Holiday Hideaway

by Mary Kay Andrews

I said that trespassing at vacant properties managed by our company was a terrible idea and that if you got caught, your ex-husband, the sheriff, would happily lock you up

Uncle Gus left his millions in a trust for his cat, Emmaline. He left this decrepit money pit to my cousin and my sisters and me, and I drew the short straw, which means I get to figure out how to get it cleaned out and ready to put on the market ASAP.

“That house is a local landmark. Mr. Crowe always said he’d never part with it. Every summer, we had sellers asking, and the answer from your great-uncle was always the same: ‘Over my dead body.’” “He got his wish,” George said, chuckling.

The toilet seat was down. Huh? He’d gotten an unreasonable amount of satisfaction these past few days from deliberately leaving the seat up

I’d run screaming for the hills if my house was bat infested.” Tilly shuddered. “Me, too, but I don’t think Amazon ships live bats.”

he idly wondered who might buy the Crowe’s Nest. A family, he hoped, who would love and restore the house, instead of a bitter old bachelor like his Uncle Gus.

“I shared my Rice Krispies Treats? I must’ve had a secret crush on you, ’cause I don’t share snacks with just anyone.”

“You’re a terrible sleeper, you know that?” “So I’ve been told.” “You’re like a rotisserie chicken, or the spin cycle on a washing machine. You thrash around, throw off the covers . . .”