Haunting Jordan by P. J. Alderman Page A

murder affected the lives of a lot of people, and not in a good way. My great-granddaddy never really got over losing Charlotte, and not too long after the trial, he was killed in the line of duty. I’ve always wondered whether his grief had made him careless.” He sat in pensive silence for a moment, then took a long drink of his beer. “You asked about colorists.”
    “Yes.”
    “We’ve only got two in town who specialize in color schemes for the Painted Ladies.”
    Jordan looked at him blankly, then the light dawned. “The Victorians?”
    “Yeah. Colorists consult with you to design historically accurate colors by customizing modern paint. I’m one, and the other is Holt Stilwell, who’s standing over there at the end of the bar.”
    She craned her neck to get a glimpse of a broad-shouldered man with a bleached buzz cut who was chatting up two young women. Aviator sunglasses hung from the neck of his muscle shirt, which exposed arms indicating that he bench-pressed somewhere around a gazillion pounds. Jordan had never been attracted to big, beefy types—her taste ran more to the lean, angular builds of men like … well, Jase. Dammit.
    “Best to stick with Tom,” Darcy muttered. “Stilwell is one of the main reasons I contribute heavily each year to the National Organization for Women.”
    Tom grinned behind his beer mug. “He’s a talented colorist, but he does have a certain reputation with the ladies.”
    “And it’s all bad.” Darcy scowled. “I’d love to run that son of a bitch in for being a misogynist and a womanizer, but unfortunately there’s no law against treating women like shit. And he’s too clever to get caught physically abusing anyone he lures back to his rat-infested dump.”
    “So tell us what you really think.” Jase had walked up while she was talking, and he rubbed her shoulder affectionately, smiling at her.
    At some point during the day, he’d exchanged the cable-knit sweater for a midnight-blue Henley T-shirt that emphasized his shoulders and lean build. Pulling out the chair next to Jordan, he was careful not to hit the dog, who was sound asleep.
    “Best not to encourage Darcy.” Tom winked. “Before you know it, she’ll have Stilwell facedown on the bar, handcuffed.”
    “That would be police brutality,” Darcy said, her tone prim.
    “Darlin’.” Tom grinned, placing a hand over his heart, and she rolled her eyes.
    “Justice, perhaps, in Stilwell’s case,” Jase pointed out.
    Jordan noted the easy camaraderie among the three and felt a moment of envy. In the past year, with her increasing isolation from friends and family, she’d lost any sense of comfort or intimacy she’d had with others. She missed it.
    “What you really need, though, before you start thinking about painting, is a master plan for the renovation,” Tom said, bringing the conversation back on topic. “You should assess the damage to the house and come up with a prioritized list of the repairs. There could be structural or mechanical problems that should be addressed first, or possibly problems that’ll cause continued deterioration and need to be fixed immediately.”
    Jordan hadn’t thought of that—he was probably right. The simple remodel she’d envisioned was becoming more complex by the moment. “Can you recommend someone for that?”
    “I can come by tomorrow and get you started in the right direction, if you want,” Tom replied. “Jase and I are both fairly knowledgeable when it comes to the old homes, and we know most of the folks here in town who work on the renovations—many are regulars here at the pub. You had an inspection done before you bought the place?”
    “Yes.”
    “Well, there you go. We can start with the inspector’s report. Shouldn’t be that difficult to get a handle on the work required, though with old homes like yours, there are always a few surprises along the way.”
    Jase leaned in close to pick up Jordan’s empty wineglass.