It’s been such an exciting couple of days as my second novel, GOOD BONES, has officially hit Amazon and is making its way to readers! I’m so happy to finally have this book out in the world, and I’m hoping that if you have started it already, you’re enjoying it.
I wanted to share the first chapter of the book here, in the hopes that it sparks even more excitement… and gives you a taste of what’s to come if you haven’t already purchased a copy of GOOD BONES for yourself.
As a reminder, it’s currently available in e-book format for $3.99 (or FREE with Kindle Unlimited), as well as paperback format for $15.95.
Chapter 1
Carlee Murdoch shut off the engine to her 1995 Ford pickup and stared up at the building in front of her. As she admired the way the early evening light hit it, she knew that most people would see the house and think, ‘that’s not even a fixer-upper; that’s a tear ‘er downer.’ She tilted her head, squinted her eyes. Some people – the ones with a decent eye – might see an ‘almost salvageable’ house here, but there was still a big difference between those types of people and Carlee Murdoch. Where they saw ‘almost salvageable’, she saw guaranteed future success.
Looking up at the cracked exterior, chipped beige paint, crooked shutters and broken windows, Carlee didn’t just see a house that had been neglected and abandoned – left to rot and decay and fade into oblivion. She saw a house full of stories, of memories. She saw a former home. And as she climbed out of the truck, swung the door closed and rubbed a hand over the chipped red paint of the hood, she was pretty sure she saw a future home, too.
“Just a quick look,” she muttered to herself, checking the time on her cell phone as she walked up the cracked stone walkway. This would have been a pretty, inviting path once upon a time, she mused. The house was late 1890’s construction, and every bit of the exterior looked original, which sent an excited thrill through her. Judging by the missing stones, the jagged edges, and the uneven surface, she’d be willing to bet the walkway hadn’t been redone more than once, if that, since the time the house was built. Grass poked through the cracks and a stone slid out of place as her work boot stepped off of it. She glanced down at it, smiling to herself as she fumbled in her pocket for the key she’d just acquired.
Man, she loved these old houses.
Although she was in a bit of a rush to get to Des’s house, she hadn’t been able to resist a quick drive-by. It wasn’t too far out of the way, as Des lived on East Charlton and she was currently on Henry, just a few blocks south of Forsyth Park. It would only take a few minutes’ drive, and anyway, the girls knew how she was whenever she got the keys to a new project. It wouldn’t surprise them in the least that she’d felt the need to get in there, get a feel for the layout, have a quick peek around everything that needed to be done. After all, she’d bought the house without seeing anything more than the view from the street. And it was a sorry one, to say the least.
The key slid easily into the antique bronze lock in the rickety front door. Original, she thought, with gorgeous stained-glass detailing. That would stay, even if it had to be pried out of the door for refurbishment. But a second look told her that the door wasn’t in terrible shape. A bit of sanding, a few fresh coats of paint, some tightening up of the hinges, and a repaired, polished-up door handle. Yeah, she could work with it.
As daylight faded into evening, the lighting in the house suffered, but Carlee could see plenty from where she stood in the foyer. It had, at one time, been a grand entryway. An impressive oak staircase welcomed her off to the left, and a grand Palladian window stood at the far back wall, which Carlee could only guess looked out over the charming green backyard. To her right was the parlor, and beyond that she assumed was the kitchen. As she stepped through the dusty, dimly-lit hallway, she found that she was right.
It was a disaster. The house had been left like this for the last five years – the old owners leaving the house in such a state for God-only-knew-what reason, and leaving the bank to sit on the property until someone willing to deal with it came along. Marion Clarke down at the realty office had known it was only a matter of time before Carlee came looking for a new project, and had practically been waiting in her office with the papers all prepared the moment Carlee stepped through the door. She was no stranger to Carlee’s impulse buys, or her sense of adventure in taking on some seriously sorry buildings.
Carlee had seen the house on Henry dozens of times, but she hadn’t had the time in her schedule or the budget to work on it. Now was a good time, though. Three sales in the past month had left the business with a pretty wad of cash to do what she and the girls – her best friends and business partners – liked. And this was exactly the kind of project that had Savvy Homes written all over it.
She ran a hand over the peeling wallpaper in the parlor. Floral, from what she could see from the faded design – and hideous. She had to give the previous owners some credit. They hadn’t changed much about the historical value of the home. It had plenty of old world charm and character, and that was important in a city as historic as Savannah. It was always Carlee’s mission, with whatever house she was working on, to stay true to the home’s origins – to breathe fresh life back into the elements that kept the house rooted to its time period. Bringing them back to their former glory was what she lived for.
