Free Screwdrivered (Cocktail #3) by Alice Clayton

against Johnny Mathis.
    “No no, I’ve got this. It’s just more than I bargained for, I guess,” I replied, looking around at the amount of work that needed to be done. “What the hell was she thinking, leaving this to me? It makes no sense.” I slumped back into the love seat.
    “It makes perfect sense, if you ask me,” my mother said.
    “What do you mean?”
    “Maude knew exactly what she was doing when she left this house to you. You’re the only one in the family who wouldn’t immediately sell it. Do you have any idea how much the land alone is worth? Oceanfront property in Mendocino?”
    “Dad might have mentioned a few numbers,” I answered. Zeros upon zeros upon zeros. It was enough to make me dizzy.
    My family lived in a part of town that was considered old money, blue blood money, with the occasional new money like us thrown in. We’d been solid middle class until my dad struck gold in computer technology. So while money was something we enjoyed, we also appreciated its value. I can remember sitting at the kitchen table one morning, one of my older brothers pestering my dad for an advance on his allowance to buy some new something or other. “It’s only a hundred dollars” was the phrase he used, and a phrase he will never forget. The tirade my father launched into about how we will never be the kind of people who say things like it’s only a hundred dollars became a family legend.
    Now don’t get me wrong, my father gave a lot to his family. We enjoyed a very comfortable life, we belonged to a country club, we went to private schools, we vacationed every summer, Christmas, and spring break, and my parents each drove a new Mercedes every two years. But when my friends at school were driving their parents’ two-year-old Mercedes, I was driving the Blue Bomber, an old Buick LeSabre that had been passed down to each brother and in turn, to me.
    For the record? I loved that car. When it finally went to the junkyard, I shed an actual tear. I’d lost my virginit—wait. I’m not sharing that story. All I will share is Beck on the radio, a foot on the ceiling, and a seat belt buckle imprint still on my ass the next morning.
    But I digress. The point is, my family had done well. And my brothers had done well.
    And when I sold my app to Google, I did rather well myself. But not nearly as well as the worth of the land this house was sitting on. Although, could you sell a house that was on the historical register? Is that even possible? I could think of a certain librarian who would know the answer to that . . .
    “You think Maude knew I wouldn’t sell it, huh?”
    “I know she did, Vivvie.”
    “But, Ma, you should see what a wreck it is. I can’t even imagine how much it would cost to renovate this place.”
    “So sell your business to your father. You know he wants it. That’ll give you some breathing room to decide what you want to do.”
    “Sounds like you and Aunt Maude already know what you think I should do.”
    “She was crazy, not stupid.”
    I snorted. “She keeps her Johnny Mathis records in the fireplace, Ma.”
    “I rest my case.”
    A fter I hung up with my mother I weighed my options, my thoughts swirling. If I stayed and tried to make this work, I’d have to sell my business to my dad, which wasn’t the worst idea in the world. I was proud of the little business I’d built but I could do it again. If I wanted to. The cash would allow me the opportunity to decide what I wanted to do. I looked out the window, to see if the answers were out there.
    They were. Jessica was walking up the front steps carrying a pizza. With a smile, I pushed myself off the sofa and reached the front door just as she was about to knock.
    “I know I called you nosy, but this is bordering on Single White Female, ” I joked as I opened the door.
    “You’ve met the pizza man, you know I ain’t single,” she said, rolling her eyes. “Besides, I told you I’ve been dying to see the inside of