by Gina Cresse
I shook my head. “I bet that didn’t go over too well with Bridgett.”
Fiona snickered. “Like a blimp full of bowling balls. That woman refused to sign any papers. She didn’t care if her son didn’t get anything—she was not going to raise one finger to help Bahama Breeze get a penny of that estate.”
“So how’d you take care of it?” I asked.
“Chuck had to set up a legal guardianship for Bridgett’s boy. Hired a lawyer. Ran notices in newspapers. What a mess. It’s taken all these months to get everything in order so we could sell it. That call from Chuck was to let me know he finally had everything straightened out.”
“There aren’t any backup offers on it?”
“Well, we had a couple offers when it first came in, but the buyers got so disgusted with all the legal hang-ups that they gave up. You just happened to be in the right place at the right time. I know Chuck will accept an offer close to the asking price. It’s a real bargain.”
Fiona drove us back to her office. My right leg felt a little weak from pressing on my imaginary brake pedal.
We resumed our positions at her desk, still cluttered with masses of paper.
“So?” she asked.
A fleeting thought raced through my mind that I should probably consult with my husband first, but I knew this place would not be on the market long, and I didn’t want to risk losing it. Besides, this was my project and he trusts my judgment. “I’d like to make an offer, but it’s a little shy of the asking price,” I answered, confident that the house was a great buy even at full price.
“Super! Let’s write it up,” she said, rummaging through her desk drawer for an offer form. She snatched a pen from an old coffee cup that housed about twenty such writing instruments and started scribbling.
Fiona skimmed over the paperwork she’d just filled out. I’m sure I initialed more paragraphs than are in the U.S. Constitution. I noticed the name of the deceased man on the paperwork—Lou Winnomore.
Fiona tried to call the offer in to Chuck while I waited, but there was no answer. She sent me home to wait.
I couldn’t settle on any activity adequate to distract me from the anticipation of knowing if Chuck accepted my offer. “What did he say?” I blurted into the phone when the call finally came through. I knew from the caller ID screen that it was Fiona.
“When can you close?” she asked.
I smiled. “One week.”
“Get down here and sign some more papers, girl. You just bought yourself a little goldmine.”
Chapter Two
I drove my husband, Craig, by the house no less than five times while we waited for the escrow to close. I had affectionately named the place Rancho Costa Little. He was impressed with the deal I’d made and was anxious to help me get started with the repairs.
He came home from his shift at the hospital to find me coloring yard-sale signs on the floor in the living room.
“Are we selling the yard?” he asked, kissing the top of my head as he passed through on his way to the bedroom.
“Yeah. What do you think we can get for it?” I replied, winking at him.
He continued down the hall, whistling a tune from Snow White.
“I picked up the key for Rancho Costa Little today,” I called to him. “I ordered a big garbage bin from the sanitation company, too. They should deliver it next week.”
He returned to the living room, still in his green hospital scrubs, with a stethoscope hanging around his neck and a tool belt around his waist. “Great. I’m ready. Let’s go over there now.”
I smiled at his enthusiasm. “Dinner’s cooking. How about after we eat?”
He frowned, stroking the new hammer he’d bought for the occasion. “Okay,” he said, sounding a little like a small boy who’s been told can’t have his pie until he’s finished his spinach.
When we pulled into the driveway of Rancho Costa Little, the sun was already setting. Something caught my eye as we stepped out of the car. “Did you see that?” I asked, motioning toward the window facing the street.
“See what?” Craig asked.
I blinked my eyes. “I could have sworn I saw a light in that window. Must have been a reflection,” I concluded. I shoved the car door closed and laced my arm around Craig’s as we skipped up the walk to the front door. I slipped the key in the knob and turned it.
We both jumped at the sound of a thud coming from inside the house. “What was that?” I asked.
Craig moved me away from the door. “I don’t know. Sounds like someone’s in there,” he whispered, slowly turning the knob and pushing the door open slightly. “Wait here,” he said, taking a step into the house. I grabbed his belt loop and held him back.
