LITMIR.BIZ

      Unless the Lord builds the house, its builders labor in vain.

      —Psalm 127:1

      To Henry, Eleanor, Genevieve and Knox.

       You inspire me every day.

      Acknowledgments

      A super big thank-you to my amazing editor Emily Rodmell, without whose keen insights and editorial prowess this book wouldn’t be nearly so good, if it even existed at all.

      Never-ending thanks to my husband, Ray McCalla, for picking up the kids and folding the laundry and all the other bazillion ways you take up the slack so I can write. I love you.

      Tremendous thanks to Deputy Charles McCalla of the Page County Sheriff’s Department, and my father, retired Police Sergeant Brian Richter, for all your keen answers to even my most bizarre questions. You make me look like I know what I’m talking about.

      Huge, huge, huge thanks to all the booksellers and newspaper editors and the wonderful staff at KTCH radio who’ve helped to spread the word about my books.

      Terrific thanks to my readers. You honor me by choosing to read my stories.

      And most of all, eternal thanks to my Lord and Savior Jesus Christ, who paid it all already. You make everything possible.

      Contents

      CHAPTER ONE

      CHAPTER TWO

      CHAPTER THREE

      CHAPTER FOUR

      CHAPTER FIVE

      CHAPTER SIX

      CHAPTER SEVEN

      CHAPTER EIGHT

      CHAPTER NINE

      CHAPTER TEN

      CHAPTER ELEVEN

      CHAPTER TWELVE

      CHAPTER THIRTEEN

      CHAPTER FOURTEEN

      CHAPTER FIFTEEN

      LETTER TO READER

      QUESTIONS FOR DISCUSSION

      ONE

      Maggie Arnold felt uneasy about being alone in the old house on Shady Oak Lane, and it wasn’t just because her father died here. The rambling old building was full of sheet-draped furniture which hunkered in the shadows.

      But it was now or never. She had to push her fears aside and get the project started if she ever wanted to leave this house behind her. She pulled out her phone.

      In her haste, Maggie had the call ringing through before she realized she hadn’t asked for the name of the handyman whose number her Realtor had given her.

      A deep voice answered her call. “Hello?” He sounded strong. Capable. Could she tell that much from one word?

      “I’m calling for the handyman,” Maggie started, embarrassed that she didn’t know his name. “Susan Isakson gave me this number.”

      “I’ll be sure to thank her for the referral. What’s the project?” So he was cordial, too.

      Maggie’s heart gave a little flip, which she told herself was silly. There was no reason for her to get too excited at the sound of a strong man’s voice. She just hoped this guy would be able to help her with the house she’d inherited when her father had died a little over two weeks ago. Otherwise she didn’t know where else to turn. “Do you know the old Victorian on Shady Oak Lane?”

      The man let out an almost silent groan.

      Maggie couldn’t stand the idea that she’d lose him so easily. She rushed on. “I know it’s a big project, but I’m willing to do a lot of the work myself. If you’d at least come take a look at it, even if you could just do part of it—”

      “I can stop by this afternoon.”

      “You can?” Maggie nearly screeched in her relief. None of the other contractors she’d called had even offered to take a look at the house, and she had to have help—soon.

      “Say around four o’clock?”

      That was in less than a half hour. “That would be perfect.”

      “And, let’s see…” the deep voice paused “…you’re Maggie Arnold, right?”

      “Right.”

      “Okay, see you at four, then.”

      “See you then.” Maggie hung up the phone with a breathless goodbye and leaned her elbows back on the staircase where she sat, looking up the wide-open stairwell at the dizzying pattern of exposed stud walls above her, wondering how the handyman knew her name when she didn’t even know his.

      Oh, he’d probably heard all about her already. After living in Kansas City since she’d graduated from high school, Maggie wasn’t used to Holyoake, Iowa, anymore, where the scant five thousand townspeople knew everything about everybody and who was up to what. No doubt rumors were already flying about her return to town and what would become of the house on Shady Oak Lane. Most people probably figured she wasn’t up to the task of fixing it up. She figured they were probably right.

      And this handyman guy—whatever his name was—from his reaction, she could assume he already knew how much trouble the house would be. It was entirely possible he was only stopping by to be nice, and had no real intention of taking on the project. But she had to have his help. Though she’d meant it when she’d said she could help with the work, she didn’t know much about construction—just enough to know she wasn’t up to tackling the project alone.

      And she’d already been turned down by every other contractor in town. Their excuses echoed through her mind. Too busy. No longer in business. Only new construction. No major renovations. And perhaps the most ominous of all: I wouldn’t go near that house for anything.

      “Neither would I,” Maggie whispered to herself, “if it were only up to me.” But she didn’t have much choice in the matter. The house needed so much work. She looked around her at the aging plaster and woodwork coated with decades of paint. Her eyes fell on a couple of dead bats in

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