Free A Stillness of Chimes by Meg Moseley

about kicking Dale out and making the house the way my mom wanted it. I thought it could somehow … undo the damage. As if fixing up a house could fix the past. It doesn’t work that way.” Mad at himself for being motivated by emotions instead of common sense, he shook his head. “I just want out.”
    “But you’ve set up the perfect little shop out back. Why let it go? Most places, the zoning rules won’t even let you run a business from your home.”
    “I know.”
    “And you’ll get a far better price if you finish the renovations.”
    “I know.”
    “But you still want out in a hurry? Why?”
    As Sean looked around the room, he realized he’d hunched his shoulders and balled his hands into fists. His old defensive stance.
    He straightened his posture and flexed his fingers. “No matter what I do to the place, I won’t be able to get rid of Dale’s stench. I don’t mean that literally, but you know what I mean.”
    “I do, but you’re the king of the castle now. You make the rules. You create the atmosphere. But if you can’t stand to keep the place, you could put just a little more work into it and turn a nice profit. I’ll list it right now if you want me to, but I’ve never known you to quit in the middle of a project.”
    “I’ve never tackled a project as tough as this one,” Sean said. “I remember you tried to talk me out of buying it. I should have listened. You’ve never steered me wrong.”
    “Oh, I doubt that.”
    “No, you’ve never let me down. I wouldn’t have survived without you and Ardelle. Elliott and Jess. Keith. My grandma.”
    Gary laughed out loud. “Not to mention social services, a couple of churches, and probably the PTA.”
    Sean laughed too, but he felt like a charity case. “I can’t argue with that.”
    “What’s this?” Gary moved over to the couch where that pretty little F-style mandolin lay, its carved top of Sitka spruce gleaming like gold against the rich blue lining of the case. He pulled it out, his big hands dwarfing the slender neck. “How much for this little beauty?”
    “Brace yourself. It’s my best piece yet.”
    Gary plucked a string, the sound a tiny, unpracticed sample of the mandolin’s potential in the hands of a good picker. “How much?”
    Sean couldn’t keep the smile off his lips. “About three grand.”
    “Yowee.” As gently as if it were a newborn babe, Gary tucked the mandolin back in its case. “You sell many at that price?”
    “No, most of ’em are built and priced for casual musicians. This one’s a custom job for a pro in Nashville. He’s picking it up later this week.”
    “Gibby Sprague?”
    “Not this time. This one’s for a session musician. Gibby buys from me now and then, though.”
    “Will he be in town for the festival?”
    “He hasn’t missed one yet.”
    “Think he knows Jess passed away?”
    “Laura must have told him. He and Elliott were pretty tight for a while.”
    Gary ran a finger over the smooth wood of the mandolin. “Elliott would have been proud of you. The apprentice has surpassed the master.”
    Sean shook his head. “I’m just starting to learn what I need to learn.”
    “You’re too modest.” Gary walked to the door. “About the house, you want me to go ahead and run the comps so we can talk about price?”
    “No, I hate to waste your time with it.”
    “It wouldn’t be a waste, but I hope you’ll finish overhauling the place first. Why don’t you sleep on it and let me know.”
    “Will do. Thanks for doing the walk-through.”
    “My pleasure.” Gary stepped outside, scaring a mourning dove out of the bushes in a flurry of whistling wings.
    As Gary’s gleaming black Cadillac disappeared around the corner, Seanremained in the doorway, thinking. If he told Laura he’d heard about the party, she would feel obligated to include him in the invitation. If he kept quiet, she’d be free to decline the invitation or accept it. With or without mentioning it to him.
    Funny,