"Howdjado, yourself," I responded. She was perfectly made-up and dressed in a blush-pink suit. I wondered if she sat all day like that, waiting for a call. "I don't think we've ever met, have we?"
She shook her head, and all but disappeared into another Adirondack chair.
"Your name is familiar," I said. "Wait a minute. Aren't you the artist who's doing the cover for the house tour booklet?"
"Why yes, I am. And you're the writer who's supposed to be doing the write-ups, aren't you? Are you nearly done? I have to get the book to the printer soon."
"One more house to go," I said. I didn't mention that the church still needed to be written about also.
"Good. You can give everything to me on Friday. Before the pretour."
"What pre-tour?" I asked, feeling very much like an insecure high school girl looking in at a meeting of popular cheerleaders. Why didn't I know what everybody else took for granted?
"I'm sure Alice-Ann told you we meet at the church, go over last-minute details, then we get on the trolley and tour all the houses. It's the only way the people who are working the day of the tour can see them."
Alice-Ann had not mentioned it, I was sure of that, but just like the insecure high school girl I was at heart, I didn't want to admit I didn't know something, so I said, "Oh, yes. The pre-tour," as if I knew what the heck I was talking about.
Abruptly changing the subject, Janielle said to Mrs. Bonebrake, "There was a green van I've never seen before parked in front of your house when I came in. Do you have company?"
"A green van?" I'd seen a green van only an hour or so before, parked on Jenny Varner's street. At that time, I'd thought it might be her husband spying on her. Now, I wondered if he was watching me, curious as to why I'd been visiting his wife. I hoisted myself out of the chair, said I'd be back in a minute, and ran up the hill to the garden gate. If there had been a green van there, it was gone now.
"Odd," I said, as I dropped back into the chair.
"Indeed it is," Janielle said. "This is the kind of neighborhood where everybody watches out for each other. You'll love living here, Tori." And thus she deftly brought the subject around again to real estate. "Now, the first thing you'll need to do is apply for a loan."
"I've already been almost pre-approved," I said. "J.B. Morgan, at the bank, said there should be no problem."
"Good," she said. "But I'll still put a contingency clause in the contract."
"What is that?"
"It's an escape clause for you. If you can't get a loan approved in the set amount of time, you are let out of the contract. Except for your earnest money, of course."
"I hadn't really thought about a deposit."
"Ha, ha, ha." It was not a laugh of amusement. It was the kind of laugh kids use when they know a peer is lying to them.
"Since you're known to the seller, I'll take a minimum deposit of five hundred dollars. A check will be fine."
I found myself writing a check for every last cent in my bank account and thinking, It's a good thing Friday is payday.
Janielle tucked the check into her briefcase as she pulled a cell phone from it. "I'll call the bank and start the loan process." She pushed one button, waited a second, then said, "J.B., please. This is Janielle." After another second, she handed me the phone.
His booming voice was effusively cheerful as he asked, "Did she accept the lower offer?"
"Ooops." I'd been so excited with the prospect of being a homeowner, I hadn't thought to offer less than the asking price.
"That's all right," he said soothingly. "It's still a good price. Put Janielle back on, please. And congratulations, Toby."
By that time, Danielle had re-opened the briefcase and extracted a sheaf of papers a good six inches thick. She thumbed through them, marked spots with an X, then said to me, "After you read through these, you can sign each page where I've put an X."
I leafed through them, pretending to read, but the legal jargon blurred before my eyes. I took the pen she handed me and signed in at least two dozen places.
"Keep the pen," she said, as I handed everything back to her. I put the five-hundred-dollar pen in my purse and watched anxiously as she checked my signatures.
"I'll get the paperwork started immediately," Janielle said, rising from the chair with a move that was almost graceful.
"I thought what we just did was the paperwork," I commented.
"Ha, ha, ha. This is just the beginning. I'll get back to you in a week or two. In the meantime, you can arrange for the termite inspection. Oh, and don't forget I'll need the house tour descriptions on Friday. See you then, Tori."
