by Nick Poff
“My clients are interested in your generous offer,” Vince said smoothly. “However, I’m sure you will understand they wish some time to think it over. May we contact you in twenty-four hours with a decision?”
“Excellent, Mr. Cummings.” There was a click. Mr. Briscoe had hung up.
Vince punched a button on the phone set and let out a long, slow whistle. “I have never…” He threw up his hands.
Rick was drumming his fingers on the desk. “Do you think there is any possibility we might get an explanation for any of this?”
“Doubt it. I have a feeling this is strictly take it or leave it. I’m sure I don’t have to remind you, though, that if you take it you’ll get killed at tax time, even if you do invest in the house.”
“That’s not even on my radar right now,” Rick said. “If we go through with it we’re committed to fixing it. What if the only solution for it is a wrecking ball?”
Ed slowly rose from his chair. “I think it’s about time we found out, don’t you? C’mon.” He pulled Rick out of his chair. “We’re going over to Cooley Street.”
###
Ed’s truck rolled to a stop in front of Evie Fountain’s house. Overgrown bushes obscured it from the street. Ed hopped out, followed by Rick, and started up the front walk. He looked up. “New roof,” he said to glumly to Rick, who wrote NEW ROOF on a pad he pulled from his pocket.
Ed walked up the cement front steps. “These are in good condition,” he remarked. “However, here’s another porch floor to paint. Ugh. It could probably use some sort of sealant as well. The boards are a bit neglected, but in good shape.”
He pushed against the porch columns. “So far, so good,” he said going to the door. He hesitated, his hand on the door knob.
“What are you waiting for?” Rick asked.
Ed chuckled. “I’m wishing I hadn’t watched Dark Shadows as a kid and believed every bit of it.”
“What do you expect to find in there, Barnabas Collins’ coffin?”
“Who knows? I’m not sure what to expect.” Ed turned the knob and pushed. “Here goes.”
They stepped inside. They found themselves in a large L-shaped living room. On the right side the living room led into a dining room and from there the kitchen. On the left, an attractive fireplace separated the main living room from a small, cozier living area, which also had access to the kitchen. There were torn and scarred blinds and ancient, rotting curtains at the windows, and the ledges were covered with pots of dead plants. The few pieces of furniture in the room were old and shabby and surrounded by large stacks of old newspapers and magazines. Sealed cardboard boxes were scattered throughout.
“To think,” Ed commented, “I was just this morning giving Neal gas about all the stuff he was hauling into the house.”
“Looks like our Evie was a pack rat,” Rick said. He picked up a yellowed Porterfield Courier. “’Friday, April 27, 1979,’” he read. “’City Street Improvements Scheduled for Summer Completion.’” He shook his head. “Wonder how far back these go?”
Ed was busy studying the structural integrity of the room. “Gorgeous woodwork,” he muttered. The carpet was worn and the wallpaper dingy, but the floors and walls beneath seemed to be in surprisingly good shape. He sniffed a few times. “Smell that,” he demanded.
Rick sniffed. “Smell what?”
“Exactly. It smells like a house that has been shut up but not neglected. Maybe Evie wasn’t as crazy as everyone thought she was.”
Ed walked through all the downstairs rooms, coming to a halt in the kitchen. Rick came up behind him, shaking his head in wonderment. “I can’t decide whether to call this obsolete or antique. It’s as though I’m walking back into my parents’ kitchen around 1955.”
Ed looked out the back door at the backyard jungle. In one corner a broken down arbor supported overgrown grape vines. “Mom would kill for those grapes.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah. I’m pretty sure those are the same grapes Grandma and Grandpa had on the farm.”
“So?”
“Damn good jelly.”
“Oh!” Rick said, peering over Ed’s head.
Ed, a thoughtful frown on his face, headed for the stairs. On the second floor they found a full bath over the kitchen and three bedrooms filled with more junk, but in respectable condition. Ed spied an attic hatch door in the ceiling of the last bedroom. “Darlin’, will you run down to my truck and get my flashlight and work gloves? I want to take a look in the attic.”
