New Man in Town

by Edward Kendrick

  “How marvelous!” She spread them out, smiling brightly. “I remember when this one was taken, and…All right, you don’t need a blow-by-blow. Are you going to hang them or stand them on something?”

  “Stand them on the shelves in the main room.”

  “Perfect.” She spent the next fifteen minutes showing him different frames. He eventually settled on simple silver ones when she pointed out that they wouldn’t distract from the black and white photos. He agreed, and then waited for her to put each photo into a frame—a service she said she offered for free, although he had the feeling if he’d been someone other than Tom’s grandson she would have charged him.

  He walked out of the shop carrying a large, heavy bag, feeling as if he’d accomplished something special as far as his decorating plans went.

  As he passed Roger and Emma’s art shop, he saw them talking to a pair of tourists, or so he presumed from the casual way the couple were dressed. Emma glanced his way and waved shyly. He smiled, waving back, hoping the people would buy one of her drawings. They’d be fools not to.

  The moment he got home he took the framed photos out of the bag, setting each one in open spaces on the bookshelves. It took a bit of rearranging until he was satisfied with the result. Stepping back, he said under his breath, “I hope you like this, Gramps.” He didn’t get a reply, but then he hadn’t expected one. He liked it, and he had the feeling that if his parents ever made it out to visit him, they would as well.

  * * * *

  The first thing Wylie did Monday morning, after eating breakfast, was choose the least visible corner of the main room, which was beside one of the built-in book cases, and very carefully worked the carpet loose from the tack strip. He pumped a fist when he found out that the padding underneath hadn’t been glued down. It was, however, crumbly, probably from age. “Getting rid of it is not going to be fun. I’d better invest the largest trash bags on the market.”

  Getting a putty knife and a small whiskbroom from the basement, he moved the padding aside and the studied the floor. He thought it was oak, a couple of shades darker than the woodwork, and it seemed to be in good shape. Of course it didn’t get much wear and tear since it’s a corner, but fingers crossed the rest of the floor is okay, too.

  “All right, let’s do this,” he told himself. “Move the furniture…where?” He decided the sofa and dining table, as well as the oak credenza, would fit in the kitchen and pantry. The chairs and coffee table could go up to his office until he was finished. It took a fair amount of wrangling to get things moved, but he managed it. Then he collected the tools in the basement that he thought he’d need to take up the carpet and cut it into small enough pieces that he could roll them up, put them in the truck, and take them to the dump. To his surprise, he also found a box of disposable dust masks tucked away under the workbench. Now why did you have these, Gramps? Whatever the reason, he was glad they were there as he had the feeling there would be a lot of dust and grime involved in the job.

  Things went fairly quickly once he got the hang of pulling the carpet off the strip without lacerating his knuckles.

  He was more than halfway finished when the doorbell rang. With a groan, he got to his feet, rubbing the small of his back. He pulled down the mask and went to see who was there.

  “You’ve been busy,” Garry said when Wylie let him in. He glanced down and added, “And your pants definitely prove it.”

  Wylie had to agree when he looked at them. “Them, my knees, and my back are all testaments to the fact getting rid of old carpet isn’t for the faint of heart.”

  “You’ve made progress, though. Why don’t you take a break? I bet you haven’t eaten yet.”

  “You’d win. Speaking of eating, why are you here instead of at the restaurant?”

  “We’re closed on Mondays, so I decided to check out how your redecorating was going.” Garry looked around and nodded in approval. “Great color, and I like what you’ve done with the bookcases.”

  “Yeah, the old bed sheets add a real classy touch.” Wylie had decided at the last moment to cover them because he was pretty certain he’d be raising dust. He’d been right, as they and his clothes were grimy.

  “Sit down, umm, on the stairs, while I toss together some sandwiches, if I can get to the fridge.”

  “You don’t have to do that,” Wylie protested.

  “I know, but I’m going to anyway. Then I’ll help you finish up here.” Garry looked at the large pile of crumbled padding in one corner of the room that Wylie had been sweeping up as he went. “Got trash bags?”