“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me,” she said under her breath as she approached the far corner of the dusty room. From where she stood, she could see that the floor she was walking on had been lifted back slightly beside the fireplace. Beneath it was clearly another layer of wood, and that knowledge both delighted and distressed Carlee.
She reached into the back pocket of her jeans, pulled out the miniature flashlight that she always had with her. Clicking it on, she crouched down in the corner and shone it brightly on the floor.
“Why the hell would you cover up a perfectly good wood floor?”
The floor she was standing on was fine, but she could tell even in the dark that it was synthetic. The fact that there was real authentic wood below gave her just one more thing to look forward to. There was almost nothing better in-home renovations than bringing a once-dead original floor back to life, to watch it gleam and sparkle and glow after a good sanding and refinishing.
“Oh, we’re gonna have a good time,” she said with a grin.
She clicked off the flashlight and headed towards the stairs, finding a shaky railing and several rails missing or snapped in half. She tapped the front of a step lightly with the toe of her boot, fairly satisfied with the sound and feel of the wood beneath her feet. She’d have her guys check the staircase for safety, to make sure there were no rotting or weakening spots. Stairs weren’t good locations for those sorts of issues.
She toured the upper rooms, muttering to herself about the problems needing fixing – wall repairs, water damage, more floors to be ripped up. There were four bedrooms and a nicely-sized bathroom, as well as a quaint little walkout balcony off the master. Oh, she could work with this, all right. The house had some beautiful bones.
As she descended the stairs, keen to make one more loop around the ground floor before heading out, she felt her cell phone vibrate in her back pocket. Lifting it to her ear, she noted that it was Gary, her lead contractor.
“Hey,” she said into the phone, holding it steady between her ear and shoulder while tugging at a few railings on the staircase. “I’m at the new place, giving myself a solo tour. I think you’re gonna like what you see tomorrow.”
“I got my toolbox by the door, ready to go.”
She heard the chuckle in his thick, richly-southern voice and pictured him lifting an ice-cold beer to his mouth as he said it. Lucky bastard lived on one of the nicest streets in the historic district, and on an evening like this, Carlee had little doubt that he was tipped back in a rocking chair on the front porch, taking in a nice view of the sunset.
“You called me,” she reminded him as she trailed through what was clearly a formal dining room. They’d save and clean up that glorious chandelier, that was for sure.
“You need something? Or is this just an ‘I’m excited to get started on the new house’ phone call? Better get your beauty rest, sugar. It’s gonna be a hell of a workout here.” As she said it, she propped against the wall and felt something pop within it.
Again, Gary chuckled on the line. “Ah, I don’t doubt you there. You always do know how to pick ‘em, don’tcha? I promise you a full seven hours tonight, like always. I’ll be rested and ready.”
“And aren’t I glad to hear it.”
She heard him take a sip, knew she was right about the beer. She found herself craving a cold one, too. It was late May – humid and hotter than hell already in Georgia, and the perfect kind of evening for it. With any luck, Des would have one waiting for her when she pulled up.
“I’m callin’ about Dan,” Gary said after a minute.
“Dan?” Carlee repeated. “As in our Dan? Floor Dan.”
“Yeah, floor Dan,” Gary replied. “Well, floor Dan’s up and moved to Aruba.”
She remained silent for several seconds, processing the words. “Aruba? As in, the island? As in, nowhere near Georgia.”
“Affirmative, boss. Pulled out today, straight for the airport. You ask me, it sounds like a mid-life crisis. The wife had been pressuring him to move somewhere tropical and he finally caved. Didn’t think he’d do it without a warning, though.”
“Tell me about it.” Carlee rubbed a hand over her forehead and sighed. She’d hired Dan six months ago after her previous floor guy had quit after two pretty impressive years on the job. He’d at least given her a month’s notice. Dan, much as she’d liked the guy, apparently had a thing or two to learn about professionalism.
“Shit, and I’ve got nice original hardwood in here,” she said, resting a hand on her hip. “At least I think they’re nice. We’ll see once we get started.”
“And we get started tomorrow.”
“Not a whole hell of a lot of time to find a new floor guy.”
“Lucky for you, I’ve got a guy comin’ tomorrow,” Gary said. “Comes recommended from a friend of mine. I never met the guy, but if his work’s as good as Bud tells me, I think he’ll do the job okay.”
Usually, Carlee would make the decision on a replacement crewmember herself. In any normal circumstance, she would politely decline Gary’s offer and pool her own resources to find the perfect fix. But since this was no ‘normal’ circumstance, since they were slated to begin work on this renovation bright and early the following morning – well, she didn’t have much of a choice.
