Hell to pay, p.2
Hell to Pay, page 2
She led them into the back yard so they could turn and see what the view offered. There was a patio with a metal railing and an ancient, long-empty bird feeder on a pole. A rusted table with four chairs occupied most of the paved space, minus chair cushions. A large picture window looked out on the yard. They could see a dark, wood-paneled room inside.
“I’m going to take a look,” Laurel said.
“Be careful,” Scott cautioned.
“Why? There’s nobody home.”
“I’m just cautious, Mrs. Calloway. Folks around here own guns, and they’ve been known to use them when a stranger comes onto their property.”
“I’m about as nonthreatening as it gets,” said Laurel, raising her hands in mock surrender. “I just want a peek.”
Jeremy and Scott stayed back while Laurel climbed two small steps onto the patio. She crossed to the window, leaned in and peered through the glass.
“What the hell?” she said, seeing something inside that startled her.
Jeremy and Scott quickly joined her on the patio.
“There’s a cat in there!” Jeremy said, seeing what Laurel had seen: a black cat with white paws sitting serenely in a leather armchair and staring back at them.
“How can there be a cat in a house no one lives in?”
“The same way the lawn can be mowed,” Jeremy said. “The owners must have a caretaker. Maybe the cat belongs to him.”
“I think we should go now,” said Scott. “You can give them a call if you’re interested. But I’m telling you, they won’t call back.”
“So why have a ‘For Sale’ sign in front?”
“Maybe they don’t really want to sell it,” offered Jeremy. “You know, maybe they’re nostalgic. They know they need to get it off their hands, but they can’t bring themselves to do it.”
“Right,” agreed Scott. “They keep the sign out front but find ways to say no every time a prospective buyer contacts them.”
“Must not need the money,” Laurel said. “But it’s worth a try. Now let’s go, I suppose we owe it to the owners of the other house to actually show up.”
The three of them walked back around front.
“You never answered my question,” Jeremy said to Scott. “Do people hunt around here?”
“It’s the woods,” Scott replied. “Of course they hunt. But you’ve seen the ‘No Hunting’ signs everywhere. It’s all private land. So yes, and no. People hunt, but it’s not like you’re going to get shot in your back yard.”
Laurel had seen the bright orange signs nailed to trees along the roads. They all said the same things, declaring the land as semi-wild and prohibiting hunting.
When they got back to their Ford Focus, the one Jeremy purchased when his father’s death brought them the windfall that made this move possible, Laurel decided to leave a note.
“I’ll be right back,” she said, reaching into the glove compartment and taking out a notebook and pen they kept there. “I want to leave a message.”
“They won’t see it!” Scott said. “They’re in Philadelphia, as far as anyone knows.”
“Somebody comes here,” said Laurel. “That cat would be a skeleton if they didn’t. Just get in the car, I’ll be right back.”
Jeremy shrugged. He knew there was no stopping Laurel once she got an idea in her head. He wasn’t that impressed with the house and had no reason to be. All they’d seen was the outside, and not much of that. He got into the driver’s seat and fastened his seatbelt. Scott climbed into the back.
Laurel heard the car start behind her. She hurried to the front door. Holding the pen at an angle so the ink would flow, she pressed the notepad against the doorframe and started to write—just their names, phone number, and a request to call about selling. She was tucking the note into the screen door when she found herself being stared at from inside the house.
“May I help you?”
A short, thin, smiling woman stood in the doorway, holding the door open as Laurel tried to hide her surprise. The woman had gray hair tied back in a ponytail, exposing a kind face with a ready smile she offered to the stranger outside. Her eyes were grayish blue, and she looked to be in her sixties. She wore a simple yellow dress with a loose, button-down beige sweater cascading over her body.
“Who are you?” said Laurel, knowing instantly it was the woman’s question to ask, not hers.
“My name’s Eileen Granger,” replied the woman. “I look after this place. Well, me and Pete, my husband.”
“I thought no one was home.”
“No one was!” said the woman, laughing. “I was taking my afternoon walk and saw your car parked on the road, figured you were looking around. You wouldn’t be the first.”
Laurel was disarmed by the woman’s mild exuberance. There was something very inviting about her.
“So the cat’s yours?” asked Laurel.
“Old Willie? Let’s just say he’s on loan. He lives here all the time and I visit him every day. You’ve heard of hermit crabs? Well, he’s a hermit cat. Some days he likes company, some days he doesn’t care if I’m here or not. Now who did you say you were?”
“Oh, sorry,” said Laurel. “My name’s Laurel Calloway. My husband Jeremy and I got lost, sort of, on our way to look at a house for sale. With a real estate agent, Scott. They’re in the car. We saw the ‘For Sale’ sign by the road and thought we’d check it out.”
The woman looked at her a moment, then said, “Would you like to?”
“Like to what?”
“Check it out.” That smile again, as welcoming a smile as Laurel had seen. Some people would not react kindly to strangers touring their property unannounced. She knew it was not this woman’s house and land, but it might as well be, considering which of them was inside at the moment.
Tempting Laurel further, Eileen stepped aside and opened the door wider. As if arriving on a whisper, Willie the cat showed up at Eileen’s feet, staring up at the person in the doorway.
