Empaths and Paws

by Penny Brooke

  “Well, okay, you folks have a good day…” Ben started.

  I was already out the door before he could ratchet up another stream of conversation. Peter closed the door behind us. “I’m sorry about that,” I said.

  “Not your fault. Not anyone’s fault. Just old Ben. He’s alone in the world, and I think sometimes he’s just had enough of being alone.”

  Without thinking, I said, “Boy, I can surely understand that.”

  “Me too,” he responded quietly.

  “Well, see you around, Peter,” I said as I climbed into the cab of my truck.

  Peter walked up and leaned inside the open passenger window. “Can’t believe this thing is still running.”

  “It doesn’t have the courage to give up; it knows I’ll just whip it into shape, like it or not.”

  “Is that what you do with all the things you own?”

  I frowned and didn’t answer such a leading, odd question.

  He slapped the door of the truck as though pushing me forward. “Well, okay, drive carefully.”

  “Bye, Peter,” I called as I pulled away from the curb. I turned left at the next corner and pulled over. I burst into tears. I hadn’t planned on seeing him again and hadn’t considered how I’d feel if I did. I knew it was inevitable, but it was just… so soon. Whew! Hadn’t expected that. Wiping my eyes, I went back to Gretchen’s house, and I had a good cry over Keurig Vanilla Latte.

  “What did you expect?” she challenged me.

  “I didn’t even think about it.”

  “And you, an investigative reporter?”

  “I know, I know.”

  “He never got over you, you know.”

  “I didn’t even know about his wife.”

  “I didn’t tell you?”

  I shook my head.

  “Must have slipped my mind.”

  “Oh, Gretchen, you know better than that.”

  “There was nothing you could do.”

  “He still looks great.”

  “So do you.”

  “You really think so?” I looked down at my clothes and frowned. I really needed a new wardrobe, especially if I was going into business. Crime scenes hadn’t required much in the fashion department.

  Gretchen noticed. “I’ll take you shopping tomorrow. I figure I still owe you some missing birthday presents.”

  5

  Lemons and Leaks

  True to his word, Ben fixed the wiring in the house, and the housing inspector gave me an occupancy permit without my having to bribe him. It was a wonderful day, although I did feel regret at leaving Gretchen behind. I’d gotten used to her OCD. Gretchen, on the other hand, looked almost relieved. I think it bothered her to have someone else in the house constantly. Not to mention, Lizzie Borden.

  I’d already gotten busy pulling the inside of Mortimer House into shape. I’d ordered a new stove and refrigerator, and Ben helped me install them. They were shiny white in a kitchen that was somewhere between dingy gray and stained brown, but it was all clean and worked like a charm. I polished silver, made flowered curtains for the windows, and set a bowl of fresh lemons on the table to ward off stale odors.

  Although there was furniture in the bedrooms, I needed to get bed linens. I wanted vintage sheets that would be authentic, and I asked Gretchen if she knew anyone in town who made bed quilts. She referred me to Betty Thomas, a woman I remembered as being a teacher when I was in high school.

  Lizzie and I headed out in my truck, and I found Mrs. Thomas’s ranch-style house with her famous rose garden. I left the mini schnauzer in the cab and stepped onto the porch. I rapped on the door, and an elderly woman answered.

  “Mrs. Thomas? Do you remember me? I was Fiona Dever.”

  “Remember you? Of course, I do. I remember all my students,” she snapped.

  She wore thick black glasses and was slightly stooped, but I took her word for it. “It’s good to see you again after all these years. Actually, the reason I’m here is Gretchen referred me. I inherited my Aunt Mable’s house, Mortimer House. Do you remember it?”

  “You must think I’m senile, Fiona. I remember every detail, always have. Now, what can I do for you?”

  “I’m opening a boarding house at Mortimer. Each of the bedrooms has a double-sized bed, and I’d like to have quilts for each of them. Gretchen told me that you make and sell them.”

  “Come in, come in. You can’t see the quilts from standing out there.”