I spent the next day and a half busily trying to make up for everything I hadn't done the day before for the Chronicle. When I dropped by the office before noon on Friday with my articles neatly typed, P.J. uttered a little grunt of astonishment.
"Pretty good," she admitted after reading my report on the escaped convict. "That poor woman must be terrified of what he'll do to her if he comes home."
"The feds are outside her house, and she's got a shotgun if he gets in. She's sent the kids away. Won't tell me where they are."
"Keep your eye on it," she said. "We could always put out a special edition if he shows up."
She looked at my business report. "The Yummy in the Tummy Bakery? I've never heard of it."
"It's new, but they've got big plans for making potato rolls. I thought people might enjoy reading about it. And I got several good pictures. See, here's the outside of the plant, and here's another of the assembly line."
"I guess it's all right, but there are more exciting businesses around. And a lot of them are advertisers."
"I've already called a few and made appointments to visit them."
"Where's the landfill article?"
"I didn't have time...."
"Oh, Tori," she sighed, making me think of the many times I'd disappointed my mother.
"Don't worry, P.J., I've written something about Bulky Trash Pickup and another article about scaring away the crows on the square, plus a research article on West Nile Virus. You'll have enough news to plug any holes."
"You won't forget to cover the Hissong wedding Sunday evening? The bride's mother calls every five minutes to remind me."
"I'll be there. Where did you say it was being held? Just joking."
I made my escape before she thought of anything else for me to do. I made a quick stop at the drugstore, known more for being the local big-shot hangout than for having edible food. Several heads turned as I entered the dim room, made even murkier by the layer of cigarette smoke hanging low over the booths. I'd been in Lickin Creek long enough to recognize the Good Old Boys at the counter. J.B. Morgan from the bank, judge Fetterhoff, Marvin Bumbaugh of the borough council, my dentist, and several attorneys who appeared to have been stamped from the same mold as Steve, the man who, in another lifetime, had been my fianc@. Other movers and shakers filled about half the booths. Almost everybody looked up to see if anyone of importance had come in. When they recognized me they turned back to their conversations and lunches without bothering to greet me. Only Wilbur Eshelman, the drugstore owner, stopped what he was doing and nodded pleasantly. I smiled back at him, grateful that he was always nice to me, and found an empty booth, slid across the cracked yellow plastic, and waited for the waitress in a pink nylon uniform to take my order.
After a quick chicken salad sandwich and a Coke with cherry syrup in it, I glanced at my Timex and realized it was a little later than I thought it was, and there was somewhere I had to be.
Eight
A bundle of filthy rags in the alley next to the drugstore scared me half out of my wits when it stirred and then sat up. "Hey, Mizz Miracle," it said.
If the brick wall of the bank hadn't stopped me as I staggered backward, I probably would have fallen to the pavement.
"Don't be scared. It's jest me, Bob."
I recognized the wide face, low brow, receding chin, glassy eyes, and fanglik
e teeth, at about the same time his body odor reached me. It was bad enough to choke a skunk. Big Bad Bob was the town's best-known homeless man. As long as Big Bad Bob caused no one grief, he was left alone to sleep where he wanted, eat whatever garbage he could scrounge, and drink whenever he could panhandle enough money to buy a bottle of cheap booze from the state store. When last I saw him, at Christmas, he'd been sleeping under a bridge near the old cold-storage building. I hadn't known he'd moved downtown. I wondered if I should give him some money for food, and after a moment's thought offered him a dollar.
"No thanks," he said. "You probably need it more than I do."
Leaving Bob in the dim alley, I stepped out onto sunny Main Street. Fine thing, I thought, when a homeless man worried more about me than himself. There had to be a lesson there. Somewhere.
I strolled down the street to Trinity Evangelical Church where the house tour committee members were to gather. I was a little early after all, but I could use the extra time to look the place over and write my description of it for the tour booklet
The bulletin board outside the church announced that orders were being taken for sugar cakes, which could be picked up the day of the house tour. I wondered what sugar cakes were. Wasn't there an old song about someone baking a sugar cake for her husband to take to work? "Tea For Two," that was it. I hummed it as I pushed on the Gothic-style oak door.
