“Not even. I’m not certain what I’ll do, when the time comes, but that’s at the bottom of my list.”
“Probably a good thing. I don’t think you’d get any clients. We’re hardly a hotbed of crime and what little there is Sheriff Kingman can take care of. All right, I should leave you to your walk. It was good to meet you.”
“You, as well.”
Wylie continued on his way after Frank headed to his front porch. He didn’t meet anyone else before returning home. After locking the doors, contrary to what Alicia had said about the local custom, he settled down to read for a while and then headed to bed.
Chapter 4
“When you said bright and early, you meant it,” Wylie said as he let Carl into the house.
“You bet ya,” Carl replied as he set down the cans of paint he was carrying. “It’ll take a couple of trips to get the rest of my gear.”
“I’ll help,” Wylie volunteered, and did, getting Carl’s thanks.
“Now go find something to keep you busy and out of my hair,” the handyman said with a grin.
“On it.” Wylie had anticipated that so he’d planned on doing something about cleaning up the backyard, with the possible aim of planting a vegetable garden the way his grandfather had, when he finished.
He got the gardening tools from the shed, which reminded him that he should go through the piles of boxes there. See if there’s anything worth keeping and do what with the rest? Take it to the dump, or to a near-new shop if there’s one in town? He didn’t remember seeing one during his trips downtown in the last couple of days, or when he and his grandfather had gone out to eat a few times. “Which doesn’t mean there isn’t one, hidden away on a back street,” he murmured.
The first part of cleaning the yard involved raking up the leaves and fallen branches around the two trees at the back of the property. After packing them into trash bags, he set to work pulling weeds from the large bed along the side fence. By the time he finished he was ready for lunch.
The odor of paint hit him when he walked into the kitchen. Crossing to the main room, he saw that Carl had already finished with one wall and was about to start on the next one.
“I’m fixing lunch, if you want some,” Wylie told him.
“Never let it be said I turned down free food,” Carl replied, closing the paint can. “What do you think so far?”
“The color’s great. It already makes a big difference.”
“I agree. Let me wash my brushes and I’ll help you out.” Carl went to the kitchen sink to do so, saying, “Hope you don’t mind.”
“Why would I? If I was painting I’d do the same.”
While Carl cleaned the brushes, Wylie got out the makings for sandwiches, setting them on the small table in the corner of the kitchen.
“Bought out the market, huh?” Carl said with obvious amusement as he looked at what was there.
“Felt like it,” Wylie admitted as they put together their sandwiches and began to eat. “I met Betty Harte while I was checking out.”
“Nice lady, if you don’t mind getting your ear talked off. Her old man…” Carl shook his head. “Why he doesn’t get a real job is beyond me. She and that daughter of hers do most of the work with their business. Far as I can tell all he does is heavy lifting when they need to set up tables and what have you.”
Wylie chuckled. “He seemed nice enough when I met him last night.”
“How’d you manage that?”
“I was out for a walk; Betty spotted me and invited me in to meet him and Alicia. I got the impression she, Alicia that is, only helps out on the weekends since she’s a teacher, too.”
“Be careful,” Carl said, smirking. “Betty’s doing her best to find Alicia a husband. My bet is the next step will be inviting you to supper one night.”
“Which I will politely decline. I’m not looking for a girlfriend, and for damned sure I don’t want to get married.”
“Don’t want a sweet housemate to cook dinner and do the laundry?”
Wylie snorted. “I’m more than capable of doing for myself, thanks.”
“Most men are, and some even admit it. Who else have you run into, other than Garry?”
“One of the men who owns Ingram Hardware, and Dave from the gas station. Oh, and a couple of artists. I think I made their day when I bought some of their work.”
“Stuff to hang up after I finish painting?” Carl asked.
“One, yes, a landscape.”
“Hope the colors work with your new paint job.”
“I don’t think that will be a problem. You know the color I chose is very neutral.”
“True.” Carl finished his sandwich, took his plate to the sink, and said, “‘Bout time I got back to it.”