  I entered the house, and she showed me to her sunroom where she kept her finished quilts. “So, how many quilts do you want, and what colors?”

  “Mixed colors, I think. That way, I’m not obligated for a single theme in any one room. I can rotate them easily as they become worn.”

  “My quilts don’t wear out if that’s what you’re insinuating.”

  “No, Mrs. Thomas, I understand. You always were the perfectionist in everything you did. Oh, my, they’re beautiful. How many do you have in mixed colors?”

  She whipped open a double closet door at the back of the room, and I saw dozens of quilts, each neatly packaged in plastic, lined up on the shelves.

  “Oh, my, they’re simply luscious. How much are you asking per quilt?”

  “Two hundred dollars each for the double-sized.”

  I was pleasantly surprised at the number she quoted. Not only that, I knew it would be good for business if I used her quilts. She would be more inclined to refer new boarders to me. I was hesitant to spend the money, but I knew it would be an investment. “I’ll take ten to begin with.”

  “That’ll be two thousand dollars then. Can you pay in cash?”

  “Oh, I don’t have that much on me. I can run to the bank and be back in a few minutes?”

  “Never mind. I know where to find you. Just write me a check.”

  “Yes, ma’am. I left my checkbook in the truck.” I headed back out to the truck, taking the first of the quilts out to load them into the bed. I could see, even through the plastic, that the quilts were beautifully made. I was excited to get them at what I considered to be an excellent price. If they were well taken care of, they would easily last twenty to thirty years. I hoped I needed them that long.

  Back in her house to retrieve the last of the quilts, I held out the check. “Here you go. It was nice to see you again. If you hear of anyone needing a place to stay, be sure to recommend they come over and see me.”

  “Do you run a clean establishment?”

  My mouth dropped open at her insult. It was better to cooperate than to lose her possible referrals in the future. “Yes, ma’am, I certainly do. And I don’t mind telling you I’m a very good baker. Next week I plan to open a tea room in what was the library. If you recall, there are opposing fireplaces and those beautiful long windows with the carved crown molding. I’m hoping ladies will stop by to enjoy coffee, pastries, and good conversation.”

  “Do you offer a referral fee?”

  My eyes opened wide, never having considered such a thing. “No, ma’am, I don’t at this point. But if you stop by, I will treat you to a coffee and fresh Danish.”

  “I suppose I could do with that.”

  “Well, it was nice to see you again, Mrs. Thomas.”

  “Yes, it was.”

  My nose wrinkled as I walked back to the truck, trying to decide what she meant by that last remark. But I decided my brain energy was better spent getting my business organized. Back in the cab, I glanced over at the mini schnauzer. “So, Lizzie Borden, it’s back to Mortimer House. We have some beds to make.”

  On the way back, it began to rain. It was one of those sudden storms that sprang up when the cool air above the Atlantic flowed into the warmer, moist air over land. This wasn’t a simple rain, but a deluge. I pulled up before Mortimer House and took Lizzie into my arms, watching the rain beat upon the windshield. We’d wait it out if it didn’t take too long. Lizzie lavished more tongue kisses on my face, and she was quivering slightly. I realized she might be having a lit
tle anxiety at the driving rain. I held her closer, and it comforted me probably more than it did her.

  When the rain had passed, Lizzie and I went into the house. I heard noise coming from upstairs, so we went up to see what was causing it. There were puddles of water all over the floors! I couldn’t seem to catch a break. I heard the front door slam downstairs.

  “Fiona!”

  It was Ben.

  “Been looking for you, Fiona. This roof isn’t going to hold. You need it replaced now. It’s liable to—”

  “—fall in on me,” I filled in the blank. “Right?”

  “We don’t want that to happen. Then we’ll be in a world of trouble.”

  I slowly plodded down the staircase, depressed. “I don’t have it, Ben. I just don’t have it.”

  “Then what do you plan to do about the roof?”

  My shoulders sagged. “Something will turn up—I can feel it.”

  “Do you think perhaps you could borrow it from the bank? Use the house as collateral?”

