The Leafing: the 2nd book in The Green Man series

by Sharon Brubaker

  She answered and Owen said in a cheery voice, “Hi, Sylvia!”

  “Hi,” she returned, “Can I call you back in about an hour?”

  “Maybe in a half hour?” he asked. “I have a showing at the one townhouse at ten and I wondered if you wanted to go with me?”

  “Oh,” Sylvia said surprised. Joe was politely waiting for her to finish her call before starting to eat. “Please go ahead,” she whispered to him.

  “What?” Owen asked.

  “Sorry,” Sylvia said, “I’m having breakfast with Joe in town,” she told him. “I guess I can go. Could you pick me up here?”

  “Sure,” Owen told her, “I guess so. About 9:30?”

  Sylvia glanced at her watch. It was eight forty-five. “Okay,” she told him. “See you then.”

  Joe looked at her quizzically.

  “Owen wants me to go and see a townhouse with him,” she told him. “He’s thinking of buying in the Heron Isles development.”

  Joe nodded, “Nice places there,” he told her. “I have a couple of colleagues that live there.”

  Joe started into his breakfast again and Sylvia took a bite of her eggs.

  After a mouthful or two Joe asked, “Well?”

  Sylvia took another swallow of coffee before answering. “Kenny,” she told him. “Tony found a slip of paper with the name ‘Kenny’ on it in the winter jacket Joyce was wearing before she came to Bayside.”

  Joe looked thoughtful. “When did he find this?” Joe asked.

  “I think in the last couple of days. Just before the storm. When he was in Jersey,” she said.

  “Hmm,” Joe answered and continued eating his breakfast. “I’m hoping he calls the station,” Joe said. “We can add the name to the database along with the DNA. But, we won’t get the DNA back for eight to ten weeks. It’s a slow process.”

  Relieved of the information, Sylvia felt she could now really taste her food. She offered Joe her biscuit which he readily took. Her eyes widened as he cleared plate after plate of food. Sheepishly he told her that he rarely cooked and filled up when he was eating out.

  “Where do you live?” Sylvia asked Joe.

  “I’m like you,” Joe said, “I inherited my granddaddy’s house. It’s a farmhouse on the old road to Charlestown. I’m restoring it bit by bit,” he told her. “I got into the habit of eating out when I was restoring the kitchen,” he said, finishing his toast and her biscuit. “I guess I never got back into cooking for myself.”

  “How old is it?” Sylvia asked.

  “Oh, it dates back to the 1920’s,” Joe told her. “I have it fixed up pretty well now. All it’s missing is a cute little picket fence and flowers. I’ll get to those someday.”

  They were finishing their coffee when Owen came in.

  “Hi,” he said awkwardly.

  “Pull up a chair,” Joe said in a friendly tone. “We’re just finishing up.”

  Sylvia reached into her purse to pull out some cash.

  “Put it away,” Joe said in a friendly growl. “You remember what I said before,” he hinted to her about he was the one who carried the gun by glancing at his shoulder holster underneath a light jacket.

  “You are too much,” Sylvia told him. “Thank you again.”

  “No problem,” he insisted. “Thank you for the lovely company. And,” he paused, “I’ll look into what you told me about.”

  “Thanks,” she said and she stood up to go.

  Joe stood up as well and she gave him a huge hug.

  “You’re wonderful,” she said, “Do you know that?”

  Joe grinned in response. “Good luck with the townhouse,” he told Owen. “I have a couple of colleagues that live there. Nice places.”

  “Thanks,” Owen said, and the two men shook hands before they left the restaurant.

  Owen led her over to his car and opened the door for her.

  “What was that all about?” Owen asked her.

  “Sorry,” Sylvia told him and winced. “It’s about Joyce and the murder. I can’t talk to anyone about it.”

  A couple of months ago, she would have bared her heart to Owen. He had been the light and love of her life, but now things had changed. Owen took it well and nodded his head. The timbre of the silence was chilled like the outside air. Owen drove the few miles to Heron Isles. He pulled around and through the development of condos and townhomes that faced the water and the woods. Eventually he stopped at one section where a “For Sale” sign was prominent. A woman was waiting in a car nearby. Sylvia assumed it was the realtor. She got out of the car when they pulled into a space next to her.