“No way. Either you stay here with me, or I go in with you.”
He paused. “You have your cell phone handy?”
“Yes,” I answered.
“Good. Dial 9-1-1 and keep your finger on the send button.”
We tiptoed quietly into the house. I left the front door wide open to allow us an escape route.
“Anyone in here? I’m armed, so you better not try anything,” Craig called out.
Silence was the only reply.
I held on to his belt loop as we eased our way into the kitchen. I reached over and turned on a light. The place was even more of a mess than the first time I’d seen it. “Someone was in here, but they must have gone out that way,” I said, pointing toward an open window. The curtains were blowing in the breeze.
We slinked through the entire house, ready to either pounce or run if we came face-to-face with an intruder. The place was empty. Whoever had been there left when they heard our key in the door.
Craig and I returned to the kitchen and gazed at the mess. I grinned at him. “Armed? What would you have done if someone was in here and pulled a gun on us?”
Craig pulled a staple gun from his tool belt. “I’d have pointed this right between his eyes and said, ‘I know what you’re thinkin’, punk. You’re thinkin’, did he just use his last staple to insulate the attic, or does he have a full load? And to tell you the truth, I forgot myself in all this excitement. But bein’ this is a Black and Decker power stapler, the most powerful staple gun in the world, and it’ll staple you clean to the floor, you could ask yourself a question. Do I feel lucky? Well, do ya, punk?’”
I giggled as I listened to his Dirty Harry impression. “Seriously, you think we should call the police?” I asked, trying to keep a straight face.
“I don’t know. What would we tell them? Someone broke in and messed the place up? We don’t even know if anything was stolen.”
“You’re probably right, but if they broke that window to get in, we may need to file a report for an insurance claim,” I reminded him.
We both walked to the open window to inspect it. “It looks okay,” I said, sliding it closed and locking it.
“Maybe someone from the real estate office left it open,” Craig speculated.
“Maybe,” I replied, not convinced. I checked all the other windows in the house. None were open. Everything was locked up tight.
Craig and I returned to the kitchen. “That must be it,” I concluded. “Someone left that window open and that’s how he got in.”
Craig found a box of large garbage bags heaped in a pile of old cereal boxes and canned goods on the floor. He pulled one out of the box and snapped it open. “Or someone had a key,” he offered.
“A key? But I got all the keys from Fiona. There aren’t supposed to be any others.”
“No one knows for sure. Maybe the previous owner gave a key to his neighbor. He’s dead, right?”
“I would have thought—“
I was interrupted by the doorbell, then a shrill, “Hellooooo… anyone here?” A couple appeared in the kitchen doorway. They were wearing matching Hawaiian shirts, Bermuda shorts, and bright-yellow thong sandals.
“Hello there,” the man said, holding his hand out to Craig. He had long, white sideburns
that disappeared under a skipper’s cap that looked like it was a couple sizes too small. “I’m Bob. This is my wife, Agnes. We live next door. You the new owners?” he said, shaking Craig’s hand, then mine. I thought he was going to shake my arm right out of its socket.
“Hi. Yes. We just came over to start doing a little cleanup,” I said. “I’m Devonie, and this is my husband, Craig.”
Agnes briefly acknowledged me, then smiled coyly at Craig. Her white hair was pulled back in a loose bun. A pair of reading glasses hung from a silver chain around her neck. She clutched a small glass vase full of miniature daffodils in her hand. She held them out to Craig. “Here, these are for you. Sort of a welcome-to-the-neighborhood gift,” she said, ignoring me altogether. I grinned. I sensed that Agnes had developed an instant crush on Craig.
Craig took the vase from her shaky hand. “Thank you, Agnes,” he said. “But we aren’t going to be living here. This is an investment for us,” he explained.
Bob’s chin hit the floor. His eyebrows nearly met at a deep crevice above the bridge of his nose. From the look on his face, you would have thought we’d just announced we were converting it into a half-way-house for convicted criminals, or a chicken ranch. “You’re not going to rent it out, are you?” he asked.
