Your House or Mine?

by Cynthia Thomason

  “You’re a fair man, Deputy,” Newton said.

  Wade tucked the bill into his pocket. “Maybe, but I’m also a man who’s running out of patience. The next time you do this, I’m writing you up.”

  Newton bent over and scooped a fat hen from the ground at his feet. “Here, take this home for dinner. It’s my treat.”

  Imagining Jenny’s reaction at witnessing the decapitation of what would later appear on her plate, Wade politely refused. “Some other time, Newton.”

  The old man walked Wade back to his patrol car. “So how’s everything going with the Ashford place?” he asked. “Are you thinking that you bit off more than you can chew?”

  Wade shook his head. “Nope. Not yet. I’m pleased as I can be with that house. Working on it has brought me and my dad closer than we’ve been in years.” He scanned the clear blue sky above him. “And this climate has done wonders for his pleurisy. I think another winter in New York might have killed him. Now I believe he’ll go on forever.”

  “You started working up in the attic yet?”

  “No. That’ll be the last job I tackle,” Wade said.

  “You been up there, though, haven’t you?”

  “Sure. When I bought the place from Mrs. Ashford I took a quick look around the third floor. All I saw was some worn-out furniture, a mess of cobwebs and a couple of critters. It’s a small space, so…”

  Newton cackled. “A small space, you say?”

  “Yeah. Besides the turret which opens onto all three floors, the actual attic can’t be more than twelve feet square.”

  They’d reached the patrol car, but Newton was obviously not done talking. “Guess you didn’t see the mural then.”

  Wade thought back to that day several weeks ago. He’d seen some ratty old picture frames leaning against a wall, but nothing the size of a mural. “I didn’t see anything as big as that.”

  “You missed the best part then. I remember when Stewie Ashford built that place and hired a guy to paint a picture the size of a church door in the attic. There were some high times up there once that mural was finished. Why, a fella could stand in the turret and see a car pull into the drive all the way from the county road. I was there once when I was just a youngster, not more than seventeen, I’d say. Stewie let me come up there anyways. He didn’t pay any mind to county laws.”

  Wade crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the hood of his car. “What are you talking about, Newton?”

  A wide grin creased the old man’s face. “Guess I’ve said too much already. You go on back up there, Wade, and look for the mural. That’s all I’m saying. I won’t be the one to blacken a dead man’s memory, or for that matter, start up rumors that’d vex his sweet widow.”

  Wade had heard other such vague references to Stewart Ashford’s reputation, all from the few old-timers who still remembered the town’s most famous patriarch. He didn’t know exactly what shenanigans Stewart participated in way back when, but he’d surmised that maybe the guy stood a little to the left of the law. Well, more power to him. The old days were long gone. The house would soon belong to Wade, if Meg Hamilton didn’t pose a stumbling block. What did Wade care if Stewart Ashford operated a shell game more than half a century ago.

  He walked around to the driver’s side door and raised a finger at Newton before getting inside the car. “You pay your bills from now on, Newton. I mean it.”

  The old fella stroked the back of the hen whose life had been spared. “You betcha’, Deputy.”

  Wade headed back toward the Quick Mart to pay Newton’s debt. But he wasn’t thinking a whole lot about what he would say to appease Harvey Crockett. Mostly he was thinking about the idea of a mural existing in that tiny little attic room of Ashford House.

  AT EIGHT O’CLOCK Saturday morning, Meg was already on her way to Shady Grove. She was determined to meet with her aunt when Amelia might be most alert. Besides, the antics of Mr. Cuddles and the heart-thumping police work of Wade Murdock had kept her tossing and turning most of the night. She wasn’t sorry to be leaving last night’s escapades behind her to deal with today’s problems.

  Giving herself time for a second cup of coffee, Meg pulled into the parking lot of the Quick Mart and headed straight for the brewing machine. She’d just stirred sugar and cream into her cup when the door to the convenience store opened. “Oh, great,” she said under her breath when she realized who had entered. “Just who I need to see this morning.”

