“I think it will be fairly easy to retain the integrity of the place,” Frank says, “but a bit costly to ensure it looks like it did back in the day. I can do some research and double-check what’s allowed and isn’t with the city, then double back with you on a final bid.” He hesitates. “But, as you know, this place is going to need a lot of work.”

“Any guesstimate?” I ask.

“I’m hoping twenty to thirty,” he says, “since it already has plumbing and electricity.”

“Dollars?” I ask, dizzy.

“Sure,” Frank laughs. “New windows, a porch and keeping the exterior ‘historically significant’ will cost a pretty penny...”

“Again with the pretty pennies,” I say. “Big bills are pretty, Frank. Pennies, not so much.”

He laughs. “But remember you’re going to get some money back, and this is going to be your high income producer. What do you expect to rent it for a night during high season?”

I think of my business plan. “Four hundred twenty-five dollars a night.”

“That’s 3k a week,” Frank says, his bearded face now scrunched, doing quick math. “And 12k a month... With the tax rebate, you could be in the black by end of the summer.”

“Really?” I ask, perking up.

“Depending on how stringent the Preservation Committee is with your renovation, especially the exterior,” he adds. “They could be sticklers with the type of wood, windows, even nails that we use.”

Suddenly, the Dragoon Lady’s face fills my head, and I see red. I rush out the door, around the cottage and to Frank’s truck. I return with a sledgehammer.

“I didn’t mean to make you mad,” Frank says, his face very serious, his hands over his head. “What are you up to, Adie Lou?”

“I’m sick and tired of playing by everyone else’s rules,” I say, my voice rising. I think of Sonny. “I’m sick and tired of being everyone’s lapdog.”

I drag the sledgehammer over to the wall that separates the two rooms.

“Adie Lou,” Frank says, his tone a warning. “That’s one of the only walls in here. We have to keep that intact.”

“Do we?” I ask.

Frank’s face is a mix of amusement and astonishment, as if he’s just seen a unicorn cross the road.

“I’ve watched enough HGTV to know what I’m doing,” I say. “This is like demo day on Fixer Upper.” I stop and look at Frank.

He shakes his head.

I pick up the sledgehammer, and the weight of it nearly topples me backward. I picture the Dragoon Lady’s face on the wall—as if it were a bull’s-eye—and summon all of my power, like a strongman who can pull a locomotive or a stranger who can lift a truck off someone after an accident.