Free Keeper of the Castle: A Haunted Home Renovation Mystery by Juliet Blackwell Page A

scheduled in three months.”
    “Three
months
?” I asked, unable to keep from squeaking. On some projects, just getting the paperwork through the permit office took that long. Constructing a modern building out of stone was one thing; assembling a bunch of medieval stones into a habitable building that would pass inspection in earthquake country? Quite another. Not to mention introducing wiring and plumbing to meet current standards of safety and convenience. A project on this scale would typically take years, not months. “Do you think such a time frame is, um, realistic?”
    Vernon Dunn smiled. “Exactly! I do believe that setting the date that early might be difficult. Perhaps we should push it back, take our time. . . .”
    Ellis gave Vernon a look that combined patience with annoyance. “Your objections have been noted. There is no need to repeat them.”
    “It’s not an
objection
, per se,” said Vernon with an obsequious smile. “No, not at all. This is a marvelous project, simply
marvelous
. Why, Wakefield will be a wonder to which visitors will flock for generations to come. I merely think, well, as they say, art cannot be rushed. Good things come to those who wait, and all that. Why hurry?”
    “The drawings have been worked and reworked, and all supplies are on-site or in the warehouse,” said Florian Libole. “I have conducted meticulous research on Wakefield. The men are in place, including a master stonemason and his Polish crew, and they’re eager to work two shifts: from six in the morning to six at night. Isn’t that right, Tony?”
    “Uh . . .” Tony looked like he had been called on in algebra class without his homework. “Yup, that’s true. Two shifts.”
    “So, everything is in place,” Libole reiterated with a final nod. “Waiting would be folly.”
    Libole and Dunn glared at each other through the spray of flowers in the centerpiece.
    The discussion continued along these lines. I spent a lot of time not saying anything, which my mother had long ago taught me was the best way to deal with tense situations stemming from overinflated egos. It occurred to me to wonder whether my host and boss, Ellis Elrich, would think less of me for my silence, but given that the man had driven all the way—actually, had had his driver bring him all the way—to Oakland to persuade me to take over, I figured my position was secure, at least for the moment. Elrich was trying hard not to show it, but I believed the man really was sweating a little.
    I would be, too, if my grand opening was scheduled less than three months out. The stone building still looked like ruins rising on the horizon, nothing like a fully functioning retreat center.
    Tony managed a few less-than-articulate statements, whereas Jacek just sat and glowered, playing with his crumpled cigarette packet, giving the distinct impression that all he wanted in this world was to slip outside for a smoke. Though I don’t smoke, I would have taken up the habit in a New York minute just to have an excuse to leave the room.
    At long last, Elrich said, “That’s settled, then,” and asked everyone to go “with the exception of Ms. Turner.”
    I watched the others file out of the room, feeling like a scolded kid told to stay in and talk to the principal. I longed to follow everyone else out to recess.
    But I turned back to find an amused expression on Elrich’s face.
    “Did that make you nervous?”
    “Your problems with your employees aren’t any of my business,” I said.
    Now he smiled and inclined his head. “True enough. And as I’m sure you noticed on the way in through the main gates, I’ve got plenty of problems with my employees.”
    I couldn’t think of anything to say, so I just nodded and looked around the room. My eyes alit on a credenza sporting large framed photos, pictures of a smiling Ellis Elrich handing over huge gifts to charities ranging from the March of Dimes to the Humane Society to the United Nations