“Wouldn’t you be, in his shoes? Painting is his business, the same way security work is yours and mine is providing temporary help. He’s just as concerned about protecting his image and reputation as any businessman, Zac. Just think of him as a client. You’re always helping your clients avoid embarrassing publicity.”
“Gwen, let’s get this straight, once and for all. I am not wasting my time in dark basements for the sake of an artist who might one day be rich but who presently couldn’t possibly afford me.”
“I know, Zac. You’re doing this for me. And I want you to know I really do appreciate it,” Guinevere assured him earnestly.
“Good. Because when this is all over, I intend to collect my fee one way or the other. Now, back to business. I think it’s time you and I played house.”
Guinevere nearly fell out of her office chair. “What?” she got out weakly.
“I may have misstated that. We’re going to pretend we’re looking for a house.”
“To buy?”
“Uh-huh. A fixer-upper in the same neighborhood where the Sandwick house is located. Or maybe I should start calling it the Barry Hodges house. I want an excuse to talk to the neighbors, and people always seem to talk a lot more freely to you than they do to me.”
“My innate charm,” Guinevere explained loftily.
Chapter Seven
It was partly Gwen’s charm that people usually responded to so easily, Zac thought as he parked the Buick a block down the street from the Sandwick house. But it was more than that. She had a curiously empathic ability that he knew he lacked completely. It was the empathy that really broke down the barriers, even those of strangers. People would talk freely to Guinevere when they wouldn’t have given him the time of day. He glanced at her appraisingly as they started up the weed-strewn sidewalk.
“I’m seeing a whole new you,” Zac remarked, eyeing the tight curve of her derriere in her faded blue jeans. With the jeans she wore a sporty plaid shirt. “Do you realize how different you look this afternoon?”
“This is my country-western look,” Guinevere explained, patting her hair, which was worn long and anchored with a clip. “From what you told me about the neighborhood, I didn’t think I should show up here in my new suit from Nordstrom’s. We’re supposed to be a struggling young couple trying to buy a first house, right?”
“We are a struggling young couple,” Zac told her.
“Not so young, I’m afraid.”
Zac shot her another sidelong glance. “Is that worrying you?”
“Everyone worries about getting older.”
“Yeah, but women have to worry about that biological clock thing on top of everything else.”
Guinevere wished she’d kept her mouth shut. “Back to clocks, are we? What is it with you lately, Zac? I thought you’d learned your lesson the hard way last night at Elizabeth Gallinger’s house.”
“Forget it. Now listen to me. I don’t want you saying too much or letting anyone know we might be anything other than just prospective home buyers checking out the neighborhood. Act like we’re engaged.”
Guinevere considered that. “First marriage or second?”
“For Pete’s sake, Gwen, you don’t have to get that detailed about the story.”
“This is my first time as an undercover agent. I want to be a success.”
Zac muttered something she didn’t quite catch and then said firmly, “We’ll try that lady in her garden across the street.”
Guinevere glanced around at the seedy front lawn of the house they were passing. “I think there are a couple of people working in the backyard of this place. Why not start here?”
“I don’t think those two will be too chatty.”
“Why not?”
Zac took her arm to help her across the quiet street. “I went through their backyard last night. They’ve got a very healthy crop of marijuana growing back there.”
“No kidding? You don’t think they’ll want to share some gardening tips?” Guinevere grinned up at him. “What on earth were you doing wandering around their backyard?”
“I was hoping I’d be less conspicuous that way. People walking through quiet neighborhoods such as this at three in the morning tend to cause comment.”
“Last night must have been exciting for you,” Guinevere observed.
“Oh, it was.”
They ambled along the sidewalk with a deliberately casual air, talking in low tones. When they reached the house Zac had selected, a fat gray cat strode into their path, meowing authoritatively. Guinevere went down on her haunches and held out her hand. The cat regarded it arrogantly for a few seconds and then trotted forward to investigate.
