Free Hissy Fit by Mary Kay Andrews Page B

amazing house. Did you know it was used as a hospital for Federal troops wounded in the siege of Atlanta?”
    “Every kid who grew up in Madison knows that stuff,” I said.
    “The doorknobs are all hand-etched silver,” he said. “We found ’em in a packing crate up in the attic.”
    “Why were they up there?” I asked, despite myself.
    “For safekeeping, I guess,” he said. “People broke in over the years, kids, maybe homeless guys. We found a mattress and a sleeping bag in one of the back bedrooms, and evidence that somebody had made a little wood fire in one of the fireplaces.”
    “It’s a wonder the place didn’t burn down,” I said.
    “The last owners had the sheriff checking on it pretty regular,” Will said. “He ran folks off and notified the owners who came out and kept it boarded up.”
    He smiled then. “We discovered the original parlor mantelpiece was down there in the basement, covered up with old feedsacks. And you’ll never guess what we found out in the old smokehouse.”
    “A side of bacon?”
    “Crystal chandelier,” he said smugly. “I took it to a place in Atlanta to see about having it cleaned up and fixed. The restorationist says he thinks it might be Waterford.”
    “That could be,” I agreed. “I think the Cardwells—the original owners—were pretty successful cotton merchants.”
    “Very successful,” he said. “I’ve done some research at the historical society. There are some photos taken back after World War I of the parlor and dining room. Pretty fancy for a backwater place like Madison.”
    “Photos?” I asked. “Can you tell anything about the way the rooms looked?”
    “You can see the flower pattern on the wallpaper,” he said, sensing he had me hooked. “I’ve got copies of everything. Over at the house. I could show them to you.”
    “Not interested,” I said, looking away.
    “Thought you said you were tired of liars,” he said.
    “I’m tired, period.”
    “Come on,” he said. “Just look at the place. No commitments. Just let me show it to you. It’s really something to see. This time of early evening, the sun hits the front room, and it gets this, like, golden glow to it. And I’ve got all the old pieces of wallpaper saved up. I thought you, or somebody, might want to copy them for when we redo the dining room and parlor.”
    “This is just a look-see,” I warned. “No commitments.”
    I walked out into the hallway and hollered up the stairs. “Daddy?”
    He poked his head over the railing. “What’s up, shug?”
    “We’re going to take a ride over to Mulberry Hill,” I said. “Just to have a look, that’s all.”
    “It’s not a date,” Will hollered up at him. “So don’t worry.”
    Daddy walked down three steps and gave him a level look. “What would I have to worry about, son?”
    “Nothing,” Will said, blushing. “I just didn’t want you to think I was hitting on your daughter or anything like that.”
    “Will Mahoney,” Daddy said, shaking his head again. “Pretty summer night like this? If you’re not hitting on a good-looking girl like my daughter, you’re dumber than you look.”
    “Daddy!”
    “Just making an observation, that’s all,” Daddy said.
    Will had left the top down on the yellow Caddy. I had to move a stack of files from the front passenger seat and kick a huge flashlight out of the way before I could sit down, and then we were off to the races.
    “You’ll have to excuse my father,” I said, running my hand over the leather upholstery. “He seems to think I’m some two-door late model V-8 sedan he has to clear off the lot. He pretty much never quits selling, and he’s pretty used to saying whatever comes to his mind.”
    “That’s all right,” Will said. “I like that.”
    “You haven’t had to live with it your whole life,” I pointed out. “He sure seems to like you.”
    “I think he mostly likes this car,” Will said, patting the dashboard.
    “Yeah, that’s a