by Karen Cimms
“Yes, Kate.” He sighed audibly. “I want his side of the story. Why doesn’t he want to clean up the property? Why does he think he doesn’t have to abide by the same law everybody else does? What does he plan to do if they keep pushing him? And I want pictures. Ace is on this afternoon. Let him know when you’re ready.”
“What’s my deadline?” Damn squeaky voice.
He glared as if she’d completely lost her mind.
“It’s j-just that I’m off tomorrow for my birthday, and I’d asked you about taking a couple weeks off?” Her hands fluttered about as if they had somewhere else to be. She should have brought a pen and a notepad in with her. At least that would have given her something to do with her hands. They traveled down her hips. Why don’t these pants have pockets? “You said you’d think about it. My husband’s coming—”
“Is today your birthday?” He clasped his hands over his stomach and actually smiled at her.
“No.” She smiled back. “Tomorrow, but I have another story to fin—”
“So you’re working today, correct?”
“Yes, but—”
“Then I suggest you get busy.” He snapped his glasses back on and spun his chair around so that she was staring at its back.
“Yes sir.”
She began backing out of his office, but before she could complete her escape, he angled toward her again. “What’s the other story?”
“A personality profile on the old guy who makes furniture and decorates it with beer caps and resin.”
He nodded, although she was sure such a story wouldn’t even be on his radar.
“No rush. Have it filed by nine a.m. tomorrow. I want the piece on Stevens filed by nine tonight.”
A short time later, she was downshifting her Saab convertible as they climbed the winding road up to Stevens’s place.
“Where the hell are we going?” Ace asked.
“That’s exactly where we’re going. Hell.”
She’d tried to find a phone number for Stevens, but no luck. Hermits didn’t have phones. Or electricity or running water or working sewer systems, either.
Covering Washington Township committee meetings was one of her most boring assignments. The area consisted of several large farms and a handful of smaller tracts, most of them newly subdivided from old family farms that had been sold off to developers. The only story to come out of the meetings recently had been an ongoing dispute between the township and Stevens. Overgrown and cluttered, the only thing his land produced these days was junk.
Kate attempted to pull into the craggy dirt driveway but changed her mind when she saw the deep ruts. It would serve no purpose to leave her muffler as a calling card.
“Nice welcome,” Ace said, aiming his Nikon at one of the many No Trespassing and Keep Out signs skirting the perimeter of the property. “I think you’re right. Sully hates you.” He climbed out after Kate pulled as far off the narrow roadway as she dared. “I’m just trying to figure out what the hell I did that I had to come with you.”
“Whatever it was, it must’ve been awful.”
The grass was knee high in spots, and a tangle of thorny shrubs and scrub oak edged Stevens’s driveway.
“So what’s this guy’s story?” Ace asked.
“I guess he grew up here and never left. From what I’ve learned, he rarely leaves the property except to come to township meetings.” Kate swatted at a mosquito that landed on her arm, grateful to be wearing slacks and flats. “Over the years he’s added to his collection—junk cars, trucks.” She pointed to a rusted-out school bus. “That showed up about ten years ago. No one ever sees him bring anything up here, and nothing ever seems to leave, but he claims he’s a junk dealer.”
She kept her voice low, although the only other sound was the buzzing of gnats and the chirping of crickets in the high grass.
“He’s pretty self-sufficient. Grows his own food, and judging by what the neighbors say about random bursts of gunfire, he shoots the rest. I guess it wasn’t a big deal years ago, but now that they’ve been subdividing some of the larger farms and people are moving closer, the new neighbors want him gone.”
“Hey, as far as I’m concerned, live and let live,” Ace said. “If the old coot isn’t bothering anybody, leave him alone.”
“I agree, but now that you can see the junk from the road, they’re making it a problem. Plus, he has a pack of dogs that he lets loose, and they’ve been known to terrorize his neighbors, even though some of them are over a half mile away.”
Ace froze. “Are you fucking kidding me? He’s got wild dogs running loose, and we’re just strolling up to the front door? I hope you brought your gun.”
“Hardly. Anyway, over the past few years, the township’s been flooded with complaints about him, the junkyard, the dogs. They’ve issued citations and fines. When the sheriff attempted to serve him with another notice recently, he chased him off with a rifle.”
Ace lowered his camera. “What the hell are we doing here?”
“I’m wondering that myself,” she grumbled.
Stevens had begun to show up at meetings back in January, warning township officials to stay off his land. He’d stand in the back of the room near the door, glaring at committee members until they gave him the floor.
His presence made Kate’s usual position in the back of the room more difficult to maintain over the past few months, as it was obvious it had been a long time since Stevens had made contact with soap and water. His overalls were stained with dirt, grease, and God knows what else, although the stench gave her a good idea. His flannel shirt was torn and frayed at the collar, and his jacket was as filthy as his overalls. While his hair was long and white, his beard was stained yellow, and his teeth (or what she could see of them) were brown nubs. He had a violent, hacking cough.
Kate had written about Stevens and the ongoing dispute faithfully each month, but only in the barest details. The man frightened her, and she didn’t want to provoke him. If he wasn’t hurting anyone, who cared what his property looked like?
