Richard glanced toward the guests.
“Perhaps we could discuss this without an audience.”
“You created the audience,” I said. “They deserve to know whether the reservation they paid for was authorized.”
The woman who had spoken earlier introduced herself as Laura Bennett. She explained that she'd booked the house for her husband's birthday weekend through a vacation-rental website. She and her family had paid for three nights, including cleaning and service fees.
She showed me the confirmation on her phone.
The pictures were unmistakable. There was my kitchen, my covered deck, even the patchwork quilt my husband had bought me years before he died.
Under the property description was a name.
*Managed by Hale Lakeside Retreats.*
“Is that your company?” I asked Richard.
He straightened his vest.
“It's a small hospitality business. Everything's properly organized.”
“Except permission from the owner.”
“Madison said you'd be leaving the property to her eventually.”
I stared at him.
“Did she say you could rent it out now?”
He hesitated.
“She said the family should make better use of it.”
“That isn't an answer.”
Laura's husband stepped beside her.
“Mrs. Diane, we didn't know. We wouldn't have come if we'd known.”
“I believe you,” I said.
He looked relieved.
They had brought children and driven several hours. I didn't want to punish them for trusting what appeared to be a legitimate listing.
I told everyone I would contact my broker and property manager, and that we would work out a safe and reasonable plan for their departure or alternative accommodation.
Richard scoffed.
“They have a reservation. You can't simply throw people out.”
“I'm not throwing anybody out. I'm finding out how you made reservations for a house you don't own.”
I stepped onto the deck and called my broker, Janet Reynolds.
She answered immediately.
“Diane, I'm just leaving to meet you. Is everything ready?”
“No. We have a serious problem.”
I explained the situation.
For several seconds, she said nothing.
Then she asked, “Are there guests inside right now?”
“Yes.”
“Has anything been damaged?”
“I don't know yet.”
“I'm coming. I'll contact Alan and ask whether he'd be willing to postpone the appointment.”
My heart sank.
“I've been preparing for this visit for weeks.”
“I know,” she said gently. “But first we need to document what's happening.”
I returned inside.
Richard was speaking to the guests in a low voice. When he noticed me, he stopped.
I looked at Laura.
“Has he asked you to leave?”
“No. He said this was a family disagreement and we should ignore it.”
I looked toward Richard.
“You don't get to tell paying guests to ignore their host's lack of authority.”
He crossed his arms.
“Diane, you're making this much bigger than it needs to be.”
I took out my phone and called Madison.
She answered on the fourth ring.
“Hi, Mom.”
“Madison, I'm at the lake house.”
Silence.
Then, “Today?”
“Yes. You knew I had a buyer coming.”
“I thought that was next week.”
I closed my eyes.
“Richard has rented the house to strangers. He says you gave him permission.”
She didn't answer.
“Madison?”
“Mom, please don't get upset.”
The familiar phrase made my stomach tighten.
“How long have you known?”
“About the rentals?”
I gripped the phone.
“There's more than one?”
She exhaled.
“We thought letting people stay when you weren't using the house could help with expenses.”
“We?”
“Richard and me. Andrew knew about it too.”
Andrew was Madison's husband and Richard's son.
I sat on the edge of an armchair.
“Were you going to tell me?”
“We were waiting for the right time.”
“Was the right time supposed to come before or after you collected the money?”
She began crying.
“Mom, we didn't mean to hurt you.”
I looked around the great room.
My husband's fishing photographs hung above the fireplace.
His favorite reading chair was occupied by a stranger who had never even heard his name.
“You didn't ask me,” I whispered.
“I know.”
Then I asked a question that had been growing in my mind.
“Why did Richard say the house will belong to you?”
Madison hesitated.
“Because you've always said it would stay in the family.”
I took a breath.
“I said I hoped you would always feel welcome here. I never promised you ownership.”
The line went quiet.
Then she said, “Richard told us you'd change your mind about selling.”
I looked through the windows toward the lake.
“Madison, did he know I was meeting a buyer today?”
“Yes.”
“Then why would he book guests into the house?”
She didn't answer.
And in that silence, a new possibility began to form.
Perhaps Richard hadn't simply been careless.
Perhaps the rental was part of a plan to make my sale difficult enough that I would abandon it.
