Home Strange Home

by CeeCee James

  We walked into the gym where the scent was stronger, along with an undercurrent of sweat.

  “It’s our disinfectant that you’re smelling.” He pointed to spray bottles that were scattered about with towels. “We have those available for everyone to spray down the equipment after they use it.”

  “Smells zesty,” I noted.

  “It’s all natural, made from those essential oils. I’m not too big into chemicals. Still, don’t spray it on your skin or anything. Your body can absorb it.”

  “What about my hands?” I said, lifting my palms.

  “They’re tough. They’ll be fine. Just wash them when you’re finished. You should do that anyway, with all the viruses nowadays.”

  My eyebrows flickered at his little biology education, but I nodded.

  He showed me the classrooms where I could take any class, from dancing to spin, and then pointed out the men’s and women’s locker rooms, each with their own steam baths.

  As we walked past the area for the weights—lined with mats and walls covered in mirrors, he asked me if I lifted.

  I shook my head. “No. Running is my thing. I’ve done it since school.”

  “Well, we have the state-of-the-art treadmills right over here.” He pointed toward them. Each had its own mini TV screen built in, among all the other options. “What did you run?”

  “Mid-distance.”

  “Nice! In high school?”

  I thought about my brief experience in college, and almost didn’t bring it up, but then I decided I was going to be okay with the good, the bad, and the ugly. “I did one season in college, but I ended up losing every race.” I shrugged. “I quickly found out I wasn’t the star I’d thought I was in high school.”

  He smiled and nodded. “Same experience here.”

  “Really?” I said.

  “Well, for me it was football. I really thought I was something else. College sure brought me down a peg or two.”

  Interesting. There definitely was more to him than I’d originally suspected.

  He led me over to the treadmill and spent a little longer than he needed to in explaining to me how it worked. Finally, he left, and I started a warm up.

  I brushed my hair behind my ears and caught a hint of spiciness. He wasn’t joking that your skin picked up those essential oils.

  I jogged for thirty minutes, not bad for my second time back in it. My ankles felt strong, and my muscles remembered why I loved this. When I finally turned the machine off, I was hot and sweaty and starving. Grabbing the spray bottle, I sprayed the machine and wiped it down, then headed to the locker room where I cleaned off as best as I could. A few minutes later, I headed out.

  “I’ll be seeing you!” Robbie called as I approached the door.

  “Washed my hands,” I joked, waving them at him.

  He laughed, and I waved again before swinging my backpack up on my shoulder. My stomach growled, and I knew just where to go.

  14

  To be honest, I didn’t go where my stomach was calling me. Between resisting that cinnamon bun place and Darcy’s Doughnuts, with their sweet jelly-filled confectionary delights, I was feeling like the queen of self-control. Instead, I chose the Springfield Diner. Ostentatiously, I told myself I would be good and order a salad. However, the scent of freshly cut French fries changed my mind faster than a Vegas dealer shuffling cards. I mean, there was only so much self-control a person could have.

  The waitress waltzed over to seat me, but not before Marla Springfield spotted me from the kitchen. She was the founder of this restaurant, and we’d become friends over the last few months.

  “Stella!” Marla walked up, and I smiled. She wore her characteristic chintz apron and tiny glasses. “How are you, love?” The woman was old, in her eighties, and thin as a matchstick. I swear I could see the nobs of her spine through the back of her dress. But she had that wiriness and determination in her steps that warned you not to underestimate her.

  “Well now, Miss Stella. What are you hungry for today?” Her eyes twinkled behind her glasses.

  “I’m starving,” I admitted.

  “You here for my five-alarm chili?” She led me over to a table and pointed for me to sit.

  “What’s that?” I asked, slightly concerned.

  “Little anchos, smoked meat, no beans.” She leaned over to straighten the napkin.

  I’d never heard of anchos. “What’s the first thing you said?”

  “Anchos. They’re little peppers.”

  “Aw, we should get them a hat.”

  She looked confused.

