Free Christmas on My Mind by Janet Dailey

if she’d rushed away from something important.
    â€œCome on, I’ve got the key,” she said, leading Jess up the walk and onto the porch. “We’d really like to get this place off our hands. Last summer some high school kids broke in through a window and had a wild party. They were even smoking weed. The sheriff said it was lucky they didn’t set the place on fire. We figure it’s only a matter of time before something like that happens again.”
    There was a hasp with a padlock on the front door. The woman, who hadn’t bothered to give her name, fumbled for the key in her purse. “Grandpa was ninety-three when he died. For the last few years he wouldn’t let anybody in here. After he passed away, we had to hire a man to haul out the junk so we could put the place up for sale.” She found the key and thrust it into the lock. “It needs a lot of fixing up, but the house is solid. My husband replaced the furnace and water heater ten years ago, and paid for a new roof when the old one started leaking. The plumbing and wiring are okay as far as I know, but the rest . . . well, you’ll see.”
    The door creaked open into a dim space. Shafts of sunlight filtered through the openings between the window boards, making it possible to see, though not well. Jess stifled a groan as she looked around.
    The teens who’d partied in the house had spray-painted graffiti on the walls and left burned spots, empty beer cans and joint stubs on the moldering carpet. The air still reeked of marijuana smoke, an odor Jess remembered all too well from her days of cleaning motel rooms. As Jess walked into the kitchen, something ran across her foot—a mouse, most likely. And one mouse would be sure to have brothers, sisters, aunts, uncles and cousins. Francine’s cat, Sergeant Pepper, would have a field day here.
    The kitchen space was functional, complete with cupboards and counters, a dirty stove, and an even dirtier fridge. The bathroom, with a shower over the tub and a moldy plastic curtain, would need a thorough disinfecting before it could be used. The two bedrooms off the hall were empty.
    â€œWhat’s upstairs?” she asked, noticing the stairway off the dining area.
    â€œWhen Grandpa had his family here, the kids’ rooms were up there—and there’s a second bathroom with a tub. This was a nice house once. I wish I’d brought a flashlight so you could see it better.”
    Bedrooms upstairs and a second bathroom. That would almost make the project possible. But the work and expense it would take to make the place appealing—good grief, was she really crazy enough to take this on?
    Francine had another nine days left on her sentence. If Jess could get the kitchen, bathroom and downstairs bedrooms livable by then, her mother could help her fix up the rest. But would Francine be willing, or even interested?
    â€œI’ll need a day or so to think about it,” she said. “Do you feel all right about lending me the key? I’d like to come back for a second look with a flashlight.”
    The woman twisted the key off her key ring. “Here. I’ve got a spare at home. If you decide you don’t want the place, you can drop it off at my house. Here’s my address and phone number.” She handed Jess a card.
    â€œThanks. I guess I’d better ask your ballpark price and the kind of contract terms you’re expecting.”
    The figure the woman quoted was surprisingly low, but then Branding Iron wasn’t Kansas City. “We were thinking ten percent down and the rest on contract with a balloon payment in five years. If that doesn’t suit you, feel free to make an offer and I’ll discuss it with my husband. He’s the businessman of the family.”
    â€œI’ll think about it and get back to you by the end of tomorrow.” Jess’s pulse was racing. With the fifty-thousand dollar inheritance she