The door didn't move. I tried it again and realized it was locked. I knew there was a door from the alley on the side of the church, close to the pastor's office, so I decided to try it.
The modern aluminum-and-glass door swung open easily when I pulled on the handle, but after I stepped into the gloomy waiting room a gust of wind slammed it shut behind me, with a loud crash that echoed through the church. When all was finally quiet, I was struck by the silence. Surely, someone should have looked in to see what had caused the noise.
"Yoo-hoo," I called out, feeling foolish. "Anybody here?" This was a silly question. Through the open door to Pastor Flack's office, I could see both his desk and his secretary's, but no signs of people anywhere.
When there was no answer, I tiptoed into the cool medievalstyle sanctuary. Brilliant rays of colored light streamed through the Tiffany windows to illuminate the stone floor, but even they failed to warm the room. From high above came the cooing of mourning doves, who appeared to have taken up residence among the beams that supported the arched ceiling.
As I walked down the aisle, I remembered that this was the church that Garnet's family attended. If things had worked out for the two of us, this might have been the very aisle I walked down in my bridal gown. I tried to picture Garnet waiting for me at the altar, but my imagination wasn't working very well. When I reached the altar, I turned around to face the empty pews, just as Garnet and I would have faced a congregation of his friends and relatives. But of course there was no one there.
A puff of white smoke drifted past me. Incense! I closed my eyes, inhaled deeply, and coughed. Something was burning, and it wasn't incense. I looked desperately around for a fire extinguisher, as if I expected to find one on the altar, right next to the brass cross and the silk flowers. I knew I'd better find out what was burning, although I figured that perhaps someone had simply forgotten to remove a sugar cake from the oven.
I passed through an arched door nearly hidden behind the organ and entered a narrow hallway where dozens of blue choir robes hung from brass hooks along the walls. There was a single door at the end, and when I opened it I discovered a flight of stairs leading down to the basement. I'd been here before, at Christmas time, and knew that below the sanctuary were the nursery, meeting rooms, an auditorium, and a kitchen. My natural instinct was to run from the building, find a phone, and call the fire department, but even more immediate was the thought that someone could be trapped downstairs. I ran down the steps, calling loudly, "Anybody here? I smell smoke. Yoo-hoo."
Black smoke swirled near the ceiling, its acrid smell causing me to cover my nose with the hem of my T-shirt. Although I continued to call out, nobody answered. I appeared to be alone in the huge building.
At the end of the hall, a red glow shone through the open auditorium doorway. I knew I should turn back, but still I was afraid that someone could be in there, overcome by the smoke, needing immediate assistance. And it was up to me, as the only person around.
As I ran down the hall toward the auditorium, I was relieved to see that the light came not from fire, but from the overhead fluorescents, glowing dull orange-red through the clouds of black smoke lapping at the ceiling tiles.
The smoke was streaming into the room from the kitchen area behind the counter.
"Anybody in here?" I yelled as I rushed forward. Again, there was no answer.
A fire extinguisher was prominently displayed on the wall next to the door, and I grabbed it, pulled the pin, and sprayed a foam pathway in front of me as I charged into the kitchen.
The source of the smoke was obvious. Someone had been fixing lunch, placed a pot on one of the stove's six burners, then walked away leaving it unattended. After the contents burned away, the aluminum pot had melted.
I sprayed the area thoroughly then turned off the burner, opened a couple of the windows set high in the wall, and switched on the ceiling fan. Within seconds, the air began to clear.
"What the hell... ? What have you done, girl?" Reverend Flack stood in the doorway, unpreacherly mouth agape, glaring at me as if I had done something awful instead of saving his church from a fiery doom.
"I smelled smoke upstairs and traced it down to this." I pointed to the stove with the metallic ruins of the melted pot cooling on the front burner.
"Good grief. Did you put it out, Tori?"
I nodded.
"Then I apologize for yelling at you. It was just such a shock walking in here and finding this mess.. .and you... Well, you know your reputation for burning things down."
