Generations Read online

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Generations

  Brody Hotel Book One

  by Amelia C. Adams

  With thanks to my beta readers—Amy, Caryn, Laurie, Meisje, and Shelby.

  Copyright © 2018 Amelia C. Adams

  Cover design by Steven Novak

  Chapter One

  Topeka, Kansas

  2018

  Andrew Brody stood in front of the dilapidated building he’d just been informed was his and squinted up at the sagging roof and peeling paint. Mr. Harker, his father’s lawyer, stood near his elbow, clutching a folder with a sheaf of papers. A thin line of sweat beaded his upper lip. The stress of his job was obviously getting to him—Andrew imagined that his father hadn’t been the easiest client.

  “I don’t know what to say,” Andrew said at last. “When you told me my father left me a hotel, this isn’t at all what I was expecting.”

  “I’m sorry about that,” Mr. Harker replied. “I’ve never been out here myself, so I wasn’t sure what we’d be seeing.”

  “Is it even safe to go inside, or will the ceiling fall on us?”

  “The inspectors assured me that it’s structurally sound.”

  Andrew hid his smile. He’d been trying to make a joke, but Mr. Harker wasn’t the type of guy who picked up on things like sarcasm. “That’s good to know. So, what’s the history of this place?”

  Mr. Harker’s fingers trembled as he sorted through the papers he held. “According to the file, this property has been in your family since 1875, and was operated as a hotel that catered to the train passengers who came through. The train station was located there.” He nodded to what was now a vacant lot across the way. “The first Brody family member to own it was Adam Brody, and he was your fourth great-grandfather. The actual construction of the building is placed at around 1850 or 1860. We aren’t entirely sure.”

  “Amazing,” Andrew murmured. He guessed it was a miracle it still existed at all. “When was the last time it was occupied or used for anything?”

  Mr. Harker consulted the file again. “It was used as a hotel until 1941, when the economy faltered during World War II. Then it was mainly a restaurant for a time, and then it fell vacant. That would have been around 1960. Your grandfather came in every so often and aired it out and checked things over, but he didn’t have the means to renovate it, and your father was too busy to worry about it. Truth be told, I think he forgot he even owned it except for sending an occasional check to a caretaker.”

  “He never mentioned it to me.” It had only been a month since Andrew’s father had passed, and it was still difficult to speak of him. Andrew cleared his throat. “Well, since the inspector says it’s safe, should we go in and check it out?”

  “Are you interested in doing something with it, then? I’d wondered if you just wanted to list it with a real estate agent and be done with it. The land alone has to be worth quite a bit, and someone could raze the building and put something new here.”

  “Oh, I’m definitely keeping that in mind, but it would be a shame to let it go without looking around. If it’s been in my family this long, it must have some kind of sentimental value, and I don’t want to be too quick to get rid of it.”

  “All right.” Mr. Harker paused. “I understand that you have your own legal counsel on staff.”

  “I do, yes.”

  “I’ll get all the paperwork organized to be handed off, then.” The man looked disappointed, and for a moment, Andrew felt sorry for him. With the older Mr. Brody dead, Mr. Harker would have lost a powerful client, and no doubt he’d miss the income. But Andrew couldn’t fire Tony, who was not only his lawyer, but had been his best friend since high school.

  Andrew and Mr. Harker climbed the steps to the front door of the hotel, and the first thing Andrew noticed were the sagging floorboards. Mr. Harker fished in his pocket for a key and unlocked the door, and they stepped inside to be greeted by layers of dusts and canopies of spider webs.

  “I thought you mentioned a caretaker,” Andrew said, pulling off the cobweb that had stuck to his face when he walked in. It didn’t feel sticky, so it wasn’t fresh, but he didn’t like spiders very much regardless of how long it had been.

  “I believe he passed away some years ago and was never replaced.”

  “He didn’t die here, did he? Are we going to find his skeleton in the dining room?” Again, Andrew tried to joke, and again, Mr. Harker took him way too seriously.

