by Tony Lavely
After a few moments, she gently unravelled herself and sat on the edge of the bed. Amy’s clothes from the beach yesterday were neatly laid across the foot; Eilís must already be up. A trip to the bathroom was in order.
In fifteen minutes, Beckie perched atop a tall stool at the counter dividing the kitchen and the empty space Eilís said was allocated for the dining room, “If I ever buy a dining room set.” They had agreed on coffee and Eilís was scrambling eggs while chuckling with Beckie about Dylan and Amy. “I promise, I was completely floored when he walked through the door like he owned the place! Never did I expect that.”
“It did make me wonder—”
“Nope. Never. I love him dearly, but… No.”
Beckie relaxed. While Eilís’ reaction was quick, it didn’t seem to be faked. And the woman was still speaking. “I lay awake a while last night thinking about your other two things. While you guys are off shopping today, I’ll call a couple of people I know in the city. I think with the right accompaniment, the bank will roll over unless they think something’s going on. The house in Brewster is more interesting.”
Beckie put down her coffee. “Why’s that?”
Before Eilís could answer, Amy leaned around the wall hiding the central staircase. “Hey. You think I can go for a run on the beach?”
“Sure,” Eilís said. “Jo used to do it every morning, rain or shine. Well, rain, anyway. That’s all we had.”
Beckie stood and wriggled her toes. “You don’t mind if I tag along? How far are you planning to go?”
“Way out there, it looks like the tide is out, so the sand will be good. Maybe two, two and a half miles and then back. Okay?”
“Drive up to the lookout across from the light. Park and run from there. Head south.” Eilís pointed to the right. “It’s a bar and with the tide out, it should be okay. Just watch if the tide’s coming in. On the way back, keep an eye on the light.”
“Okay. What time is Dylan coming?”
“Mall opens at noon today, so he’ll be here about eleven unless he’s got a game. Or church.” She picked up her coffee. “Are you like Jo, eat after you run?”
Amy nodded. “You ready?”
Beckie looked into her cup. “Coffee’s gone, so, yeah.”
Seventy-five minutes later, Amy led Beckie back through the front door.
“How far’d you get?”
“I made the full five miles—by time, anyway, and Beckie, what?” she said, while looking at her.
“A little over two miles. I was walking just so I could see miss fleet-foot’s dust.”
“No dust out there. Just like home. Tide was coming in, so I turned tail.”
“Breakfast is coming up. Pick your coffee.”
Eilís told them she’d picked out a couple contacts to call in the morning, trying to advance Beckie’s agenda. The three of them sat at the table and called the real estate broker who had listed Talos’ Brewster home for sale. The woman told them it was still available, at the bargain price of seven hundred thousand, furnishings included. It was originally built in the 1880’s, though it had been ‘freshened’ within the past ten years. The lot was just under ten acres and included access to the lake Beckie recalled seeing that night.
“I’d very much like to see it,” Beckie said. “I will be in town both Wednesday and Thursday. Can we meet?”
“Of course.”
The woman paused, rather longer than Beckie expected. “Yes?”
“I hope it’s not a problem, but our agency requires a credit check…”
“That will not be a problem, but I’m not going to give you the information over the phone. We’ll arrange that on Wednesday.”
With that, the woman was more than happy to set aside time Wednesday, continuing to Thursday if needed. Beckie smiled. Everything should go so easily.
Beckie allowed Dylan to drive to the mall—keeping his hands busy, she thought smugly. Eilís had laughed and said she had things she could do in the quiet; they could take her Jaguar. Amy asked Beckie to take the MINI, saying “I can get a little feel for it, then.” At the mall, Amy and Beckie both purchased warmer clothes; Amy and Dylan continued the getting-to-know-you dance.
Eilís called her friends in New York on Monday morning; Goldfarb would return Eilís’ call in the afternoon, his office promised. Monday afternoon, Beckie and Amy packed up the MINI; at ten Tuesday morning, once Eilís completed the follow-up calls, they headed toward New York. Beckie expected to arrive between five and six; they could relax that evening, then, in the morning, ride the train to Grand Central Station to meet Eilís’ first contact outside the bank. No matter what happened at the bank, they’d take the train back and find the real estate office.
