by Mac Flynn
Chapter 4
I walked back outside and had one foot on the top step when I heard the soft turn of wheels on the rutted road. A slick red corvette appeared down the driveway and stopped just behind my car. At the wheel was a man in a thick white sweater and dark sunglasses. He had jet-black hair that was too dark to be anything but dyed, and he looked about fifty-five, but wanted people to believe he was forty. His passenger was a woman the same fake age in a white dress that worked as well in the woods as army gear at a dance studio. They stepped out and the woman showed off her matching high-heels. In her hand was a matching white purse in which she stuffed her own black sunglasses.
She flashed me a smile so white I was nearly blinded by the light shining off those pearly teeth. "Hello there. We saw you pass by and thought we'd see if someone had finally managed to wring this lovely pond land from that old man."
I raised an eyebrow. "You mean Mr. Johnson?" I guessed.
She waved her hand. "Yes, that man. Wasn't he atrocious? We read in the paper that he had put the land for sale, but he flatly refused to hear our offer."
The man walked around the car, put a hand on the woman's shoulder, and smiled at me. His smile wasn't so blinding. "You must excuse my wife. She's still disappointed we couldn't enlarge our property. You see, we own the lower parcel and had hoped to join the lots," he explained. He walked up to me and held out his hand. "The name is Vandersnoot. I'm Mark, and this is my wife, Clara."
I took his hand and gave it a shake. "Christina Monet," I replied.
"What a lovely name!" Clara commented. She walked up, pushed aside her husband with her thin, pointy hips, and gave my hand a gentle squeeze. "I'm sure we'll be wonderful friends and neighbors. Unless, of course, you wish to sell us this beautiful land." She released me and swept her hand over Froggy Pond. "It's the source of most of the water for our lawn and well, and we so hoped to be able to funnel it through that nasty swamp and into our cistern."
"I don't think I'm ready to sell yet," I told her. Maybe in forty or fifty years.
Clara sighed and shrugged. "Oh well, you can't blame a woman for trying."
Mark stepped forward and wrapped an arm around his lovely wife's thin waist. "We aren't really here to make you an offer for the land. Why we really followed you was to offer you the usual greeting for a new neighbor, the Welcome Party at our house."
I cringed. More time spent in Clara's company was time I could never get back. "I don't know. I have all this unpacking and cleaning and-"
Clara laughed and waved away my concerns with her slender, well-manicured fingers. "Oh, we don't expect you to come down today. We need time to plan ourselves, but everything should be ready in three days."
"I really appreciate the gesture, but-"
"I won't take 'but' or 'no' for an answer, will we, Mark?" Clara insisted.
He smiled and shrugged. "If Miss Monet is busy we shouldn't-"
Clara scowled at him. "Now don't go ruining my fun. It's so dull around here that getting together with the neighbors is the only excitement I have."
"What about the trails?" I suggested.
Clara turned to me with wide eyes and a slightly ajar mouth. "Whatever for?"
I shrugged. "For walking and exploring?"
She wrinkled her nose. "Oh no, not that. Far too many bugs and wild animals."
"She might be right about the wild animals," Mark spoke up. "I don't know if you've heard, but we've had some trouble with black bears rummaging through our garbage cans. Sometimes they try to get inside, but our alarm system scares them off."
Clara wrapped her arms around herself and shuddered. "Oh, those awful things! It almost wants to make you move back to the city." Her eyes flickered to her husband, who merely laughed and shook his head.
"Almost, but not quite," he replied.
Her shoulders dropped and her arms dropped to her sides. She glared at him before turning a smile on me. "Well, to forget those nasty bears we have parties, and we'll have your Welcome party in three days because I am parched for some excitement. Say you'll come and we'll hurry off."
How could I refuse that offer? "Sure, sounds great." I should have been an actress, or a conman.
Clara clapped her hands together and nearly hopped out of her husband's grasp. "Wonderful! Our house is the first one down the hill, and dinner starts at six-thirty. Wear your best clothes, no jeans, and don't worry about the food and drinks. We'll get everything ready and have everyone just dying to meet you when I tell them what a wonderful person you are."