  “Oh, no, sir. I’m quite sure he was buried properly.”

  Andrew just nodded.

  The lobby was expansive and contained a check-in counter made of solid wood. A parlor was off to the right side, and a hallway extended from the lobby to the back of the hotel.

  “This leads to the dining room, and there’s a kitchen beyond that,” Mr. Harker said, consulting a map that looked like a blueprint. “Oh, and this door by the check-in counter leads into the main office. There are private living quarters beyond the office.”

  Andrew wished there was a way to see everything at once. It was hard to choose which way to go. “I’ll start with the office,” he said, walking toward that door and opening it.

  The room was done in different kinds of wood, and had definitely belonged to men and not women over the years—there were no paintings or knickknacks to soften the look. A crate sat on top of the desk, and he crossed the floor and looked inside. On top rested an old framed portrait of a man and a woman, both younger than thirty, he guessed. The man had light hair and reminded him a great deal of his grandfather. The woman had soft-looking dark hair and was quite pretty. A notation penciled on the back of the portrait read “1876.”

  “Most likely Adam and Elizabeth Brody,” Mr. Harker said, peering over Andrew’s shoulder. “The original owners of the Brody Hotel.”

  Andrew moved to set the photograph down and pick up the next item from the box, but instead, he found himself pulled into the picture. He couldn’t take his eyes from it. His fourth great-grandparents—what traits did he have of theirs? What kind of people were they? What had they done every day?

  “Mr. Harker,” he said, “I’m going to take this box home with me and study it over the weekend. My lawyer, Tony Espinozo, will be in touch.”

  The man seemed startled. “Don’t you want to keep looking around?”

  “I do, but not until I’ve had the place cleaned up. I’ll arrange to have a housekeeping service come in—that will need to happen whether I sell it or keep it, so we might as well start there.”

  “All right, then.” Mr. Harker gave him the folder. “You’ll come by on Monday and sign the rest of those papers for the remainder of the estate?”

  “Oh, that’s right. Yes, I will.” Andrew shook the man’s hand. “Thank you for everything. I’ll be in touch.”

  Mr. Harker nodded, then left. Andrew was glad to have a few minutes alone. He needed to sort out the strange feeling he was having—the tug of his heart that made him curious about this place. He looked around, studying the walls, wondering if Adam Brody had used that desk, sat in that chair, looked out that window. It was as though Andrew had come full circle and was being linked to a family he’d barely known existed.

  Finally, he put the file in the box, hefted everything into his arms, and left, locking up with the key Mr. Harker had placed on the desk. He put the file on the front seat, wrapped up the box in a blanket he kept in the trunk of his car for emergencies, and started up the engine, telling his phone to dial home as he drove.

  “Yes, Mr. Andrew?” F
lorence’s voice filled the speakers of his car.

  “I’ll be home in fifteen minutes, Florence, and I’ll need a hot shower as soon as I get there—I just walked through a spider web.”

  She laughed. “Oh, dear. That doesn’t sound fun.”

  “Nope. I’m eating lunch at home today, and better plan on feeding Tony too.”

  “I really should start charging you hazard pay for that, sir.”

  “Yeah, you probably should.” Tony Espinozo could out-eat anyone Andrew knew, and yet he was as thin as a rail. “See you in a few.”

  “See you, sir.”

  He disconnected the call with Florence and then told his phone to dial Tony. “Hey, I need to talk to you,” he said as soon as his friend answered. “Can you come to the house for lunch?”

  “Only if it’s okay with Florence. I think she wanted to chase me out of the house last time I was there.”

  “But she didn’t actually do it, and that’s the important part, right?”

  Tony chuckled. “Right. I’ll be there. This have anything to do with your father’s estate?”

  “Yeah, quite a lot to do with it.”

  “Okay. I’ll wear my lawyer hat.” Tony hung up, leaving Andrew in silence.