In the bank, both Beckie and Amy wore thin gloves. The box attendant had barely minor angst about Amy’s request, but the box had been noted with a bearer notation; Amy had only to sign. She did so, using the signature she’d practiced to complete the bill of sale for the MINI, the signature Abby had affected on her departure from Peru.
The box was a disappointment, at least to the women peering into it. It contained three photos and another mini-cassette. Amy slipped the key and the cassette into her backpack and Beckie used Amy’s phone to copy the photos, though she didn’t see what bearing they could have on the problem.
The trip back to Brewster captivated Amy almost as much as being in the city. And we didn’t even go outside the building! The trip in had been early; she’d paid minimal attention to the rail car, to the sights outside the window, even to the idea her phone connected to the internet. After her nerves at the bank, fearing they’d be stopped or arrested, she felt alive, free. A little colorful foliage graced the valley through which the train traveled. “Thanks.”
“What?”
“For not treating me like the country mouse. I feel really overwhelmed. It wasn’t overwhelming at your place.”
Beckie grinned at her. “Mom and Dad are pretty much in the country. Believe me, you’re doing fine!”
Back in Brewster, it wasn’t time to meet Rosa Simmons, the real estate lady Beckie’d spoken to Sunday; after a stop at the shipping center to FedEx the cassette to Shen, she set the GPS to Talos’ home’s address. In the daylight, it didn’t look near as forbidding as it had that night.
She drove into the driveway and stopped. Even before getting out, she had to catch her breath. So much had happened, with so little benefit. With a glance at Amy, she opened the door and stepped out.
Amy ran around the front of the car before Beckie decided her next move. “Where was it?” Amy whispered.
Beckie didn’t trust herself to speak; she took the girl by the hand and walked, first to the tree line to get her bearings, and then to the spot where Abby had fallen.
The rain had washed all traces of Abby away, and the grass had recovered from the light crushing.
“Can we… can we mark it?”
Beckie looked at Amy. Silent tears were streaming down her cheeks. She reached out and pulled the girl into her arms. “If we come to an agreement to purchase it, yeah. Eilís said we could even put a deed restriction so it has to stay, no matter what.” After a few minutes, Beckie lifted Amy by the elbow. As they walked across the front of the house, Beckie asked, “You gonna be okay when we come back? You could stay at the hotel.”
“No! No, I’ll be okay.” She scrubbed her cheeks with the palms of her hands. “See?”
“Yeah,” Beckie said with a chuckle. “We’ll wash up at the hotel before.” She stopped at the head of the drive. “Hang here for a second. I’m gonna check out the shed for a second.”
“Not the house?”
“No, it’s gotta be locked. The shed, maybe not.”
She ran across the side yard to the small outbuilding. It was finished in the same white siding as the house, with matching shingles on the roof. The front boasted a small double-hung window alongside the door. The roof was extended to cover a porch; on the ground just off the left end,
a chair lay on its side.
Slipping her gloves back on, she replaced the chair, then glanced through the window. There was nothing to see except another window in the center of the back wall. The door had no lock; she peered into the opening. Several dark stains in front of three wooden crates caught her eye.
“Beckie!” Amy’s voice was anxious, but not panic-struck. “It’s time.” Beckie used her phone to record the interior, then trotted back to the car. Amy had sidled toward it already. Beckie handed her the phone, then started the car and headed off to the village center and the real estate office.
Beckie followed the agent through the front door. Even with the sidelights and reasonably sized windows, the house’s interior was dark. And it smelled musty. “We haven’t had many prospects,” Rosa Simmons said as she pulled curtains open. All three of them studied the living room. Beckie didn’t know what to make of the decorations; it looked like an explosion in a chintz warehouse, all flowers and leaves and… It took her breath away. “I’ve talked to the owners about opening it up once in a while, too.”