  “Mr. Anderson?” she inquired and held out her hand. “My name is Bobbi Henderson. I’m the realtor.”

  Owen took her hand and introduced Sylvia. The realtor was a middle aged woman, probably in her early fifties. Her hair was definitely not a natural blonde, but she wore the longer hairstyle well with a lot of bold, gold jewelry accessorized with a tailored black suit. Sylvia shook her hand as well.

  “Please come inside and let me show you this gorgeous home,” she gushed. “It’s quite the bargain and definitely a buyer’s market. They just dropped the price another five thousand dollars!”

  They walked inside the pristine townhome. It was painted and decorated in neutral colors. They walked down a small hallway past a staircase and what Sylvia assumed was a closet area under the stairs. A powder room was open to the right. There was another closed door to the right. The hallway opened into a living room and dining area that faced the water just past a small kitchen area on the left hand side. Two sets of sliders opened off the living room. A gas fireplace was in the left corner. The living room had a two story ceiling with windows that soared upwards. The sunlight pouring in was gorgeous.

  “Isn’t this an incredible room?” Bobbi said.

  Both Sylvia and Owen nodded, but didn’t speak. Bobbi let them gaze for a few moments and then she turned their attention to the kitchen. She gave them the tour. The master bedroom was across from the kitchen. It was a long, narrow room with sliders onto the balcony. A very short hallway led to a master bath with two large walk in closets on either side of the hallway. Upstairs there was a loft that overlooked the living room and two smaller bedrooms and baths. The bedroom overlooking the water had sliders to a miniscule deck. It was quite impressive. They went downstairs. Bobbi assumed Sylvia was moving in with Owen and laid the sales pitch on heavily to her regarding the appliances, the ease of the laundry on the main floor and the fact that things had been freshly painted. Sylvia listened patiently. It was a lovely townhome and Owen would be smart to invest in it. He began asking questions about homeowners’ association fees, the slips for the dock and monthly mortgage payments. Bobbi immediately turned her full attention to Owen. While they talked, Sylvia wandered through the townhome again. It really was lovely and the current owner had spare furnishings and neutral tones. Owen could move in easily and need not update anything unless he truly wanted to do so. She also had a stab of emotion in her heart and in her stomach. If Owen purchased the townhome, he surely wasn’t coming back to her anytime soon. She wandered back to the living room where they were still talking. Bobbi suggested a comparison of another townhome in the development and Owen looked over at Sylvia.

  “Do you have the time?” he asked her.

  Sylvia nodded. Bobbi explained that the townhome was on the other side of the development. It was water view rather than waterfront property and only had two bedrooms and two baths. Surprisingly it was nearly the same price. They zipped up their coats and Owen and Sylvia followed Bobbi’s car a few blocks to another set of townhomes.

  This home was lovely as well. Sylvia didn’t like the deep red walls that accented the dining room and the guest bedroom. It made her feel like the walls were closing in. This house did not have the two story windows, but the double sliders looked through the woods to the water. It was a lovely view. She could see the gentle pulse of the tree auras through the windows. It was a p
eaceful place.

  “Sylvia?” Owen asked, “Syl?” he asked more insistently.

  She had been lost in the view and watching the tree auras. She turned with a start.

  “Sorry,” she said. “Lovely view,” she commented to Bobbi.

  “So, what do you think?” Owen asked Sylvia.

  “If I had to choose between the two,” Sylvia asked, “It would be the waterfront, hands down. I mean, it’s an end unit and very spacious as well as beautiful.”

  Bobbi nodded encouragingly. “The resale value of these townhomes is excellent,” Bobbie said, sensing a sale, “We usually turn them over pretty quickly.”

  “Even in this economy?” Sylvia asked skeptically.

  “Well,” Bobbi answered slowly, “This economy has shaken the real estate market to its very boots,” she agreed. “That’s why the first townhome you saw has been on the market for nearly a year.”

  “Ahh,” Sylvia commented.

  Owen interrupted, “and that’s the cause of the price drop?”