  “You know, because they’re little chilly.” Proof my blood sugar was low. I was cracking corny jokes.

  Her lips puckered, crinkling with wrinkles at the edges, like the rays of the sun. I thought I’d either lost her or offended her. I was gearing for trouble when she busted out a cackle. Patrons at the table next to me smiled at the sound, and I grinned, too. Who wouldn’t? Here was this cute eighty-year-old woman practically busting a gut.

  “Get them hats! I’ve got to tell that one to Ralph!” She squinted at me. “Now what are you doing here all sweaty-like? You still working at the realty office? You don’t go to work looking like that, do you?”

  I plucked at my t-shirt to fan myself out and then winced, imagining the wave of sweat I probably just gave her. “Just got back from the gym.”

  “Huh. Gym, hmm? You know, I don’t abide in all that fancy paying-to-sweat-in-a-building stuff. Good hard work will keep you in shape.” She flexed her arm, and the muscle jumped like a rubber band. “Keeps me strong.”

  “You definitely are,” I admired.

  “Now, what have you been selling lately?” She leaned a bony hip against the table and watched me expectantly.

  “Right now, I just have one client. They were going to buy the Stuber’s place until—” I left it there, figuring she was so on top of the gossip that she’d understand.

  Her near non-existent eyebrows puckered their few white hairs together. “Ahh, I see. So you’re trying to find them a new place?”

  I nodded.

  “Well good. They may have squeaked out of a bad deal and need to be thankful.”

  “I’m not sure about that. They loved that place.”

  Her mouth pursed and she stared me straight in the eye. “There’s such a thing as a house of love, and then there’s a strange home. Those two couldn’t be more different. That place there is a strange home. And the neighbors made sure to do their part to keep it that way.”

  There was something alarming in the way she said that. “I know they didn’t get along, but they seemed to have patched it up at the end. Or is there something I’m missing?”

  She leaned down so her joints cracked in her back. I winced at the sound.

  “Those two were sitting just over there. A couple of weeks ago.” She pointed to a table about three over from mine. “Talking ugly talk. Marvin told Ian that he could send the gardener back in a box if he gave them any more trouble. Gave me the shivers to hear.”

  “Wow, they seemed so nice at the party.” I held back that Oscar had mentioned that Marvin had mob ties.

  “Not everything is as it seems, young lady. And it’s high time you learned that. Now, how about that chili? It’s won more contests than you can shake a stick at.”

  “Mm, I’m thinking a chicken wrap this time,” I said with an apologetic shrug. Chili and I weren’t the best of friends, and I only had one roll of toilet paper left at home.

  Her joints crackled again as she leaned away from the table. “You know, I saw the Valentines the other day.”

  “Really?” Those two octogenarian siblings had been on my mind for a while ever since I saw Charity at the nursing home. It was interesting that Marla was bringing them up, considering there’d been a long-standing grudge between both her and the Valentines for going on sixty years now. “Did you actually talk with them?”

  Her eyes softened as she smiled. “They say that t
ime heals all wounds. I’d say that in the case of our squabble, it sure did.”

  “She apologized?” I gasped, a little dubious.

  “Pshaw. At our age, you don’t apologize for nothing. No. She asked for a slice of my pumpkin pie, and then she said it was right good. Course, then she tacked on that she seemed to remember giving me the recipe, of which I had to give a sharp rebuttal.”

  “And?” I asked, trying to picture this argument.

  “And, we’re right as rain. She’s changed a lot through the years. They come to have their Sunday night pot roast here along with the rest of the folks.”

  “Aw, that makes me happy. I saw Charity volunteering the other day. It’s nice to see they’re doing well.”

  The bell rang from the back. She sent a scowl in that direction that would’ve made a truck driver shiver. “I’m coming, I’m coming!” And then back to me, “The Valentines are tough. They’re survivors. And they’ve learned to survive by keeping their nose out of other people’s business. You know, Miss Stella, you could learn that trick yourself. A young woman like yourself needs to be careful.”

