by Peg Herring
“This was unlocked?” When he hesitated, Robin frowned. “You broke in.”
“I did not break anything,” he said indignantly. “I have, um, talent with latches of simple construction.”
Reminding herself she was guilty of crimes much worse than unlawful entry, Robin stepped inside.
The room they entered was large, with high ceilings and tall, thin windows lining the south wall. Some of the panes were broken, and leaves and grime had blown inside, landing in dirty piles in the corners. Opposite the windows, three doors lined the north wall. Robin opened the center one and found a bath with connecting doors on either side. The bath was a mess, but the mess was old, so the smell was only faintly offensive. On either side were larger rooms, perhaps ten by ten, and she guessed they were meant as bedrooms with a shared bath. Servants’ quarters? Overflow for the children of a large family? It was hard to tell.
When she returned to the main room, Hua stood at the windows, looking out. The courtyard was overgrown with weeds, dead and brown at this time of year. Beyond the paving, several dozen trees edged the courtyard. Robin didn’t know what kind they were, but from their shape and size she guessed fruit of some sort.
“This view is very nice most times of the year, I think.” Hua’s face glowed, but Robin had begun a mental tally of what it would cost to make the place habitable. The list was long and depressing, and she tried to find the words to tell him the next house was sure to be better. Cam would back her decision; there was no way to—
“Robin! Hua! Come see this!” Cam appeared at the top of a short, sloping hallway, beckoning furiously as if to hurry them along. Together they followed him up a short ramp that led to the main part of the house.
The room they entered was circular, with a wide stairway in the center rising dramatically to the second story. At the front were the double entry doors they’d seen from the car. Around the staircase, doorways led to rooms of various sizes. Peeking through open double doors, Robin saw what had once been a formal living room. In the center of one wall was a brick fireplace someone had painted an ugly shade of green. Several of the mantle’s trim pieces were missing, and the hearth looked as if it had been battered with a sledge hammer. Wind whistled noisily down the chimney, suggesting missing or broken parts inside. Such willful damage led Robin to conclude the house had at some point been turned into rental units. It was sad to note its descent from elegant family home to cheap apartments to its current state, a derelict visited only by vandals and vagrants.
“The kitchen’s back here,” Cameron called.
“Coming!” Robin and Hua passed what had probably been the dining room and entered the kitchen, where Cam was exploring cupboards. In one corner she noted a mouse nest, and the scarred countertop was littered with what appeared to be squirrel poop.
“Those are antiques.” Robin frowned at the harvest gold refrigerator and stove combination. “Seventies, maybe earlier. And there’s lots of animal activity.”
“Mice, for sure,” Cam said agreeably. “A possum too, I think.”
Hua seemed to be observing on a whole different level. “Lots of room for things,” he said. “I am an excellent cook, if the stove can be made to operate.”
If you cook like you drive, we’re in trouble.
“I bet this place doesn’t have a single outlet that can handle a microwave.” She looked at the ceiling, where several acoustic tiles hung half out of their frame. “I doubt it’s been occupied since they were invented.”
They continued around the staircase, passing a room lined with shelves that looked like a large closet. “Pantry,” Cam announced. The next two rooms had probably been parlors, and after that was a large space with empty bookshelves. On its floor, a few mildewed books lay scattered, their pages torn out and spines broken. A creaky, flimsy door under the staircase opened to reveal a bathroom obviously fashioned from a former closet. Though cramped, it had all the requirements: a sink, stool, and the smallest shower stall Robin had ever seen.
Next they went upstairs, stepping carefully over spots where the boards had rotted, leaving gaping holes in a few spots. The second story consisted of four rooms, two of them spacious and the others smaller and further reduced by the slant of the roof. In the center was a large bath, complete though hardly modern. The fixtures appeared to be lilac, though it was difficult to tell through the dirt.
“Every room of any size has a fireplace,” Cam noted. “I counted twelve so far.”
“Most of them in bad shape.” Stepping carefully, Robin started back downstairs. “It was a beautiful house once, guys, but now it’s a wreck. No central heat, no air conditioning, antiquated appliances—” She pointed at evidence of rodent activity on the next-to-last stair. “—and lots of holes where critters can come in.”
Hua disagreed. “To an American it is old, perhaps, but in my country it is only a baby.” He gestured widely. “It is dirty, but what is dirt? It is big enough for us and more.” He pulled on the newel post. “It is a strong house, and the many fireplaces will allow us to heat only the rooms we need.”
Robin tried to see the place from Hua’s viewpoint. His original home was a remote Thai village. His second was an elegant prison. Any house where he was free was a palace to Hua, but he didn’t understand how much money it would require to make the place livable.
“Hua, I don’t—”
Still exploring, Cam had opened a set of pocket doors that led to the east wing. He turned to them, his eyes alight. “Can I have this part, Robin? I mean, I can share it, but it’s really cool.”
Robin and Hua followed as Cam went down the ramp. The wing was similar in construction to its opposite, but someone had turned its walls into pencil art. Rendered in black on the cream-colored base, bigger-than-life-sized figures ran, flew, and stood in heroic poses: Superman, Batman, Wonder Woman, and others Robin struggled to name. The Hulk, she thought. Another might have been Thor. Though they weren’t badly done, her first thought was that a coat of paint could fix it.
