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the cruise-liner-inspired observation tower that topped the two-story entrance and the run of porthole windows. Double smokestacks rose majestically above the flat roof and into the darkening sky.
    “We honeymooned on the SS
Franklin
,” Max said. “We were the onboard entertainment even though it was Millie’s first time onstage. When I saw this house for sale a couple years later, I knew we had to have it.”
    “It reminds me of the
Titanic
,” Nicole said under herbreath. “Post-iceberg. Assuming it had mowed down a flock of flamingos first.”
    “There is a somewhat unfortunate pairing of pinks and greens,” Deirdre said in quiet agreement. “And the walls are a mess,” she added, motioning to the chunks of wall that littered the ground.
    But Avery didn’t care how many pieces of stucco the house had shed or how many colors it had been painted. With its sharp straightaways and sinuous curves, it was one of the most glorious examples of Streamline Moderne architecture she’d ever seen.
    “The Millicent has weathered a lot of storms,” Max admitted. “I’m pretty sure I told the network that it would take a good bit of work to get her back in shape.” He fiddled with his cigar.
    Avery and Maddie exchanged glances. “Where are you taking us?” Maddie asked as they passed the driveway and rounded the garage.
    “Your rooms are upstairs and you can’t get there from inside anymore,” Max said. “At first we rented the upstairs bedrooms to other performers, people that we knew. But when we started renting to strangers, we walled off the first and second floors. The stairs are around back.”
    Like The Millicent’s exterior, the backyard had once been wonderful. Two staircases designed to look like ship gangplanks led up to large decks rimmed with ship-style railings. One deck had a triangular “bow” that pointed east; the other was shaped like the stern.
    The pool was cracked and filthy. A one-story cube of a building sat near it, barely visible through the hedge that surrounded it. “That’s the pool house,” Max said. “It wasthe first space we rented out.” In a far corner of the yard, several citrus trees sagged against the wrought-iron fence.
    Everyone was tired and they were far too aware of the Lifetime crew recording every word to engage in chitchat. Kyra had her video camera out too. The lenses moved so constantly that Avery had no idea what they were actually shooting. She tried to keep the worry off her face as she absorbed the extent of The Millicent’s damage and noted the ancient wall air conditioners, whose back ends protruded from the house like blemishes on a teenager’s face. Surely the inside had been better maintained.
    “Is there any central heat or air?” Maddie asked.
    “No,” Max said. “But a lot of the wall units still work.” He said this with a certain amount of pride.
    “South Florida Art Deco homes were built to make the most of cross breezes,” Avery pointed out, though she wasn’t sure whom she was trying to reassure. “And the walls are thick, though probably not as thick as Bella Flora’s.” Avery turned to Max, who had slung his jacket over one shoulder and was once again mopping at his brow. “I’m assuming the house was built around 1938 or ’39. Do you have any idea who designed it?”
    “Henry Hohauser,” he said without hesitation. “We bought it from the people he built it for.”
    “It’s a Hohauser?” Deirdre said, perking up. “That should up the price significantly when it’s ready to go on the market.”
    An odd look passed over Max Golden’s face. Once again he fiddled with the unlit cigar.
    Dustin began to cry in Maddie’s arms. He reached out toward his mother, who was filming the others staring atthe house and talking. The film crew filmed her filming them.
    Following behind Max, who now clung to the wobbly handrails, they started upward. Avery sent up a small prayer that the interior of The Millicent would be in better