Lost and Found in Lavender Bay (The Lavender Bay Chronicles #2)

2. Chapter One

Chapter One

“ I ’m so glad you’re here,” said Mrs. Kovach, barely giving Maureen Cook Peterson time to set her open umbrella on the porch before pulling her in through the front door.

Mrs. Kovach, Maureen’s newest client, lived on the corner of Heather Lane and Vine Street. Her daughter, on a whim, had decided to surprise her by redecorating her house while she was away on a two-week trip to Hawaii. Maureen, an interior designer, had been asked to step in and help reverse the damage.

Maureen had brought along her “book,” a binder filled with photos of work she’d done in the last five years. It was the fourth book she was on.

Like many of the homes in this part of Lavender Bay, Mrs. Kovach’s house was a small Victorian with the requisite gingerbread trim. Though she was a neighbor of Maureen’s mother, Louise Cook, it had been many years since Maureen had been inside the house .

She was taken aback from the moment she stepped inside. The hallway walls had been painted black with white trim. The space was too narrow for so dark a color, the contrast too stark against the white tile floor. It didn’t help that it was dark and dreary outside, making the interior appear even darker. March had been a total washout. Lots of rain, the only plus side being the disappearance of the final mounds of snow along the beach.

Mrs. Kovach looked as if she was trying to find the words as she scratched her head. “I know Tracy meant well, but I don’t think you should go into someone’s house and redecorate for them without their permission.” She paused, looking around and grimacing. “This is what happens when you give your daughter a key to your house.”

With every room they stepped into, Mrs. Kovach winced. And Maureen could see why. She remembered the house being done up in various shades of peach and maroon, but there had been a total overhaul and the color palette had been confined to black and various shades of gray. The faint aroma of cinnamon and cloves in the air didn’t match the dark and depressing effect of the décor.

The older woman put her hands up for emphasis. “It’s too much. I don’t want to leave my bedroom. I feel like I’ve entered a house of horrors or something. Now, Tracy was trying to help, and I’ll admit that maybe it was time for an update, but I can’t live in this house the way it is. I thought it would be easier to redo it rather than sell it, because that’s where I was at last week.”

Maureen reassured her. “Don’t worry, we’ll figure something out. ”

“Come on, let’s go back to the kitchen,” Mrs. Kovach said with another shake of her head. “Wait until you see what she’s done in there.”

Maureen almost flinched when she entered the kitchen. The cabinets had been painted a gunmetal gray, and the counters were black granite.

“I liked my white cabinets,” Mrs. Kovach cried. She gestured toward the small glass-topped table and four bistro chairs. “Have a seat.”

Maureen pulled out one of the chairs and sat, setting down her book.

“Would you like tea or coffee?” Mrs. Kovach asked. “I’m having tea myself. I’ve had to switch to peppermint because my stomach’s been so upset.”

“That’s fine for me too, as long as it isn’t too much trouble.”

“None at all. I’ll have it in a second.”

She turned on the gas burner beneath her kettle and pulled two mugs from the stand next to the stove.

Maureen glanced around the kitchen. She sourced the origin of the cinnamon-and-clove aroma: a small electric potpourri burner on the countertop that sat next to a set of white canisters with a cornflower-blue pattern. The counter space was otherwise occupied by the usual array of small appliances—coffeemaker, stand mixer, toaster, can opener—but all in black.

Mrs. Kovach set down two cups of steaming peppermint-scented tea on the table, sliding one mug over to Maureen as she took the seat next to her.

“Thank you,” Maureen said. She opened up her book. “Maybe you’d like to look through some of these pictures and we can decide where to go from there. ”

Mrs. Kovach pulled the book in front of her. “Mercifully, Tracy did nothing upstairs. It’s as it was.” She widened her eyes for emphasis. Carefully, she began to flip through the pages, pausing to look at the photos and studying them, commenting from time to time. “That’s lovely.” “That looks so fresh.” “I love that color combination; you would have thought if you put those two colors together it wouldn’t look so nice.”

She paused, holding a page between two fingers. “How are your children, Maureen? How old are they now?”

“Everett is twenty-one and in his third year at Michigan. He’s hoping to go on for a law degree. Lance is nineteen and is in his first year up at UB outside of Buffalo, major undeclared. They’ll be home next week for spring break. Ashley is in her senior year over at McKinley High School. She’s been accepted to a college out west and will start there at the end of August.” Maureen couldn’t wait to see the boys and hear all about college life. She was happiest when the whole family was all together under one roof.

“That’s great that they’ll all be getting college degrees. You have so many more opportunities with that piece of paper in your hand.” Mrs. Kovach sipped delicately from her cup .

Maureen was proud of her children. There would be no failure to launch with her group. No living at home in the parents’ basement. They all had plans and goals and although she would miss them all terribly, she was eager to see how their lives turned out.

“Allan and I have been blessed,” she said. “Other than the usual growing pains, they’re good kids.”

“Consider yourself lucky, Maureen,” Mrs. Kovach said. “The kid next door is relentless.”

Suppressing a grin, Maureen asked, “How so?”

“It’s not his fault. He’s only seventeen, but he’s home alone. A lot. Both his parents travel for work. In the summertime, he’s either outside playing basketball until two in the morning or blaring music from his bedroom. Let me tell you, I love winter if only for the closed windows and the peace and quiet.”

Maureen laughed.

Mrs. Kovach returned her attention to the book, studying the photos of Maureen’s work.

She tapped one page. “I like this color scheme.”

Maureen nodded. “Those are warm colors.”

“That’s what I need. Whatever we do, no black! Or gray!”

“Got it.” Maureen wrote some notes down on her notepad.

Mrs. Kovach thumped a bony finger on a particular photo. “Do the downstairs in various shades of that.”

“Very good. I’ll look at different types of textures and fabrics and put together a sample board. I’ll be on the hunt for decorations as well.” Her first stop would be her garage, where she had a supply of all things related to interior design. “I’ll bring over some sketches to show you what the rooms might look like with the changes.”

Clearly impressed, Mrs. Kovach asked, “You sketch?”

“Not very well. But I use an app that helps.”

“The things technology can do these days.”

“May I take some photos and measurements of the downstairs rooms?”

“Of course.”

With tape measure and phone in hand, Maureen went from room to room, taking down measurements and recording them on her notepad. She took photos of each room from various angles, making note of which direction the windows faced.

When she was finished, Mrs. Kovach saw her out. “At my age,” she said, “it’s worth it for me to pay someone to clean up this mess.”

Maureen smiled; she loved her job. Like everything else in her life, it was just about perfect.