I held up my phone to check the time as I returned to the dining room, but was startled so badly, I dropped it on the wooden floor. I'd unexpectedly come face-to-face, or should I say chest-to-face, with a sprite-like fellow I hadn't known was in the house.
"Top of the morning to ya, me lady!" He managed to say after regaining his composure. I may have been startled, but he appeared shocked to his very core.
The soft-spoken voice belonged to a man who looked to be about a decade older than me. Closing in on eighty was my guess, despite the youthful twinkle in his eyes when he smiled. His Irish accent matched his appearance. In his old and tattered green flannel shirt and faded blue jeans, he reminded me of a leprechaun. At least a foot shorter than my five feet, eight inches, he had an elfin quality to him. I knew instinctively this had to be the caretaker Sydney Combs had talked about with such skepticism. So, it seemed he actually did exist, but why was he still here?
"Good morning, sir. I'm sorry I startled you. You must be the gentleman who used to look after the place," I said after I'd retrieved my phone from the floor and my racing pulse had ebbed. The fellow, whose skin was shockingly pale, seemed to consider his response carefully before finally voicing it.
"Yes, me lady. That I am. And who'd be you?" There was something accusatory about the way the waiflike man spoke, as if he disapproved of my presence. I wanted to ask him why he wasn't at the North Pole making toys with Christmas only seven months away, but was afraid he'd find my facetious question offensive – as I suppose it actually was. He didn't appear to be in a jovial mood, and being insulted wasn't apt to improve it any.
"Good morning. I'm Rapella Ripple." I extended my arm out to shake hands, assuming the elderly gentleman would introduce himself in return. But he didn't. He simply grasped my hand briefly in his own. The handshake was so delicate, like the touch of a feather, and over so quickly, I wasn't positive it'd even happened. It was as if I had shaken hands with an apparition.
"You to be staying here at the Hearty Home?" He asked.
"Yes. I presume we'll be the very first temporary guests of the cardiac center?" I said in the form of a question. I found his reference to the Heart Shack as the "Hearty Home" rather endearing.
"Oh, no, me lady. A many have come, and a many have left, ya see," he replied.
"What do you mean?"
"They take a gander and go away. All of 'em." The little guy shook his head and shrugged, as if totally mystified by their reaction to the place. Had he somehow overlooked its atrocious condition?
"Why?"
I was trying hard not to stare but I couldn't seem to take my eyes off the bizarre gentleman. His unnatural-appearing ebony hair didn't jive with his deeply wrinkled face. It seemed electrified, sticking straight out in every conceivable direction, as if someone had just rubbed a fully inflated balloon on his head. He shrugged again and looked down as he spoke. "I know not why. It be but me and me mates since Ms. Trumbo be kilt, ya see."
I assumed he was referring to Mabel's pets as his mates. "Could it be that folks take a gander and go away because Goofus screams at the visitors, ordering them to vamoose, and Gallant scares the bejesus out of them merely by his size?"
"I think they not liking when Miss Trumbo comes 'a calling, ya see."
"When Miss Trumbo comes a-calling? You know she died of post-operative complications, don't you?"
"I know she die. Not her fault. She be kilt, ya see. But she come back to call on me and me mates. I feed them when she forget. She forget a lot, ya see."
"I'm a bit baffled." To be honest, I was totally flabbergasted by his remarks. Telling the man I was a bit baffled was a gigantic understatement. It was like telling Goofus he was a bit obnoxious.
The caretaker had spoken of Mabel Trumbo in present tense, as if her spirit was still roaming the halls of the big home. His remarks also indicated that he still resided in the Heart Shack, which made me extremely uncomfortable. "Mabel's niece wasn't convinced you even worked for her aunt, but felt that if you truly did, you'd have moved on following Mabel's death. So, I'm curious, sir. Do you still live here?"
"No." I was relieved when he finally responded after a lengthy pause. "But I still keeps me eye on the place, ya see."
"That was very thoughtful of you. But it's no longer necessary now that my husband and I will be occupying the home. My husband's career was in law enforcement, Mister…"
The man looked at me expectantly but said nothing. So I said, "I'm sorry, I didn't catch your name."
