by Becky Durfee
Jenny winced. “Yeah, sorry about that.”
“Don’t be,” Elanor said. “I’d rather know the truth.” She once again grew distant, clearly bothered by her inability to connect the dots Steve had provided. Shaking her head, she added, “I wish I knew who that gray-haired man was.”
Grateful to shift focus away from her own painful self-analysis, Jenny sat up straighter and stated, “Well, he seemed to be the foreman of the construction crew. Do you remember the name of the company Steve worked for?”
Elanor shook her head slowly. “No,” she said wistfully, “I wish I did.”
A thought popped into Jenny’s head. “The real estate records!” she practically shouted.
Her excitement startled Elanor. “What?”
“The real estate records. I don’t know why I didn’t think of it sooner. It said the name of the builder who constructed the house on Meadowbrook Road.” Pulling her phone out of her purse, Jenny looked up the ownership history of the house. “It says here that it was Larrabee and Sons Custom Home Builders. Does that name ring a bell to you?”
Elanor frowned. “Not especially.”
“Huh,” Jenny said. “Well, at least this gives me something to look into. Maybe this will help me identify the gray-haired man.”
“I hope so. And try as I might, I still can’t figure out what was meant by Lake Wimsat, either. I’ve thought about it almost constantly, but I haven’t been able to come up with anything.”
Jenny smiled. “I think your friend Steve needs to be a little less cryptic and a little more straight-forward.”
Elanor looked around the room, shouting “You hear that Steve? Cut the shit and just tell it like it is!”
Both ladies laughed, continuing the conversation for a short while until Elanor started to look tired again. Jenny wished Elanor a good night and headed back to Evansdale, eager to investigate her new lead.
Jenny herself was tired when she got home but was far too curious to go to sleep. Instead she headed for her laptop, looking up the Larrabee and Sons website. She found the site to be elegant, clearly representing a reputable business geared toward wealthier clients. The company name was followed by the slogan Where Dreams Become Reality, then in smaller print family owned and operated since 1926. Inspired that the site may contain some of the business’s history, Jenny read every word on every tab, only to find nothing relevant. She wasn’t too disappointed, realizing what a long shot it had been, but she did jot down the phone number with the intent to call in the morning. Perhaps the right person could tell her the information the website did not.
The following morning, Jenny heard the doorbell as she just finished dressing after her shower. Brimming with curiosity she headed downstairs to find Greg standing in the doorway with a woman Jenny didn’t recognize. Greg’s glance at Jenny demonstrated his displeasure with the guest.
The guest, however, gave Jenny a broad smile. “Ahh, yes,” she began. “You must be Jenny.”
“Yes ma’am.” Jenny tucked her wet hair behind her ear, waiting for an explanation.
“I’m Nancy Carr.” The woman held out her hand, which Jenny apprehensively shook. “I’m an interior decorator with Ashley Leavenworth designs. I’ve been hired by Elanor Whitby to look at some of your paintings and see what furnishings we can find to complement those paintings.”
Despite Nancy’s generous smile, Jenny stood frozen, her mouth agape. She was aware she should have been saying something, but she wasn’t sure what.
Greg broke the silence. “We do appreciate you coming by, but we can’t afford new furniture.”
“Oh, no, Mr. Watkins,” Nancy assured him. “Ms. Whitby will be paying for all of the furniture, and all of my time.” Nancy leaned in closer to Greg, placing her hand on his arm and adding through closed teeth, “And she said the sky’s the limit.” Nancy returned her focus to Jenny. “It seems she’s taken quite a liking to you. She said you’re like the granddaughter she never had, and she made me promise to treat you like a top priority customer. In fact, I cancelled a pretty important appointment in order to come here today.”
Jenny, still at a loss for words, glanced over at Greg who appeared to be quite disapproving of the whole scenario. “We have perfectly nice furniture. I don’t believe it needs to be replaced yet.”
