Chapter 17
“Why didn’t you tell me you lived in The Old Prison?”
“The old what?” he asked, slipping off his sunglasses and hooking them into the low neckline of his tank top.
“Oh, sorry. That’s what some of us locals call it.” I gestured toward the whitewashed house of worship in the adjacent lot. “These two buildings were once connected. I suppose this was better known as St. Matthew’s Lutheran School, but kids like me who went here for nine long years—kindergarten through eighth grade—still refer to it by its more appropriate name.”
Gray laughed. “The Realtor told me this building had been renovated into apartments about ten years ago, but she never hinted at its monstroushistory.”
I grinned. “The building is gorgeous, though. It was built back in the 1880s, from what I recall, and I remember how the woodwork and floors were magnificent.”
“And the high-ceilinged rooms are extraordinarily ambient. Perfect for a guy who plays music as much as possible.”