  Pursing my lips, I shook my head. “I don’t think so.” The bank would want the house to be sound and dry to stand as adequate collateral. My truck wouldn’t get me a dime, and I’d almost exhausted the nest egg I’d built. I was making a small salary at the bakery, but nothing large enough to make even a beginning on a new roof.

  He shook his head. “I wouldn’t want to be in your shoes. I hate to bring it up, but I can’t be a boarder here with rain dripping on my face.”

  “No, no, I understand. I’d hoped we had a bit longer before replacing the roof.”

  Someone was knocking at the door. “Excuse me, Ben. I need to get the door.”

  I skipped down the stairs and threw open the front door. A man stood there in a jumpsuit uniform. “Yes, may I help you?”

  He looked down at the battered clipboard in his hand. “You Fiona Parkins?” I felt confused. Everyone in town except Gretchen had known me by my maiden name, Dever. “Ah, yes, I am.”

  “Sign here.” He thrust the clipboard at me. Lizzie growled.

  “Would you like to step inside a moment? I’d like a chance to look this over.”

  “It’s the storage inventory.”

  “Excuse me, but I have no idea what you’re talking about. I don’t have anything in storage. Perhaps you have the wrong person?”

  “You said you were Fiona Parkins.”

  I shook my head. “Wait here if you like. I want to read this.”

  I left the door standing open as I went inside and sat at the oak library table. Pulling the chain on the library lamp flooded the table with a soft light. The clipboard was little more than a list. I worked out that the storage must be in numbered cartons, so this was a bill of lading, so to speak. I lifted page after page as the contents were often described in detail. I went back to the front door where the driver was waiting. “You say this was to come to me? From whom?”

  He shrugged. “I guess the old lady who used to live in this house. I remember the day she called us to come and get it. Never mentioned why she was putting it in storage; just had us pack things up and move them out.”

  “Is there some fee you are owed?”

  “No, not yet. She paid up through the end of the month. If you don’t want it here, we’ll take it back, but you’ll have to pay for the storage.”

  I held up my hand as breath was again pumping into my lungs. “No, no, please bring it in and put it… well, just don’t block stairs or walkways. I’ll go through it all later.”

  He nodded and flagged two other men in the cab of his truck. Between the three of them, over the next two hours, they brought in boxes, crates, bags, and tubes, not to mention furnishings. When they were done and left, I looked around at the cluster and called to Ben, “Do we have a crowbar?”

  “There’s one in the basement,” he said as he came downstairs. “I’ll get it.”

  He was back in a couple of minutes and began to pry open the lid to the first crate closest to him. I’d learned a lot about antiques from my aunt, who was a determined collector. “Oh, my,” I said when I saw the lamp he pulled from the shredded padding. “Bring that here, please?”

  He handed it to me, and I carried it toward the window where I had much better lighting. I carefully tipped it until I could see the underside of the base. “Just as I thought. It’s a Tiffany.”

  “Which means…?”

  “Which means our roof has just arrived, Ben.”

  6

  Grand Openings

  The roof was on, the exterior painted, I’d gotten all the necessary permits, the rooms had been papered or painted and fitted with linens, and I… was exhausted. Ben, on the other hand, seemed to feel nothing but happiness and energy. He whistled constantly; almost to the point that I wished he would talk, instead.

  I’d ordered a hand-painted sign and was on my way to pick it up. It was someone Gretchen, my fount of information, had used in the past. Her name was Beverly.

  Beverly also lived in a large, older home, and I took special note of the details. I wanted to remain as authentic as possible, not only from a family preservation, but because I would be selling antiques, and it would make it that much more appropriate.

  I walked up the steps to the wrap-around front porch to see a young girl sitting on the steps.

  “Hi there,” I said, smiling.

  “Hello, are you here to get a kitten?”

  “A kitten?”

  She nodded. “Yes. My cat had a litter of kittens. I need to find homes for them. Mother says we can’t keep them all. You seem like a nice lady. Maybe you might like one.”

