Refuge on Crescent Hill by Melanie Dobson

Author:Melanie Dobson
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Kregel Publications
Published: 2011-07-01T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

People are always trying to bum work off him,” Jenny said with a laugh.

Camden’s lips twisted into a smile, and she tried to laugh as well. Of course, Dan didn’t work on credit. He had to make a living like everyone else.

Jenny stopped laughing. “Do you need something?”

“Maybe.”

“I’m sure he’d do it for you at a fraction of what he usually bills.”

She couldn’t tell Jenny that she didn’t have money for even a minimal fee, and there was no way she was going to try and get free legal advice from him because he was Jenny’s husband. She would pay him like everyone else, and she would protect the house that had been left in her care.

As she walked back up to Crescent Hill, she hated placing the call, but she’d been left with no choice. She wouldn’t hand over half the estate to Liza. Not without a fight. She had no doubt that Liza would contest the will, and she needed money to defend herself and the house Rosalie left in her care.

Camden shivered at the thought of Liza. Cynicism had filled her half-sister’s laugh when Camden pressed her about the supposed secrets Liza lorded over her, and Camden left the café without answers. Liza enjoyed watching her squirm, and Camden wouldn’t give her the pleasure of reveling in her angst.

If Liza was able to overturn the will, Camden had no doubt her half-sister would hand the place over to the town for a pile of cash. She probably wouldn’t even return to watch the wrecking ball tear down a hundred and fifty years of memories.

Maybe that’s why her grandmother left the house to her. Perhaps she knew that Camden would do everything she could to protect it. If only she could find the letter that had been taken from her, she felt certain her grandmother told her how to save the house. And maybe even why.

Without her grandmother’s direction, she would do her best to preserve the memories, but she could sell a few pieces of furniture and art in the house without feeling like she’d pilfered the place. Perhaps she could even buy the pieces back after she had sold the house.

Edward Paxton appeared at her door fifteen minutes after she called, smelling very much like the cigar smoke that had clung to his grandson. His navy vest was buttoned to the top, and dark moles spotted his forehead. If he had ever been good-looking, the remnants of those looks had disappeared.

She invited him inside, and he hobbled into the entryway with his cane. Then she explained that she wanted to sell two or three antiques, to help with costs right now.

“I will do whatever you ask of me,” he said with a combination of humility and flourish. “Your grandmother was a dear friend of mine.”

Never trust a Paxton.

If he thought he and Rosalie were dear friends, he remembered wrong.

“The pieces I want to sell are upstairs, on the third floor.”

His face lit up. “It will take me awhile to climb those old stairs, but I would be glad to appraise them for you.

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