As she and Ace rounded the curve in the driveway, the trailer came into view.
“My husband would kill me if he had any idea where I was or what I was doing.”
“Give me his number. I’ll call and tell him what you’re up to, and then we can get the hell out of here.” Ace’s voice was low, but his sarcasm came through loud and clear.
Ignoring him, Kate led the way out into the open past the skeletons of rusted vehicles, old washing machines and refrigerators, and piles of rotting wood.
At the far side of the clearing, a row of ramshackle doghouses leaned against one another for support. Chained to them were some of the ugliest, meanest dogs she’d ever seen. They barked and pulled on their leads, causing the lean-to structures to quiver.
This might be one of the stupidest, most dangerous things she’d ever done.
“Mr. Stevens?” she called. “Hello! My name’s Kate Donaldson. This is Ace Jackson. We’re with the Evening Examiner. We’d like to talk to you about your situation with the township. I’d like to help you tell your side of the story.”
The dogs grew more frantic.
“Mr. Stevens?”
Even if he couldn’t hear her, he had to be curious about the barking by now.
Ace advanced closer to the trailer, which was leaning dangerously to one side as if the supports had given way. The glass was broken out of a window, and a tattered piece of cloth waved in the afternoon breeze. The wooden steps to the door had collapsed, and Kate wondered how anyone could safely enter or exit. A rat made its way along the sill plate into a gaping hole at the bottom of the rotting door. The hair on her arms stood at attention.
Maybe Stevens wasn’t home. Odd, given he was a known hermit who rarely left his property. Ace zeroed in on the trailer and then stepped to the side, aiming his zoom at the dogs but not daring to go any closer.
After shooting for a few minutes, he turned to her.
“I’m
good. As far as I’m concerned, I don’t need anything else. Let’s get the hell out of here. I feel like we’ve already pushed our luck.”
Kate agreed. She had given it her best, and they’d more than worn out their welcome with the dogs. Watching her step in the tall grass, she picked her way along tires and assorted garbage. A snake slithered past, and she let out a screech and grabbed Ace’s arm.
“Jesus fucking—” he cried.
“Shh!” The groan of gears echoed in the distance. They exchanged panicked glances. Although she had set out with the intention of making contact with Stevens, the idea had begun to terrify her.
Ace gripped her arm and tugged her away from the driveway. “I say neither of us admit we saw him and we get out of here now. This is one disturbed individual, and my gut says go.”
Kate nodded, and they dove into a cluster of trees, hoping for enough cover to hide them when Stevens stopped at the entrance to his driveway.
They were still a good twenty or thirty yards from her car. Kate could see it; spots of bright red through the thick overgrowth. The truck rattled toward them, but then she heard the brakes grind. The only other sound came from the dogs. Their frenzied barking continued.
The engine roared, and the truck barreled down the driveway. In his haste, Stevens drove right past the spot where they crouched behind an old truck. His vehicle squealed and bounced over the ruts. When they were fairly certain he wouldn’t be able to see them in his rearview mirror, they ran. It wouldn’t take him long to figure out the intruder had left.
Kate ran to the driver’s side of the Saab. Ace was still closing the passenger door when she began pulling away. She didn’t even stop to fasten her seat belt and kept going as fast as she dared until they reached the main road.
Nerves pushed her another couple of miles before she finally pulled over.
“Oh my God,” she gasped.
Ace glared at her. “I need this job, but you’re married to a goddamn rock star. What the hell is your problem?”
Willing her heart to slow down, she’d shrugged and tried to smile. “Just stubborn, I guess.”
Kate unfolded the paper and scooted back in the settee. A copyeditor had made some changes, but it remained her story.
‘Keep off my land!’: Township threatens junkman with condemnation
By EVENING EXAMINER staff
Sedge Stevens bothers no one and wants no one to bother him.
At least that’s what he keeps telling Washington Township committee members at their monthly meetings.
Stevens, who lives on a 20-acre tract of land that has been in his family for generations, prefers to keep to himself but has made it a point to attend committee meetings since the beginning of the year. He claims items on his property are related to his business as a junk dealer and that the township is harassing him. According to township records, Stevens holds no license to operate a business from his property.
Stevens’s ire peaked last month when the township issued a threat of condemnation. If he does not clean up the property, the committee has promised to proceed in court and condemn the land.
Stevens, who was unable to be reached for comment, has told the committee publicly in no uncertain terms, “Keep off my land.”
“We’ve tried to work with Sedge for well over a year now,” says Ainsworth Koch, committee chairman. “He just won’t listen. I know of some old-timers who’ve even offered to go up there and help him clean up, but he refuses. He’s tying our hands in this.”
Stevens, 52, has lived on Indian Hill Road all his life. According to property tax records, a small wooden cabin was erected on the land around 1890 by Gordon Stevens.
The cabin was destroyed by fire in 1972. Stevens remained, and it is assumed he resides in a large, dilapidated trailer on the property not visible from the main road.
A check of utility providers in the area indicates there is no running water or electricity.