“I’m sure your furniture is lovely,” Nancy replied in an overly-chipper tone. “I’m not suggesting there’s anything wrong with it. Ms. Whitby just wants to make sure your new furnishings match your wife’s paintings so they can be displayed.” Still smiling, she glanced back and forth between Jenny and Greg, trying to gauge a reaction. “I’ve been told I’m not allowed to take no for an answer…”
Jenny bit her lip as the humor of the situation arose within her. “Well, then,” she said with stifled laughter. “I guess I should go get my paintings.”
After Nancy left, Jenny walked from room to room, trying to envision the new furniture they had just ordered with her paintings serving as a centerpiece. She couldn’t help but smile at the thought of people inquiring about the artwork, and her being able to say they were her creations. For the first time since she and Greg moved in together, she was going to feel like the place she called home was half hers.
She ventured downstairs and found Greg sitting on the couch with his laptop, researching kitchen countertops. She slid into the seat next to him and began, “You know, I was thinking we could donate all of our current furniture to a needy family in the area.”
“I don’t know, babe,” Greg replied. “It’s really nice stuff, and it’s not that old. I’m not sure I’d like to donate it. We could probably get some decent money for it if we put an ad in the paper.”
Jenny made a face. “I know we could get good money for it, but I was thinking it would be nice if we made somebody else’s day the way Elanor just made ours. Pay it forward, you know?”
“Maybe some of it, but not all.” Greg took a mental inventory. “The armchair is a little bit worn, so we could probably give that away. And the ottoman with the broken leg. But the rest of the stuff is still really nice…too nice to just give away.” Greg turned back to his computer as if the conversation was finished.
Both sadness and shame arose within Jenny. As her husband’s true colors rose closer to the surface, she was finding him to be increasingly unattractive. She wondered if those qualities had always been there and she was just too blind to see them until now, or if a new side of Greg was coming out in response to Jenny’s rising confidence. She decided it was most likely a mixture of both.
“I’d actually like to discuss this more,” Jenny replied uncharacteristically.
Upon hearing her words, Greg closed his computer and turned toward her, but his expression clearly indicated his actions were to appease her.
“See?” Jenny said, “This is what I’m talking about.”
“What?”
“I can tell by the look on your face that you’re not really going to listen to me. I may get a turn to speak, but at the end of it all you’re just going to tell me that we’re selling the furniture anyway.”
“It just doesn’t make any sense to give it away, that’s all. Here we are working so hard to renovate this house to make money; why would we want to turn around and give stuff away for free when we could sell it?”
“To be nice,” Jenny contended. “To make the world a better place. To help a family in need.”
“We are a family in need,” Greg replied.
Jenny rolled her eyes at her husband’s distorted sense of poverty. “You know, this isn’t really about furniture. What upsets me is that whenever we disagree about something, you always assume we’re going to do things your way.”
“That’s not true.”
“It most certainly is true.”
“Name another time when I did that.”
Jenny thought for only a short time before an incident popped into her head. “The kitchen,” she said. “I said it should be mustard colored, but
you said it should be tan. I assume you’re going to insist it be tan.”
“Tan is more neutral. Buyers would like it better.”
“Neutral doesn’t mean colorless. Neutral just means it can go with different decors.” Jenny put up her hand to stop herself. “This isn’t about paint either. My point is that you always insist on doing everything your way.”
“Hey, I’m willing to compromise about the furniture. Didn’t I say we could give some of it away?”
“Yeah, the two broken pieces that wouldn’t sell anyway. That’s real generous of you.”
“I don’t know what you want from me.”
“I want you to listen to me. I want you to respect my opinion.”
“Well did you ever stop to think that the reason I don’t listen to your opinion is because it never makes sense?”
Jenny closed her eyes and got up from the couch. She headed up the stairs to her bedroom, plopping down on the bed, staring blankly at the ceiling. Had they just crossed the line into a verbally abusive relationship? Potentially. What was she going to do about it?
