Betrayal by Christina Dodd Page A

money, and my husband and I were trying to start a family, so I kept at it, but what I always wanted to do was work with older homes—”
    “This was meant to be!” Brooke put her hand on Penelope’s forearm.
    Penelope observed the contrast of Brooke’s pale skinagainst Penelope’s own warmly tanned flesh, and thought how nice it was to have someone touch her in kindness. It had been so long since Keith had died, since life had been lived in sunshine, since she’d been able to concentrate on the mundane bits that made up the days she imagined she wanted to live.… She was so tired of being melancholy. More than anything in the world, she wanted not to be alone.
    “I think you’re right.” Penelope knew she was going to make things worse, but that after that they would be better, easier for Brooke, who she hoped could be a friend, and really, no one needed to know the whole truth. “I know it seems dramatic, but after Keith died, I kept working at my firm for a while, but when I discovered my mother’s cancer had metastasized, I quit my job and returned to Portland to stay with my mom until the end”—she was leaving out a huge, heavy chunk of grief, but who would blame her?—“so I’m unemployed and short on funds. I am glad to have you check my credentials—they’re impeccable, I promise—and you can show me your house, and I hope we can come to an agreement.”
    Brooke scribbled an address on half a napkin, then used the other half to wrap up what was left of her bagel and drop it in her purse. “Are you finished eating?”
    “Pretty much.” Penelope crunched her last bite of bacon. “How do you eat so little?”
    “This was my second breakfast.” Brooke put a five on the counter and waved to the waitress, who waved back and kept pouring coffee.
    Outside, she handed Penelope the napkin. “Follow me, and if you get lost, there’s the address. It’s the three-story white Victorian with two huge oaks in the front and an overgrown blackberry thicket on one side.”
    “Okay. I’ll meet you there.” This was it. Penelope followed Brooke, determined not to lose her.
    This offer of a job is an omen. I am in the right place at the right time. I am doing the right thing.
    At last.

Chapter 8
    A mere five blocks later, Brooke turned into an old neighborhood filled with a mixture of grand Victorian homes and small fifties bungalows. She pulled up before one of the largest houses.
    Penelope parked behind her, turned off the motor, stepped out onto the sidewalk, and studied the project with slowly rising excitement.
    From the top of the tall, narrow cupola to the place where the foundation sank its sturdy concrete footings into the brown dirt, the home was a jumble of classic styles, with irregular, steeply sloping roofs, a round turret on the left front, a wraparound porch with turned posts and a pediment above the steps, and massive double doors with cut-glass panels at the sides and above.
    This Victorian was a noble monument to bygone days. Yet the wide swath of wood shingles that circled the second story showed signs of rot, the decorativeporch railing sagged, and plywood covered an upstairs window.
    “Isn’t she a beauty?” Penelope murmured in awe.
    “Yes!” Brooke turned and hugged her. “I knew you’d see it, too! The bones are there. All we have to do is a face-lift to the outside, maybe some Botox to stop the rot, some filler to smooth out the wrinkles—”
    Penelope laughed. “You’ve given this a lot of thought.”
    “My mother-in-law is a movie star, and right now she’s practicing for her first Broadway role. She’s growing old gracefully… with the aid of her dearest plastic surgeon.” Brooke gestured to the porch. “My mother suffers from rheumatoid arthritis, and one of my husband’s great-aunts is in a wheelchair, so on the side of the porch, we have to construct a handicapped ramp.”
    “That’s always a wise idea, and with the right design, it’ll fit right in.”