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

not.”
    “So I see.” Clearly perturbed by this turn of events, Alicia looked me over once again.
    I glanced down surreptitiously. I endured a good amount of ribbing over my usual wardrobe, which included any number of spangled and fringed outfits not normally seen on construction sites. Or, really, anywhere outside of Mardi Gras or a costume party. But I’d spent so many years unhappily encased in proper, respectable (read: boring) clothes that upon my divorce I had embraced my sartorial freedom. I did have limits, though, and since I was arriving at an extremely wealthy client’s home, I hadn’t worn one of my offbeat outfits. Today I was wearing a simple patterned skirt, camisole, and cardigan sweater. I even wore sandals; I had been feeling a mite frisky-free—and
feminine
—without my usual steel-toed work boots.
    “So.” Alicia’s eyes narrowed and her mouth pressed tighter. “You’re with Graham Donovan?”
    “I, uh, we’re . . . Well, when you say ‘with,’ I mean . . .”
    “That explains a lot.” She let out an exasperated sigh, closed the door, and started off. “This way.”
    As I entered the tiled foyer and looked around, I experienced a kind of architectural dissonance. Elrich had mentioned that the interior and exterior didn’t match, but the significance of this hadn’t fully registered until the moment I walked in.
    The interior was right out of a Spanish Revival home: white stucco walls, beehive fireplaces, tiled floors. The heavy furniture was dark carved woods upholstered in rich brocades. I love Victorian architecture, and I adore the Spanish Revival style. But together . . . ? It made me think of going to the Gilroy Garlic Festival and tryingtheir famous garlic ice cream. Separately, I’m a big fan of both. Together . . . they make me feel a little queasy.
    Amazingly enough, however, Elrich had not hired me to work on this house beyond making a few small repairs. I was here to finish building Wakefield.
    I followed Alicia past a lovely sitting room that overlooked a sparkling pool and the meadow leading down to the worksite, and down a spacious corridor. The key ring jingled as she walked.
    “Since I thought you were a man and a professional colleague, I assigned you your own room, here.”
    Alicia paused outside an open door made of heavy dark-stained wood, the hinges pounded iron.
    The room was decorated in a classic Spanish style: Heavy, carved dark woods stood in stark contrast to the snowy white stucco walls. In one corner was a raised beehive fireplace, its hearth doubling as a small bench. Colorful painted tiles covered the hood and hearth and made for a brilliant display. The bed was a large four-poster, adorned with a mound of satin pillows in a rainbow of deep hues. Hefty wooden candelabra in graduated heights marched along in front of the windows, topped with tangerine and ruby pillared candles. An antique trunk sat at the foot of the bed.
    I walked slowly around the room, taking it in. Dad was a big fan of old Westerns, and this house could have been a set for one of those movies. Except in reality, those old haciendas had probably smelled a lot like beans, livestock, and sweat. Here in Ellis Elrich’s house, everything was potpourri, scented candles, and oranges. And as long as I ignored the fact that it was all wrapped up in a classical Victorian exterior, I could appreciate it.
    “This is beautiful,” I said.
    “I decorated it.”
    “It’s gorgeous. You’ve got a great eye.”
    Alicia shrugged. My compliment was sincere, but either she didn’t believe me, or she didn’t care. I was getting the distinct impression that Alicia and I were not destined to be besties.
    “Anyway,” she continued, “this was the room assigned to you. But if you’d rather share with Graham—”
    “
No
, no. Thank you,” I said. Whether or not Ellis Elrich was aware of my personal relationship with Graham, I preferred to separate business and pleasure. A jobsite