“And there’s no lease agreement for any other tenants. No subletting clauses.”
“Georgia, you know there isn’t. You wrote the bylaws yourself. It’s a single-family residence for the primary use of the beneficiaries. Anyone else is a guest at your discretion.”
“Great,” I said, staring at Vanessa’s pile of shoes. “And what is the legal definition of a guest who refuses to leave in this state?”
Alan paused.
“If they’ve been there less than thirty days and have no lease, they’re guests. You can ask them to leave. If they refuse, it’s trespassing. Georgia, what is going on?”
“A hostile takeover,” I said. “I’m about to execute an eviction. Stand by.”
I hung up. I took a picture of the closet. I took a picture of the sewing machine upside down. Then I turned around, walked out of the master bedroom, and headed downstairs.
When I reached the bottom of the stairs, the atmosphere had shifted. The gift opening was over, and the cake was being cut. It was a three-tiered monstrosity with fondant baby shoes on it. Vanessa was holding the knife, posing for a picture, while Jason stood awkwardly beside her, his hand hovering near her waist but not quite touching it.
“Okay, everyone,” Vanessa chirped, “cake time, and then we’ll do the tour of the nursery.”
The tour of the nursery. She was going to take these strangers upstairs to show off how she had desecrated my mother’s sewing room.
I walked into the center of the room. I didn’t push through people. I moved with such directed energy that they parted for me instinctively.
“Vanessa,” I said.
My voice wasn’t loud, but it cut through the chatter like a knife through that fondant.
Vanessa looked up, the cake knife poised in midair. Her smile faltered, then stiffened.
“Georgia, you’re just in time for cake. We were just—”
“I was just upstairs,” I interrupted, standing five feet from her.
The room went quiet. The jazz music seemed to suddenly get very loud before someone near the stereo wisely turned it down.
“I went to use the restroom, but I ended up taking a look at the renovations.”
Vanessa’s eyes darted to Jason, then back to me.
“Oh, well, it’s not finished. Obviously. The nursery is still a work in progress.”
“And I’m not talking about the nursery,” I said, crossing my arms. “I’m talking about the master bedroom.”