“And I need to tackle what’s in the storage shed.” Wylie gave a mock shudder, earning a laugh from Carl in response.
* * * *
The majority of what was packed into the boxes in the shed turned out to be old pots and pans, and bedding and towels, that should have been thrown out years ago, as well as magazines and newspapers Wylie’s grandfather had saved for…Hell, who knows why? He hauled those boxes out to the alley, setting them beside the bags of garden waste next to the trash can. Let’s hope this isn’t like the city where they wouldn’t pick up anything that wasn’t in a trash container.
Two boxes held a variety of knickknacks he knew his grandparents had picked up when they took their rare vacations. The last time he’d seen them, they had been on display on the bookshelves in the main room, along with the few books they had owned. He decided to keep everything, especially the books, which he’d return to the shelves once the painting was finished. The final box he opened held photo albums. He immediately took it up to his office, vowing to go through the albums sometime in the near future.
When Wylie came downstairs, Carl said, “I think I’ll quit for the day. The two big walls are done. The smaller ones shouldn’t take all that long, so I’ll be finished by early tomorrow afternoon. Did you find any treasures in the shed?”
“Not so’s you’d know it. I think Gramps was a bit of a packrat, if you want the honest truth.”
“Not going to debate you on that. How many times did I tell him to get rid of that old truck and get something better? He said it ran fine so why would he want to throw away money he could use better somewhere else.”
“Sounds like him,” Wylie replied, smiling. “So, I need to get up at seven to let you in?”
“Yep.” Carl grinned as he picked up his brushes, rollers, and paint pans, putting them into the box he’d brought with him that morning. “Better make it six; I might decide to get an early start.”
“Carl,” Wylie grumbled.
“Just kidding. I’ll be here at eight. Mind if I use the slop sink in the basement to clean these? I don’t want to mess up your kitchen sink any more than I did at lunch.”
“You didn’t mess it up, but yeah, sure. Have at it.”
Carl disappeared down the stairs to the basement, returning a few minutes later to tell Wylie he’d left everything down there to dry. “I’ll see you in the morning,” he said, and then left by the front door.
Feeling grimy and grungy, Wylie went up to take a shower and change clothes. Once he was dressed, he debated cooking dinner or going out. Opting for the latter, he made certain he had everything, including his jacket, and took off for downtown and The Parish Garage.
* * * *
“Long time, no see,” Garry said the minute Wylie walked into the restaurant.
“All of two days,” Wylie retorted with a laugh.
“But I missed you, terribly.” Garry dramatically clutched his chest, getting another laugh from Wylie.
“Sure you did.” Wylie paused to tell the hostess he needed a table for one.
“I was about to take a break to eat. Why don’t you join me,” Garry said before she could reply.
“If you’re sure.”
“I wouldn’t have sugg
ested it if I wasn’t.”
Wylie nodded and followed Garry to a table tucked away in a back corner of the restaurant.
The same young woman who had waited on him the last time he’d been there hurried over with a pot of coffee.
“Wylie, Nelly. Nelly, Wylie,” Garry said. “She knows my habits well. Coffee and more coffee.”
Nelly grinned. “Followed by…more coffee.” She handed Wylie a menu. “I’ll be back to take your orders in a couple of minutes.”
“Are you beginning to get settled in?” Garry asked.
“Some. Carl’s halfway through painting the main room, I cleared out a lot of the boxes in the storage shed, and the backyard doesn’t look like a jungle anymore. Got my office set up, too, and bought some artwork for it and the main room.”
“Very good. Question, why do you call it the main room instead of the living room?”
Wylie shrugged. “Because that’s what it is? Yeah, sure, it’s also the living room, sort of, but it’s more than that since part of it is the dining room, too. Make sense?”
“It does. It’s big enough you could put up a wall to separate them.”