“You know, I’d like that very much,” said Laurel. “Just let me get the others.”
“Good,” said Eileen. “I can use the company, and this old house can use more people in it! It’s been awhile. You go ahead and get your friends—”
“My husband.”
“Right, your husband and the real estate fellow. I’ll make some coffee.”
Laurel could not believe her good luck. She closed the screen door and hurried back to the car while Eileen headed inside, leaving the main door open with Willie the cat peering through the screen at the outside world.
Jeremy leaned over and opened the passenger door for Laurel. Rushing up to the car, she put her head inside and said, “Let’s go. There’s somebody here and she’s invited us in.”
She could hear Scott sigh from the back seat. “But the other homeowners …”
“They can wait a few more minutes,” Laurel said to him. “Listen, if we get this house we’ll give you a finder’s fee or something. I promise.”
That seemed to placate him to a small degree.
“Who is this person inside?” Scott asked as he got out of the car.
“Her name’s Eileen,” Laurel said. “And the cat’s name is Willie.”
She saw Jeremy shrug at Scott: Oh well, what can I say? Together they went back to the house just as Eileen met them at the door, holding it open for what, Laurel guessed, were the first visitors the little house in the woods had seen in a long time.
THREE
LAUREL HAD DECIDED BEFORE RETURNING to the car to ignore Scott’s frustration. She knew he would be disappointed with the loss of a potential sale and she didn’t care. Moving from New York City was a monumental life change for the Calloways. It was not her problem if a real estate agent got angry that things didn’t go his way.
Scott had stared at his watch as if he could will them to leave. He’d climbed out of the car hemming and hawing, making his displeasure obvious.
“Who is this woman?” he’d asked, letting the seat slam back into place after hoisting himself onto the road.
“She’s the caretaker,” Laurel replied. “She and her husband look after the place.”
Jeremy had resigned himself to doing as Laurel wanted but he was perturbed. Less interested in the house and what little they’d seen of it, he still knew it was best to defer to his wife. They’d had a few rough patches lately, not the least because of their disenchantment with New York and the unspoken sense of failure it gave to their lives.
“When you think about it, somebody has to take care of the property,” said Laurel. “Otherwise it would be overgrown by now and in terrible condition.”
Scott asked, “Is that her cat we saw through the window?”
“Yes and no,” said Laurel. “She made it sound like the cat owned her. Which is pretty typical of people with cats. We won’t stay long, I promise.”
“The owners of the other house won’t be happy,” Scott said.
“Then they can sell it to someone else,” Laurel snapped. “Now please, let’s just visit a little here and get a better idea if this is the house for us.”
“I told you, they won’t respond to you.” Scott had slipped into brooding. “They don’t respond to anyone. I’m not sure they’re even still alive.”
“That’s silly,” Laurel said. “They’re just picky. Maybe Eileen can tell us why.”
The three of them got back to the house just as the sound of a tea kettle split the air, its whistle gliding through the screen door. Before they could reach it, Eileen was back in the doorway, holding it open for them.
“Please come in,” she said. “I’m so delighted to have company.”
Leading them into the house, Laurel introduced the others. “This is my husband Jeremy, and this is Scott Dunlop, a real estate agent from Strickland.”
“The big city!” Eileen said, winking at an unamused Scott. Strickland was the closest town, six or seven miles away, depending on how far off course they’d gone.
Hurrying to turn off the tea kettle, Eileen said, “Have a seat and I’ll make us some coffee. I hope instant’s all right.”
“I’ll pass,” Scott said, yanking out a kitchen chair and sitting.
“I’d love some,” said Laurel.
“Milk with mine, if you have it,” Jeremy added. Like Laurel, he’d been immediately charmed by the woman. She wasn’t just harmless, she was helpful. She seemed genuinely happy to have visitors, even if it wasn’t her house, and she’d welcomed them in without a second thought.
Soon they were all seated at the table while Eileen finished making three cups of coffee.
“Are you sure I can’t get you something, Scott?” she asked from the stove.
“No,” he said, leaving out the thank you.
He jumped at the sound of hissing. Willie had come into the kitchen, perched in front of him and made his judgment of the irritable young man. The others he could tolerate. This one he hissed at.
“He likes you,” Laurel said facetiously, smiling at Scott.
He did not smile back.
* * *
Eileen made a fourth at the small table, chatting with them across a set of cast iron roosters that formed a centerpiece. Scott kept himself out of the conversation, asking no questions and offering no conversation. He glanced at his watch so many times the others collectively ignored it.
“I’ve known the Dempseys for forty years,” Eileen explained, referring to the owners of the house. “Helen and Jack are the nicest people you could meet, and they’ve got deeper roots in this area than just about anyone else you’ll find.”
She had explained to them that Helen and Jack Dempsey were now elderly and had never had children, putting them in the position in which so many aging people found themselves: getting old with no one to look after them properly. Neighbors were reliable and a good resource, but nothing like family.
“They only have themselves, really,” Eileen said. “And they just thought it was time to live in a more tight-knit community.”
“Strickland’s tight-knit,” Scott said, surprising them. It was the first time he’d spoken since Eileen had joined them at the table.