“Fine, that’s great,” she replied wearily. “We’ll give him a trial run, see what he can do.
With any luck, this guy would have a solid clue about what he was doing, which was more than she could say about the last guy who’d been recommended to her. Granted, that one had been recommended by a client, not a professional. But he’d also been an electrician. Things could have gotten really ugly, really quickly – if she hadn’t sacked him after about an hour-and-a-half on the job.
“See you tomorrow at eight?” she asked.
When he confirmed, she ended the call and sighed, staring into the parlor. A pretty room, it would be gorgeous when she was finished with it. She could see it now – a refinished fireplace with nineteenth century design and carvings. The walls would be painted a cheerful color – maybe yellow, a sure way to brighten things up and welcome in the sunshine, which undoubtedly bathed the room in light every morning. Traditional, historic Savannah charm would ooze out of this place when she was done, and it’d go on to be loved and lived in by an owner who took pride and pleasure in the work that had been done for it.
As she shut the door, turned the key, and stepped back onto the untrustworthy walkway, Carlee breathed a sigh that could have been interpreted as either relief or frustration. The house was going to involve a lot of work, and with all of Carlee’s other projects on the side, she needed her crew to be serious and on the ball. She needed this replacement mystery floor guy to work wonders.
She started up Ol’ Red and navigated her way off of the street, headed towards East Charlton. Her rumbling stomach reminded her that dinner awaited her there, and with any luck, so would that beer. Between the stifling heat of the early Georgia summer and the circumstances that had just been dropped on her, Carlee thought a beer was definitely in order.
When she pulled up along the curb, her friends were already on the porch, rocking gently in the warm evening air and watching her with those welcoming, all-knowing smiles. Oh yeah, they knew where she’d been, all right. When Carlee acquired a new house it was near impossible to keep her away from it.
“Supper’s almost ready,” Des called from her rocking chair. She held up her glass of white wine. “Help yourself to a drink from the kitchen.”
“Don’t I always?” Carlee grinned at them both – Des and Britt, who each nursed a drink that said so much about their personalities. That was the thing about the three of them, so different and yet so complimentary. They got on well together, though they were opposites in just about every way possible.
For Des Jepson, the drink of choice was nice glass of chilled white, her fire engine red nails sparkling from the glass’s narrow stem. It was refined, classic, and elegant – just like she was. Always put together, straight-laced and sophisticated. Des was a sure, level-headed, steady kind of woman that had her life ordered down to the very last detail. Not a tendril of that sleek black hair was ever out of place, nor was her rosy lipstick ever the tiniest bit smudged. Like the wine she drank, she was graceful, classy, tasteful, and no-nonsense.
Britt Steele’s was a fun and flirty vodka cranberry, served in a stylish crystal glass only because Des probably hadn’t let Britt pour it into a solo cup. The youngest of the three best friends by six months, Britt was the wild child of the group – the life of the party. She was the one who could typically be found at a speakeasy or bar down near the riverfront, cozying up to a handsome southern charmer and spurning him just as quickly when he made a wrong move. She was sweet and feisty all at once, her soulful brown eyes and waist-length ombre hair only emphasizing her sexy appeal and lively personality.
As for Carlee, there was no doubt that she’d reach into the fridge of Des’s immaculate Victorian home and grab an ice-cold Bud Light. Tough, rugged, and a fair bit more manly than feminine, it suited Carlee and her no-fuss ways just fine. She’d always preferred the rich, hard taste of beer to the sultry, crisp, clean tang of wine. After a long day’s work, and especially in the heat of summer, there just wasn’t anything more soothing than a bottle of beer. Prying the cap off with the opener on her keychain, she took a swig before stepping back onto the porch with the girls, dropping into the empty rocker beside Des just as the orange sun finished cresting over the top of the distant houses.
“Another beauty,” Des murmured. “Man, I’ll never get sick of this view.”
“Aren’t you glad it’s summer now? Endless nights just like these.” Britt leaned back against her chair and closed her eyes. “Mm, and I smell the cornbread in the oven. God, this is heaven. It’s really, seriously heaven.”
“How long have you lived in Savannah again?” Carlee chuckled as she lifted the beer to her lips again. “Oh yeah, forever. You sound like some of those clients of yours, moving here from across the country or, God forbid, the north.”
The three of them laughed at that and Des took a delicate sip of her wine, placing it down on the stained-glass table between them.
“That’ll be the cornbread,” she said as the buzzer sounded through the open windows. She stood from her rocking chair and disappeared through the front door, leaving Britt to hang over the side of her chair and face Carlee with a grin.
“So, how’s the new place?”
