“Better than I expected,” Wylie commented. “Do you want, say, half down?”
“If you would, please.”
Wylie wrote out a check which he gave to Carl. After the man packed up everything, Wylie walked him to the door, thanked him for coming by, and promised he’d have the furniture moved by the time Carl arrived Friday morning.
Then, at loose ends for the moment, he opened one of his boxes of books, intending to put them away. He immediately closed it again. I’m sure he’s neat and all that, but no sense in tempting fate.
Remembering that he was going to see if his grandfather’s truck was still in running order after sitting in the garage for the last three months, he went to check. It started with no problem, but definitely needed gas, and to be washed—which he’d do when he got back. He moved his car to the street, locked up the house, and then backed the truck out of the garage and headed into town. Rather than giving his business to one of the stations by the grocery store he’d shopped at that morning, he drove down a side street to Barnet’s Gas and Go, the station his grandfather had used. When he pulled up to the pump, a dark-haired man in his mid-thirties, Wylie estimated, hurried out to greet him.
“That’s Tom’s truck, so I’m guessing you’re his grandson, Wylie.”
“I am.”
“I’m Dave Barnet.” He wiped one hand on his coveralls before holding it out. After Wylie shook it, Dave said, “You can pump the gas or I’ll do it for you.”
Wylie laughed. “Believe it or not, I know how to. Big city guy and all that.”
“Must be quite a change, coming here,” Dave said leaning on the hood of the truck while Wylie filled up.
“Oh, yeah. I think I’m going to like it, though.”
“It’s a nice, quiet town, if you don’t count the tourists. That slows down come winter.”
“How bad are they? I mean the winters. I always came out in the spring or summer.”
Dave smirked. “Not too horrible if you don’t mind getting snowed in now and again.”
“In other words, when the time comes I’d better stock up on food.”
“Might be a good idea. Luckily we don’t have problems with losing power, except maybe once or twice during the season.”
Wylie laughed. “Are you trying to scare me away?”
“Nope. Just believe in letting new folks know what they’re in for.”
“Are there many of us?”
Dave waggled a hand. “We get the artsy-crafty ones coming and going. Other than that, I think, yeah, you’re the first newcomer in the last six months or so.”
“Seriously?”
“Yep. Not many people want to move to small towns these days, or so they say. Or move away from them as far as that goes. Most of the families have been here forever, like your granddad, so it’s rare that a house goes up for sale.”
The truck’s tank was full by then, so Wylie hung up the hose. “From what Gramps said, those apartments along Market Street are for the artists.”
“Yep, mostly. Or college kids who come here over the summer, when it’s busy, to work in the restaurants.”
“Makes sense.” Wylie paid for the gas, thanked Dave, and returned home, parking in the driveway so that he could wash the truck. By the time he finished, it was after four. He moved it back into the garage then went upstairs to the kitchen to make supper. When he finished eating, he located the box with the TV, took it out, and set it on one of the bookshelves facing the sofa. He found that the reception wasn’t the greatest, nor was the selection of channels since the cable service his grandfather subscribed to had been shut off. Another thing to set up tomorrow and hope it comes with Wi-Fi so I can get online.
He didn’t find anything he wanted to watch, so he turned off the TV and settled down with the book he was reading until his eyes began to cross. At that point he closed the book and went up to bed, feeling as if he’d had a successful second day in his new home.
* * * *
Thursday, day three of his new life, began as the previous one had with bright sunlight coming through the bedroom window. This time, however, Wylie had food, so when he got to the kitchen he fixed a breakfast of eggs, bacon, and toast. When he finished it, he started on the chore of moving all the furniture, plus the unpacked boxes, into the middle of the main room.
I’m going to have muscles like Dwayne Johnson by the time I’ve finished with everything. He laughed at the idea as he got the last box stacked on top of the dining table and wiped the sweat off his forehead.
After stopping to wash his hands and drink some water, he went upstairs to work on turning the second bedroom into his office. As he’d planned, he moved the small dresser down to the end of the hallway and pushed the narrow, single bed to one wall. He put his desk against the opposite wall, with the bookcase he’d brought with him next to it. After getting the laptop from his bedroom, he searched for the box holding his printer and modem. Not that I can set everything up until I get Wi-Fi. That reminded him he also needed to visit the phone company so he could have more than basic channels on his TV. Before he went into town to do that, he unpacked the rest of the box with his linens and towels, putting them in the hallway dresser, except for a comforter which he threw over his pseudo-sofa in the office.
Standing back, he took in the room and decided it needed pictures on the wall. So does the main room. I just have to get some. He’d never been big on that kind of decorating when he was living in his apartment, figuring blank walls made it look larger.
He changed out of the old jeans and T-shirt he’d been wearing into clean jeans and a light blue denim shirt, went downstairs to eat a quick lunch, and then drove into town. He found a parking space on Market Street and walked to the offices of the phone company, which he hoped could set him up with what he needed. It took an hour, and talking to two different people, but he finally got what he wanted, and at what he considered a reasonable price. As he’d thought, the set-up for cable was already installed at the house but had been turned off after his grandfather’s death. The man he spoke with promised it would be back on by the time he got home.