The petite gentleman silently stared at his feet. My attempt at prompting him to introduce himself had been unsuccessful. So I asked him outright. "You do have a name, don't you?"
This time he simply nodded. I decided it didn't matter what his name was, but I still wanted to know what he was doing in Mabel's house. He seemed like an extremely odd man. I wondered why he'd inferred that Mabel had died of something other than issues following her bypass surgery. But I didn't want to go there with him. Not at that time, anyway. I wanted to keep our exchange light as I slowly edged my way toward the foyer. I felt ill at ease around him even though I was confident I could roll the little feller in the parking lot if I had to.
It was my curiosity that prevented me from bolting from the room when I finally had the opportunity. Curiosity can be a killer, you know. But, yet, I caved in to the temptation every single time it presented itself, and often regretted it afterward. People often forget the last part of the old proverb, "Curiosity killed the cat", which is, "but satisfaction brought it back". I reckon I just have more cats to resuscitate than most other folks.
"So, why did you stop by? Did you notice someone in the house as you were driving past, and stop to make sure I was authorized to be here?" I tried to sound like I was only making friendly small talk rather than as if I was interrogating him about his trespassing on private property.
The handyman's eyes locked with mine as I waited for a response that never came. The man looked down again and remained mute. The awkward silence continued, which convinced me it really was time for me to vamoose. I needed to head to the hospital, anyway. Rip would be expecting me.
I wanted to speak with Sydney Combs, as well, and tell her about my chance meeting with the caretaker. I also wanted to tell Sydney about the man's fondness for Goofus and Gallant, or his "mates" as he called them. He'd mentioned feeding them whenever that task had slipped Mabel's mind, something that had probably increased in frequency as her Alzheimer's had worsened. Had he stopped by today to make sure Sydney, or someone else, had fed the two animals? I decided not to ask him because it would only delay my departure, if he even bothered to respond. I wanted to put space between us as quickly as possible.
"I'd best be getting back to the hospital to visit my husband," I finally said to break the silence. "Please lock the front door on your way out. Good day to you, sir."
"Same to ya, me lady," he replied in barely more than a whisper.
I rotated my body after I thought I'd heard another voice in the foyer, but saw no one. When I turned back around not more than a second or two later, the caretaker had vanished. Perhaps it was his miniscule size that enabled the man to traverse the wooden flooring without a single board squeaking beneath him. Or it could be that he'd been the caretaker there long enough to know exactly where each foot must fall to avoid the aggravating sound effects. But the fact he could disappear into thin air so rapidly amazed me. I couldn't move half as fast, even if I was being chased by a madman with a running chainsaw in his hands.
I was suddenly having second thoughts again about living in Mabel's house. Clearly, her former caretaker felt it was his right to pop in anytime he wanted. He'd never offered an explanation for stopping by, even after I'd asked for one. Was there a reason he hadn't wanted to share his name or his intentions with me? Had his purpose for entering the house been nefarious in nature, and thwarted by my unexpected presence?
No more than ten minutes earlier I'd been daydreaming about an extended
stay in the Heart Shack. But after my unanticipated meeting with the peculiar caretaker, I found myself praying our stay would be short-lived.
Chapter 10
"Gotta wonder why old Mabel had a roach clip on the table in this photo you took of her entryway," Rip said as he scrolled through the photos on the phone.
"A what?" I took the photo from him and studied it. "You mean those little needle nose pliers?"
Rip laughed. "I'm pretty sure it's a roach clip, honey."
"Why would a cockroach need a clip?"
Rip laughed again, only this time he laughed hard enough he had to clutch his cushioning pillow to his tender chest. "This clip is used for holding a roach, which is slang for a marijuana cigarette, so the user can smoke it practically down to the end without dropping it or burning his fingertips. See this etched design on the handle of a leaf with all the leaflets? That's a leaf from a cannabis plant. You wouldn't believe how many roach clips I've found over the years while searching suspicious vehicles."
