THE PERFECT TEN (Boxed Set)

your domain now?” Silverstein asked from across the solar, “And please call me Tom. There’s no point in our standing on ceremony. We’re likely to have a long, complex relationship.”
    Duncan frowned at the comment, but the woman, Beth, silently nodded as she hastily brushed her tears away. She heaved a huge sigh and faced his solicitor, this time with a smile.
    “I’d love to see the rest of my home .”
    When she put the emphasis on the word home , Duncan Angus MacDougall grinned for the first time in decades.
    ~#~
    Alone and hungry, Beth wandered into the bowels of her keep to the kitchen.
    Here, at least, she wouldn’t have to worry about contracting some nasty disease. Someone had taken the time to scour the large whitewashed room to a high shine. Even the battered tin pots above the hearth glowed.
    There were no wall-mounted cabinets in the basement kitchen; just an enormous center table surrounded by stools, an ancient, multi-drawer spice chest and a few old appliances. The cavernous room’s only charm came by way of a six-foot high by eight-foot wide fireplace, complete with wrought iron hooks, a boar-sized roasting spit, angle irons and four separate side ovens. As she ran a hand over the embossed lions on one of the cast iron doors, she could almost smell fresh bread baking. Her stomach growled.
    Given Beth’s inexperience with operating a boat, Mr. Silverstein had thoughtfully arranged for a week’s worth of fresh food to be laid in. She examined the unfamiliar labels on the canned goods and sniffed the fruit and breads on the table before opening the squat refrigerator to find a quart of fresh milk—-its thick cream filling the top two inches of the bottle, a half dozen brown eggs, two chops and butter. Too tired to make anything elaborate, she snatched two eggs from their cardboard container.
    She scrambled the eggs then noticed a five-gallon glass container of yellow liquid fueled the stove. Shrugging at the oddity, she turned a porcelain knob and waited for a familiar click-click-click. When nothing happen she immediately flipped off the knob and stared at the white enameled, cast iron contraption. Even her fifth floor walkup’s stove had an electric ignition. Now what?
    Matches. After a three-minute hunt, she struck one and held it near a burner as she turned the appropriate knob. Nothing happened. She tried three more times before huffing in exasperation and dumping her eggs down the drain.
    Toast and an apple, then.
    She found an ancient toaster, but it took awhile before she could get its sides to flop open. “I could starve to death at this rate,” she muttered, dropping two slices of bread into it and shoving the toaster’s odd shaped plug into the wall outlet.
    “ Oh, shit! ”
    She jumped back as a shower of fluorescent sparks spewed from the wall socket. The fireworks continued as ribbons of acrid smoke oozed out of the toaster.
    “God damn it!” She yanked the toaster’s cord from the wall. When the sparks abruptly ceased, she heaved a sigh and heard a masculine chuckle. Startled, she spun around.
    Seeing no one, she lowered her hands and released her breath. “Next, you’ll be seeing ghosts,” she chided, feeling foolish.
    She was, after all, a city chick, well used to the wail of sirens, screeching tires, and things that go bump in the night. She shouldn’t be jumping, heart in her throat, because sparks flew and an errant wind whipping around outside decided to come down the roasting pit’s flue.
    She turned her attention back to the toaster. It felt cool. Gingerly, she touched the socket. Finding no heat, she thanked God for small favors, grabbed two apples from the table and shut off the light. Whatever caused the problem could wait for daylight.
     
     
     
    Chapter 2
     
    Totally incredulous, Beth stared at the electrician Tom Silverstein had sent to solve her kitchen’s wiring problem.
    “Am I understanding you correctly, Mr. MacBride? All the wiring is made of aluminum? ”
    The electrician nodded. “Aye, all of it. ‘Twas commonly used at the turn of the century. The twentieth, I’m meanin’. ‘Tis all gonna have to be replaced. ‘Tis dangerous, ye ken?”
    She kenned all right, feeling lucky she still had eyebrows.
    She’d already discovered the plumbing in the keep was shaky at best, knocking and banging as she tried to purge the rarely used pipes. She’d concluded from the amount of rust and the thick scum lining the east wing’s claw footed