“Hope you don’t mind cats,” said a surprisingly husky, female voice. “Old Jumper there is my guard cat.” The comment was followed by a hoarse chuckle that ended up in a smoker’s cough.
Zac smiled blandly at the small elderly woman on the other side of the sagging picket fence. “My fiancée loves animals. When we get a house of our own, she’s hoping to get a couple of cats.”
Guinevere glanced up, smiling, as she stroked Jumper’s ears. “How do you do? I’m Guinevere Jones. This is my, uh, fiancé, Zac Justis. We were having a look around the neighborhood. Our real estate agent said there were a couple of places for sale here that might be in our price range.”
“Abby Kettering,” the older woman offered cheerfully enough as she withdrew a pack of unfiltered cigarettes from the pocket of her gardening apron. She lit one and inhaled vigorously. Abby Kettering was probably close to eighty, her thin hair a wispy white cloud around heavily lined features. Sharp brown eyes shone like buttons in her face. She let out the smoky breath in a long sigh of satisfaction and regarded the tip of her cigarette. “Doctor says I shoulda quit these things forty years ago. I told him there wasn’t much point in quitting now. Aren’t that many fun things to do when you get to be my age. House hunting, huh?”
Guinevere nodded, straightening. “That’s right. Something affordable. A place we could fix up on our own as the money comes in. Prices here in Seattle are pretty steep, we’ve found. You like this neighborhood?”
Abby gazed speculatively up and down the run-down block. “Let’s just say I own this place free and clear. That puts a rosy glow on the whole neighborhood as far as I’m concerned.”
Guinevere laughed. “I understand completely.”
“Who knows,” Abby went on philosophically, inhaling on her cigarette, “maybe one of these days we’ll get selected for one of those big rehabilitation grants. Or maybe some developer will come in and want to buy up the whole block for a hotel or something.” She leaned against the fence, which gave a little beneath her weight. “This used to be a pretty nice area, you know,” she went on wistfully. “Back when my husband was alive, all these houses were full of families. People took care of their gardens. Didn’t let ’em run to pot the way that bunch down the street has.” She broke out in another hoarse chuckle. “Pot. Get it? They got a bunch of marijuana growing in the backyard.”
“Good grief,” said Zac, looking appropriately appalled.
“Stingy as all get-out, too,” Abby continued. “Not at all neighborly. I asked ’em for a little bit just for my own personal use, and they wouldn’t give me a single leaf. And after all the zucchini bread I’ve taken over to ’em.” She shook her head. “Young people these days. They just don’t understand the meaning of neighborliness.”
“I suppose you’re right,” Guinevere agreed sadly.
Abby opened the creaky gate. “Long as you’re just casing the area, why don’t you come out back for a glass of iced tea? Wouldn’t want you to get too bad an impression of the folks around here.”
“That’s very kind of you, Mrs. Kettering,” Guinevere said as Zac immediately propelled her through the gate.
“Call me Abby.” Abby Kettering led the way around to the backyard and seated Zac and Guinevere in an old porch swing while she went into the kitchen to pour three glasses of iced tea. When she reappeared a few minutes later, she smiled. “So you two are gonna get married, huh?”
“That’s right,” Zac said, lightly touching Guinevere’s hand.
“Neither one of you looks like you’re just outta high school. This gonna be a first or second marriage?”
“First,” said Zac.
“Second,” said Guinevere simultaneously.
Abby wrinkled her nose. “You ain’t sure?”
“Well,” said Guinevere, lowering her eyes demurely, “it’s my first. Zac’s second.” She ignored Zac’s irritated movement beside her.
“Gotcha.” Abby leaned back in her lawn chair, nodding to herself. “You got some pretty heavy-duty alimony and child support to pay from that first marriage, Zac?”
“Uh . . .”
Guinevere moved to cover Zac’s floundering response. “It’s one of the reasons we have to find an inexpensive house, Abby. What with all the money that has to go to Zac’s ex-wife and four kids, there just isn’t a lot left over at the end of the month.” There was a choking sound from Zac that turned into a cough. “We’ve spotted a couple of places on this street that might do for us. There’s one two doors down that has a for-sale sign in front of it.”
