“Ma’am,” he said carefully. “We’ve got a signed contract. Exterior door, a three-quarter bath, a kitchenette. Twenty-eight thousand. She put down a ninety-five-hundred-dollar deposit. We pulled the permit on Tuesday.”
“Who signed for the permit?”
He flipped a page.
“Diane Mercer. As co-owner.”
I didn’t say anything. I just turned around and looked at my mother-in-law.
She didn’t look away. I’ll give her that. She stood there in my kitchen with her chin up.
“I was going to be,” she said.
Rick cleared his throat.
“Ma’am. If she’s not on the title, that permit’s no good. I’ll have to pull it. And the deposit—” He winced. “Part of that’s already spent. Materials. The door’s ordered. It’s a custom size.”
“How much is spent?” Greg asked from the kitchen doorway.
“About four thousand.”
Diane made a sound like she’d been hit.
Rick looked between all of us. Then he tucked his clipboard under his arm.