  I swallowed hard, thinking about the black truck. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, Ian Stuber had some enemies.” She leaned in close and I swear her ancient body creaked again. “Some bad people who are hearing tell of you asking questions.”

  “Bad people? How do you know this?”

  “I may be old, but I've always been a listener.” She tapped her ear. “And these things haven’t failed me yet.”

  He ears were large and stuck out prominently from under her hair that was held with several bobby pins on top of her head. The lobes dangled, wrinkled. Still, there were no hearing aids.

  “What have you heard?” I asked. “And who’s talking?”

  “I’m hearing rumors is all. Little airy rumors.” She waggled wrinkled fingers. “About some pretty young brunette who is poking her nose where it doesn’t belong. I’m telling you right now, you leave that stuff to the police."

  “How come these rumors aren’t going after the police?” I asked. “They ask harder questions than I ever have.”

  “The police know how to do their dealings in this town. And it’s not by ruffling feathers. You want to make sure you don’t ruffle any yourself. You’re just one lonely chick in this great big world, and you’re catching the eyes of a few too many chicken hawks.”

  The bell dinged again, and this time the cook yelled, “Order up!

  She sighed and straightened her apron ties. “Now, I’ll go put your order in for that chicken wrap. And, while I’m at it, can I get you a piece of my homemade apple crisp?”

  “Sorry, just the chicken wrap today,” I said, a little stunned and mortified that people had been talking about me. What had I said to get them starting? And who was it? The guy in the black truck?

  I took a sip of water, trying to sort through what she said. I’d seen cops in here eating breakfast before. Was Marla trying to warn me that the cops were dirty?

  Prickles rose on my neck like I was being watched. My gaze darted around the restaurant, but everyone seemed to be focused on their food and table guests. Seconds ticked by. I waited for the feeling to pass, but it didn’t.

  Someone was staring. I could feel it.

  The waitress named Tammy, came over with my lunch and sat it down. I grinned to see a small cup of chili sitting next to my wrap. I raised up my hand to order a drink, but she blazed away like there was a million-dollar tip on some table in the back. For some unknown reason, she’d never liked me, and always gave me a hard time whenever she had to serve me.

  That must be it, I convinced myself. I must have subconsciously seen she was here and felt that animosity. That’s why I thought someone was watching me. Feeling better, I picked up my chicken wrap and was gearing to take a bite, when my eyes locked onto a man sitting a few tables away. He stared brazenly back. I hurriedly glanced away, only to see a woman watching me from two tables over. My cheeks flushed, and I glanced down at my french fries.

  You’re just freaking out, after what Marla said. After a moment, I peeked at the two of them again, and both were seemingly absorbed with their conversations.

  After I finished, I waved down my waitress. Tammy came over, her hand in her greasy apron pocket.

  “I was just wondering if I could get my check.”

  “Oh, I meant to tell you. It’s been paid for.” She looked down her nose like I didn’t deserve it.

  “Really?” I smiled, thinking Marla must have treated me.

  “Yeah. Some man. He said he’d been watching you real close, and he wanted to remind you that you’re never alone.”

  Her words hit me like I’d just opened the door of an arctic freezer. “What are you talking about?” Some man? Watching me? “What did he look like?”

  She gathered my dishes. “I’m too busy to pay attention to stuff like that. Left me a twenty and said to tell you what I just said.” She leaned back with her hands full and an impatient look on her face. “Now will there be anything else?”

  My mind was spinning. “Have you seen him before?”

  She shrugged. “You work in this town long enough, you’ve seen everyone. Now, if you don’t mind, I need to get to my other tables. I don’t have time to be yakking.”

  I rubbed my forehead, wondering if I should call the police. Just then, goosebumps prickled my arms. Someone was watching me again. Right now. I could feel it. Staring at me from somewhere behind. Slowly, I turned around. There, at the window, a figure darted away.