  “Yes,” Bobbi returned, “and the owner is anxious to sell. I believe if there was a bid that was lower, but not insulting, you could pick up the property easily.”

  “Something to seriously consider,” Owen said.

  “I wouldn’t wait too long,” Bobbi said. “A home over two thousand square feet for that price is a steal. Most of the townhomes are about sixteen-hundred square feet. You’re getting a lot for your money.”

  “I’ll be in touch, very soon,” he said.

  Bobbi handed Owen a card. “Call me as soon as you want to make an offer,” she told him. “My cell number is listed on the card.”

  Owen nodded and Sylvia thanked Bobbi. They zipped up and headed out the door.

  “I know you just had breakfast, but would you consider coffee or even lunch?” Owen asked.

  “Sure,” said Sylvia.

  They drove through town. Many of the businesses were not open. Owen was discouraged.

  “Look, I have coffee,” Sylvia said. “I could even scare up a snack or two. Why don’t we go back to my house,” she offered.

  Owen nodded and veered to the right at the split in the road to head to Bayside. They drove past one marina and snow still decorated the tall masts on the sailboats. Most of the boats that were dry docked had a white shrink wrap around them. The brightly shining sun was melting the snow and Owen’s car went whoosh-whoosh through the rivulets and puddles. He pulled into her driveway with wet, squishing tires. Sylvia heard Percy barking right away.

  “Its okay, Percy,” she called, “It’s just me.”

  The barking quieted down and Percy gave a happy little bark when Sylvia and Owen entered the kitchen. They both took off their coats and gloves and laid them over the backs of the kitchen chairs. Sylvia turned on the water for coffee and prepared the French press. Next she went to the cupboard and found a packet of biscotti that she had been saving. Owen was just hanging out and leaning his tall frame against the counters. He watched Sylvia as she prepared their coffee and snacks.

  “What?” she asked, starting to feel uncomfortable in his stare?

  “Sorry,” he said immediately. “I was lost in thought.”

  “Well, the coffee’s nearly ready,” she told him, “why don’t you go and sit down in the living room and I’ll be right there.”

  Owen sat down on the couch with his lanky legs stretched around the end of the coffee table. Sylvia put down the tray and poured the freshly pressed coffee. Its aroma was smoky and chocolaty. She breathed it in appreciatively as she poured it into the two mugs. She had heated milk in the one mug and the pouring coffee created a mass of bubbles. She sipped at the bubbles and took two biscotti in hand. Sylvia curled up into the other end of the couch. Percy looked at both of them and proceeded to climb up between them. His head was on Owen’s thigh and Percy’s tail beat against Sylvia’s legs.

  “Ugh,” she said, “I could never dunk. I don’t like all those crumbs on the bottom of my coffee mug.”

  “And I love them,” he said, dunking another biscotti into his hot coffee.

  Sylvia had to look away so she looked out at the sunshine sparkling like waves of diamonds on the water.

  “Well?” she asked, “which place do you want to buy?”

  He hesitated before answering. “It’s a difficult decision,” he said slowly. “I have mixed feelings about purchasing a house.”

  Many unsaid things hung in the air between them. Her stomach tingled strangely and that vulgar little rhyme about love feeling like a lizard. She remembered reading it in a Madeline L’Engle book many years ago. It went: “Love is such a funny thing—shakes like a lizard, runs around your heart, and grabs at your gizzard.” She wasn’t sure what to say to Owen. Instead she took a sip of her café au lait. She did not want to start an argument or be bitchy, going on and on about how buying a house could have been prevented if he had only talked with her. She also bit fiercely into the biscotti spilling crumbs all over her sweater. She brushed them away with short stroke while she continued to look out at the water. Sylvia could not bring herself to look at Owen. She drained her coffee.

  “Have you looked at other townhouses?” Sylvia asked him.

  “Yes,” Owen said, “I checked out a few others. I like the Heron Isles setting the most. I am hoping I can get a boat sometime in the future.”

  “If it’s the choice between the two, the larger end unit on the water would be, in my eyes, the best investment,” she told him.

  “That’s what I thought as well,” Owen said, “I would certainly have a good place to rent out or sell, when or if I leave Heron Isles.”