  “Yeah, but I need bigger ones.”

  “No problem. I’ve got some at home.”

  “Garry…”

  “Wylie…” Garry grinned. “Sit.” He pointed to the stairs.

  Wylie did, leaning against the railing as he watched Garry go into the kitchen. He heard the fridge open and close, and the clatter of plates being set on the counter. A couple of minutes later Garry reappeared with two large sandwiches, and two open bottles of beer. He handed a plate and a bottle to Wylie, and then sat beside him.

  “You make a mean sandwich,” Wylie said after taking a bite.

  “Practice. Lots of practice. When it comes to feeding myself when I’m not at work, I take the easy way out.”

  Wylie nodded, as his mouth was full. He hadn’t realized he was hungry until he started eating. When he finished the last bite he sighed with contentment. “I needed that.”

  “Knew you would,” Garry replied. “Now, where were you before I interrupted?”

  “Getting ready to cut that section into pieces.” Wylie pointed to where he’d stopped.

  “Okay, you do that; I’ll deal with the padding. Do you have another mask?”

  “Yep, hang on.” Wylie got one for him and they set to work. With Garry’s help, and the trash bags he took time to get from home, the room was down to the bare floor by evening. All that remained was to remove the tack strip, which Wylie said he’d do in the morning before taking everything to the dump. “Right now we need to shower and change into clean clothes. Then I’m taking you out to dinner.”

  “I’m not going to turn down an offer like that,” Garry replied. “I even know a decent restaurant, if you don’t mind a bit of a drive.”

  “I don’t. Your car or mine, or both?”

  “Mine. I’ll be back in half an hour.”

  As good as his word, Garry rang the doorbell thirty minutes later. When Wylie answered it, they said at the same time, “You clean up good,” breaking into laughter seconds later. Wylie patted his pockets to make certain he had everything and locked up. A few minutes later they were on the highway, heading north.

  Soon, Garry took a right onto side road and then pulled into the lot beside the restaurant. “Not as good as my place,” he said as they walked to the entrance, “but a close second.”

  From the number of families Wylie saw when they were inside, he could tell it probably had what he thought of as ‘down-home’ cooking. He found out, once they were seated with menus in hand, that to an extent he had been correct. There was the requisite fried chicken, meatloaf, and burgers of all kinds. However, there was also a small selection of steaks, fish, and chicken that wasn’t fried.

  “The salmon is very good,” Garry said. “So are the short ribs.”

  “Decision, decisions,” Wylie replied. “Maybe I’ll take one of everything.”

  Garry snorted. “I get that you’re hungry, I am, too, but that would be overdoing it.”

  Wylie grinned, and then ordered the salmon when the waitress appeared. Garry opted for the pork tenderloin with red Thai curry glaze, and they ordered coffee—which the waitress brought immediately.

  “I never asked,” Wylie said. “How long have you lived here?”

  “I’m thirty-one so that would be, yeah, thirty-one years.”

  “I guess that answers my question. Does your family still live here?”

  “Nope. My sister and her husband mo
ved to the east coast when he got a better job there. Mom and Dad decided they’d had it with the harsh winters so as soon as he retired they moved south to Galveston, of all places.”

  “At least they don’t have deal with snow. Hurricanes, however…”

  “Yeah, I know. What about your family?”

  “It’s just Mom and Dad, and they’re in Chicago. I grew up there, but moved on after college when my friend John and I decided to open our detective agency. That was seven years ago. I finally decided I’d had it, sold him my half, and moved here since I inherited Gramps’ house.”

  “To live a life of leisure.”

  “Yeah, right. So far leisure hasn’t happened, although it will eventually, once I do everything I want to the house.”

  “You’ve got a good start already,” Garry replied.

  “With your help, and believe me it’s greatly appreciated, in case I haven’t said so.”

  Garry shrugged. “It keeps me out of trouble.”

  Their meals arrived at that point. After making inroads into his salmon, Wylie teased, “I think I may have found my new favorite place to eat.”