“Mr. Stevens’s property is an eyesore and he is a menace,” says Roger Kiernan, a nearby property owner. “We live a good quarter mile away, yet his dogs have terrorized my wife and children, and I’ve even seen rats and other vermin in the woods between our two properties. No one should live like that, and I’ll be damned if we’ll suffer because he chooses to do so.”
Kiernan has vociferously complained about Stevens’s property and has threatened the township with a lawsuit if it does not follow through with the condemnation.
According to Committeewoman Ellen Day, there have been “generous offers” to purchase the land from Stevens, including a recent offer of close to $1 million from the McMillon Group of Bernardsville, developers of luxury housing.
“Mr. Stevens could live very comfortably somewhere else if he would accept any one of several offers made to him,” says Day. “It would be a shame for him to lose the land when he could just sell it.”
As for Stevens, he’s vowed not to sell and, it seems, not to remediate any issues on his property, declaring it his land to do with as he sees fit.
The township, however, disagrees and has threatened to proceed with condemnation if Stevens does not clean up the property within the next 60 days.
Kate folded the paper and set it on the wicker table, relieved that not only did her story sit below the fold, it had been attributed to “Evening Examiner staff” instead of her byline—perhaps the only concession Sully would ever give her. Good call. She hadn’t wanted to do the story in the first place, and certainly didn’t want Stevens hassling her at the next meeting.
She tightened her ponytail and stood. How had she gone from typing wedding announcements and taking stationery orders to risking her life to stick her nose into other people’s business?
Maybe Billy was right. She was just stubborn.
Not the most disciplined of runners, Kate had gone about two miles before the heat and humidity got the better of her. She jogged up her long, gravel driveway, into the back yard, and headed straight for her garden. Last night’s rain had brought no relief in the way of cooler temperatures, but at least she wouldn’t have to water.
She twisted a ripe, red beefsteak tomato from the vine, careful not to tug too hard lest it explode in her hand. She plucked a second one. She cradled the pair, warm and heavy, in the hem of her tank top, relishing the bitter scent of the vine on her fingers. Jersey tomatoes. There was nothing better. At the herb garden near the back door, she pinched off a handful of basil leaves. A tomato salad would be good. And there was leftover ham. She’d throw together a quiche, too. She had to be a little crazy to turn on the oven with the temperature inching close to a hundred, but she wasn’t about to let the last of the ham go to waste. Besides, once Billy got home, she wouldn’t be spending a lot of time in the kitchen, especially since he’d been gone for almost nine weeks.
After putting together her quiche, Kate set the timer for forty-five minutes, then dashed upstairs for a quick shower. She was pawing through the dresses in her closet, trying to decide what she would wear to dinner, when the phone rang. A lovely harmony of male voices behind one very loud, tone-deaf lead answered her greeting.
“I see you hired the Gay Men’s Chorus of New York,” she joked when the birthday song ended.
“I’m crushed! Didn’t you like that?” Joey asked.
“Loved it.”
“How’s the birthday girl?”
“Great. I’m enjoying a quiet afternoon, and Billy is taking me out to dinner tonight.”
“‘Great,’ she lied,” he answered, his tone mocking.
“I’m not lying.”
“Do you want me to come out?”
“No. I said I’m great. I went for a run, and I have a quiche in the oven. Devin is still in the wilds of Colorado, but he sent me a beautiful card and promised to take me to dinner when he gets home next month. Rhiannon will probably be here later with the boys, and Billy should be home sometime this afternoon. It’s all good.”
“Do you want me to come out?” he asked again,
acting as if she’d just told him her plans included reading Sylvia Plath and sticking her head in the oven.
“Did you hear anything I said?”
“Yes. You said Rhiannon will probably be there, which means she won’t. And you said Billy should be home this afternoon, which means don’t count on it. You also said you went for a run, which begs me to ask where is my Kate and what have you done with her?”
He was as exasperating as ever.
“Rhiannon will come by at some point, if not to see me then to see her father.”
“True.”
“The first leg of Billy’s tour ended last night, so he has to come home eventually. And I started running a while ago. I told you that, remember? If I want my husband to keep chasing me, I need to stay in shape.”
“There goes my breakfast.”
Kate recognized the sarcasm in Joey’s voice, but that was about all she heard. She wandered back into the bathroom and took a good look at herself in the mirror. Not too bad. Her hair was still long and dark, although she’d been known to yank out a gray straggler on occasion. She was still slim but put out extra effort to stay fit. And thanks to the constant supply of exorbitantly expensive beauty products Joey provided her with, plus some pretty good genes, she looked years younger than her chronological age. She brought her face closer to the mirror. At least she hoped so.
Joey was still talking.
“Sorry. What did you say?”
“I said I would’ve been there if it weren’t for this interview. Remember? Pizzazz! has been named one of the top boutiques in Soho. They’re coming today for a story, photos, the whole thing. We should wrap up by six or seven. You sure you don’t want me to come out when we’re done?”
“Don’t be silly.”
Gravel crunched in the driveway. Expecting Billy, she peeked outside and saw the delivery truck from Flora Dora’s.
“Gotta go. Flower delivery heading my way! Love you!”
