Chapter 2 - The Arrival
Saturday at dusk in Lake Tahoe is a painting of deep indigos and slate grays. The wind off the water was sharp, carrying the scent of pine needles and snow.
I was standing on the wraparound mahogany deck when the silver Range Rover crunched up the gravel driveway.
Valerie stepped out first, wrapped in a designer trench coat, her heels clicking aggressively against the imported stone. My son, David, trailed behind her, looking exhausted, carrying a designer pastry box like a peace offering.
"Mother," David called out, a strained smile on his face.
Valerie didn't bother with pleasantries. She stopped at the base of the stairs, her eyes sweeping over the massive timber-framed facade, the floor-to-ceiling glass, the three-car garage. I watched her pupils dilate. It was raw, unadulterated greed.
"Well," Valerie said, her breath pluming in the cold air. "I suppose it's not bad. For a sudden, reckless purchase."
"Hello, Valerie. David," I said smoothly, opening the heavy double doors. "Come in. It's drafty."
The foyer alone was the size of my old Victorian's entire ground floor. Cathedral ceilings, a massive stone fireplace, and wide-plank oak floors that echoed under their footsteps.
Valerie immediately began touching things. She ran her manicured fingers over the leather sofa, tapped the marble countertops in the chef's kitchen, and peered into the commercial-grade refrigerator.
"It's entirely too much house for you, Margaret," she announced, pivoting on her heel. "The upkeep alone will bankrupt you. We’ll need to draft a management plan. I know a few property managers who handle vacation rentals. We could lease out the east wing."
"We?" I asked mildly.
May you like
"Family," she corrected, though her eyes were completely dead. "David and I are just looking out for you. Now, where is this grand tour?"
"Follow me," I said. "Let's start with the basement."