  Wade stopped at the counter and slid a sum of money toward the clerk. The two men maintained an animated conversation until Wade finally threw his hands in the air and accused the clerk of being unreasonable. “He’s an old man, Harvey,” Wade said.

  “He’s slippery as an eel,” the clerk responded, “and I’m holding you responsible if there’s any more trouble.”

  Wade strode away from the counter. “Fine. How’s the coffee this morning? Still taste like motor oil?” When he saw Meg, he tossed a final comment over his shoulder. “Don’t answer that, Harvey. There’s someone here who’ll give me an honest opinion.” He set a paper cup under the dispenser. “So, Miss Meg Hamilton, what do you think?”

  She leaned against the condiment counter and nodded toward a case with clear plastic doors. “The coffee’s fine, but since you’re a policeman, I figure you won’t be satisfied until you grab one of those donuts.”

  “Ah…another misconception that you civilians have about us cops.” He dumped three envelopes of sugar into his coffee and stirred vigorously. Then, despite his statement, he opened a door, took out a chocolate-covered Bavarian Cream and took a huge bite which he followed with a smug grin. “But, heck, who am I to destroy a legend?”

  Meg shook her head.

  “So how’s Mr. Cuddles this morning?” Wade asked after sucking a dab of filling from his index finger. It was a gesture Meg found oddly disturbing.

  “He’s like all males, I guess,” she said. “He left the house early to find a poor creature in the yard that he could lord his authority over.”

  Wade raised that finger to make a point. “Yeah, but he made you notice him, and that’s what counts.” He wiped his hands with a napkin and tossed the paper into the trash bin. “By the way, I’ll be at the house later after I do rounds. I’ll fix the window screen before I get started in the barn.”

  “If you want to,” Meg said with an aloofness that disguised her very strong desire to have the window secure.

  “Oh, I do,” Wade said. “If for no other reason than I need to establish my superiority over Mr. Cuddles.”

  Meg headed for the cash register to pay for her coffee. “I guess I’ll see you later then.”

  Wade tossed a couple of bills on the counter and followed her outside. “Say, Meg, before you go, can you answer a question for me?”

  “Depends on the question.”

  “It’s about your Uncle Stewart.”

  Meg’s interest was immediately piqued. Even though he’d died when she was only twelve, she remembered her Uncle Stewie vividly. He was so handsome sitting astride his prized Arabian mare and cantering gracefully around the property. And he was completely unpredictable in his antics. Like her brother Jerry, he made everyone laugh. “What about him?” she said.

  “What did he do for a living?”

  “He was an entrepreneur.”

  Wade’s lips twitched as if he were trying to hide a smile. “That’s a little vague, isn’t it?”

  Meg had never thought so. Even when she hadn’t understood what the word meant, she’d always believed that it described her uncle perfectly. “Maybe, but that’s what Aunt Amelia always called him.”

  “So that’s how he made all his money, as an entrepreneur?”

  “I suppose so. Plus his parents had a little money. His father was a cattleman on Florida’s west coast. Stewie dabbled in land development in this area, and I heard that he got in on the ground floor of a couple of profitable local businesses.” She shrugged. “I think my uncle was
lucky to be in the right places at the right times.”

  “Lucky, eh? I wonder if any of that Ashford luck rubbed off on you.”

  “What do you mean?”

  He lowered his sunglasses and peered at her with those interesting dark brown eyes. “Did you find the deed?”

  We’re back to that again. “You seem awfully worried about that document, Wade, and you should be. I’ll definitely find it because it definitely exists.” She got in her car. “And when I do, you’ll be the first to know.” She shut the door but rolled down her window. “But since you brought up our little predicament, I’ll tell you about an idea I had.”

  “I’m listening.”

  “I’m going to go through the boxes this afternoon with the idea of returning everything to the catalogue companies. My intention is to give you back the twenty thousand dollars.”

  He twirled the sunglasses while giving her a bland stare. “I don’t want it back.”

  “But that’s the perfect solution.”

  “Not to me it isn’t.”

  As if there weren’t a hundred houses to buy within a thirty-mile radius of hers! And to think Wade had called the store clerk unreasonable. “Look, Wade, I read the entire lease-option contract last night.”

