A Year on Ladybug Farm - Donna Ball [32]
“I think I’ll start taking down the wallpaper in my bedroom today,” Lindsay said, reaching for another muffin.
“I’d love to get started painting the porch,” Cici said.
“That’s going to be a nightmare project.”
“I know. But it’s kind of like—my gift to the old place, you know? Like when a woman goes in for a little shot of Botox, just a little around the eyes and the frown lines, and she walks out feeling twenty years younger. It’s all in the attitude.”
They nodded in thoughtful agreement, sipping their coffee.
“I finished cleaning out the herb garden,” Bridget announced after a moment. “You can mark that off the list. We’ll have tarragon, basil, and dill by June. And today I’m going to clear a vegetable plot. I bought a dozen seed packets the day after we bought the house, and I’ve been waiting all these months to get them in the ground.” She stood. “I’m going to warm up my coffee. Lindsay, can I pop that in the microwave for you?”
“Oh, thanks.” Lindsay handed her the plate with her buttered muffin on it, and dutifully marked “herb garden” off the list. “I really should start working on that rose garden, too. What do you think about moving that statue from the side yard and placing it at the end of the path in the rose garden?”
Cici looked surprised. “There’s a path there?”
Lindsay nodded. “I think there used to be a bench or something at the end of it, but it must have rotted away. Gosh, I’d love to have a landscape design of how this place used to be.”
“Well, I’ll be glad to help you move the statue, but it’s going to take about a ton of concrete cleaner to make it look presentable again. And I thought the next thing on the list was getting the dairy cleaned out so you could move your art things in there.”
“There’s no rush on that. I don’t exactly know how I want to set it up, and it’s going to be awhile before I have time to paint.”
“That’s odd,” said Bridget, returning from the kitchen. “The microwave doesn’t work.” She set Lindsay’s plate in front of her, the butter on her muffin still unmelted. “Sorry, Lindsay.”
“I’ll check the fuse box,” Cici volunteered.
“Better her than me,” Bridget confided after she was gone. “That basement gives me the creeps.”
“It’s not so bad,” Lindsay murmured absently, turning another page. “I think the wine cellar is kind of quaint.”
Bridget said softly, after a moment, “Does it ever scare you, what we’ve done? I mean, it’s so . . . big.”
Lindsay looked up, and reached across the table to squeeze her friend’s fingers. “No,” she lied. “Never.”
Bridget returned a smile that recognized the bravado, and appreciated it. She sat back, sipping the lukewarm coffee. “You know what would really be spectacular? To get the reflecting pool cleaned out and the fountain running again.”
“I can’t imagine what that would cost.”
“Probably just a pool pump. I was flipping through the telephone book last night and saw there was a hardware store in town. I bet they have pumps.”
“Girls!” Cici’s voice, muffled as it came from the cellar stairs and through the open door. “Come down here! You’ve got to see this!”
“Oh God.” Bridget rushed to her feet, only half kidding. “She’s found a body.”
The two women hurried inside and, slippers clattering on the stairs, rushed into the dimly lit cellar.
“What is it?” Lindsay demanded.
“Are you okay?” Bridget insisted.
Cici gave an impatient shake of her head, holding the hem of her robe off the dusty floor as she led the way forward. “I fixed the fuse,” she told Bridget. “But that fuse box is the first thing we’re going to have to replace if we expect to have central heat and air. But look.” Turning a corner, she pushed open an arched, stained plank door. “This is what I wanted to show you. I never even realized it was here. I guess the movers must have found it when they were storing our stuff down here and forgot to close the door all the way. I only noticed it because of the daylight coming through.”
“Good heavens,” said Bridget.
“Well, will you look at that?” Lindsay entered