"The historical society fire was an accident, and I wasn't even there when the courthouse burned. You know that was arson, and who caused it."
"Sorry," he murmured, not looking at all contrite. He walked past me and looked down at the stove. "Ruined! I'd better call the insurance company."
"Where is everybody?" I asked. "The church was deserted when I came in."
"It's my secretary's birthday, so we walked down to the ice cream shop to have a celebration lunch together. We're the only people here on Fridays."
"You didn't go out and leave the church unlocked, did you?"
"Of course not. How did you manage to get in?"
"Through the side door. You must have forgotten to lock it when you left."
"Absolutely not, Tori. We have too many valuables in here for me to leave the church unattended. I can't imagine why it was open."
"What if someone needed to come in?" I asked. After all this was Lickin Creek where nobody locked their doors for fear of seeming unfriendly.
"We only take an hour for lunch. If it's important they could wait. Thank you so much for what you did, Tori," Reverend Flack added. "Your quick actions just might have saved Lickin Creek's most historic church. God put you here at just the right time." Now that he had regained his composure, he was definitely sounding like a proper minister should. "And speaking of God putting you here, just why are you here?"
"I thought you or the secretary would be available to show me around so I can get information to put in the house tour book about the church."
"Of course. I'd nearly forgotten about that. If you come by my office I'll give you a brochure that tells all about the history of Trinity Evangelical. Please don't forget to mention the genuine Tiffany windows."
He raised one hand as if to bless me, but opted instead to merely wiggle his fingers at me. "Must get back upstairs. God's work is never done." He left the room, and I heard his footsteps clicking down the tiled hallway.
I started to follow him, and that's when I noticed the empty soup can on the counter, along with a jar of peanut but
ter, an unwrapped loaf of bread, and half a sandwich with a large bite taken from it. After touching the bread and finding it fresh, I trotted down the hall calling Reverend Flack's name.
He turned with a peeved frown on his face, but replaced it with a serene smile in an instant. "Yes?"
"Someone was in the kitchen. Fixing lunch. And it couldn't have been too long ago."
"That's impossible, Tori. I've already told you that only my secretary and I were in the building, and we went out to eat. Maybe someone had lunch here yesterday and forgot to clean up."
I dragged him back to the kitchen. "See," I said, pointing to the evidence. "The bread is fresh, so it couldn't have been out long. Someone was here. Oh my God..."
"What is it?" the minister asked.
"The escaped convict.. .it could have been him."
"He," Reverend Flack corrected.
"He, him, whoever. I'll bet he saw you leaving, sneaked into the church to get some food, heard me upstairs, and ducked out, leaving the pot of soup on the stove."
"Oh dear. I think I should call the police," he said, heading toward the doorway.
"Don't leave me alone down here," I said. "What if he didn't leave? What if he's hiding?"
"Come on, then," the minister said. "Let's get out of here."
Keeping one wary eye on the door in case the escaped convict showed up, I read the church brochure while we waited for the girl at Hoopengartner's Garage to locate Luscious. Reverend Flack spent most of the time rocking in his chair and saying things like "tsh, tsh, " and "Who'd ever think this could happen in a town like Lickin Creek," and "My, oh my." The church secretary, who wore a flowered cotton dress and had tight gray curls all over her head, feigned working on Sunday's bulletin, but from the sniffs coming from her I assumed she wasn't getting much accomplished.
Soon the office was filled with women, all members of the house tour committee, and all full of questions about the smoky smell that had greeted them.
Into the confusion stepped Luscious and his freckle-faced assistant, Afton Finkey. I managed to hide my surprise at seeing that Afton was still on the Lickin Creek police force, which was a waystation for grads of the nearby junior college's criminal justice program who put in a little time here to get some police experience under their belts before they moved on to "real" jobs elsewhere. What was surprising about Afton Finkey was that he was actually quite competent and a great help to Luscious, who tended to react to situations rather than act on them.
5 Death, Bones, and Stately Homes Page 7