  I ran to the restaurant’s door, bumping into chairs on the way, and yanked open the door. No one was there. All I could think about was the guy in the black truck. Would he be following me home tonight?

  15

  The rest of the day was spent on me being a chicken. Chicken, chicken. I didn’t want to even check my emails. I couldn’t even read Grandma Wiktoria’s letters because I didn’t want to learn anything new. I wanted to curl up, take a bath, hide out and read. I needed to go some place different than I was, and a nice fiction book was going to take me there.

  I didn’t completely hide away. There was an email from Jennifer and Mark with a request for a house showing for the next day. I scheduled it and responded back to them with the confirmation.

  Then I did do some self-protecting. I’m going to term it “self-care,” because I like that better. And it was true. I needed some down time where I felt safe. Book, candle, lavender bubble bath. I went to bed that night feeling much better.

  The next morning, I met the Clarks outside the gate of a cute community. I punched in the code and we drove through the entrance.

  The houses in this neighborhood were all newer. I knew the agent representing this place, Angela Cranton, and I suspected she’d be there today. She wasn’t my favorite person, what with her snooty attitude she had since she normally represented the more elite clients. Still, we all needed to get along as best as we could in this business, sort of a ‘you scratch my back, I’ll scratch yours’ scenario. However, there was an unwritten rule that all of us agents understood as well—if you touch my client list, prepare for those scratches to turn into stabs.

  We pulled into the driveway, a lovely flagstone that was flanked by myrtle bushes. There was a little turn-around where we parked. It was a beautiful sunny day, and the sky unseasonably clear for winter.

  I walked over to them, rubbing my hands together. The sun had tricked me and I was poorly dressed in a short-sleeve shirt. “So, did you ever get a chance to share the conversation you heard with the police?”

  Jennifer nodded. “It was actually an interesting interview. I’d forgotten one part that we’d overheard. I think they were fighting over landscaping as well.”

  “What? Like hedges and flowers and stuff?” I asked. Was that code word for something?

  “Yeah, Ian screamed that he was going to more than fire the landscaping guy.”

  Just then, the front door of th
e house opened and Angela Cranton, in all her hairspray, clown make-up and tight-business-suit glory, toddled out in high heels.

  “Oh, my word! Fancy meeting you here, Stella!” she shrieked from the porch. Of course, Angela knew I’d be here. She knew everything about my clients by now. She toddled down the stairs and linked arms with Jennifer. “How is your agent treating you? Stella’s new in the business, so you have to give her a chance. But here, let me give you my card—”

  “Angela!” I snapped.

  At my voice, Angela backed off with her hands up in mock surrender. “Sorry, sorry. I just want to help. I know how it is when you work in a tiny realty office such as your own. Now come in! Let me show you this hidden gem!”

  We spent a headache-inducing hour there, with Angela fawning over both the Clarks and the house. She knew her stuff though, and it seemed like both Jennifer and Mark were eating up what she was serving. We left with the couple saying they wanted to talk it over privately, but I fully expected them to contact me to make an offer before the day was through.

  I parked in front of the Flamingo agency and walked in. Kari on her way out.

  “So, we still on for this weekend?” she asked. Her grin was entirely too cheery and starting to make me feel stabby. Honestly, she was starting to be obnoxious with the amount of times she was bringing the dinner up. I nodded, barely.

  “Good!” Her adamant nod slowed, and she eyed me with consideration. “You know, I have someone else you have to meet.”

  I groaned. “Please, Kari….”

  “No, not a date. My good friend, Georgie. The three of us need to get together someday. She’s just started dating a guy, so she completely understands what it means to have those lean years.”

  “Lean years?” I asked with an arched eyebrow, daring her to elaborate.

  She caught the look right away and hurried to rephrase it. “You know, lean for companionship. Not that it’s wrong…” She bit her lip and then blurted. “I can’t keep this charade up. You know what happens if you never get out? You never shave your legs or anything else, and the hair becomes junglefied. And then you start collecting cats and eating out of Chinese take-out boxes.”