Free Micanopy in Shadow by Ann Cook Page A

balcony. Intricate, carved wood outlined the steeply pitched roof. A broad bow window with four gleaming panes identified the parlor.
    Brandy ran up the steps, crossed the wide porch, and rapped lightly on a double door. It still retained its original glass, tinged with a pink flower design. John said the house was in reasonably good repair. For three generations sons of the Irons family had lived here. When the restoration was complete, Montgomery Irons would be the fourth. The builder’s son owned it when Ada met her death.
    Brandy pushed one of the doors open, stepped into the foyer, and looked down a hall that led straight to the back entrance. The interior woodwork gleamed like brown satin. On the right side, a hall separated a parlor, dining room, and modern kitchen from three other large rooms. A long staircase curved up to the second floor. Brandy recognized the elegant simplicity of Cracker architecture, enriched by extra rooms and extended veranda.
    She glanced about for John. He was in the parlor, his back toward her, intent on the sketchpad in his hands. Through the bow window, Lake Tuscawilla reflected the gray sky like a smoky mirror. Its calm waters stretched a mile to the east, its shores a mass of weeds and water lilies.
    “Hello there!” she called, went quickly to him and put her arms around his waist.
    He turned and gave her a quick hug. “Just in time. They’re here.”
    Brandy could see a Mercedes pull into a gravel parking space in front. She would try to accomplish two things: charm John’s classiest clients and probe Montgomery Irons for what his family knew about the Losterman mystery.
    Wheels ground to a stop in the gravel outside, and the Irons emerged from their Mercedes. Montgomery Irons’ footsteps on the wooden veranda sounded ponderous, his wife’s sprightly. He held the door for her, then stepped inside, and they both paused to admire the staircase.
    Irons stood well over six feet, bulky without being fat, his head large and bald. He came toward Brandy, one big hand outstretched. “Well, hello, little lady!” he boomed. “Monty and Lily Lou Irons.” He covered her hand with both of his. “So glad you could stop by. Read about you in the Gainesville Sun . Some business over in Homosassa, I believe.” He drew back and beamed, his face as smooth as Jell-O and a bit jowly. “I’ve always trusted redheads.”
    Brandy’s hair had tints of tawny red, but she didn’t consider herself a full-blown redhead. Why did he think the color of her hair needed commenting on? She let the remark pass.
    Lily Lou Irons came into the parlor in high heels, clutching a Gucci bag. Brandy had a glimpse of a heart-shaped face, a willowy figure in a filmy pants suit, and smartly styled hair, much blonder than nature intended. She waved one slim hand and trilled, “I’m just dying to see upstairs. I’ve got the most marvelous idea! Be back in a jiffy.” She disappeared up the curving staircase.
    “I’ve just finished this sketch of the floor plan.” John flipped open his sketchpad for Irons. “I asked students from the university to make careful measurements. We took a series of photographs, inside and out.” He opened a file folder on a card table.
    Irons bent forward, inspected the papers and sketches, and nodded.
    “We’ve already checked. There aren’t any leaks that would damage the foundation or roof projections. We also had the dormers inspected. They’re okay, but the chimney does need pointing.”
    Irons smiled benignly. “I believe in being thorough. That’s splendid. I already recommended a contractor I trust.”
    “One other thing. You might consider a few changes—bring the house back to its original design. You’ll probably want to leave the remodeled kitchen next to the dining room. But a section of the hallway shrank when someone added a small closet and enlarged the bathroom.”
    “That was Mother’s idea—changing the library to a guest room. Daddy didn’t