She had no idea.
She thought about that sweet boy Toby from high school, wondering what he was up to these days. She imagined he was married, possibly with children. She envisioned him coming home from work, scooping up his kids in his arms and greeting them with kisses. She could see him doing the dishes after dinner and asking his wife about her day. She had been such a fool to dismiss him so quickly. What had been the problem? Was he was too nice? Too available? Too doting? “Yeah, such terrible qualities,” she snorted as she covered her face with her hands.
The world had been at her fingertips back then, but she didn’t have the sense to see it. She had been surrounded by open doors with no ability to determine which ones were worth entering. As she lay in her bed, her body physically ached with the desire to go back in time and do things differently. “Nobody should be allowed to make any decisions until they turn twenty five,” she muttered to no one, rolling over onto her side. With a sigh she added, “At least not me.”
She settled into the pillow, staring at the wall that would inevitably be painted tan. She felt tired, but not the kind of tired that resulted from a hard day’s work. She felt emotionally tired, wanting nothing more than to stay in bed all day and avoid the life she created for herself. She didn’t want to renovate. She didn’t want to face Greg. All she wanted was a time machine so she could go back to high school and strike up a conversation with dear, sweet Toby.
She closed her eyes, riddled with remorse, wondering if this was what depression felt like.
“Arthur Larrabee.”
The words were like a splash of cold water on her face. She shot upright, realizing she couldn’t lie in bed all day; Elanor was counting on her, as was Steve for that matter. “Arthur Larrabee,” she repeated to help her remember. “Arthur Larrabee.” She put her feet on the floor and declared, “Snap out of it, Jenny Watkins. Time to get busy.”
Jenny arrived at the Larrabee and Sons main office, which was actually a modified model home. She thought about how smart it was to have their headquarters be an example of their handiwork. When she walked through the front door, she looked around the expansive house in awe; they had certainly pulled out all the stops with this floor plan. The house looked like something that could have been featured in a magazine.
A secretary walked out of what would have been a formal living room if the house had been owned by a family. “Hello,” she said smiling, “How can I help you today?”
“I have an appointment to meet with Zack Larrabee. My name is Jenny Watkins.”
“Okay, Ms. Watkins. I’ll let him know you’re here. In the meantime, please help yourself to some goodies in the kitchen.” The secretary gestured in the direction Jenny should go, and then she disappeared around the corner to go find Zack.
Jenny felt markedly underdressed as her the clacking of her flip flops echoed throughout the museum-like home. She arrived at the kitchen to find a granite kitchen island with a plate of cookies and a bucket of sodas and waters on ice. “Don’t mind if I do,” she said to herself, cringing when she realized how loudly her voice carried. She made a mental note that she needed to stop talking to herself quite so much.
Just as she took a bite of cookie, a man who looked to be about thirty came into the kitchen. He was wearing a shirt and a tie which looked horribly awkward on him. His unkempt hair and goatee led Jenny to believe he would much rather be rock climbing than pitching custom homes. However, he was polite and professional as he extended his hand. “Zack Larrabee. You must be Jenny Watkins.”
Jenny nodded but did not reply; her mouth was full of cookie.
“I know, they’re good aren’t they? My sister makes them; she’s an awesome cook.”
Jenny swallowed and said, “Yes, they’re delicious.”
“Well, feel free to grab a couple more if you’d like.”
“No, I’m good,” Jenny said, slightly embarrassed.
Zack watched out of the corner of his eye as the secretary resumed her place in her office. He lowered his voice and whispered, “I’m actually going to take one. It’s chocolate chip day. That’s my favorite.” He stealthily took a cookie and snuck a bite. “Mmm. So good.”
Jenny couldn’t help but smile. While Zack wasn’t the best looking guy she’d ever seen, he certainly had an adorable personality.