When he left, he decided to check out some of the art shops to see if he could find a few affordable paintings. He was doomed to failure in the first two as what the artists had on display were both expensive and, as far as he was concerned, butt-ugly. When he walked into the third shop, Noble Art, he paused to look at what was hanging on the walls. Many of the paintings were landscapes, which he thought were probably of areas around the town. There were also some line drawings of buildings that he recognized as ones along Market Street, done in black and white ink on sepia paper so that they seemed to have been created right after the buildings been erected.
“May I help you?” a young man asked as he approached Wylie.
“Perhaps. Is it all right if I look around, first?”
“Of course.” The man went back to the counter, saying something to young woman standing there. Then they both looked at Wylie. He could imagine them crossing their fingers, hoping he’d buy something.
All the artwork was reasonably priced, in his estimation. He considered several of them, finally narrowing it down to three—one landscape and two of the drawings of local buildings. He told the man which ones he wanted, noticing as he did that the woman smiled in relief.
“Which ones are yours,” he asked her.
“The sketches,” she replied shyly. “To be honest, most people look and move on to Roger’s paintings.”
“Their loss,” Wylie told her, earning a bright smile in return.
He paid, waited for them to be wrapped in brown paper, and then returned to the car, feeling as if the trip into town had definitely been worth his time. When he got home, he put the painting aside as he couldn’t hang it until the main room had been painted. Taking the drawings up to his office, he hung them above his desk. As he did, he saw the tiny signature, in delicate cursive, in the lower corner—Emma N.—and smiled. Shy, even in how you sig
n your work.
With that completed, he went to work setting up his modem and then turned on his laptop to see if he would be able to get online. To his relief, he could. The first thing he did after signing into his email was to delete the spam and read a welcoming letter from the phone company. Then he wrote a long email to Mrs. James telling her all about the town and his house, and letting her know she’d been right about how much dusting he’d had to do.
Feeling guilty at that point, because he’d totally spaced out letting John know he’d arrived safely, he called him. After listening to his ex-partner admonish him for being so thoughtless, in a joking manner, they spent the next few minutes playing catch-up.
John sounded in a much better mood, telling Wylie that Mary had jumped in to deal with the background checks. “I also put out the word I was looking for one or two employees. Damn, Wylie, I think every guy or gal who just graduated with a degree in criminal justice is looking for work.”
“Did you hire someone?”
“Yep. Two men, provisionally. I need to be certain they know what they’re doing. Fingers crossed at least one of them does because I’ve picked up a couple of new clients. That’s mainly Mary’s doing. She decided to man the front office while she’s running the checks. My lady could charm the skin off a snake.”
“Isn’t that supposed to be ‘charm the pants off a guy’?”
“She’s my wife, she’d better not be doing that,” John replied with a laugh. “Anyway, it looks like maybe I’ll survive without you around.”
“That’s great.”
They talked for a few minutes more before hanging up after promising to keep in touch. Going down to the kitchen, Wylie tossed a frozen dinner in the microwave. As he waited for it to cook, he thought about what to have for dinner when the house was at the point where he could invite Garry over to eat. He knew he made a pretty good pot roast, at least according to one of the men he’d dated, back when he did that sort of thing. A hundred years ago. It hadn’t been that long, but there were times when it seemed like it because he’d stopped when he realized he wasn’t meeting the sort of men he wanted to spend more than a few days or weeks with. Was I being picky? Yeah, I was. I got tired of getting my hopes up only to find out they really weren’t my type after all. Of course I’m not sure what my type is, but for sure it wasn’t any of them.
The microwave dinged to let him know dinner was ready. Taking it into the main room, he settled on the sofa and turned on the TV. “We have lift-off,” he said when he discovered he could access more than the local outlets. He found a channel he liked and settled in to watch a movie while he ate. When it and his meal were finished, he got his jacket and headed out for a walk around the neighborhood before it got too dark.
As he passed Garry’s house, he heard barking and wondered if he’d see his dog making a dash around from the back since the fence gate was open, the way it had been when he’d visited his grandfather for the last time before his death. Then he realized the sound came from inside and saw the dog’s silhouette in the front window. “Sorry, pup, not today,” he said, even though he knew the dog couldn’t hear him.
He continued on to the corner of the long block, amazed at how quiet it was. A hell of a lot different from when I’d walk in the city, and undoubtedly a lot safer, too. Turning the corner, he went down to the street behind his house, wondering as he walked which home was the Hartes’. He found out when Betty Harte called out from the porch, “Coming to visit?”
“More like checking out the neighborhood. It’s been a long time since I was here last.”
“As long as you are, come meet the rest of my family.”
“I don’t want to be a bother.”
“Wylie, it’s no bother at all. They want to meet you.”
He wondered if the ‘they’ was her daughter, Alicia, and if she knew she wanted to. Figuring why not find out, he walked up the path to the porch and then stepped inside when Betty held the door open.
An average-looking man sat on the living room sofa. He stood, offering his hand while saying, “I’m Jake.”