Beckie made a noncommittal grunt and continued into the kitchen. Except for the big lighted island, this is a farm kitchen, she thought, looking at the black iron stove and the other appliances, done in an incongruous stainless steel. “I guess this was updated fairly recently?”
The woman flipped pages in her notebook. “It was, about eight years ago. But they liked the old stove.”
“It almost looks like a wood stove, converted to gas,” Beckie said.
Amy closed the refrigerator. “Is someone living here?”
“No, why?”
“There’s stuff in there.” She tipped her head toward the fridge. “Beer, rolls and deli stuff. Looked fresh, but…”
“I didn’t think… But of course, the owners could have someone staying here. For security.”
Beckie nodded. She’d have to be more careful than she would have anyway. She wandered behind the agent as she led them through the upstairs, as dark as the downstairs had been, thinking of how to make her approach and what good could come of it. In her talk with Ian after dinner last night, she’d hinted at her plans, nascent though they were, and he hadn’t tried to dissuade her. She’d sent him the pictures of the shed’s interior and he and Kevin had agreed: as far as they recalled, except for the gold they’d removed, it was unchanged.
They came back down. Outside, the sun had fallen behind the trees and hill; the yard was getting dark. “I wanted to look through the basement,” Beckie said, “and then traipse around the property, but it’s getting late. Can we come by in the morning?”
The woman rustled her papers, then looked at her phone. “I can meet you here at nine, but after we look at the basement, I’ll leave you. You’ll be able to traipse about by yourself, I’m sure.” She stopped at the foot of the outside steps. “What’s your impression so far?”
“Positive, but uncertain. It needs work.” And I’m not gonna tell you I’d buy it no matter what.
The woman nodded. “That’s fair. I’ll talk with the owner tonight.”
“Make—”
“Don’t worry. I do have to tell them when we show it.”
“I know. And I recall you work for them, not me.” Beckie patted the woman’s forearm. “Which won’t be a problem, I’m sure.”
The woman nodded, a trifle uncertainly. Amy walked around them to cross the lawn, stopping where she had earlier. Beckie followed slowly, giving her time.
“God, Ian! You should have seen it! So different from your parents’ place, or mine. All flowers and… and the contrast between the upholstery and the darkness of the tables and woodwork. No real lights, either. I can’t imagine who would have wanted to live there.”
“Are you persuaded not to continue, then?”
“Not really. I’ll look some more tomorrow, and decide then. If I make an offer and it’s accepted, we’d have a base to work from here, and the team can use it for, I don’t know, vacations? Lots to do in New York, and it’s not far from Boston, either. Or Montreal and Québec.”
They talked a little while longer about how she would investigate the land around the house before the conversation turned to sweet nothings and Amy walked out.
The basement was damp, and the smell more musty than the upstairs had been. There were three bare bulbs, one on a switch at the top of the stairs, and two with short, frayed strings hanging from little chains. Overhead, the floor joists were exposed, dark and cobweb laden. It’ll take weeks to get this place clean, Beckie thought, as she worked her way along the wall under the front of the house.
Amy, on the other hand, was keeping well away from the walls and the lally columns supporting the joists. “Bugs!” she’d explained. “We don’t have basements at home; now I see why!”
“We don’t have basements at home because they’d flood at low tide,” Beckie said, giggling at the thought. “Stay there, then.”
Beckie continued to explore the recesses behind the two utility tubs, the old washer—still with a wringer—and the furnace, itself a huge asbestos-covered beast lurking at the right end of the space. The big ducts growing out of the chamber at its top spread across the ceiling before vanishing into it, like tentacles in a bad anime. Beside it, toward the rear of the house, several sheets of plywood leaned against the wall. From the look of them, they hadn’t been moved since the wall had been white-washed. Beckie called up the stairs to the agent, “Does all this stuff go with the house, too?”
“Yes,” Simmons hollered back. “They’ll take it away for an additional ten grand, I think she said.”