“Uh-uh. I like the spaciousness. I’m thinking…well this was Carl’s idea. He says there’s probably a decent floor under the carpet. When he’s finished, I might check and if there is, I’ll tear out the carpet and do whatever to refinish the floor.” Wylie paused to drink his coffee. “Then I can get a nice rug for under the dining table to set it off.”
“That sounds great. Want to come over and redecorate my place when you’re finished?”
“As if. A decorator I’m not.”
“You never know,” Garry replied.
“Have you decided?” Nelly asked as she returned.
Wylie quickly scanned the menu, glad it wasn’t the first time he’d seen it, and settled on coq au vin. Garry told her he wanted the prime rib, rare, and she left.
“Have you met any of our neighbors?” Garry asked.
“Oh, boy, have I.” Wylie went on to tell him about Betty and her family, and Frank Ingram. “He seems like a nice guy.”
“He is, if you can get him off the subject of tools.” Garry shook his head. “He knows what you need for any and all jobs and doesn’t mind telling you, in detail.”
“He didn’t, last night, but then I don’t think I mentioned I was doing anything to the house, at least as far as repairs. He was more interested in letting me know that Earlston was virtually crime-free, thanks to the sheriff, so I shouldn’t plan on setting up as a private detective.”
“Frank’s one of Kingman’s volunteer deputies, and a big fan of the man.”
“From your tone of voice, you aren’t.”
“I’ve got nothing against him, other than he swaggers around like he’d the cock of the walk.”
“When it’s really you?” Wylie teased.
“Uh-huh, not. I just a lowly restaurateur.”
“With the best food in town, to hear you tell it. So far, I agree, even though I haven’t tried anywhere else.”
“Thank you, kind sir.” Garry took a sip on his coffee and then asked, “What do you think of Alicia?”
“I almost feel sorry for her. She’s a nice woman who has to put up with her mother playing matchmaker.” Wylie paused, and then said slyly, “Betty told me Alicia has a thing for you.”
Looking dead at him, Garry replied, “Not that it’ll do her any good, even if it’s true.” He grinned. “So she’s all yours, if you’re interested.”
“Like you, I’m not.” As he was uncertain if what Betty had suggested about Garry was the truth, Wylie left it at that.
Apparently, however, Garry wasn’t willing to. “If I’m reading you correctly, and I think I am, if Alicia was ‘Alex,’ you might be.”
“That’s a quantum leap, but maybe.”
“Not really a leap. Tom was in here, a few months before he died. He’d been drinking more than he should have so I drove him home. He started crying on my shoulder, metaphorically, about how he would never have great-grand kids because you were gay.”
“Good lord.” Wylie sucked in a breath. “I wonder how many other people he said that to.”
“As far as I can tell, probably no one or there would have been the usual small town gossip as soon as people learned that you were moving here.”
“Good. Not that I’m hiding it, but I’m not flaunting it, either.”
“Neither am I,” Garry replied quietly.
Wylie nodded. “Then what Betty told me is true.”
Garry snorted. “It is, although she doesn’t know for sure. More like it’s her explanation for why I haven’t fallen at Alicia’s feet. ‘I mean—” he mimicked Betty voice to perfection, “—a man would have to be gay not to fall in love with my lovely, talented, daughter.’” He smiled. “So there you have it.”
Wylie chuckled. “I do. Nice to know I’m not the only one in town.”
“Guys, stop with the googly-eyes. Your dinner’s here,” Nelly said, grinning as she put their plates down on the table.
“Googly-eyes?” Garry huffed. “I don’t do…”
“Bet me,” Nelly retorted. “Before you say anything, your secret is safe with me. An open secret in your case, Garry.” She turned to Wylie, still grinning. “He’s never dated any of the ladies in town, much to their chagrin, so it’s pretty obvious they aren’t his thing.”
“I could just be very picky,” Garry protested.
“Uh-huh. Not. Honestly, though, no one cares one way or the other,” she said, her attention still on Wylie. “We may be a small town, but overall most of us are pretty accepting. Hell, look at all the weirdo artists that live here.” She winked before leaving to take care of her other tables.