While Rick trotted out to the truck Ed did a three hundred sixty degree turn in the upstairs hall. “It’s almost as if…” he whispered.
Rick reappeared. He boosted Ed into the hatch. Ed swung the flashlight around the eaves, expecting to find, at worst, bats, or squirrel droppings at least, but the space, aside from more junk, was appropriately dry, sealed, and critter-free.
Ed let go of the hatch ledge and jumped to the floor. Rick grinned at him and swiped cobwebs out of his hair. Ed barely noticed. “Basement,” he announced as he all but ran to the stairs.
Once they had carefully descended the basement stairs Ed shone his flashlight on the furnace. “Aha!” He said. “I knew it. Look at that! That furnace is newer and in better shape than the one we replaced at home a few years back.”
“What are you up to, baby?” Rick asked with impatience.
“Bear with me for just one minute. I need to know one last thing. Will you go upstairs and turn on the kitchen sink and flush the downstairs toilet? I want to check the water shut off.”
Rick did as he was told as Ed found the house’s water source. He nodded in satisfaction when he went to turn it. From upstairs there was the sound of running water and a flushing toilet. “Darlin’!” Ed hollered up the stairs. “Turn on the lights.”
“What? Are you nuts?”
“Just flip a light switch, okay?”
There was a clicking sound, and light suddenly illuminated the basement stairs. “What the fuck?” Rick exclaimed.
Ed ran upstairs to the kitchen. “I was right! Someone, and it’s not Evie, has been taking excellent care of this house. Oh, sure, it’s a little threadbare, but the house itself, aside from the roof, is in perfect condition. I’ll bet you the roof would have been taken care of this year or next if Evie hadn’t died. And, I’ll bet if you call Indiana/Michigan Power and Porterfield Utilities, you’ll find those bills are paid to date.”
Rick turned off the kitchen faucet and leaned against the counter, a hand to his face. “B.M. Tarpley?”
Ed shrugged. “Who else?”
###
They had adjourned to the backyard. Rick was sitting on the steps gnawing on a piece of rhubarb he’d discovered nearby. Ed was looking over the broken arbor.
“Okay,” Rick said, chewing. “So someone has been secretly taking care of Evie all these years. It could be a legal guardian for all we know. But why? Why all the secrecy?”
Ed, stepping over several limbs and branches, carefully made his way to the steps. “And could we or should we solve the mystery?”
Rick grinned. “Well, considering all those Agatha Christie books we’ve both read…”
“Seriously, though. This person has worked awfully hard to remain anonymous. Maybe we should respect that.”
“You gotta point,” Rick said thoughtfully. “We don’t have to know. However, we do have to decide whether we want to take on this project or not.” He leaned into Ed and kissed his cheek. “What do you think, baby?”
Ed sighed. “What I think is that I’m dying of curiosity to know what’s in all those boxes. I’m already seeing myself picking those grapes come August to give to Mom for jelly. I’m seeing Josh’s face light up when we tell him he can create new landscaping for this place. I’m picturing how pretty this place used to be, and can be again. I’m thinking it won’t be near as much work as I had feared, and actually it could be a lot of fun. I also…” Ed trailed away.
“And what?”
/> “I’m thinking about Evie, and how mean people were. Oh sure, they left her alone, for the most part, but they said awful things about her. They laughed at her. Something inside of her was broken, and she was hurting, and no one took the time to care, except for one anonymous person who made sure she at least had safe and warm shelter.”
Ed took Rick’s hand. “I know we can’t make it up to her. It’s too late for that. But maybe we’ll find something in those boxes that will explain Evie to us, and allow us to…I don’t know…rewrite the end of her story with a more respectable ending.”
“You are something else, baby,” Rick said gently. “Here I was thinking strictly about profit, loss, and taxes and you were busy turning this whole thing into some noble cause. I’m almost ashamed.”
“Don’t be. Those things are important, hell, a lot more important than any answers we might dig up about Evie. We’re not martyrs. How ‘bout this? We go into this as we originally planned, fixing up and flipping a house, and anything else we might learn in the process is so much extra gravy.”