“No, no,” I assured him. “We’re going to fix it up and put it back on the market.”
Bob let out a relieved sigh. “Had me worried there for a minute. Not a single renter on this block. All homeowners. Want to keep it that way. People take better care of a house they own. Pride, you know.”
Craig patted Bob on the back. “Not to worry, Bob. We have no desire to become slum lords,” he joked. Bob didn’t smile. I don’t think he found the humor in it.
“Thank you so much for the daffodils. They’re one of my favorite flowers,” I said, trying to launch the conversation in a new direction.
“I grew them myself,” Agnes boasted, still ogling Craig. He has a quality that attracts women, like little girls to kittens. If I were a less secure wife, I’d probably be worried about all those pretty nurses he works with, but I trust him more than anyone in the world.
“Really?” he said, admiring the bouquet in his hand. “They’re beautiful.”
I cleared my throat. “On a completely different subject, did either of you see someone lurking around here earlier?”
“Lurking? You mean, like sneaking?” Bob asked.
“Yes. When we got here, someone was inside. When they heard us come in, they went out the window,” I said.
“My goodness,” Agnes gasped. “Just like those hoodlums they caught a while back. Nasty creatures.”
“Hoodlums?” I questioned.
“Kids. Tried to break into our place, but Tiger scared ‘em off,” Bob said.
“Tiger?” Craig asked.
“Yeah. He’s our dog. Cocker Spaniel. Looks sweet as candy, but if he don’t love you, he’d just as soon take your leg off,” Bob said, chuckling.
“Great watch dog,” I said. “Fiona told me about those kids. She said the police caught them?”
“That’s right,” Bob replied. “Two of ‘em. Hauled ‘em off in a police car late one night. Never bothered us again.”
“Hmm. I wonder if they’re back?” I said. “Maybe we should call the police.”
“Probably be a good idea,” Craig said. He pulled his cell phone out of his pocket. “I’ll give them a call,” he continued, excusing himself to another room.
“By the way,” I said. “Were you friends of the previous owner?”
“Ol’ Lou? Great guy. We had him over for dinner every week after his wife died. Poor fella. Thought he was gonna die of pure loneliness after she passed,” Bob said.
“That’s too bad. You didn’t happen to have a key to this house, did you?”
“A key? No. We did watch the place for him whenever he went away, but he didn’t give us a key. He kept one over the door on the trim ledge. We just used that if we needed to bring in his mail or water his plants,” Bob explained.
“A hide-a-key? I wonder if it’s still there?” I said, walking to the door to check. I stepped out onto the porch and stretched my arm up over the door. It was too high for me to reach.
Bob, who was a good six inches taller than me, offered his assistance. “Here, let me get it,” he said, feeling along the top of the trim. “Hmm. Not here,” he said, wiping the dust from his hand on his loudly colored shirt.
“Fiona must have given it to me,” I said, leading the way back into the kitchen. “Maybe I’ll call her tomorrow to make sure. I’d hate to think some stranger out there has a key.”
Craig returned to the kitchen, slipping his cell-phone back in his pocket. “I made a report. They said they’d have a patrol car do some drive-bys for a while.”
“Lot of good that’ll do,” Bob complained. “They ought a set up a sniper on that back fence there. He could hide in all that bamboo. Take care of the problem once and for all.”
Craig chuckled. “Maybe we should just borrow Tiger for a while. Sounds like he could do the job.”
“Darn right. Any time you want him, I’ll bring him over,” Bob said, patting Agnes on the shoulder. “Come on, pumpkin. Let’s let these kids get to work.”
Agnes nodded. She reached out and took Craig’s hand, patting it. “So nice to meet you,” she told him, grinning like a little girl stroking her new pony. She let her eyes stop on me for a brief moment, then frowned. “You, too,” she said, as if I were a poor little step daughter, kept around only to clean the chimney.