That explained why he recognized the device and I didn't. I was pretty naive about drugs, never having associated with anyone who used them. But I was almost positive the roach clip had not been present in the foyer the first time I visited the house. I handed the phone back to Rip, and he looked through the rest of the photos I'd taken. Once done, he said, "I really don't mind the long commute every day. No sense getting uprooted when we're only talking about a couple of weeks."
As if she were a homing pigeon whose actions were triggered by his remarks, Sydney Combs walked through the door. "Did I really just hear you say 'a couple of weeks', Rip? What did we just talk about? Six weeks of rehab at the bare minimum. Your ticker is repaired and improved. But it's a far cry from being brand new. In fact, two full months would be more appropriate for a guy your age and in your condition."
"What are you trying to say? That I'm old and out of shape?" Rip asked in mock anger. His spirits were high that morning, which warmed my heart.
"Your words. Not mine. But if the pot belly fits–"
"Hey now!" Rip and the nurse both laughed. They'd formed a close bond in a matter of days. Rip had always lived by the motto, "To get respect, you must earn it!" The skilled healthcare provider had more than earned Rip's respect. By convincing my mulish husband to toe the line, she'd earned mine, as well.
"Okay, okay. I give. Even so, I can easily drive back and forth to rehab three times a week for two months." Rip turned to look directly at me. "I know you'd feel more at home in the trailer."
"I've been weighing the pros and cons of moving into the Heart Shack, too," I replied. I glanced over at Sydney after I heard her inhale sharply. She looked as if she'd just witnessed a bunny rabbit pass a milk chocolate Easter egg. "But–"
"But?" Sydney echoed in an alarmed tone.
"But?" Rip repeated a second later.
"But," I repeated, drawing the one-syllable word out like it was twenty-seven letters long. "Not only is the Heart Shack conveniently located, but we can also park the trailer there and save nearly a grand a month. It's kind of a no-brainer."
"It's absolutely a no-brainer!" The nurse agreed emphatically.
"So why did you show me these pictures?" Rip asked, holding up the phone. He was clearly perplexed at my motives. I'm sure he thought my intention was to express to him in photographs why there was no frigging way we could live in the dilapidated eyesore on South Hart Street.
"I just wanted you to see why I'd be spending most of my time there for the next day or two doing some sprucing up." Even though I sensed there was an unspoken motivation for why Sydney seemed to be aggressively overselling the idea of us inhabiting the Heart Shack, I didn't want to insult the lady by indicating the place was a pigsty that'd require an army of worker ants to make livable again. Yet I thought she needed to know the place was not up to snuff. Having one potential guest after another shun the offer of a free, convenient place to reside while a loved one was hospitalized did not make for a positive impression of the heart center's temporary housing facility. Negative word-of-mouth advertising could shut the Heart Shack down before it even got up to speed.
"Sorry it's such a filthy mess," Sydney said. She didn't seem insulted. In fact, she was apologetic and offered to send a housekeeping service in to give the place a thorough cleansing before we moved into it. "I'll see to it the work is underway as soon as possible. There was money allotted for that sort of thing in my aunt's will."
"That'd be awesome. I'd be more than happy to help out as much as I can. I'd do all the cleaning myself if it wasn't so far beyond my capabilities. It's a huge place that's been sorely neglected for quite some time. Not enough hours in the day or enough elbow grease left in this old body to do it all on my own in a timely manner." I felt bad, not wanting to come across as a prima donna who couldn't deal with dust and dirt. "I'm really not so much concerned about the two of us, Sydney. But some of the family members of patients here have stopped by to check the place out and refused to stay. If I had to guess, I'd say they didn't think it was ready for guests."
"What? Who stopped by?" Sydney asked, clearly taken aback by my remark. "What family members are you referring to? It isn't ready for guests yet! There's no way the hospital would allow visitors to stay there until the place has been cleaned, disinfected, and up to their high standards. Not to mention, the contractor we hired to repair the roof, stairs, porch, and other deteriorating areas of the building, hasn't even started on the project. They have to wait until the punch list is approved by the local inspection department, who'd initially wanted to condemn and raze the property."
"I'm glad they reconsidered demolishing it. As far as the potential guests stopping by to inspect the home, I must have misunderstood what the caretaker told me," I replied. Truthfully, I was dead certain I hadn't misunderstood him. But I wasn't as sure that he hadn't mistaken the contractors and possible inspectors for visitors who were checking out the place as possible accommodations while their loved one recuperated in the heart center.