“Wylie Lewis,” Wylie replied as they shook hands.
“Nice to meet you, take a seat. Betty was just about to make more coffee, unless you’d like something stronger.”
“I really can’t stay for long,” Wylie protested at the same time that Betty called up the stairs, “Alicia, we have company.”
“Coming, Mom,” a rather resigned sounding female replied.
Wylie half expected to see a dowdy thirty-something woman come down the stairs. Because Betty’s obviously playing matchmaker? Thus he wasn’t too surprised when a rather plain, athletically-built blonde woman entered the living room, although she was younger than he’d anticipated—at the most in her middle-twenties.
“Alicia, this is the new neighbor that I was telling you about,” Betty said.
“Hello.” Alicia eyed Wylie with a trace of distaste, although she obviously was doing her best to hide it from her mother. “You’re Mr. Lewis’s grandson, from what Mom said.”
“I am.” He chuckled. “I have the feeling that’s going to be my title for a long time to come.”
“Probably.” She finally smiled. “The same way I’ll always be ‘Betty and Jake’s daughter’ to a lot of the old-timers around here, as if I didn’t have a name of my own.”
“Alicia, it’s not that bad,” Jake protested.
“Yes it is,” she replied tartly. “Ever since I returned from college that’s how they tag me. Like I’m a newcomer since I was gone for four years.” Returning her attention to Wylie, she said, “You’ll get used to it.”
“I suppose I will. What did you major in?”
“Physical education. I’m the girls’ gym teacher and sports coach at the middle school.”
“Oh? I thought, from what your mother said…” Wylie frowned.
Alicia grinned. “That I was the driving force behind my parent’s party-planning business. Not quite. I step in when they need an extra hand on the weekends. That’s about it.”
Betty interrupted, saying, “You never did say if you wanted coffee or a beer.”
“Neither, thank you. I really should get moving. I told myself I was going to walk the entire neighborhood and I’ve barely started.”
“Your nightly constitutional?” Alicia asked.
“Nope. Just relearning the area, to see how much it’s changed since I visited Gramps two years ago.”
She snorted. “It could have been ten years ago and nothing would have changed.”
“That’s not a bad thing, I think. It’s one reason I decided to move into Gramps’ house rather than sell it. After spending most of my life in the city, the idea of a slower living pace has a definite appeal.”
“I give it a year before you decide you were crazy.”
Wylie laughed. “We’ll see.” Turning to her parents, who had been listening with obvious interest, he said, “I’m sure I’ll be seeing you again, soon. It was nice to meet you, Jake, and you, Alicia.”
“Come back anytime,” Betty said. “Our door is always open.”
“Another thing about small town living,” Alicia whispered as she walked onto the porch with him. “No one, and I mean no one, ever locks their doors, including Mom and Dad, as much as I’ve tried to tell them they should. They think because it’s a small town they’re safe.”
“Is anywhere completely safe?” Wylie asked.
“A deserted island where you’re the only inhabitant?”
“Robinson Crusoe found out differently,” Wylie replied.
“I’m impressed.”
“That I know the story? I’m a reader in my spare time. Not that I’ve had much of that recently but…” He shrugged.
“I’m sure you will, once you’ve settled in.” She patted his arm. “All right, enjoy the rest of your walk.”
“Thanks.”
With that, Wylie returned to the sidewalk and continued on his way. It was getting dark b
y then, giving him a view into the lighted living rooms of several of the houses he passed. Very much a peaceful, family-oriented town from the look of it, once you get away from the downtown. But then I knew that already. From what he saw, many of the houses belonged to older couples, much closer to his grandfather’s age than his own twenty-nine.
“Window peeping?” an amused sounding voice asked from behind him.
Wylie turned to see a guy he estimated to be in his early thirties standing at the fence surrounding one of the yards, and replied, “Since I’m on the sidewalk, I’d hardly call it peeping.”
“I suppose not, technically. You’re new around here which means you must be Tom’s grandson.”
Wylie bit back a laugh. “As Alicia Harte said, that’s going to be my ‘title’ for a while yet, and I am.”
“That makes you Wylie Lewis,” the guy replied. “I’m Frank Ingram. I live over there—” He gestured to the house behind him. “My father and I own Ingram Hardware. It’s a block east of Market.”
It took Wylie a moment to place the store, and then he nodded. “Gramps said you were the best place to buy tools.”
“We sure are,” Frank replied with obvious pride. “So, what are you doing wandering the street after dark?”
Wylie shrugged. “Relearning the neighborhood. The last time I was here was a couple of years ago. Gramps and I would take walks sometimes, when he was in the mood.”
“When he was sober? Sorry, probably not what you wanted me to say, but it is the truth.”
“Believe me, I know. At least when I visited he only drank in the evenings, and not every day.”
“Having you around gave him something to do, after your grandmother died. At least that’s Dad’s explanation. Sorry, I didn’t mean to lay a guilt trip on you,” Frank said when Wylie frowned.
“It’s okay. I know I should have visited more often but…”
“You had your own life. Got it. Private detective, from the rumors I heard. You going to set up to do that here?”
New Man in Town Page 3