Cameron stood in the center of the room, turning slowly. “Isn’t it great?”
“You like it?”
He stopped, confused. “Sure.” Turning to Hua he asked, “Don’t you think it’s something?”
Hua’s response was circumspect. “You are exactly correct, Cameron. It is something.”
“I wonder what the other rooms look like.”
“I can hardly wait,” Robin murmured. Like the other wing, there was a bathroom between two rooms on the north wall and windows along the open area to the south. The comic art continued, with a Mickey Mouse theme in the bathroom and more warrior types in the others. “A guy could really relax in here.” Ignoring the cobwebs, Cam touched a figure that might have been Genghis Khan. “Too much color makes it hard for me to think.”
Action heroes done in black and white. Perfect for a guy like Cam.
Hua turned to Robin. “See? Cameron sees good things in this house. He likes it too, very much.”
“Are we going to take it?” Cam asked, his expression hopeful.
Robin sighed. Two against one. “We’ll see what kind of deal we can get.” She glanced into the woods that surrounded the house on three sides. “This certainly isn’t a spot anyone would think to look for me. With all these trees, I feel like I’m in a scene from Friday the 13th.”
Chapter Thirteen
At a hotel near the Kansas City airport, they got two hotel rooms. Though Robin disliked spending the money, she was almost desperate for some time to herself. Cam and Hua were willing to share; in fact they seemed to have lots to talk about. Hua was patient with Cam’s hesitant speech, and Cam gravely taught Hua life hacks like how to operate a vending machine and take pictures with a cell phone. Either Hua liked playing one video game after another or he pretended to for the sake of politeness.
With a few hours to herself, Robin took a long shower, noting she was almost out of her favorite coconut-scented conditioner. Have to pick some up soon. As the hot
water ran, she hung a clean but rumpled outfit in the bathroom so the steam would dispel the wrinkles. Her carry-on was meant for weekend vacations and wasn’t nearly big enough for life on the road. She kept a plastic tub in the car and took clean clothes from it as she needed them.
I should get a bigger suitcase next time I’m near a mall.
After the shower she filed her nails, which were sadly neglected of late.
Need to get an emery board and some polish when I see a drug store.
She read a little of the novel she’d downloaded to her phone, sometimes napping between chapters. The hours flew by, and soon it was time to dress and find dinner for herself and the guys.
At four they knocked on her door, showered but otherwise looking the same as they had when she saw them last. For Cam that was normal; he favored boot cut blue jeans and T-shirts with a single front pocket. Hua had nothing but what he’d escaped Buckram’s building in. Robin added getting clothes for him to her mental list.
We’re living like hobos. We could all be arrested at any moment. And I’m planning a shopping trip?
Hua was excited about the shampoo provided by the motel. “It smells like ginger,” he said, offering his head for her to sniff. “Is it permissible to take these small bottles away with us?”
Robin assured him it was and gave him her own bottle as well, adding ginger-scented shampoo to her mental shopping list. As much as Hua had gone without this far in life, he deserved some small niceties.
The Realtor worked for a small office in Gardiner. Robin and Cam would view the house as Richard and Lynn Taylor, and if things worked out well, they’d make the purchase while Hua remained in the background. Just before closing time, Robin called the office and asked to speak to Elizabeth Terrin, the agent listed on the sign. After the introductions (“Don’t call me Liz!”), Robin expressed interest in the house on the oddly-named Bobby Road.
There was a pause as Elizabeth collected her wits, but as soon as she recovered, she went into her sales pitch. “That’s a lovely property. I’ve always wished someone would come along who appreciates its possibilities.”
“We took a look at the outside this morning,” Robin said. “It might work for a project we have in mind.” Unbidden, Mark’s way to a favorable deal came to mind. “Of course we’re considering several locations.”
Apparently used to such opening salvos, Elizabeth focused on the positives. “May I ask what you plan to do with the property?”
“A small artists’ colony where talented people can come and spend a few weeks or months while they work on a project. The house has to be large enough to allow several of us to work in our preferred media.”
“That sounds so interesting!” Her tone was a little over the top. “What medium is your specialty?”
“Photography pays the bills,” Robin replied, “but oil painting feeds my soul. My husband works in metal, so the cement-block building behind the house would be a good place for that noisy metal cutting and messy welding.”
“You’ve certainly chosen a great spot. Anyone with an artist’s eye will love sketching in that courtyard edged with fruit trees.”
It was time to cool her enthusiasm. “It’s a bumpy mess. It will take weeks of work to flatten it enough to even make a spot to set a chair out there.”
“True,” Elizabeth allowed, “but surely you saw the beautiful architectural lines in that house.”
“We also saw gnawed electrical wire, gable rot, and antiquated plumbing. I’m pretty sure I heard critters skittering around inside.”
Elizabeth must have sensed that enthusiasm alone wasn’t going to make a deal. “Well, I can tell you the place is bank-owned, and they’re willing to dicker. The price you saw online is just a starting point.”