  “Good.”

  “You only promised to pay a pittance of what the house and property are worth.”

  “You call ninety-eight thousand dollars a ‘pittance’?”

  “I certainly do. In Orlando…”

  He tapped the insignia on his shirt sleeve. “This is Mount Esther. That’s what I like about this little town. The cost of living is quite reasonable, especially to a transplant who’s used to New York prices.”

  “But even in Mount Esther a twelve-room house, a six-stall barn, and all that land—”

  “—in good condition would be worth about one hundred and fifty thousand,” he interrupted. He put on his glasses and folded his arms across his chest. “I’ve already put a couple of thousand into the house, borrowed from the Mount Esther Savings and Loan, and you can see that a complete renovation will cost much more.”

  He’d borrowed money against her house? Meg gripped the steering wheel to control her temper. “If Ashford House is costing you so dearly, why not cut your losses, take the twenty thousand and go buy something that’s livable right now?”

  “Don’t want to. Ashford House is perfect for my family. It’s a dream we can work on together.”

  It’s my dream, too, damn it, Meg thought. My dream first.

  “And besides,” he continued, “I don’t think you’ll get more than a small percentage of the twenty thousand back. Most of the items have been unpacked and put to use in the house. And I’ve read some of the labels on the boxes. They say a full refund is available within seven days. That time limit has elapsed. And since most of the purchases were made without the security of a credit card…”

  “Enough.” Meg rolled her window up and jerked the gearshift into reverse.

  Wade waved at her as she backed out of the parking space. “See you later, Meg,” he hollered.

  She veered onto the road but resisted the urge to stomp on the gas pedal. With her luck, Murdock would race after her, lights flashing and siren blaring, just for the pleasure of giving her a ticket.

  AS SHE APPROACHED the door to Amelia’s room in Shady Grove, Meg was immediately aware of a change in the environment. It was quiet. Yesterday she’d heard her aunt’s television well in advance of reaching her door. Today she heard nothing. At the threshold she looked down upon an empty bed, stripped of sheets.

  Meg stood rooted in the doorway. “Oh, my God, no…”

  A worker came up behind her, touched her lightly on her shoulder. “Can I help you, ma’am?”

  Meg whirled around and stared into the young woman’s face. “My aunt. She’s gone. What happened?”

  The woman held up a stack of linens. “It’s not what you think. I’m just changing the sheets. Miz Ashford’s down the hall in the gathering room.”

  Meg felt limp with relief. She held on to the arm of a chair until she caught her breath. “Of course. I shouldn’t have jumped to conclusions.”

  The woman set the sheets on a dresser, took the top one and flipped it open over the bed. The scent of bleach trailed in the wake of the fluttering cotton. “Five doors down,” she said. “You’ll find Miz Ashford.”

  “Thank you.” As she walked down the hall, Meg was able to think logically again. Of course Amelia wouldn’t spend every waking hour in bed. The staff would encourage her to mingle with other patients, at the same time giving the employees opportunity to keep the rooms maintained.

  At the door to the gathering room, Meg recognized the voice of Gene Rayburn coming from a big-screen television. Amelia was seated in a wheelchair several feet from the set. She was propped up with pillows and a thick floral throw covered her knees. She was, as yesterday, enraptured by the television show.

  Meg looked at the screen and watched celebrities give answers on Match Game. She pulled a chair close to her aunt and sat down. “Good morning, Aunt Amelia,” she said.

  Amelia glanced over and smiled. “Margaret, you’ve come back. I told them you would.”

  Grateful that Amelia knew who she was this morning, Meg said, “Of course I came.”

  Amelia returned her attention to the screen. “That Charles Nelson Reilly. He’s a funny one.”

  “Yes, he is,” Meg agreed. “We need to talk about what you want me to do while I’m here, why you called me to Mount Esther.”

  Her eyes focused straight ahead, Amelia said, “I fell, you know. They say I broke something.”

  “Yes, I know. Are you in pain?”

  “Not much.”

  “I’m glad of that. Now, what can I do?”

  “Sell it all, dear, every last stitch.”