“If you’ll follow me, my office is this way.” Zack led Jenny into a room that seemed to be in a library or a study. He took a seat behind a beautiful wooden desk, inviting Jenny to sit in a leather chair reserved for customers. She concluded she was most definitely underdressed.
“So what can I do for you today?”
Jenny let out a sigh. “I actually would like to know a little bit about the history of your company.” Jenny looked down at her lap. “I understand if you don’t want to waste your time with me considering I won’t result in a sale.”
Zack leaned back in his chair. “It’s a slow day. Actually, summer is my slow season. Everybody wants to move in the summer, so that means everyone is in here in October.” He pointed to his desk. “Right now the construction guys are overwhelmed, but here in the design center, things are pretty boring. So what would you like to know?”
Jenny sighed again, making a second mental note that she needed to do that less frequently as well. “I was wondering if you could tell me who worked on a property on Meadowbrook Road back in 1954.”
“We wouldn’t have records going back that far,” he explained. “Do you mind telling me what this is about?”
“It’s about a murder,” Jenny confessed. “One of the members on that crew disappeared one weekend, never to be seen again. The construction site was the last place he was ever seen alive. I was wondering if you could track down some of his coworkers so I could ask if they know anything about it.”
Zack seemed genuinely interested. “Murder, huh? That’s pretty heavy stuff. I’d certainly love to help out if I can.” He made a face. “Like I said, we don’t have those kinds of records just lying around, but I could potentially do some digging for you.”
“That’d be great.”
“Are you a detective?” Zack asked.
“No.” Jenny shook her head.
“Was the murdered guy a relative of yours?”
Again Jenny shook her head. She could see Zack’s confusion, so she decided to go out on a limb. “I’m a psychic.”
“No way,” Zack said dumbfounded.
Jenny smiled sheepishly, nodding in affirmation.
“That is so cool. I totally believe in that stuff. So…” Zack seemed unsure of what to ask, even though he obviously had a million questions.
Jenny decided to put him out of his misery. “I moved here recently, and I started hearing voices in my new house. You probably know the house, actually. It sticks out like a sore thumb. It’s that really big house on Autumn Drive.”
Zack lit up like a child. “That’s one o
f our houses!”
“Really?”
“No lie. That house kept our business from going under way back when. In fact, we used to show it to people before…” Zack stopped suddenly, clearly becoming aware that his next words could be offensive to the home’s new owner.
“Before it went to hell? Is that what you were going to say?”
Zack blushed and smiled, showing every one of his teeth. “Something to that effect.”
“Well, I’m certainly not offended. We bought the house dirt cheap to flip it. We’re hoping to make it look the way it did when your company first built it.” For a brief moment Jenny regretted disclosing that she was a member of a ‘we.’
“It would be great if you could do that.”
“It’s worth a shot,” Jenny said. “Anyway, once I moved in I heard a voice saying two names. The first name was Steve O’dell, the missing man, and the second was Elanor Whitby.”
“The Whitbys lived in that house for decades.”
“I know. I was able to figure that out with some research. I hired a private investigator to help me find Elanor, and she told me that Steve had been her boyfriend back in 1954. One weekend he disappeared and she never saw him again. He was working for your company at the time, more specifically at that house on Meadowbrook Road. That’s why I’d like to see who was on the crew—to see if anyone knows anything.”
“How do you know he was murdered?”
Jenny felt slightly foolish as she disclosed, “I saw it in a vision.”
“You saw it?”
“Actually,” Jenny interlaced her fingers and placed them on his desk. “I felt it. I had the vision through the victim’s eyes, and I experienced him getting shot.”
“Whoa.” Zack sat up straight in his chair. “That’s crazy.”
“Tell me about it.”
“So did you see who killed him?”
“I did, so I know what he looks like,” Jenny confessed, “but I don’t know who he was. I do know it happened at the construction site on a Saturday morning. Steve was lured there by a coworker—presumably the foreman—who shot him from behind.”