  That wasn’t a good thing because when it was quiet, Andrew’s mind wandered, and he didn’t want it to wander. He flipped on the radio and filled the vacuum with country music, which he turned off as he pulled into the expansive driveway that curled around the front of his small mansion. Well, it was smaller than his father’s had been, at least.

  “Hey, Jimmy,” he called as he climbed out of his car. “How do you feel about spiders?”

  Jimmy, his gardener’s assistant, stood from where he was weeding the front flower bed and trotted over. “Spiders?” he asked.

  “That’s right.”

  “They’re not bad.” Jimmy shrugged. He had Down syndrome, and Andrew had met him at one of his mother’s many charity events. He’d known from the moment he met Jimmy that he wanted him on his staff—he’d never seen anyone with such a naturally cheerful attitude and willingness to pitch in where he was needed.

  “There’s a box in my backseat. Could you look through it and make sure there aren’t any spiders in it?”

  Jimmy grinned. “You don’t like spiders, do you, Mr. Andrew?”

  Andrew shuddered, which made Jimmy laugh. “I hate spiders.”

  “Okay, boss. I’ll make sure.”

  “Thanks, Jimmy.” Andrew clapped him on the shoulder, then turned and jogged into the house. He couldn’t wait to hit the shower—and possibly burn everything he’d been wearing.

  ***

  Marissa Clark nudged the picture frame up a quarter of a molecule on the right and then stepped back. “What do you think, Mrs. Hansen?” If it wasn’t good enough this time, she was going to yank it down and bash the woman over the head with it.

  Mrs. Hansen placed one hand on her chin, then nodded. “Very good. I just knew that if you kept trying, you’d get it eventually.”

  Marissa glanced over at Tabs, her assistant, hoping to pull some strength from her so she wouldn’t go totally ballistic in front of the client. “Thank you,” she managed. Tabs didn’t react at all—which was for the best.

  “I’ll send a check to your office.” With that, Mrs. Hansen strode down the hall, dismissing them, and Marissa let out a breath.

  “Just get me out of here,” she muttered when Tabs slipped her arm around her shoulders.

  “That’s part of my job,” Tabs replied. “Eyes straight ahead—we’re almost there.”

  It wasn’t until they climbed into Marissa’s car in the driveway of Mrs. Hansen’s outrageous house that Marissa allowed herself to speak. “I’m never, ever working for that woman again. In fact, I don’t think I’ll work for anyone else as long as I live. I’m going to sell my company and become some kind of female monk and grow exotic plants on mountainsides in Tibet where no one will talk to me.”

  Tabs gave her a sympathetic look. “I’m not even going to try to point out how many illogical things you just said. I’m just going to suggest that we grab some lunch on our way back because you’re getting that peaked look again.”

  “I get hangry.”

  “That too, but you start with peaked. Let’s take care of it before it escalates.”

  Marissa steered the car onto the street and headed south. “I’ve just had it with these overly picky clients who call me at all hours of the day and night because they were just thinking about how they want the navy blue after all, and not the midnight blue, and if we don’t make that change right now, their entire lives will fall apart. I mean, it’s one thing to change your mind, but telling me about it at three in the morning? And if I don’t answer the phone, they just keep calling back until I do. I had eight messages on my phone from Mrs. Hansen yesterday over that ridiculous crystal vase in her entryway.”

  “But we’re done now,” Tabs reminded her. “She’s going to send a check, and that will be that.”

  “I have a confession.” Marissa turned and flashed Tabs a smile. “That picture is still a little crooked.”

  “What?” Tabs looked appropriately shocked. “That’s just . . . that’s just evil.”

  “I know, but after everything she’s put me through this month, I had to do something.” She pulled the car into the parking lot of their favorite diner. “She approved it, so it’s on her now.”

  “I didn’t see anything wrong with it. But that’s why you’re the designer and I’m just the assistant.”

