The Family Plot Read Online Free PDF Page B

to the swishing sound of vines and the damp crunch of rotting branches beneath the tires … angling the truck up and around on the mountain’s eastern face, where the morning light shot sharply between the trees.
    â€œHow much farther, do you think?”
    â€œSee those pillars?” She pointed at a tall pair of crumbling stone columns, with one corroded iron gate hanging ajar by a single hinge. It’d once been part of a pair that closed together, but the other had long since fallen and been dragged away or scrapped. There was plenty of room to drive between the old sentinels, but she did it slow, in a cautious creep. Beyond those columns there was a stretch, and a bend, and then … at long last, the Withrow estate.
    The photos hadn’t done it justice, but Brad almost did, when he whispered, “Holy shit …”
    The main house was two and a half stories tall. Once it might’ve been blue—but over time it’d faded like anything will if left too long in the rain. Now its columns, wood slat siding, and jagged remnants of gingerbread were all the color of laundry water. A rickety widow’s walk stretched across the roof, accompanied by a skyline of snaggle-toothed chimneys—along with a fat, round turret wearing a spiral of weathered cedar shingles. A wraparound porch sagged out front and around to the north side, weighed down by a century of Virginia creeper, English ivy, and a dull green tsunami of kudzu.
    â€œâ€˜Holy shit’ is right,” Dahlia agreed.
    â€œYou really think we can salvage this place in five days?”
    â€œThe house? Sure, no big deal. But the house, plus the barn…” she said, pointing at the property’s westernmost corner. “And the carriage house beside it … damn. Now I wish I hadn’t made any promises. If we had a full crew, it’d be easy enough. But with just the four of us … Then again, Dad’ll be here on Friday.”
    She pulled the truck around so it faced the house, perched with its back to the slope.
    â€œThis place was beautiful once,” Brad marveled.
    â€œIt still is.” Dahlia left the engine running, but opened her door and hopped down onto the yard. There wasn’t any driveway, and no one would care if she left a few tire tracks. The bulldozers would do worse, come the fifteenth. She frowned at the thought. “Hey, Brad?”
    â€œYes ma’am?”
    â€œYou think you can find your way back to Bobby and Gabe? And bring them here?”
    â€œI think so. It’s only a couple of turns.”
    â€œGreat. Then the truck’s all yours, if you’ll go and fetch the boys. I’ll open the place up, take a look around, and start prioritizing our demo plans.”
    â€œOkay. I’ll be right back.” He scooted over from the passenger’s seat and slid behind the wheel, then pulled the door shut.
    â€œTake your time.” She gave him a parting wave, but didn’t look back to watch him go.
    Truth was, she wanted a moment alone with the house, with nobody watching or listening. She tried to steal that kind of moment on every job, and she didn’t always get it. Sometimes, she had to say her piece in a busy room, buzzing with saws and the thunk of pry bars biting into paneling. Sometimes she had to whisper it like a little prayer from the backyard, while forklifts pulled windows from their casings.
    The truck rolled away, leaving her alone in front of the massive house.
    She took the handrail and, one by one, she scaled the sinking stairs, where the creaking crunch of bug-eaten wood caused the small things under the steps to scatter. At the top, she found a porch cluttered with seasonally abandoned bird nests, brittle veins of creeper vines, and small drifts of fall’s first offerings from the nearby oaks and maples.
    The boards bowed beneath her feet as she stood before the great carved door, with its leaded glass transom and