Abby nodded complacently. “The Comstock place. Comstocks moved out a few months ago when they split up. Put the house on the market, but it’s been damn tough to sell houses in this area for the past few years. They’re probably getting desperate. You might get a real good deal on it.”
“Actually, I like the one next to it better,” Guinevere said musingly. “The old two-story place with the wraparound porch? I just love those huge, old-fashioned porches.”
Abby frowned, thinking. “Oh, I expect you mean the Sandwick place. It was for sale for a long time, but that Sandwick boy finally found a buyer a few months ago. Far as I know, it ain’t for sale now.”
“Is that right?” Zac frowned. “But there doesn’t appear to be anyone living there. We just assumed it was up for sale. Are you sure it was sold a few months ago?”
“Sure as hell. I talked to the guy who was scouting it out for some big-time investor back East. He was just like you two. Asked a lot of questions about the area. Said the hotshot he represented wanted to invest in some low-income fixer-uppers out here in Seattle, but he was a little uncertain about the neighborhood. I told him I thought the place had real potential ’cause we’re so close to Capitol Hill, and Lord knows Capitol Hill has gotten downright trendy in the past few years. One of these days we might get trendy, too.”
Zac leaned forward to set down his tea glass, his movements deliberate. “So this investor’s representative went ahead and bought the Sandwick place?”
Abby shrugged. “I guess so. Next thing I knew, the for sale sign was down.”
“He certainly hasn’t put any work into the place,” Guinevere said disapprovingly. “It’s quite run-down.”
“Maybe he’s just sitting on it until the market picks up,” Zac suggested.
Abby lit another cigarette. “Don’t know about that. Once in a while I’ve seen a couple of rough types hanging around the place. Usually late at night. Sometimes these days I don’t sleep too good, you know? Ever since my Hank died . . . Well, anyhow, I think I’ve seen a man and a woman comin’ and goin’ from there. Sometimes others. Thought at first they might be new tenants. But they just come and go occasionally, mostly at night. Don’t appear to live there. Maybe just some street people who’ve found a vacant house to sleep in when the weather’s bad.” Abby exhaled a ring of smoke. “Street people. Funny how words change, ain’t it? I can remember when we used to call that type bums.”
Guinevere summoned up a startled expression. “Bums? There are bums staying in the Sandwick house?”
“They’re not so bad,” Abby told her reassuringly. “Leastways they’re quiet. Not like that rowdy group that used to hold parties there back when the Sandwick boy owned the place. Bunch of beatnik types.”
Zac blinked. “Beatniks?”
Abby waved the hand holding the cigarette. “Don’t know what they call ’em now. You know, artsy types. Think they’re all red-hot painters who are gonna set the world on fire someday. They used to show up over there on Saturday nights and have themselves a good time. Never invited me. Anyways, they’re all gone now. They used to be there on a regular basis, but then they stopped holding those wild parties, and next thing I knew, that guy from back East was buying the place for his investor friend. That Sandwick boy owes me something, although he doesn’t know it.”
“How’s that?” Zac asked.
“Well,” Abby confided, “if it hadn’t been for me talkin’ up the potential of the neighborhood, so to speak, I’m not sure that representative feller would have recommended that his pal buy the place. The rep had heard all sorts of rumors about weird things happening over there at the Sandwick place. Asked me a lot of questions about ’em. I reassured him.”
“Is that right?” Guinevere tried to look vaguely alarmed. “What sort of weird things, Abby? The place isn’t haunted or anything, is it?”
“Good Lord, no!” Abby’s laughter dissolved into another wave of coughing. When she recovered, she took a long swallow of tea and shook her head. “No ghosts as far as I know. Seems like that representative guy had heard the parties goin’ on were connected with some spooky occult-type stuff. I told him that was most likely a load of nonsense. Just a bunch of young folks having fun. So what if they played a few games? It wasn’t anything serious.”