“Good, because it’s at least twice what the place is worth.” Robin imagined the woman calling the bank as soon as they ended their conversation, prepping them to accept whatever the Taylors offered. “Could we stop in tomorrow to meet with you?”
“Of course,” Elizabeth replied. “I’m excited to hear your plans for the place.”
When the call ended, Robin admitted she’d learned a few things about dealing with people from observing her father’s methods. While she wouldn’t excuse the things he’d done, she was familiar with how he’d used a sentence, a smile, or a glance away at just the right moment to manipulate others. Even a snake has lessons to teach.
Once the appointment with the Realtor was made, Hua, Robin, and Cam looked at the research on their proposed target, Beverly Comdon. Though he claimed he’d be more efficient with “exquisite computing equipment,” Hua had already confirmed Chris’ contention that “Judge Bev” used her charity, Rehabilitate Louisiana, to manipulate young men into her service and her bed. His easy access to the judge’s personal files disturbed Robin, who until he came along had operated under the delusion there was some privacy left in the world. He showed them an array of men with similar builds and coloring whose time was served doing “job skills training” on Comdon’s estate.
Seeing the judge’s picture on screen, Cameron ran a hand through his hair. “She’s a lady, you guys.”
“I’m a lady too,” Robin replied. “Do we have any more right than men to break the rules?”
“Well, no, but she’s old. I couldn’t grab hold of an old woman and shove her into the van.”
“Oh.” Robin knew Cam well enough to see that manhandling a woman, especially one his mother’s age, would be a problem for him. “We can talk later about our approach.”
“I can’t push an old lady around,” Cam repeated. “It wouldn’t be right.”
“Forget it,” she said soothingly. “I’ll go out and get us something to eat.”
***
Just when Robin thought she was getting good at being unobtrusive, she made a dumb mistake. The In driveway to McDonald’s was hidden behind some other signs, and she drove past it. Since the Out drive was clear, she pulled in there and quickly turned into a parking spot. She was reaching over to retrieve her purse when a police cruiser pulled up beside her. The siren made a single whoop sound before the cop shut it off and got out of the car.
Robin’s mind bubbled with panic. Her first thought was Run! which was ridiculous. Her second thought was Where are the papers for this car? The only other time she was stopped in her life, she’d been so nervous she couldn’t find her insurance slip. The cop had been understanding, and later she’d found it in the glove compartment, right where it was supposed to be.
The officer was almost to the car, and she bit her lip to keep from screaming. I’m traveling with a fake driver’s license. I don’t know if I can prove the car is mine. I’m supposed to do important stuff tomorrow morning. I cannot get arrested. I can’t do this!
“Good afternoon, ma’am. Could I see your license, registration, and proof of insurance?
With fumbling fingers, she managed to get the Lynn Taylor driver’s license out of her wallet. Opening the glove box, she said a little thank-you to Cam. Right on top, encased in a plastic sleeve, were all the necessary documents. She had a little trouble getting them out, since her hands felt like stones attached to the ends of her arms. When she handed them over, she noticed that the cop was looking at her intently. Did she look as evasive as she felt? She’d read about training they took to help them judge dishonesty in a person’s behavior. She had to look like a criminal, because that’s how she felt: guilty, guilty, guilty.
“You pulled in the out drive,” he said.
“I’m sorry. I missed the first one, and the other one was clear.”
“I’ll be right back.” Taking her papers, he returned to his car, where she knew he would run the information to find out if she had any outstanding warrants. What if Thomas Wyman had put our some sort of “find this woman” alert? The cop might receive more information than she wanted him to have. There was nothing she could do about it.
As she waited, advice from two very different sources played in
her head.
You’re a pretty girl, her father had told her once. Learn to use your looks to get what you want.
Em’s scratchy advice sounded too. Everybody likes to feel important. Focus on them and they stop thinking about you.
The officer returned and handed back her documents. “Everything’s in order, Mrs. Taylor.”
“Ms.,” she corrected, lowering her lashes. “We’re separated—kind of a trial.”
His eyes showed immediate interest. “I see.” He waved at the entry and exit drives. “Those signs are there for a reason, Ms. Taylor. Ignoring them could cause an accident.”
Robin turned her best smile on. “I’m a little distracted with moving and—everything. Thank you for being nice about it.”
The line between his brows softened, and he took a step back. “It’s pretty easy to miss the signs with so much stuff along here.”
“Listen, I know you’re busy, but I’m new to the area, and I wonder if you can direct me to a good Thai restaurant. After I get my roommate a Big Mac, I’d like some spring rolls for myself.”
“Your roommate is a fast-food junkie?”
Guessing what he hoped to hear, she included a pronoun in her answer. “She sure is.”
When the cruiser pulled away, Robin had directions to a restaurant, and more importantly, no ticket for an illegal turn. She also had an invitation to become the cop’s friend on Facebook, which would never happen.
***
“I almost got a ticket!” she said when she returned to the hotel with their food. She gave a brief account, ending with, “Andy must be good. There hasn’t been a red flag yet.”
“Who is Andy?” Hua asked.
“The guy who made us into Richard and Lynn Taylor. He doesn’t work cheap, but he’s really good.”