CHAPTER THREE
Marley arrived at the Starling project site bright and early on Monday morning. The house resembled more of an urban McMansion circa 1990s than a beach cottage. The mash-up of architectural styles was a mess—and dare she admit, ugly—but the remodel would fix that. Plans in hand, she headed to the front door and pressed the doorbell.
The disco music ring suggested this had been a party house at some point. Perhaps a vacation rental?
The door opened.
Von’s foreman, Cody Cannon, stood with wide eyes and an open mouth. He was in his early thirties and married to a lovely woman named Allie, who Marley had met at a barbeque at Von’s beach house. Cody’s dress slacks and button-down shirt were a far cry from what he wore on jobsites.
He cleared his throat. “Marley?”
“Hey, Cody.