“Were they playing occult games there, Abby?” Zac asked with deep concern.
Abby lifted one thin shoulder. “Maybe. A time or two I’d look out late at night and see all the lights go off. Then the house would stay dark for a long time. Sometimes I could see some lights flickering. Maybe candles. But that was the extent of it. Who knows what was going on? My guess is that they were all sitting happily in the parlor getting rocked out of their tiny little minds.”
Guinevere frowned. “Rocked?”
“Stoned. Whatever. I forget the word they use. All I know is the young folks get to have all the fun these days.” Abby sighed. “Then again, maybe it was always that way. So. When you two gettin’ married?”
“We haven’t set the date,” Zac said clearly, crushing Guinevere’s hand as she opened her mouth to respond. “It sort of depends.”
“On what?” Abby demanded. “On whether or not Gwen here is pregnant?”
Guinevere choked on her iced tea. Zac pounded her obligingly on the back until she recovered. “Strange you should mention the subject of babies, Abby,” Zac went on as he assisted Guinevere. “Gwen and I have been discussing the matter a lot lately.”
“If you’re gonna have ’em,” Abby advised Guinevere, “better start soon. Got to have babies while you’re young. How old are you, anyway? Look like you’re hoverin’ around thirty.”
“As a matter of fact, I am,” Guinevere admitted, glaring at an innocent-looking Zac. “But it’s Zac I’m worried about. He’s getting very close to forty, you see.”
Abby grinned. “Don’t you worry too much about him slowin’ down just ’cause he’s gettin’ near forty. It’s not necessarily true that men are over the hill after forty. Lots of ’em keep goin’ strong. Take my husband, for instance—”
“Uh, maybe we’d better be on our way,” Zac said, interrupting his hostess as gently as possible. “Gwen and I still have a lot to do today. There are a couple of other neighborhoods we’re supposed to check out before we make a decision on a house. We certainly do appreciate your advice, Abby. Maybe we’ll be neighbors someday.” He was urging Guinevere out of the backyard. “Thanks for the iced tea
.”
“Anytime,” Abby called after them. “Anytime at all. Maybe next time you drop in I’ll have some of my neighbor’s pot to offer you. I’m thinking of offering them something more interesting than zucchini bread by way of a trade. Got some really beautiful beefsteak tomatoes coming along back here. They might go for ’em.”
“Good luck, Abby,” Guinevere called back. Then she found herself out on the sidewalk in front of the house. Plaintively she looked up at Zac, whose face was set in frozen lines. “What’s the rush? The conversation was just getting interesting.”
“We got all the useful information we were likely to get.”
“Concerning the Sandwick house, maybe, but what about all those pearls of wisdom she was giving me about aging males?”
“Anything you want to know about aging males, you ask me. I’m becoming an authority. I seem to be aging rapidly around you. Ex-wife and four kids. Jesus, Gwen, your sense of humor is weird, you know that?”
“Probably the company I keep. Where to now?”
“Back to the office. Believe it or not, I do have other projects besides this one that require my attention. Paying projects.”
“Aha. The Gallinger analysis.”
“I want to get that final report in and collect my fee.” Zac opened the Buick door for her.
“You’re certainly in a hurry to wind that business up,” Guinevere noted sweetly.
Zac shot her a quelling look as he guided the Buick away from the curb. “When I’ve finished with the report, I want to have another talk with Adair. Set up a time this evening, will you?”
“Sure. What do you think that ‘investor’s representative’ business is all about? Who do you think it was who asked Abby about the Sandwick house parties?”
“I don’t know, but it sure doesn’t sound like the same guy who bought the house through the real estate agent. The agent said the client was scruffy and didn’t look like he possibly could have put fifty-five grand together. The agent’s client sounds more like one of the ‘street people’ Abby thought might be staying in the place from time to time. I’m hoping Mason might have some more information. Maybe he knows more than he realizes. Give me a call this afternoon after you’ve set up a time to meet with him.”
The Sinister Touch Page 11