“Yes, it is,” replied Eileen. “But look at the distances! It’s six miles into town from here. Me and Pete are a half mile up the road. If Jack needed something or Helen took a fall? No one’s going to hear you calling for help.”
“Isn’t there a hospital nearby?” asked Jeremy.
Eileen almost laughed. “The closest hospital is in Flemington, thirty minutes from here. You could die waiting for an ambulance. So no, I can’t say I blame them for moving to Philadelphia. They need to feel secure.”
“Exactly how old are the Dempseys?” Laurel asked. She’d finished half her coffee and was sipping the rest, wanting to take her time. She had forgotten about the house they were supposed to see and had no intention of pursuing it.
Eileen looked at her, thinking about the question. “You know, I can’t really say. But I’d guess Helen is in her eighties and Jack’s probably a few years older than she is.”
“How come they can’t sell the house?” Scott asked. Laurel noticed something challenging in his tone.
Eileen looked at him, and for the first time her smile faded. It was as if the friendly neighbor had suddenly decided she didn’t like this man.
“Oh, they can sell it,” Eileen said. “They just haven’t found the right buyer.” Then, her smile returning as quickly as it had faded, she turned to Laurel and said, “That might have changed today.”
Laurel was surprised. They’d been at the table with Eileen barely twenty minutes, and now she was suggesting the Calloways might finally be the right people for the house.
“Really?” asked Laurel, trying to control her excitement. “You think they’ll talk to us?”
“I’d bet just about a million dollars on it, if I had a million dollars!” Eileen replied with a laugh and a wink. “Now let’s take a little tour. If I’m going to put a word in for you—and I am—you might as well know what you’re getting into. It’s a charming house, but it’s old, and it’s got its quirks, just like people.”
“I’m assuming the other viewing is off,” Scott said, slumped into his chair. “I should call them.”
“Please do,” Laurel answered cheerfully. “Tell them we’re sorry for any inconvenience, but we’ve found another property, that sort of thing.”
Scott took his cell phone and headed outside. “Go ahead and see the house,” he said, stepping through the screen door. “I’ve got some calls to make.”
“You don’t want to see the place?” asked Jeremy, getting up from the table with the others.
“I’ve seen enough, thanks.”
Scott let the screen door close behind him as he began talking into his phone.
“Come,” said Eileen. “We’ll start with the basement. Willie loves it down there. He can catch a mouse or two.”
“You have mice?” asked Jeremy. Being from the city, he had little exposure to the diversity of life forms found outside Manhattan. For him, nature meant a walk along the carefully manicured pathways of Central Park.
Eileen looked at him. “It’s the country, Jeremy. Mice are the least of it.”
She chuckled and led them down a set of stairs into the basement.
FOUR
LAUREL FOLLOWED EILEEN WITH JEREMY close behind them. At first the only light came from a bulb suspended above the staircase, turned on by a string Eileen pulled when she opened the basement door.
“Shouldn’t you have a flashlight?” Jeremy asked.
The stairs were narrow, built at a time when people must have been smaller, shorter, and thinner. His foot extended beyond the end of each stair, which was made from sagging wood and covered with ancient carpet strips.
“Oh, I know my way around,” Eileen replied, calmly leading them down into the basement. “Besides, there’s a light switch at the bottom. You’ll see.”
What they saw when they reached the basement floor and Eileen turned on a second light, was a single large room. The Dempseys, or whoever had owned the house before them, had made only a halfhearted effort to finish it. There was an old metal desk against one wall. A washer and dryer sat unused in a corner, so dusty and blemished by the basement atmosphere that Laurel could see a layer of grime covering the once-white exterior. Beside the washer was a sink of many colors—paint spills or cloth fibers?—where the water ran into when laundry had once been done here. A drain pump sat unused on the floor.
A furnace took up a corner of the room, and a large closet lined a back wall. Seeing Laurel eye the closet, Eileen said, “Cedar. Keeps the moths out, but I can’t say there’s many clothes in there now. I haven’t looked.”
Laurel was wondering why Eileen had shown them the basement, considering how little there was to see.
As if reading her mind, Eileen said, “Just to give you an idea what you could do with this. It’s not my house, of course, but I always thought this would make a good family room. Are you planning on children?”
Laurel was always annoyed when people assumed a young married couple had, or wanted, children. She dismissed the thought and said, “We’re in discussions.” There was just enough edge in her tone to end the subject.
“I see. Well, let’s head back upstairs. If you’re interested in buying a house, you always need to see the basement, if there is one! There could be mold, foundation problems. Lots of houses don’t have them anymore. It’s kind of an added bonus.”
“A bonus basement,” Jeremy said. He’d taken more of a liking to it than Laurel had, and she knew he was imagining a man cave or some such nonsense.
They turned to head back upstairs when Laurel noticed it: an arch along the opposite wall, concealed in near darkness.
“What’s that?” Laurel asked. Not waiting for an answer, she headed into the shadows, wishing they’d brought a flashlight after all. The overhead light was old and not very effective at lighting an area as large as a basement. Three small windows above them at ground level had been boarded up, preventing outside light from getting in.