“No, for ten grand, I’ll do it myself.” Beckie stomped around another minute, then looked for Amy.
The girl was crouching beside the sheets of plywood, silently waving Beckie over. When she approached, Amy stood and tipped the wood away from the wall. A metal hatch had been set in the wall about a foot from the floor. Perhaps a foot and a half wide, and two in height, it boasted a large lever handle. Amy reached around to push the lever. “Easy to turn,” she whispered.
Beckie nodded. She noticed the hatch swung freely into a dark opening beyond the wall. “Good work,” she murmured. “Close it up, now.”
Amy looked a little disappointed, but pulled the door closed and replaced the plywood. Beckie gave her a little shoulder hug before pushing her up the steps.
“Thanks for letting me in,” she said to Simmons.
“No problem. Oh, one thing the owner asked me to remind you, the painting over the sofa in the front room is not included in the sale. They will have it picked up in the next day or two.” She led the way to point it out. “Maybe they didn’t think they’d have someone actually interested in the place.”
Beckie smiled. When she looked at the painting, she was sure the abstract oil didn’t appeal to her. “I have to say…” She waved her hand, first at the painting and then at the rest of the room. “… it doesn’t enhance the rest of the decor. Seems out of place, I think. Anything else they want to keep?”
“Nope. I checked once again when we talked.”
“Okay,” Beckie said. “I think we’ll take a walk over the land, now. I doubt you’ll need to stick around.”
The agent started toward the front door, but Beckie opened the door from the kitchen to the rear of the house, and looked out over the back yard. Simmons came back and exited with her. “The property goes into the trees a ways. Don’t get lost.”
Beckie held up her GPS. “I’ll be fine, thanks.”
“Right. I’ll get back to work. Please call me later, when you’re ready to talk.”
As the woman walked around to the front, Beckie unlocked the back door and pulled it closed, making sure the slam was loud enough to be heard. She caught Amy’s arm, walking her off the lawn and into the sparse forest north of the house. When she heard the car’s tires leave the gravel drive, she stopped. “I’m going to walk a big circle around back of the house and come out past the shed.” She pointed. “You
want to stay here, or come with?”
Amy shook her head and pointed to her sneakers. “They’re okay for running, but not much for hiking. I’ll stay here.” Her eyebrows dropped as she pointed back at the house. “What about the…”
“I left the door unlocked, so I can come back later and see if there’s anything interesting. But now, I want her to get back to work and not come back to find us inside.”
“Yeah, that would suck.”
“If you stay here, keep watch. Send me a text if anything happens, right?”
She laughed as Amy agreed, then stepped off.
Leaves crunched nicely beneath Beckie’s feet; the first rain in a week was predicted for tonight through tomorrow. She took her time. She was glad she’d donned her jacket; the air was chilly. The car had said the temperature was forty-two degrees when they’d driven up, but even with the thickening clouds she thought it might be a little warmer by now. A light breeze ruffled her hair, and she unconsciously twisted it into a rope and looped a scrunchie around it before tucking it down the back of her coat.
It took less than an hour to circumnavigate the property. The GPS told her when she was nearing the property line, and kept her on track with the house out of sight to her left. She broke into a partially cleared section and saw the shed a little way off to her right. Amy was sitting on the right fender of the car looking at something, probably her phone.
Beckie decided to check out the shed again before following the property line further. On the porch, she opened the door and stepped in. The dust was thick. The windows were dirty, not so dirty light didn’t come through, but dirty. She’d already guessed the stains on the floor were blood, and further, Abby’s, from the gash on her leg. She flaked a bit off, then wiped the finger on her jeans. Her nose wrinkled. While the inside didn’t smell musty like the house did, there was no freshness in it, either.
She remembered the three small wooden crates lying about a third of the way from the left end, kind of behind the door. She swung the door through its full arc; it cleared the closest crate by a little more than a hand’s width. She pushed the door closed and studied the boxes. There were a few marks, stamps, on the sides; she captured them in a photo for later analysis. She dropped the phone into her pocket and went outside.