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Yanking his overnight bag from the back seat, he climbed the worn gray stairs to the glassed house. The entryway had once gleamed, but now the patina of neglect showed through.
    He used his key to get into the house, shouting as he came in. “Hi, Mom … Dad.”
    His mother’s weak voice came from the front parlor. “In here, Hunter.”
    No answer from his dad.
    Hunter stuffed his keys into his pocket and went into the glass-plated living room. His mother was resting, as she almost always was, in a nubby tan recliner. A knitted afghan of some sort covered her thin legs. Her hair, which had been long and raven-black in his youth, was a short gray cap on her head now.
    His father continued to leech the life from her.
    “How you doing, Mom?” He kissed her dry cheek. His mom was only in her fifties yet her appearance made him think she was ready for hospice.
    He settled himself on the nearby couch. Whenever he came home, he spent time with his mother. He loved her, but never understood why she put up with the infidelity and emotional abuse his father dished out. Whenever he brought the subject up, she told him things were the way they were supposed to be and changed the topic.
    Once the cancer had arrived he’d stopped pestering her.
    “I’m doing as well as can be expected,” she said. “Still in remission. Still feeling weak from the treatments. They told me it could take a year before I make progress.”
    Unless it comes back.
    The unspoken thought lay between them.
    “I got a job, Mom. Laying sheetrock. Not much, but I’m hoping it will be more.”
    “You could come back here. I’m sure your father could find something for you … something more fitting.”
    “No thanks, Mom.” He stood. “Can I get you anything? I’m going to see if I can find those old cabinets I started to make before I left to go overseas. Any idea where they are?”
    His mother appeared confused. “Um. No. I can’t say I remember seeing them.” Then her smile brightened. “Could you make me some tea?”
    “Sure, Mom.” He walked back to the recently remodeled kitchen.
Mom never lacks for the material goods.
    Somehow that didn’t give him a sense of satisfaction.
    A few minutes later, he poured boiling water over Earl Grey tea in a flowered teapot. He idly watched squirrels chase each other up and down the branches of the live oak that clung to the steep rise in what passed as his parents’ back yard.
    Even though he’d lived there for years, he’d never considered the place home.
    “Here you go,” he said, placing the cup and saucer on a table near his mother. “I’ll be back in a bit.”
    “Okay, dear.” His mother picked up the book she’d been reading — a romance novel judging by the half-naked man on cover.
    Hunter walked down the stairs to the bottom half of the house, the last place he’d seen the cabinets before he left. He hadn’t been down here since he’d been released from the hospital.
    In what had once been an open area sectioned into storage spaces, he was surprised to find a new room had been built. The door was locked, but the lock was flimsy.
    Hunter took a credit card from his wallet and jimmied the door open.
    A large mahogany desk anchored the room, flanked on either wall by solid bookcases and file cabinets. It had the ambiance of a successful attorney’s office, which, of course, was what it was.
    But why had his father moved his office down here?
    Hunter walked around the back of the desk and saw one of the reasons. A framed photo of what was probably his father’s latest mistress, held honorary position. From this angle, he could also see tastefully done nude photographs, probably of the same woman, hung on either side of the door.
    Slamming the door with disgust, Hunter left. He didn’t bother to lock it. Let his father wonder.

Chapter 5
    Monday morning Sarah was at the inn early, ready to start cleaning wallpaper and prepping wood for painting. Her plastic bucket was filled with