  I thought of the mouse I’d seen in the library. If there was one, there were more, and I didn’t need a rodent problem where people were sleeping and eating. “A kitten, huh? Well, you know, I just might. But in the meantime, could you please tell your mother I’m here?”

  The little girl scrambled up on the porch and went inside. “Mooommmmyyy…” I heard her call out.

  A lady about my age came to the door. “Yes?”

  “Hi! I’m Fiona Parkins. I ordered a sign from you through Gretchen for my boarding house.”

  She pursed her lips, thinking. “Oh, yes! Of course. Come in, won’t you?”

  I stepped in and instantly fell in love with her décor. She’d done a wonderful job. “Your house is beautiful—so authentic. I’m jealous.”

  “Oh, well, thank you, but that’s Gretchen’s doing. She did the interior design for the whole place.”

  “Really?” The gears in my head began spinning.

  “Mommy, this lady says she’ll take a kitten. Isn’t she nice?”

  Beverly looked up at me. “Are you sure?”

  “Oh, yes,” I said. “Plenty of room in the house for a little more life. Well, perhaps the kitten kind, but not the mouse kind.”

  “Okay, if you’re sure, feel free to pick out a kitten.”

  “Let your daughter do it for me; that way I won’t feel bad for the other kittens I don’t take.”

  Beverly looked at her daughter. “Go ahead.”

  A minute later, the girl handed me the chosen kitten, and I felt its soft fur.

  “What are you going to call her?” the girl asked.

  “I’ve always liked the name Henrietta. Etta for short.”

  So, ten minutes later, I was homebound with a sign, a kitten named Etta, and a prayer that the newest member of the family would get along with Lizzie. I was definitely going to have a house full.

  “Isn’t this exciting, Ben?”

  “What?”

  “Opening day! After all this work you did, and I had to pay for, isn’t it grand that there’s finally, hopefully, a pot of gold at the end of the rainbow?”

  “Pshaa… I never doubted it. It was like that time my sister-in-law got remarried after my brother died. She sent out the invitations, over two hundred of them, and only one came back by RSVP. She couldn’t be sure something hadn’t happened; after all, one response out of two hundred
… So, she ordered food, chairs, and decorations, not to mention a small orchestra, all based on two hundred people. How many do you suppose showed up?”

  I was in such a good mood, I let Ben get away with telling one entire story. “Two hundred?” I was being optimistic.

  “One. Just one person. They’d found an invite in the trash and came for a free meal.”

  “Oh, now that’s sad.”

  There was a knock at the door. I opened it to see a couple somewhat younger than me standing there. “We weren’t sure whether to knock or walk in,” the man said. “The motels are full up. Do you have any rooms available? We just need one for two weeks.”

  I let loose my biggest, most welcoming smile. “Of course, come right in.” Mental note to self: Put a sign on the door that invites people to just step in.

  They registered as Mr. and Mrs. Smith, and I preferred to believe that. They were my first customers, and who was I to be judgmental? I showed them up to the first room on the right and stayed long enough to show them the remote for the television and to say we were having ham for dinner. I saw her eye the bed with longing eyes, so I made a quick exit and headed to the kitchen to thaw things for dinner. That’s when I realized I had no idea how many to plan on. There could be two, three, maybe ten more couples show up before dinner.

  I cringed as I pulled out more ham. It was expensive, and I didn’t want it to go to waste. Well, if it wasn’t used up, we’d be having bean soup tomorrow and ham and eggs for breakfast. These executive decisions were tough.

  As it happened, two more couples saw my new sign and came in to stay, for two weeks as well. I began baking biscuits and strawberry pies for dinner. The couples were all hanging out in their rooms, and I realized that if I ever had a full house, things could become overwhelming for one person. I’d had to quit my bakery job; there just weren’t enough hours in the day. I was sad to see a couple of days after I’d quit, a “for sale” sign was on Markham’s door. I guess Sylvia just couldn’t stand up to the long hours and was retiring. I’d seen her through the door and waved. She was cordial, smiling and nodding her head back at me.