approached.
Everything about the tall, willowy redhead screamed “big city” and “not from around here.” Her hair was pulled back in a careless yet elegant way, and her high cheekbones were set in an almost artistically angled face. The bio Madeline had read online put her in her midforties, but she looked a hell of a lot closer to Avery’s age than Madeline’s. Madeline regretted her white capris and cap-sleeved T-shirt. The multi-striped sandals and bag that she’d thought tied everything so nicely together shouted “Payless shoe store.”
The breeze stirred the short skirt of the dating guru’s halter sundress, which was undoubtedly designer and possibly vintage.
Madeline smoothed a hand down the side of her capris and wished she’d worn Spanx or at least splurged on a pedicure. “Welcome to Bella Flora,” she said as the redhead drew nearer. “I’m Madeline.”
“Avery Lawford.”
“Nicole Grant.”
They were contemplating each other warily when a Cadillac drew up to the curb. An elderly gentleman climbed out and walked toward them as briskly as the cane he leaned on would allow.
“Hello, ladies. Welcome to Pass-a-Grille,” John Franklin said after the introductions had been made. “I’m thrilled to see that Bella Flora has owners as lovely as she is.”
The Realtor had a ruff of white hair around an otherwise bald scalp and a long face dominated by the droopy brown eyes of a basset hound. But he appeared freshly shaven and turned out in a short-sleeved button-down shirt and khakis—which, Madeline reflected, could very well be the beach equivalent of a three-piece suit.
He turned to motion toward the house and they turned with him. The pale pink façade was almost completely obscured by the walled jungle in front of it. All she could make out at the end of the driveway was an outbuilding of some sort in an even paler pink.
“This property is one of the best known and most historically significant on Pass-a-Grille. It was built for the Eugene Price family back in the 1920s right around the same time as the Don CeSar—the big pink hotel you passed on the way here.”
He looked at them as if this should mean something. Madeline smiled, but she didn’t think any of them really cared who had built it or lived in it. They just wanted to know how much money they could get for it.
“The Prices were related to Henry Plant, who built Plant Hall and is credited with bringing the railroad down as far as Tampa. A very prominent family. The house remained in the Price family for over sixty years. In 1978 a distant relative named Sam Paulding inherited it and spent a great deal of time and money on it. That work stopped when Sam Paulding died unexpectedly in 1990. It’s changed hands a number of times since then.”
Nicole looked pointedly down at her watch. When the Realtor paused briefly to take a breath, she asked, “Do you think we could go ahead and take a look?”
Madeline winced at the impatience that underscored her tone.
“Why, of course. Of course.”
They moved through the opening in the low wall and followed the path through a veritable forest of palm trees and overgrown shrubbery. The courtyard felt overcrowded and out of control, as if man had simply given up and allowed nature to have its way. “Anyone happen to have a machete in their purse?” Nicole asked, pushing a low lying palm frond out of her face.
Avery smiled. “It is a bit overgrown, but I bet it was gorgeous back in the day.”
“Oh, yes,” Franklin said. “Most of the garden is original to the house. There are plants here that were put in when the house was built and are still thriving.”
“Taking over the world is more like it,” Nicole muttered as Madeline did the math. Apparently the house, like John Franklin and much of the local population, was over eighty years old.
“It just needs a little attention,” he continued. “Maybe a little pruning. My wife is president of the garden club and she
Everything about the tall, willowy redhead screamed “big city” and “not from around here.” Her hair was pulled back in a careless yet elegant way, and her high cheekbones were set in an almost artistically angled face. The bio Madeline had read online put her in her midforties, but she looked a hell of a lot closer to Avery’s age than Madeline’s. Madeline regretted her white capris and cap-sleeved T-shirt. The multi-striped sandals and bag that she’d thought tied everything so nicely together shouted “Payless shoe store.”
The breeze stirred the short skirt of the dating guru’s halter sundress, which was undoubtedly designer and possibly vintage.
Madeline smoothed a hand down the side of her capris and wished she’d worn Spanx or at least splurged on a pedicure. “Welcome to Bella Flora,” she said as the redhead drew nearer. “I’m Madeline.”
“Avery Lawford.”
“Nicole Grant.”
They were contemplating each other warily when a Cadillac drew up to the curb. An elderly gentleman climbed out and walked toward them as briskly as the cane he leaned on would allow.
“Hello, ladies. Welcome to Pass-a-Grille,” John Franklin said after the introductions had been made. “I’m thrilled to see that Bella Flora has owners as lovely as she is.”
The Realtor had a ruff of white hair around an otherwise bald scalp and a long face dominated by the droopy brown eyes of a basset hound. But he appeared freshly shaven and turned out in a short-sleeved button-down shirt and khakis—which, Madeline reflected, could very well be the beach equivalent of a three-piece suit.
He turned to motion toward the house and they turned with him. The pale pink façade was almost completely obscured by the walled jungle in front of it. All she could make out at the end of the driveway was an outbuilding of some sort in an even paler pink.
“This property is one of the best known and most historically significant on Pass-a-Grille. It was built for the Eugene Price family back in the 1920s right around the same time as the Don CeSar—the big pink hotel you passed on the way here.”
He looked at them as if this should mean something. Madeline smiled, but she didn’t think any of them really cared who had built it or lived in it. They just wanted to know how much money they could get for it.
“The Prices were related to Henry Plant, who built Plant Hall and is credited with bringing the railroad down as far as Tampa. A very prominent family. The house remained in the Price family for over sixty years. In 1978 a distant relative named Sam Paulding inherited it and spent a great deal of time and money on it. That work stopped when Sam Paulding died unexpectedly in 1990. It’s changed hands a number of times since then.”
Nicole looked pointedly down at her watch. When the Realtor paused briefly to take a breath, she asked, “Do you think we could go ahead and take a look?”
Madeline winced at the impatience that underscored her tone.
“Why, of course. Of course.”
They moved through the opening in the low wall and followed the path through a veritable forest of palm trees and overgrown shrubbery. The courtyard felt overcrowded and out of control, as if man had simply given up and allowed nature to have its way. “Anyone happen to have a machete in their purse?” Nicole asked, pushing a low lying palm frond out of her face.
Avery smiled. “It is a bit overgrown, but I bet it was gorgeous back in the day.”
“Oh, yes,” Franklin said. “Most of the garden is original to the house. There are plants here that were put in when the house was built and are still thriving.”
“Taking over the world is more like it,” Nicole muttered as Madeline did the math. Apparently the house, like John Franklin and much of the local population, was over eighty years old.
“It just needs a little attention,” he continued. “Maybe a little pruning. My wife is president of the garden club and she
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