  They entered and plopped down in their usual booth. Janie, the waitress they’d come to know well through all their times there, stopped by and looked down at both of them, popping her gum. “What can I get ya?”

  “I should probably pretend to be healthy today,” Tabs said as she pulled her long red hair into a messy bun, securing it with a ponytail holder. “How about a chef salad and an ice water?”

  “And you want that salad swimming in ranch, with extra croutons, and a side of garlic toast?” Janie asked.

  “Of course! How else?”

  Marissa smirked.

  Janie nodded, but didn’t remark on it. “And you, love?”

  “I’m not even going to pretend. Bacon cheeseburger, extra greasy, with onion rings and a Coke.”

  Janie raised an eyebrow. “Rough day?”

  “The worst. Client from the darkest part of the abyss.”

  Janie clucked her tongue. “Sorry to hear about that. Extra greasy, coming up.”

  As Janie walked away, Tabs shuddered. “I know you two are joking about the grease, but eww.”

  Marissa grinned. “So, what’s our plan now? We lock our doors and move to Patagonia, never to be heard from again?”

  “Just where exactly is Patagonia?”

  “The very, very south of South America.”

  Tabs looked impressed. “That seems far enough away. And how shall we make our living there?”

  “That’s the part I haven’t figured out yet.” Marissa accepted her Coke from Janie and unwrapped a straw. “We could become shepherds or gauchos, except that you’re allergic to wool, or we could get jobs on a whaling boat, but that seems mean.”

  Tabs paused with her water glass halfway to her mouth. “Have you been Googling? How long have you been thinking about this?”

  “Oh, off and on for the last six months, whenever I’m feeling sorry for myself.” Marissa took a sip of her Coke. She really needed to give up carbonation, but that just hadn’t made it to the top of her to-do list yet.

  Tabs set her water down and folded her arms on the table. “I’ve never seen you this frustrated. Are you really thinking about quitting?”

  Marissa pulled in a deep breath and looked out the window. It was a little overcast outside, a nice change from the blaring sun they’d had over the course of the last week. “When I started interior decorating, I thought I’d have the chance to help make the world a more beautiful place,” she sai
d after a long pause. “Taking things that had been forgotten and giving them a second chance. But most of our clients are people with more money than they know what to do with who want to spend that money on stuff that doesn’t even matter so they can show off to all their rich friends. You remember Mrs. Casper from last year?”

  Tabs nodded.

  “That was the best job ever because we were taking the things she already had and painting them or reupholstering them and making them look new and fresh. She was so happy with what we did, and we got to be creative.”

  “That really was a great job,” Tabs agreed. “I hear what you’re saying—if we could pick and choose our clients, we’d want them all to be like Mrs. Casper. But that job didn’t even cover a quarter of the bills that month.”

  “I know,” Marissa said glumly. “You know what I think?”

  “Do I ever know what you think?”

  Marissa ignored her. “I think we should shut down the office and work from our apartments.”

  Tabs’ jaw dropped. “What?”

  Janie walked up just then with their plates, and Tabs turned to her. “Do you know what she just said? She thinks we should shut down the office and work from home.”

  Janie raised an eyebrow. “Isn’t that what you’ve been saying for months?”

  Tabs held up both hands in triumph. “Yes. Yes, I have. We don’t make enough money to justify the overhead. And now she finally sees the light.”

  Marissa shook her head, grinning. “Okay, okay, I deserve a little bit of ‘I told you so.’ I just like the office. It makes me feel important.”

  “I think you like paying your bills even more,” Tabs said. Janie gave a nod of agreement and walked off to serve the next customer.

  “I do like paying my bills.” Marissa picked up an onion ring and ate it while she thought. “Okay, let’s give notice on the office. Most of our work is done by phone anyway, and our clients won’t know that we’re talking to them from our houses.”

  “In our pajamas,” Tabs supplied.

  “Except that we have to be ready to go meet with them,” Marissa pointed out. She ate another onion ring. “I really like the office, Tabs.”