The Only Purple House in Town (Fix-It Witches, #4)(2)
Frederic tapped her shoulder briskly. “Did you hear me? Where’s my money?”
He owned the house and had rented three of the four bedrooms. It was a decent place, decorated in bachelor style, and everyone was nice enough. But like everywhere else Iris had lived, she didn’t quite fit. Frederic hadn’t even wanted to rent to her in the first place since she didn’t have a day job, but Iris had gone to high school with Regina, and she vouched for Iris. Now Regina was mad because Iris was making her look bad, and Candace was tired of the tension.
Everyone quietly wanted Iris gone, but she had to pay them first. She raised her gaze from the polished-oak dining table, trying to figure out what to say. Sorry, I’m broke was only three words, but she couldn’t make herself say them, mainly because she’d said them so often, and she’d burned through any good will the others felt for her.
But before Regina and Candace arrived to exacerbate the situation, the doorbell rang. “I’ll get it,” she said swiftly.
Iris raced past Frederic to the front door where a postman in a blue uniform asked her to sign for a certified letter. That’s never good news. I hope it’s not another bill that I let slide until it went to collections. The way her luck ran, it probably was, and the return address stamp on the envelope only reinforced that impression. Digby, Davis, and Moore sounded like a law firm.
I hope I’m not being sued.
She didn’t want to read it, but the alternative was facing Frederic, so she closed the door with a quiet snick, blocking the early-autumn breeze. Through the window, she watched the leaves skitter on the sidewalk, caught by that same wind. She tore open the packet and found a wealth of legal documents.
IN THE ESTATE OF GERTRUDE VAN DOREN, DECEASED…
Poor Aunt Gertie. I wish I’d gone to her funeral.
Iris skimmed the pages with growing disbelief. Her great-aunt Gertrude had left the bulk of her estate to Iris: a small amount of cash, her collection of ceramic angels, and a house in St. Claire, Illinois, including all contents within. Iris had no clue why Great-Aunt Gertie had done this, but the bequest burned like a spark of hope. Her great-aunt—her paternal grandfather’s sister—had been reckoned rather odd, something of a misanthrope just because she never married.
Maybe she thought I’m the weirdest, the most like her. Or the one who needs the most help? Either way, true enough.
Iris hadn’t seen Great-Aunt Gertie since the summer after graduation, when her parents had dragged her to St. Claire for a courtesy visit. Iris had sent yearly Christmas cards, however, mostly because she enjoyed the ritual of writing them out and mailing them, and occasionally, her great-aunt sent snail mail in return. Maybe that haphazard correspondence meant something to her? Whatever the reason, this inheritance couldn’t come at a better time.
Quickly she read the letter telling her how to proceed, and when she folded up the packet of papers, she had a response for Frederic at least, who was standing behind her with his arms folded. “Well?” he prompted.
Iris handed him the will. “It’ll take a little while, but I’ll pay you soon. You can start looking for someone to take over my room.”
“You’re moving out?” Though he tried to sound neutral, she read relief in the flicker of his eyes, in the faint upward tilt of his mouth.
Over the years, she’d gotten good at gauging people’s moods, actively looking for the disappointment and impatience her mother tried to mask, usually without success. Her face silently said, Why aren’t you more like your sisters? Why are you so exhausting? Why can’t you get yourself together?
“Not right away, but yeah.”
You’re running away again, her mother’s voice whispered.
Some people would see it that way, but Iris viewed it as a fresh start. While she didn’t have a plan per se—when did she ever?—she’d figure it out when she saw the house. At the least, it was a place she could live rent free. Her expenses would be lower, and she wouldn’t have witnesses when she failed. People in St. Claire didn’t really know her either, so maybe she could shake off her reputation as well.
“I can be patient,” Frederic said with a magnanimous air.
Now that he’s seen proof that I have money incoming.
When Iris had gotten word about Great-Aunt Gertie’s passing, she’d scraped up enough to send flowers, living on ramen that week. If I’d known she meant to leave me everything, I would’ve sold something for gas money to show my face at her service. That was a crappy feeling, one that she couldn’t shake even as Regina and Candace got home.
She heard Frederic in the kitchen, explaining the situation in a low voice. Then Regina headed into the living room, where Iris was curled up on the couch. “I’m so glad you figured out your next move,” she said in an overly cheerful tone.
Regina wasn’t really a friend, more of an acquaintance who’d vouched for Iris. She tried not to take the comment the wrong way. “Yeah, it’s a minor miracle.”
Candace came to the doorway, folding her arms. “You realize you’re praising her for having a dead relative.”
When you put it that way…
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to be hurtful,” Regina said.
“When are you going to see about your inheritance?” Frederic asked.
Though he’d said he could be patient, he wanted his money. Iris headed for her room to pack a weekend bag. According to the navigation app on her phone, it was six hours in the car from here to St. Claire. If I go now, I could be there by midnight. She knew where Great-Aunt Gertrude used to keep the spare key too.