I stopped Bob on his way out the door. “If I give you our phone number, would you call us if you see any strangers hanging around the house?”
Bob nodded. “Sure. I’ll even sic Tiger on ‘em if they’re up to no good.”
I laughed and handed Bob a card with our number on it.
Bob and Agnes left us to our task of cleaning up the place. “Where do you want to start?” Craig asked.
I gazed around the kitchen. “Why don’t we start here? I want to try to sell anything that’s not broken, so let’s put yard-sale items over in that corner. We can use these garbage bags for the rest of the stuff.”
“Good idea. We can store the garbage in the garage until the bin gets here,” Craig said, picking up the remains of a broken plate and dropping it into a plastic bag.
After thirty minutes of sorting and tossing and lifting and wiping, I’d begun to work up a sweat. “Hey, Honey. Could you switch that ceiling fan on?” I asked. “I think that’s the switch there on the wall next to you.”
Craig looked in the direction I was pointing. “Sure,” he said, flipping the switch. I heard the faint hum of the fan motor as it began to turn slowly.
I fanned my damp face. “That’s too slow. Let me see if I can speed it up,” I said, reaching for the chain to change the speed. I pulled once, then twice before I felt an adequate flow of air. “That’s better.”
After about ten seconds, I noticed a ‘tick-tick’ sound coming from the fan. I tried to ignore it, but it began to get annoying. I looked up at it to see the pull-chain knob swinging back and forth, clanging against the glass shades.
“It’s out of balance,” Craig explained. “Want me to turn it off?”
I shook my head. “I’ve heard you can tape a penny to the top of one of the blades to fix it.”
“Ever try it?” Craig asked.
“No. Think it’ll work?”
“I don’t know. It’s worth a try.” Craig reached into his pocket and pulled out a penny. “Here. I’ve got some electrical tape in my tool belt.”
I turned the fan off and moved a kitchen chair over to a spot under the fan and stood on it. “I wonder how I can tell which blade needs the extra weight?”
Craig handed me a piece of tape. “Trial and error. I’ll work the switch if you work the penny.”
“Okay.” I reached over my head and felt the top of a fan blade. “Yuck. It’s all dirty up here. I need to wipe it off
or the tape won’t stick.”
“Here’s a rag,” Craig said, handing me a dishtowel.
I wiped the dust off of the first two fan blades. When I got to the third one, for some reason, it was fairly clean. “This one’s not too bad. I wonder why?” I said, running my fingers along the top of the blade. I felt something stuck to it. “What’s this?” I used my fingernails to peel the tape off the blade.
“What is it?” Craig asked.
I studied the small slip of paper. “It’s a lottery ticket.” I stepped off the chair so I could see it in better light.
“Lottery ticket? That’s weird. Why would someone stick it to the fan?”
“I don’t know. It’s old. About six months.”
“You don’t suppose—“ I started. Craig and I exchanged glances. We inspected it closer. I turned it over.
“Look. It’s not signed or anything. It says tickets must be claimed in one-hundred eighty days.”
Craig calculated its age in his head and on his fingers. “We have five days left.”
I handed him the ticket. “This is crazy. It’s probably not even a winner.”
“Right. Someone just taped it up there to…to… balance the fan,” Craig said.
He flashed me an eager grin. “Come on. Let’s check it out,” he said, taking me by the hand and leading me toward the door.
We rushed home and logged onto a California State Lottery website. We searched for the numbers drawn for the day of our ticket. I felt my face go flush as I read the numbers. “Oh my God. Oh my God. Oh my God,” I repeated as I fanned my face. Craig joined my chanting as we both danced circles around the room. The ticket was worth fifty-eight million dollars and we had only five days before it expired.
Chapter Three
Craig and I lay in bed staring at the ceiling. Neither of us could sleep. “Tell me again what we’re supposed do?” I asked.
“You already signed the ticket and made copies of both sides. In the morning, we’ll take it to the lottery district office and fill out a claim form. After that, our job’s gonna get hard.”