Carlee lowered the beer bottle and blew out a deep breath. “It’s in rough shape. Needs a whole lot of work – my guess is both cosmetically and structurally. The bones are nice, but I can tell they’re weakened.” She took another deep sip and lifted the bottle. “Some idiot’s covered up original flooring, which always grinds my gears.”
“Tell me about it,” Britt replied. “That’s one of the first things my clients ask when I walk them through an older model. ‘Are these original floors?’ You don’t impress anyone with synthetic panels slapped on top.”
Carlee shook her head. The three of them – best friends since elementary school – owned their business together. Each of them took a different leg of the company they’d named Savvy Homes nearly five years ago. While Carlee took the lead on renovations, Des handled interior design, and Britt was the one who sold the masterpieces in the end. They worked together on many projects, while also tackling some of their own on the side. The house on East Henry would pass into Des’s capable hands as soon as Carlee was finished remodeling, and then Britt would see that it ended up in good ownership. They were a great team, a fitting three-way partnership, and their business had been a booming success in Savannah for the last several years.
“I have a new floor guy,” Carlee added, just as Des called to them from the kitchen.
Several minutes later the three were seated back in their rockers with platefuls of pasta salad, veggies, and cornbread, as well as refills on their drinks. Tipping back in the chair with her feet curled up beneath her, work jeans protecting her from the mosquitos, Carlee ate contentedly, complimenting Des on the food.
“Yeah, old family recipe,” Des replied, waving her fork.
Britt grinned over the rim of her drink. “Really? I had no idea your family owned Suddenly Salad.”
With a laugh, Des directed the attention off of her lacking culinary abilities, and back onto Carlee. “You said something about a floor guy,” she said. “What happened to Dan? He didn’t work out?”
Carlee huffed out a breath after swallowing before she replied. “You know when a member of your crew just randomly decides to move to Aruba?”
Des made a surprised gasp before replying, “Yeah, happens to me all the time.”
“Funny, hadn’t happened to me until today.” Carlee stabbed at another piece of pasta and shrugged. “But Gary has another guy in mind. We’ll try him out tomorrow, see how he does.”
“I always get nervous about hiring someone on, sight unseen,” Des warned before sipping her wine again. “Take Bert, for example. Do you remember the color he painted Martha’s bathroom on Jefferson? I could have killed him. I said mint green.”
“Instead, it looked like a baby’s diaper had exploded all over the walls,” Britt pointed out. “If the problems had stopped there, you could have overlooked it. But he couldn’t design his way out of a model home.”
Carlee just shook her head, remembering the terrors of Bert’s failed employment with Savvy Homes all too keenly.
“I never said I hired him,” she pointed out. “I just need a floor guy, and Gary sounded confident on the phone. I’m willing to give him a shot, but if I don’t like what he does…”
Britt used her fork to gesture across her neck. “He’s gone.”
“How much did you pay for that house, anyway?” Des asked.
Carlee shrugged. “More than I wanted to. More than you’d like to hear, so I won’t tell you. Just know the business can afford it, especially after that stunning Victorian we sold off of Bay last month.”
“God, that was gorgeous,” Des replied dreamily. “Am I a genius or am I a genius?”
“If I remember correctly, I’m the one who tiled the kitchen to perfection and made the owners fall in love within – what was it, Britt? Five seconds of taking their shoes off?”
“Remember the backsplash?” Britt asked with a wistful sigh. “They couldn’t get enough of it. They wanted to go in over asking price just to be sure they snagged it.”
Carlee stood up, clanked her bottle to the other girls’ glasses, and stacked the empty plates on top of hers. “I’d say we make a good team, wouldn’t you? That deserves pie. And it just so happens that I think I saw a beautiful key lime sitting on the windowsill in the kitchen.”
Britt winked at Des. “Yeah, who knew her family also owned Edwards Desserts?”
Sticking her tongue out, Des held her empty wine glass out to Carlee. “Fill ‘er up again, will you? I’ve earned it today. You, too.”
“None for me,” Carlee said, taking the glass along with Britt’s. “I have to be up bright and early. Some of us have work to do.”
“Hey, I have four design meetings and an afternoon at the Huntingdon house. That place isn’t going to design itself.”
“And I have three showings in the morning, with an additional two in the afternoon after a working lunch at an open house,” Britt pointed out with one finely-plucked eyebrow arched. “Are you insinuating that don’t work?”
“Not at all,” Carlee replied smoothly, holding the screen door open with her hip as she sidled into the house with the dishes. As it started to shut behind her, she tossed a grin over her shoulder towards her friends. “I’m just saying I work harder.”
STEPHANIE KLINE 