We head down a series of hallways. I poke my head into a few rooms and spot a gym, a library, and what looks like a room full of broken instruments. “This way,” she says, prodding me along.
“Sorry, can’t help myself. There are so many rooms.”
“I know.” She frowns. “Sometimes I wander around and see if I can’t find a room I’ve never been to before.”
“When was the last time that happened?” I ask.
“Last week. I found a supply closet with just reams and reams of printer paper. Seriously, floor-to-ceiling printer paper.”
“Why do you guys have so much?”
“I have no clue. I’m sure someone put in a bulk order years and years ago, shoved it in a closet, and forgot all about it. This house is full of stuff like that.”
“Must be fun to live here.”
She sighs. “I guess. It feels… impersonal, sometimes. You know what I mean?”
“I guess.” I tilt my head. “But you have staff.”
“True.”
“I’m finding it difficult to feel bad for you.”
“Oh, try harder then.”
I laugh and lean against her as we come around a corner. We stop in front of some steps that curve up through the wall and disappear up into the ceiling.
“Here it is,” she says.
“Where is this?”
“My mother’s room,” she says. “She’s always in there. Painting, mostly.”
“Huh. I didn’t know she painted.”
“Nobody does really. She doesn’t talk about it. But she’s actually good.”
“Interesting. Your mother never struck me as the painter type.”
“What type does she strike you as?”
I frown. “Assassin.”
She laughs and starts up the stairs. “Yep, that’s about right.”
I follow her up. The stairs wind and wind, and I swear we go up at least three floors before we stop in front of another door. Lora reaches out and knocks a few times then waits until a muffled voice calls out.
She opens the door and steps up. I follow her, feeling oddly nervous.
I don’t know why. I’m a grown-ass man, but her mother still makes me uneasy. This is the power of the Lofthouse family, the real head of the house. Sylvia Lofthouse owns this town more than anyone else does. She has the power to see all my dreams come true, or to destroy everything my father’s built.
The room is cluttered with paintings in all different styles, stacked several deep, leaning up against the walls. Sylvia herself stands in front of a canvas, but it’s blank. She’s not holding a brush, just looking at the blank canvas with a frown.
“Hi, Mom,” Lora says. “I brought a guest.”
Sylvia Lofthouse looks back at me. “I know you,” she says.
“Hello, Mrs. Lofthouse. I’m Dean Ashman.”
“Ah, yes. The auto dealer’s son.” She tilts her head. “Call me Sylvia.”
“Okay,” I say.
“Mom, we want to talk to you about the empty warehouse on Spruce.”
Her mother frowns. “What do you want with that place, dear?”
“Well, I’m curious… What do you plan on doing with it?”
Sylvia shrugs. “I haven’t the faintest.”
“We were wondering…” I trail off.
“We were wondering why it closed in the first place,” I speak up.
Lora glances at me and frowns.
“That’s a sad story,” her mother says. “Suffice to say, it was outside of my control. This town is important to me, Dean Ashman.”
“I believe you,” I say, and I do, although I don’t know why.
She tilts her head and frowns. “Good. Thank you.”
“Mom, we want to use it,” Lora says. “Turn it into something for the community.”
Her mother laughs. “I suppose that’s not a bad idea.”
“We have a business in mind,” Lora says, stumbling forward. “We think we can turn it into, like, an indoor fun park. Batting cages, roller skating, arcade, that sort of thing. Give people in this town something to do other than drink and drive trucks in the mud.”
Sylvia frowns. “Drive trucks in the mud? Is that a thing people do?”
“Yes,” Lora says. “It is, unfortunately.”
“Sounds horrible.”
“It’s fun,” I say and both women give me a look.
“I suppose it’s a good idea,” her mother says. “The park, not the mud.”
“We’ll make it profitable,” Lora says. “Or at least break even. And since you own the warehouse—”
Her mother raises a hand. “I don’t own it.”
I frown and cock my head. “I thought you did.”
“No,” she says. “The Lofthouse family does not own that warehouse. That’s why I was unable to keep it open. However, the warehouse is for sale. I haven’t seen a good reason to buy it.”
Lora bites her lip. “I don’t suppose you’d buy it for me?”
“I don’t suppose I would,” her mother says.
We stand in silence for a long moment. I look at Lora and I can see the disappointment all over her. I hate that she’s not getting what she wants right now… and I want to give it to her.
“What if I can promise it’ll make money?” I ask her. “My father has connections with the community here. I’m opening a car wash soon. I’ll be involved from the beginning with this project and I can help guide it along.”