"You talked to Aunt Mabel's caretaker?" Sydney asked. "So he truly does exist?"
"Yes, he truly does. I talked to him just an hour or so ago. He stopped by the Heart Shack, startling me when I entered the drawing room. He seemed reluctant to converse with me and wouldn't tell me why he stopped by. Can you tell me anything more about him, Sydney?"
"I've never met the caretaker. Like I said, I didn't really even believe the man existed. What's his name?"
"He wouldn't say, even after I inquired about it. He was extremely cagey about offering any information about himself, for some reason."
"How odd," Sydney said. "I can't imagine why he'd just drop by. Until now, I truly believed he was merely a figment of my aunt's imagination. I thought maybe she'd just concocted him because she enjoyed telling her female friends in the church choir that she had a man living with her. Most of them were widows, or spinsters living alone, you see. Aunt Mabel amused herself by leading them to believe she was living in sin. Now that you've actually met the man, maybe you can tell me more about him."
"Well, okay," I replied. "Imagine Ernest J. Keebler, the cookie company's head elf, at eighty-years old. He's spritely, moves like a cat, and speaks in a mixture of broken English and Irish brogue. He told me he didn't reside there any longer but still keeps an eye out on the place. The caretaker is a bizarre little fellow. To be honest, he reminded me of a leprechaun."
Sydney gazed at me silently for several long moments, as if suddenly having doubts about my claim to have met her aunt's mysterious caretaker. I could almost hear the thoughts inside her head. A leprechaun? Really? The mental ward on the fourth floor is accepting new patients, Mrs. Ripple. Perhaps you should check it out.
I wondered if she was already regretting the offer she'd made us. Nurse Combs probably had enough to do without dealing with a bull-headed heart patient and his whacked-out, hallucinating wife.
Suddenly I was more determined than ever to get the Heart Shack spic-and-spa
n and move into it. I vowed to face my fears and hunt down the man I'd conversed with earlier in the drawing room. If at all possible, I'd snap a photo of him to show Sydney, more as proof I wasn't crazy than anything else. I'd be danged if I was going to let the fellow make me look like a full-fledged fool again. I'd gotten the impression Sydney still believed the caretaker didn't actually exist and thought I, like her aunt, was merely having figments.
Rip chimed in then, as if he too thought I might have spent the last hour or so sniffing Elmer's Glue. "Maybe the guy had lost his lucky charms and was looking for them."
Rip laughed loudly as Sydney tried to suppress a smile. I wasn't amused at all. "Not funny, Rip!"
His sarcastic jibe annoyed me, but even I had to chuckle when he responded in a sing-song voice, "They're magically delicious."
Rip patted my hand to let me know he was only kidding, and said, "Seriously, dear. It was probably just some nosy neighbor snooping around to see what was going on with the property. The new coat of red paint might have piqued his curiosity."
"Yes! That's probably exactly who he was." Sydney said with obvious relief. She was clearly thankful to have Rip supply an answer to explain my puzzling conversation with an uninvited interloper that I thought resembled the cooking-baking elf. "I seriously can't believe there was ever a man taking care of my aunt's property. If there'd been a caretaker, wouldn't the place be in better condition now?"
"You'd think." I responded in agreement, but wasn't convinced the man was nothing more than a nosy neighbor. My stroll down the long hallway had resulted in a symphony of sounds within the walls of the old home. Would a neighbor, unfamiliar with the structure, be able to walk the entire length without a single squeak, creak, groan or thud emanating from the ancient, dried-up woodwork? Even at his diminutive size, I didn't think so.
I'd been told about a possible, albeit unlikely, caretaker who could potentially still be on the premises. So, as anyone else would do, I'd automatically assumed the man who claimed to be keeping an eye on the old mansion was the caretaker. I still wasn't convinced he wasn't. Were my instincts not as spot-on as I'd like to think? Was the curious little fellow who'd inferred he'd been Mabel Trumbo's caretaker merely an imposter?
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