Rick squeezed Ed’s hand. “So we’re in?”
Ed squeezed back. “We’re in.”
###
Ed dropped Rick off at the office before he returned to his scheduled handyman appointments. He arrived home after five o’clock, tired but content. He was confident in their decision to buy Evie’s house, mysterious circumstances or not. Fixing up a rundown house was a challenge, and Ed was surprised to discover he relished the idea of a challenge more than a peaceful summer.
When he reached the stairs he could hear Madonna’s “Papa Don’t Preach” blasting from Neal’s room. “Like I was going to get any peace anyway,” he muttered, climbing the stairs and sticking his head in Neal’s open door. Neal was stretched out on the bed; an issue of Rolling Stone with Jimi Hendrix on the cover hiding his face. Ed couldn’t help but wonder if Neal even knew who Jimi Hendrix was.
“Rise and shine, wonder boy,” Ed called.
Neal lowered his magazine. “I’m awake.”
“Why aren’t you at work?”
“It’s my day off.”
“Says you.”
“Huh?”
“Where’s your chore list? Effie Maude was supposed to make out a chore list for you.”
“Chore list?” Neal looked stricken.
Ed folded his arms. “Did you think for even one moment you were getting entirely free room and board here? No way, young man. You’re going to pull your weight like the rest of us.”
“Yeah?” Neal said with mock teen scorn. “What chores do the cats have?”
“It’s their job to keep us company and amuse us, smartass,” Ed retorted with a grin. “They also sit on books we are trying to read and get us up long before the alarm is set to go off. They have plenty to do. I was thinking more along the lines of garbage detail for you.”
“I was planning to pay you something for rent, you know.”
“Fine. We’ll take that, too.”
Neal got off the bed and tromped to the door as if each leg weighed a ton. “Gee, Dad,” Ed said, trying to sound like Jerry Mathers on Leave It To Beaver. “I’ll bet Larry Mondello doesn’t have as many chores as I do.”
Neal screwed up his face with pretend puzzlement. “Who’s Larry Mondello?”
Ed slapped him on the behind. “Jimi Hendrix’s second cousin, that’s who. Now get out of here. Go see Effie Maude.”
Neal cantered down the stairs as Ed watched him with a fond smile. No, he thought, taking on another house project was not a peaceful prospect, nor was having Neal in the house a recipe for quiet. He figured Neal’s residency could potentially cause all sorts of complications. Still, he felt good about it, about everything, actually.
He thought of Mrs. Penfield and her last wish for Ed and Rick. “I’m working on it, Mrs. Penfield. I’m giving back and doing my best to help men like me. I’m trying to do everything you ever did for me. How am I doing?”
Ed stood still in the upstairs hall of the old house. He felt the stability of its walls and floors; he felt the safety and security of the home the Penfields had created and he and Rick were maintaining. He also felt the lovely burden of being responsible for this restful haven, readily available for family and friends whenever it was needed.
And he thought he could hear a light, pleasant voice, Mrs. Penfield’s voice, telling him: Just do your best, Ed. No one can ask for more.
CHAPTER FIVE
The sale of the property at 517 North Cooley Street moved quickly. The closing was soon scheduled at a title office in Porterfield, and Ed and Rick were looking forward to it; not so much to finalize the sale, but to get a look at James Briscoe, who was traveling to Porterfield to witness and sign for B.M. Tarpley, Limited.
Ed, at least, was disappointed. After hearing James Briscoe’s voice he was expecting someone similar to the elegant and stiffly formal Emile Autouri, the “bonded security agent” who had hidden the grand prize check for twenty-five thousand dollars at the beginning of each episode of The New Treasure Hunt. Instead, he got a short, nebbishy-looking guy, more on the order of Wally Cox on the original Hollywood Squares.
Any hope Ed and Rick had for pumping James Briscoe for details about B.M. Tarpley were quickly dashed. Aside from the customary pleasantries and details related to the sale, Mr. Briscoe had very little to say. He did accompany them, though, as they left the building. Once on the street he shook both of their hands, bowed slightly and said, “The very best of luck to you, Richard and Edward. It’s been a pleasure.” And then to their great shock he winked and smiled. They watched him turn and walk down the block and disappear into a waiting limousine.
