all was there.
So the place was beautiful…and had an interesting energy. She hadn’t even seen the rest of the huge house, and she could already imagine that being here by herself at night could be a tiny bit creepy. What else had she expected out of a New Orleans mansion?
Exhaustion weighed on her. It had been a terrible couple of days, but she’d take dealing with a supposed ghost over returning to Chicago and facing her former bosses any day of the week. Decision made, Belle dug her heels in. She wasn’t letting some old stories push her out of her rightful inheritance. Her grandmother had wanted her to have this place. Belle sought to learn as much about the woman and her undoubtedly colorful past as she could, and living in her home seemed like a good way to start. Her family had a whole secret history that she longed to discover. Besides, it might take her mind off of Eric, Tate, and Kellan for more than thirty seconds.
“Thank you for your concern, but I’m not selling. I can handle anything this house throws at me. So let’s get the legalities out of the way. What do I need to sign in the way of probate papers so the key is mine? I really need a nap.”
Sir pranced around the place like he owned it. At least he seemed to have calmed down. He yipped occasionally and sat back on his haunches, staring up at the air with a little growl.
The lawyer dug into his briefcase and extended the papers to her through the open door. He handed her a pen a moment later. Gates could be superstitious if he wanted. If her grandmother had lived here alone for all these years without incident, Belle figured she’d be fine, too.
“There are more papers for you to sign at my office. I’ll have them finalized and get all the property details and reports to you. Your grandmother also left you a little money in an account. I think it’s roughly thirty grand. I’ll send you all the details shortly.”
Thank god. Thirty thousand wouldn’t be a lot compared to all the work the house would need, but it might be enough to finish off a room or two. She would start with an office she could use and turn it into her showplace.
This spur-of-the-moment plan might just work.
Gates frowned and shook his head. “I really wish you’d reconsider.”
Belle merely smiled and shook her head. With a sigh, he left. The door closed, and she was finally alone. Well, hopefully.
“All right, Grandma.” She looked around the parlor as a sense of responsibility engulfed her. “I’m going to make this place shine again and call it my home.”
Weariness swamped Belle, and she yawned. It had been such a long night, and she still needed to check out the house and unpack. So much to do—right after her nap.
She lay across a slightly dusty rose-velvet settee and rested her head against the back. She wouldn’t sleep long, just long enough to rest her eyes. But as she drifted off, visions of Eric, Tate, and Kellan haunted her.