“Well…that was interesting,” Wylie said wryly. “Too bad Gramps wasn’t as open-minded as she is.”
“If he had been, I wouldn’t have found out you and I have something more in common than being neighbors,” Garry replied. “Not that we’re going to act on it.”
“True. Popular beliefs to the contrary, being gay doesn’t mean we fall into bed with a guy at the drop of a hat. At least I don’t.”
“Me, neither, so how about we drop the subject and enjoy the delicious food my cooks have prepared.”
“Sounds good to me,” Wylie replied. He liked the man sitting opposite him, but only as one of the few friends he’d made in the short time he’d been in town. Besides which, I’m not looking for more than friendship. I doubt he is, either.
They spent the rest of their meal talking about some of the people Wylie had yet to meet, mostly business owners he might interact with once he’d settled in. When they finished eating, Garry brushed off Wylie’s attempt to pay for dinner. “It’s on me, because it was great to be able to really relax for a while. Usually I scarf down my food so I can get back to work.”
Wylie thanked him—and Nelly when he ran into her on his way out. She leaned in and whispered, much to his amusement, “He’s a good man. You could do worse.” Then, with a wink, she walked away.
On the drive home, he considered all that he’d learned. He is a good man, as far as I can tell. Not that it matters, Nelly’s thoughts to the contrary. We barely know each other, despite the time we’ve spent together. It takes more than casual friendship when it comes to creating a truly personal relationship. I know that, and I’m sure he does as well. Sorry, Nelly, but when it comes to him and me, you’re dreaming.
Chapter 5
As good as his word, Carl finished painting the main room on Saturday. While he was packing up his gear he said, “If you’re planning on taking up the carpet, wait until Monday when the paint is thoroughly dry. You don’t want dust and dirt stuck to it.”
Wylie had already figured that out, but didn’t want to hurt Carl’s feelings, so he thanked him for the suggestion. “I’m hoping it, or the padding, wasn’t glued down.”
“I’d say that’s unlikely, but if it is, I know a carpet layer who’s goo
d at dealing with that. If you get lucky, you should be able to take it up on your own. Just remember, the tack strip can be lethal to your hands so pry it up carefully.”
“Will do.” Wylie paid him what was still owed, helped him carry his things to the truck, and then went back inside. “Next chore, my books, finally. No sense arranging the furniture until I’ve taken a look at what’s under the carpet.” He was tempted to at least lift one corner but resisted.
Box by box, he unpacked his books and put them on the shelves. When he finished he stepped back to look at the result. “They still look half empty,” he grumbled. “So guess what, Gramps, your books do go back on the shelves, along with some of the knickknacks.”
He got the boxes from the storage shed, rearranged his books so that his grandfather’s had a shelf of their own, and then took out several of the small souvenirs that he deemed bearable and spotted them along the shelves. “Still looks empty. Either I start buying more books or…” He snapped his fingers when an idea hit him. An hour later, after going through the photo albums, he had several family pictures ranging from one of his grandfather as a boy up to a fairly recent one of him, his parents, and his grandparents taken a few months before his grandmother’s death. All he needed was frames, which meant a trip into town to visit a frame shop he recalled passing while checking out some of the artists’ shops. After carefully packing the photos into a folder, he took off.
* * * *
The moment he stepped into the shop he was greeted effusively by woman who was probably close to his grandfather’s age.
“You’re Tom’s grandson. I’d know you anywhere. You look exactly like him.”
Wylie resisted rolling his eyes, especially since he knew he bore at best a slight family resemblance to his grandfather. Politely, he replied, “I am.”
“I’m Mrs. Osage. I was good friends with Tom and Helen. They were such a loving couple, but you know that, and I’m being a bit too personal, aren’t I? You need frames for, let me guess, you bought some of the local artwork, right?”
“I did, but that’s not why I’m here. I’d like frames for these.” He went over to the counter and opened the folder.
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