"I don't know if I want you starting lies about me," I quipped.
Mark barked out a laugh. "Now that's a refreshing sense of humor. Very honest."
Clara's eyes flickered between Mark and me, and I sensed a large green-eyed monster in their depths. "Well, we must be going. We have so many invitations to send out and a catering company to get a hold of." She grabbed Mark and pulled him back to the car.
He smiled at her and waved at me. "Be seeing you!"
I smiled in return and gave them my best princess wave. The strange pair slipped into the car and drove off. I was both relieved and nervous to see them go. Clara tried my patience like the worst editor, but at least her loud voice shut out the quiet that still engulfed my small grove. I grabbed another box from my car and hurried into the house.
My wish for noise was granted when I heard the first cardboard box on the kitchen counter shake. I paused halfway across the floor and raised an eyebrow at the animated inanimate object. The box shook again, and from the open flaps popped out the head of a squirrel. In its mouth was a cracker.
"Hey!" I yelled at it.
The squirrel squeaked and jumped from the box. I tossed my armful onto the couch and chased after the furry fiend. It clung onto the unfinished wood of the cupboards and climbed to the ceiling. In the far corner of the kitchen was a small, dark hole, and the fiend fled into its sanctuary. I climbed onto the counter and glared at the hole six inches from my face. It looked like an entrance to the small attic between the ceiling and the point of the roof. I heard the squirrel's claws scramble across the beams and to the far end of the house. The noise stopped, and I heard the faint sound of chewing. The damn thing was mocking me by eating my cracker.
I grabbed a towel used to pad one of the cardboard boxes and stuffed the hole. That would solve another unexpected burglary, but I suspected the evil creature had gotten into the attic through a hole somewhere in the roof. I kept my eyes on the towel and unpacked the rest of my things. The cupboards were bare of everything except a really old looking can of beans. I'd save that for an unruly guest, if I ever had any guests.
My clothes I plopped onto an old, squeaky bed in the bedroom, and I found the bathroom was in need of a woman's touch, or a demolition. Since I was short on demolition money and high on a woman's touch I opted to clean the thing. That was how I spent most of what remained of my first afternoon because there was no way I was going to sit down on a toilet that started out black and ended up the usual white porcelain.
I was relieved physically and emotionally when I finished the scouring and scrubbing. It was four o'clock, and the sun was low in the sky. The shadows outside lengthened, and I made sure every bulb and light switch in the house worked. The squirrels hadn't decided the electrical was a good last supper and everything worked as it should. After being so long in a bathroom, however, I felt cooped up in the small house and opted for a short walk before mother nature shut off her daylight.
I wrapped myself in a warm coat and stepped out on the porch. The air had a hint of the chill of night, but the woods were more alive now than earlier in the afternoon. Birds chirped in the branches, and here and there a chipmunk scurried along tree trunk and limb in their search for food. I couldn't figure it out except that maybe a union strike had ended and everyone was back on the job. Whatever had made the animals come back to the woods, I was grateful for
the company as I stepped off the porch and looked around.
There was the pond ahead of me, but my eyes caught sight of a familiar trail to my right. If my memory served me that led to another clearing like mine, but rather than a house there was a small wood cabin. Settlers had built it two hundred years before, but when I had visited with my folks the place was deserted by all but the forest creatures. The trees had grown up all around it and nestled their branches against its walls and atop its roof. I'd scampered through the door in search of treasures and found a few broken bits of pottery and a fork. I kept and treasured those all these years, and now they lay in one of my boxes awaiting unpacking. They were to be placed in the spot of honor on the mantel.
My heart leapt when I thought of what other treasures I could find in that bare cabin and proudly display on my mantel. I didn't have any friends to show off the things, but it would still be neat to search and dig up lost treasures. I hurried down the path with my thoughts full of hidden teacups and pitchers.