“This is all so weird,” Ed commented. “Sometimes I get the feeling we’re being had, that this is all part of some practical joke.”
“Humph,” Rick snorted. “Did your gaydar go off?”
Ed was startled. “With him? No.”
Rick narrowed his eyes as he watched the limousine make a left turn onto Main Street and vanish from sight. “I got the strangest vibe from that man. We’ve never met him, but I had the distinct impression he knew everything there was to know about us.”
“Well, either he or B.M. Tarpley probably had us thoroughly checked out. Wouldn’t surprise me.”
“Yeah, I suppose you’re right.” Rick shook his head. “Oh well. I guess it doesn’t really matter now. So! What’s next?”
“First,” Ed said, “I want to clean all of Evie’s pack rat crap out of that house. I’ll rent a dumpster for a week and get someone to help me lug all the stuff out of the house.”
“Who’s going to help? Clyde’s not available, you know.”
Retired Clyde Croasdale, who had happily pitched in on such projects in the past, would be out of town most of the summer. His older and sickly sister Claudine had passed away earlier that year, leaving him alone in their house on Michigan Street. Feeling the need for a change of scenery, he had arranged to spend the summer with his daughter and her family in Milwaukee. Matt and Claire, along with Claire’s youngest child, Jane, had decided to accompany him for an extended vacation, leaving Judy and Josh to fend for themselves with Ed and Rick’s remote supervision.
“Yeah,” Ed said. “Just when I could use some cheap labor everyone blows town.” His sister Laurie and her family were away as well, spending the summer at the Ames’ cottage on Lake Webster. Ed shrugged. “Well, I can draft Neal to help, and if I get desperate I can always drag Muriel over there.”
Rick looked rather dubious. “If you say so. What about the yard?”
“Already taken care of. I called my policeman bud Ron, who called his brother Benny, who is coming over on Monday to bulldoze and haul away the worst of the overgrowth, leaving just the lilac bushes, which can be pruned back into respectability, and the grape arbor, which I plan to rebuild.”
“And the rhubarb,” Rick added.
Ed, who disliked rhubarb, smirked. “If you want the rhubarb to stay you’d be
tter be prepared to throw your body in front of the bulldozer.”
Rick folded his arms and fixed a stern look on Ed. “If I had known what a cruel and heartless man you are when it comes to rhubarb, I’m not so sure I would have married you.”
Ed adopted a similarly stern look. “It’s the rhubarb or me. Take your pick.”
Rick thought it over. “Well, I suppose, in the larger scheme of things, you’re more important than rhubarb.”
“Am I more important than chocolate chip cookies?”
“Don’t push it, baby.”
###
“Maybe this’ll help me lose weight,” Neal said as he followed Ed into the Cooley Street house. This was Neal’s new and constant refrain regarding any sort of physical activity. “I don’t get it,” he complained, watching Ed unlock the new deadbolt set he had installed on the front door. “How come you and Rick aren’t waddling around with Effie Maude always baking and leaving things like cold fried chicken in the refrigerator?”
“Don’t forget my mom,” Ed responded, shoving the sticky front door. It suddenly gave away and he almost fell into the living room. “She’s as bad as Effie Maude. You finally just learn to say no. Not to them, mind you. Then you get hurt feelings and all sorts of comments about how their loving instincts regarding food aren’t appreciated. No, you learn to say no to yourself and pretend all that wonderful, fattening, heart attack-causing food isn’t there.”
“Easier said than done,” Neal sighed as he took in the immense piles of clutter. “Wow. Where do we even start?”
“Basement,” Ed decided. “We’ll start at the bottom and work our way up.”
It was a hot, sticky day, and sweat began to pour off both of them as they hauled box after box up the basement stairs and into the living room. Ed swiped his forehead with his forearm. “We’re gonna have to have A.C. installed in this place,” he muttered.