  “Bite your tongue,” Garry muttered, but he was smiling so Wylie knew he understood that he was joking.

  When they finished eating, and by-passed dessert, Wylie paid the bill and they headed back to his place. Before getting out of the car, he thanked Garry again for all his help. In turn, Garry thanked him for dinner, adding, “This doesn’t negate the fact you promised to cook me supper sometime.”

  “I will, if and when I get my kitchen back. I’ve got the feeling I’ll be refinishing the floor, even though it’s basically in pretty good condition, considering.”

  “If you do…”

  “I’m hiring someone. There are limits to what I’m capable of and I suspect that will be a job.”

  Garry grinned. “Exactly what I was going to suggest. Call Carl. If he can’t do it, he’ll know someone who can.”

  “Will do. Okay, knowing me I’ll probably stop by the restaurant tomorrow night for dinner.”

  “Great. I’ll see you then.”

  * * * *

  Tuesday, Wylie set to work removing the tack strips. It was arduous, and hard on his knees and hands, but he was successful. He was dismayed, however, that the screws, albeit thin ones, that had held the strips down had left holes along the edge of the floor. Before calling Carl, he made a run to the dump to get rid of the bags of padding, the cut-up carpeting, and the strips.

  The call resulted in Wylie’s hiring him to refinish the floor. It would probably take a couple of days, Carl warned him, “And you’ll want to find something to do outside the house. Between the dust from sanding, and the smell of the stain and varnish…well, you get the picture.” Wylie did. Carl said he could start the following morning, and hopefully finish everything but the varnishing by evening since he’d have his son Owen helping him. “Or rather, I’ll be doing the helping since this is his field of expertise.”

  With that settled, Wylie spent the afternoon deciding what vegetables he wanted in his garden, and then stopping by Earlston Nursery and Garden Center to buy seeds and plants. He planned on working on the garden while Carl and his son dealt with the main room floor. When he got home, he put his purchases in the storage shed, showered and dressed, and took off for The Parish Garage for supper.

  He saw Garry standing at the bar, deep in conversation with a blond-haired man who appeared to be in his mid-thirties. Before he could catch his friend’s attention, the hostess greeted him as if he was a regular. In a way he figured he was, as often as he’d been there in the last week. He suspected she would have said “Your usual table?” if he had one, but he didn’t, so she took him to the one along the far wall that he’d had the first time he’d been there. Does this make it my usual table, now? He smiled at the idea as she handed him the menu.

  While he was deciding what to eat, he heard, “Would you like something to drink before dinner?” He looked up, expecting to see Nelly, and was surprised to find another waitress standing there. Not that I should be. I’m sure she gets a day off.

  “Coffee, please,” he replied and then told her what he wanted for dinner. She took his order, left, and returned moments later to pour his coffee. At that point, he took out his book, intending to read until his meal arrived.

  “Mind if I join you for a couple?”

  “Hell, no,” Wylie replied to Garry’s question. After Garry sat, Wylie asked, “Where’s my favorite waitress? Is she off tonight?”

  “If you mean Nelly, I have no idea where she is. She was scheduled to be here at four. When I tried calling to find out where she was, she didn’t answer. The call went straight to voicemail and she hasn’t returned it.”

  “Has she ever done this before?”

  “Never. She’s probably the most reliable waitress I have.”

  “Does she live in town?”

  “No. Her house is in the boonies.” Garry smiled wryly. “Well, as much in the boonies as is possible for a small town. It’s on one of the roads running through the hills to the north of town.”

  “Any neighbors you can call to check on her?”

  “The nearest one is almost a mile away from her. I did call and ask him to drive by, to see if she was sick. He called back to say he knocked on her door but got no answer, and none of the lights were on.”

  “Have you talked to the sheriff, just in case?”

  “Yeah. That was him you saw me with when you came in. He claims there’s nothing he can do for at least twenty-four hours since she’s of legal age. And then someone would have to file a missing-persons report before he could enter her house.”