  Meg tried to pin down the vague instructions. “Sell what, exactly, Aunt Amelia?”

  “Everything in the house. All of it. I don’t need any of it anymore.” She waved her free hand with a gesture of authority. “Auction it all off.” She leveled a sharp gaze on Meg. “You still do that sort of thing, don’t you?”

  “Yes, I do. I’m licensed to hold an auction anywhere in the state of Florida.”

  “Good. Then get busy. Take your commission and give the rest of the money to Gloria.”

  “To Gloria?” Amelia wanted the profits from the sale of the contents of her home to go to Meg’s cousin?

  “Yes, it’s what I decided. What I told Jude Smothers.”

  The mention of the Ashford family lawyer brought a flood of memories to Meg’s mind, and she knew Amelia was in control of her faculties for at least this moment. “That’s right,” she said. “You left the contents of the house to Gloria in your will.”

  A lot had changed since Meg and Gloria were kids spending their summers at Ashford House. Gloria had moved far away to Chicago while Meg had stayed close by. Gloria never called Amelia, and she hadn’t been to see their aunt in years. Still, Meg would honor her aunt’s wishes if that’s what Amelia wanted.

  “Blank in a row…” Amelia said, echoing Gene Rayburn’s instructions to the celebrity panel and capturing Meg’s attention once more. “Oh, my, that is difficult. What will Charles Nelson Reilly say?”

  Meg sensed that her aunt’s delicate hold on reality was fading. She gently squeezed her hand. “Aunt Amelia, think about this. Why should I give the money to Gloria now? You should keep the profits…”

  “No use for it,” she stated simply. “Give it to Gloria.”

  “But if I sell everything, then the house will be empty when you go home.”

  “Ducks…ducks in a row. Bottles…bottles in a row.” Amelia was mumbling. “I won’t ever go back there,” she finally said, and Meg knew she believed it. Oddly, she didn’t seem sad.

  “But you might,” Meg said. “You might get better…”

  Amelia stared hard at Meg. “No, dear, I won’t,” she stated with uncompromising
defiance. “Besides, I like it here. They have cable.” Her face wrinkled in concentration as she returned her attention to the screen. “Pretty maids in a row.”

  Meg prayed that her aunt would stay focused for a few more seconds while she pressed for the information she desperately needed. “But the house, Aunt Amelia…do you remember what is to become of the house?”

  “Ashford House will stand long after I have gone.”

  “That’s right. But who will own it? Do you remember making out a Quit Claim Deed?”

  Amelia’s eyes clouded with uncertainty. She was slipping into that place that comforted her. An enigmatic smile curved her lips. “Hello, miss,” she said to Meg. “Will you bring me some tea?”

  Meg rose. “Yes, dear, of course.” On her way out, Meg stopped in the dining room and asked that a cup of tea be sent to Amelia Ashford in the gathering room.

  IN THE PARKING LOT, Meg sat in her car and punched the number of the auction house into her cell phone. Her brother answered, and Meg explained what had just taken place with their aunt.

  “You’re kidding?” he said. “She wants you to auction off everything in the house?”

  “That’s right. It’s going to be a huge job. I’ll have to make a list of everything she owns, advertise the sale in the local papers, contact dealers in the area—”

  “Has she got anything worth money in that place?” Jerry interrupted.

  “I guess we’ll find out. Her furniture is old, mostly from the thirties and forties, but it’s been well cared for. I don’t suppose her things qualify as antiques, but their age certainly puts them in the collectible category, and they’re sought after by people who want Deco pieces. Plus she’s got tons of small items, knickknacks that will probably sell well.”

  “So what’s she going to do with the money in a nursing home?”

  “That’s the odd part,” Meg said. “She told me to take our twenty per cent commission and give the rest to Gloria as she stated in her will.”

  “Gloria? No way. I’ll bet she hasn’t been to see the old gal more than five times in the last fifteen years.”

  “Which makes her only slightly less attentive than you, Jerry. But obviously Aunt Amelia doesn’t hold a grudge. I remember the generous sum of money she gave you when she sold Uncle Stewie’s tools.”