district, close to the water. There was some sort of museum and a library, she’d read online. Surely someone knew something about Gray House.
She found the office of Acres and Acres and went inside. The air conditioning was on full blast, sucking the humidity out of the air. Mrs. Acres sprang up from behind her maple desk and met Kelly at the entryway.
“Ms. Frost, how are you? I’ve been meaning to pop by to make sure you and the house are getting along.” Mrs. Acres beamed. Her hair was now a platinum blond. The Maltese lying in a basket in the corner had matching locks.
“I’m doing well, thanks. I think we’re getting along fine so far.” Kelly rubbed her arms. Goosebumps had popped up as soon as she entered the office. “I’ve been preparing the quilt and gathering supplies to make repairs.”
“Well, I don’t envy you a bit.” Mrs. Acres shook her head. “Although I’ve been known to stitch a few baby quilts over time. If you ever need a hand, I’m willing to help.”
“Thanks, I appreciate the offer. I’ll keep that in mind if I do.” The idea of the older woman hovering around the quilt nearly made hives break out among her goose bumps. Kelly didn’t plan on needing any help.
“So what brings you here? The pretty weather? Or is there an issue with the house?” Mrs. Acres asked.
“The lookout has a leaky roof on the inside, I’ve been meaning to let you or Mr. Chandler know.”
At the mention of William Chandler, Mrs. Acres stood up straighter, her back stiffening. “Don’t call him unless you absolutely must.”
“Okay, I did call him, but he hasn’t responded.”
“That’s just as well. I’m glad you came to me about this.”
“Well, that’s not the only reason I came by. I was wondering if you could tell me anything about the original owners of Gray House.” She almost felt silly at the next words she was going to say. “There’s a story with the quilt, you know.”
“It’s part of the historic district,” Mrs. Acres moved to a file drawer. “County Street was the place to build your home if you were a whaling captain or any of those whale oil industry giants back in the day. They said it was upwind from the smells of the harbor.”
“That makes sense to me.” Kelly nodded. “But do you have anything that can tell me more about the Grays? When did they sell the home? When did Firstborn Holdings take control of the property?”
“Ah, I see.” Mrs. Acres pulled out a file and returned to where Kelly stood. “This is all I have, all that can be shared publicly, that is.”
“Okay, thank you.”
“Make yourself comfortable over there on the couch.” Mrs. Acres gestured to the corner of the office where a leather living room suite waited, complete with coffee table that sported a set of magazines. “Would you like some bottled water?”
“Sure, I’d like that.” Kelly carried the file over to the couch and sank onto its buttery softness. The first document in the folder contained an agreement between Acres and Acres for managing the property of Gray House. Nothing new to her here. Mrs. Acres had been managing the property for fifteen years. There were old contracts for lawn care, pouring concrete for the parking slab at the back of the property. But nothing about the Grays, or of Firstborn Holdings.
“Here’s your water.” Mrs. Acres stood by the arm of the couch. “Have you found anything useful? I’m afraid our records only go back as far as we’ve been managing the property.”
“Thank you.” Kelly took a sip from the open plastic bottle. She could see that she’d have to look at the local property records to find some real information. “I don’t see anything, really. But maybe you know more than you realize. Did the company ever say why they wanted to hire someone to restore the quilt?”
“No, I can’t say as they did. Mr. Chandler is my main contact with Firstborn Holdings. He told me in May, right before I took you to see the
She found the office of Acres and Acres and went inside. The air conditioning was on full blast, sucking the humidity out of the air. Mrs. Acres sprang up from behind her maple desk and met Kelly at the entryway.
“Ms. Frost, how are you? I’ve been meaning to pop by to make sure you and the house are getting along.” Mrs. Acres beamed. Her hair was now a platinum blond. The Maltese lying in a basket in the corner had matching locks.
“I’m doing well, thanks. I think we’re getting along fine so far.” Kelly rubbed her arms. Goosebumps had popped up as soon as she entered the office. “I’ve been preparing the quilt and gathering supplies to make repairs.”
“Well, I don’t envy you a bit.” Mrs. Acres shook her head. “Although I’ve been known to stitch a few baby quilts over time. If you ever need a hand, I’m willing to help.”
“Thanks, I appreciate the offer. I’ll keep that in mind if I do.” The idea of the older woman hovering around the quilt nearly made hives break out among her goose bumps. Kelly didn’t plan on needing any help.
“So what brings you here? The pretty weather? Or is there an issue with the house?” Mrs. Acres asked.
“The lookout has a leaky roof on the inside, I’ve been meaning to let you or Mr. Chandler know.”
At the mention of William Chandler, Mrs. Acres stood up straighter, her back stiffening. “Don’t call him unless you absolutely must.”
“Okay, I did call him, but he hasn’t responded.”
“That’s just as well. I’m glad you came to me about this.”
“Well, that’s not the only reason I came by. I was wondering if you could tell me anything about the original owners of Gray House.” She almost felt silly at the next words she was going to say. “There’s a story with the quilt, you know.”
“It’s part of the historic district,” Mrs. Acres moved to a file drawer. “County Street was the place to build your home if you were a whaling captain or any of those whale oil industry giants back in the day. They said it was upwind from the smells of the harbor.”
“That makes sense to me.” Kelly nodded. “But do you have anything that can tell me more about the Grays? When did they sell the home? When did Firstborn Holdings take control of the property?”
“Ah, I see.” Mrs. Acres pulled out a file and returned to where Kelly stood. “This is all I have, all that can be shared publicly, that is.”
“Okay, thank you.”
“Make yourself comfortable over there on the couch.” Mrs. Acres gestured to the corner of the office where a leather living room suite waited, complete with coffee table that sported a set of magazines. “Would you like some bottled water?”
“Sure, I’d like that.” Kelly carried the file over to the couch and sank onto its buttery softness. The first document in the folder contained an agreement between Acres and Acres for managing the property of Gray House. Nothing new to her here. Mrs. Acres had been managing the property for fifteen years. There were old contracts for lawn care, pouring concrete for the parking slab at the back of the property. But nothing about the Grays, or of Firstborn Holdings.
“Here’s your water.” Mrs. Acres stood by the arm of the couch. “Have you found anything useful? I’m afraid our records only go back as far as we’ve been managing the property.”
“Thank you.” Kelly took a sip from the open plastic bottle. She could see that she’d have to look at the local property records to find some real information. “I don’t see anything, really. But maybe you know more than you realize. Did the company ever say why they wanted to hire someone to restore the quilt?”
“No, I can’t say as they did. Mr. Chandler is my main contact with Firstborn Holdings. He told me in May, right before I took you to see the
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