  “I don’t know the local or state laws, here, but that’s probably true,” Wylie replied. He drummed a finger on the table before saying, “If you want, I can go see what I can find out. I have no problem with the idea of going inside, as long as she hasn’t locked her doors. I gather around here that’s highly unlikely.”

  Garry nodded. “It is, even for folks living well outside of town.”

  “I take it she has no family here, or a boyfriend.”

  “Nope. She had a boyfriend, but they decided to call it quits when he went off to grad school. She told me neither of them was interested in a long-distance relationship.”

  “All right.”

  Wylie started to get up, stopping when Garry said, “Eat, first. I doubt half an hour’s going to make a difference. If she is sick, she probably turned her phone off so she could sleep. I would if it were me.”

  “Which is undoubtedly what’s going on, but I know you’re worried, so I’ll check on her.”

  Garry thanked him and left the table as the waitress brought Wylie’s meal. He ate it hurriedly, barely tasting it, flagged her down for the check, and as soon as he paid, he walked to the door. It wasn’t until he was outside that he realized he didn’t know her address. Going back inside, he looked for Garry, spotting him talking to one of the customers. When he caught his attention, he beckoned, asking for Nelly’s address when Garry came over.

  “Yeah, that would probably help.” Garry wrote it down. “Call as soon as you know anything.”

  “I will.”

  Once he’d programmed the address into his GPS system, it took Wylie seven minutes to get to her house. It was small, only one story, set well back off the road. After pulling into the driveway, he parked, leaving the headlights on, and walked along the dirt path to the front stoop. There was no doorbell, so he knocked, once—and then harder when there was no response. Still getting no answer, he went around to the rear of the house, figuring there had to be a back door. There was, and he knocked loudly. He could hear the sound echoing inside, but she didn’t come to see who was there.

  “Time to get proactive,” he said under his breath as he tried the door handle. It turned, and he pushed the door open a couple of inches, calling out, “Nelly, are you here?”

  There was no answer, so he opened the door and w
ent inside. He used a knuckle to feel for the light switch and when he found it, he turned the light on. He was in a small kitchen. Across from him was another door. Before going to it, he picked up a dish cloth lying over the edge of the sink. It was instinct, from his years as a private detective, and probably unwarranted, he thought, but in case something was wrong he wasn’t about to destroy any fingerprints. Wrapping the cloth around his fingers, he opened the door.

  The moment he stepped into the living room it was obvious there had been a struggle. An armchair was overturned, as was the chair by the dining table, which was also on its side, a shattered plate and the remains of what he could only presume was her interrupted supper beside it. Worst of all, there was blood spattering the floor by the front door.

  Backing into the kitchen, he called Garry. As soon as he answered, Wylie said, “Let the sheriff know he should get out here ASAP, since I don’t have his number. Something’s happened to Nelly.”

  “Damn it, Wylie. Are you sure?”

  “Yeah, I am.” He quickly described what he’d found. “Tell him I’ll wait in my car until he gets here.”

  “I’m coming, too,” Garry replied and then hung up.

  Before going back to his car, Wylie walked to the front stoop again. This time he saw what he’d missed the first time, a few dark spots going from the door down to the path, where they disappeared. He was certain they were blood. Dried blood, as he must have stepped on them when he was on the stoop a few minutes earlier but he hadn’t tracked any of it away when he’d left. Whatever happened, it wasn’t tonight.

  He crossed to his car, leaning against the hood while he waited for the sheriff and Garry to arrive. The sheriff got there first, which was no surprise. He pulled up behind Wylie’s car, got out, and strode over to him.

  “So you’re the hot-shot big city PI,” Sheriff Kingman said after introducing himself. “Heard about you.” He pointed a finger at Wylie. “This state doesn’t have any reciprocity agreements, so your license isn’t valid here. That means you keep your nose out this. Got it?”

  Wylie was sorely tempted to tell him to shove it, but decided it wasn’t worth getting on the sheriff’s bad side any more than, for whatever reason, he apparently was already. Afraid I’ll show him up? Perhaps. “Got it,” he replied quietly.