  “True,” Sylvia returned.

  Owen pulled out Bobbi’s card and his phone and said, “Then, I think I’ll put in an offer.”

  Sylvia’s stomach lurched. She could hear Bobbi’s excited voice on the other end. Owen would need to go and sign papers. Bobbi was suggesting a lower price. He made arrangements to meet Bobbi at her office. All of this was like a dream to Sylvia.

  Owen hung up the phone. “Do you want to come with me?” he asked. “I’m headed down to Bobbi’s office right now.”

  “No, I don’t think so,” Sylvia answered. She wasn’t sure what else to say and she didn’t want her emotions to betray her. Was she being silly or stupid? She didn’t know. Was he purchasing a townhouse to get back at her? Sylvia looked at Owen with confusion in her eyes.

  He returned her look. There was some hurt there. They both seemed at an impasse.

  “I’ll see you later,” Owen said. “Maybe we can have lunch at Thurmont this week.”

  “Maybe,” Sylvia whispered. She continued to stare at the water.

  “Okay,” Owen said quietly and he let himself out.

  Sylvia heard his car start. Why did this have to be so painful, she wondered?

  Chapter 29

  “What you do today is important, because you are exchanging a day of your life for it.”

  - Unknown

  Sylvia moped the entire day. She was restless and thought she had cabin fever, similar to what Marian had discussed. She couldn’t think of anywhere to go. Percy was happy as she walked him several times, but walked in the opposite direction of Tony’s house.

  Her phone rang, late afternoon. It was Joe.

  “Hi,” she said, trying to sound cheerful.

  “Hi Sylvia,” he said, “How did the townhouse viewing go?”

  “Okay,” she answered. “Owen’s putting in an offer at one of the Heron Isles townhouses.”

  “Doesn’t sound like that makes you happy,” Joe commented.

  “Joe, I don’t know what to think,” she said honestly. Tears caught in her throat and she couldn’t go on.

  “Well, I have some potential good news for you,” he baited.

  “What is it?” she wondered.

  “Tony called the station with the information you gave me. “We’ve added the ‘Kenny’ name to the database. You can breathe a sigh of relief.”r />
  She did just that. “Thank you, Joe.”

  “No problem,” he said. “I had the feeling you’ve been fretting about this.”

  “Then you’re psychic, like a friend of mine,” she laughed. “Thanks again.”

  Sylvia hoped with all her heart that the name of ‘Kenny’ might help reel in Joyce’s murderer. Still, Sylvia could not get the vision of Joyce’s decomposed body out of her head. It seemed to haunt her. Her vision had the layer of the happy, laughing Joyce, that she had seen in the grocery store with the potential ‘Kenny,’ changing back and forth, like colored slide images in her mind’s eye with Joyce in death.

  Sylvia drove as normally as possible, but still slid slightly at some intersections. The other commuters were either in a huge hurry and passing by drivers, leaving them in the dust or crawling along very slowly still frightened by some icy patches still in the road. She was relieved when she arrived at Thurmont. Thurmont had taken the time to thoroughly clear the parking lots, but the sidewalks still had patches of ice. Sylvia picked and slid her way to the front door of Thurmont. Carol came in shortly after Sylvia had settled into the office. Carol gave her a quick hug.

  “Hey, girlfriend!” she said in her usual jovial tone, “how are you doing?”

  “Okay,” Sylvia told her as happily as she could, hugging her friend back.

  “That doesn’t sound so good,” Carol said as she hung up her coat and turned on her computer.

  “I’m just an unholy mess of a girl,” Sylvia told her, quoting one of her favorite lines from “The Philadelphia Story.”

  Sylvia didn’t expect Carol to get the reference to the movie. Sylvia poured her heart out to Carol, and she told Carol about Owen and her confusing emotions. She also told Carol about Owen putting an offer on a townhouse in Heron Isles.

  Carol was about to say something when Mr. Carter walked through the doors, “How are my girls?” he asked them fondly.

  He looked at both of them. “Everything okay?” he asked.

  They both gave poker faces. “Girl stuff,” Carol said lightly

  “Oh,” Mr. Carter said.