Crooked House

by Joe McKinney

  Robert had read enough Southern literature to recognize the layout. This was not the kind of furniture one kicked one’s feet up on and read a good book. An entranceway like this was rarely used by the family. They were, instead, used as the reception area for large parties and formal visitors. And the landing up there, that’s where the lady of the house would appear, and glide down the stairs like Scarlet O’Hara in giant hoop skirts to the appreciative “ohs” and “ahs” of high society.

  “Christ,” Robert said, “all I need is some cow shit to step in.”

  “Huh?” Thom said.

  “From Faulkner’s Barn Burning, remember? The father comes into the mansion with cow shit on his shoes and pivots around the entranceway, smearing it everywhere. That’s kind of what I feel like right now. I’m the guy with shit on his shoes.”

  “Robert, come on.”

  “No, Thom. I can’t afford this place.”

  “You can’t afford a hundred dollars a month?”

  “It’s not just a hundred dollars a month. It’s the electricity, and the water, and the gas. The garbage, the phone, the upkeep, all of it. It’s all the little things. Add them all together and it probably equals more than I’m paying on the mortgage I can’t afford right now. And did you see that lawn? What is that, like eight acres?”

  “Twelve, actually.”

  “Twelve,” Robert said. He shrugged helplessly. “Thom, I don’t even own a lawnmower. Seriously, I pay some kid from down the block twenty bucks every two weeks to do my lawn. He does the whole thing with a weed eater. It takes him like twenty minutes. What am I gonna do with twelve acres?”

  “Stop worrying, Robert. I told you. I’ve got this figured out for you. Everything’s covered. As part of our agreement with the Millard Estate, Lightner University is responsible for all expenses and upkeep on the house. That means everything. The utilities, the lawn service, even a maid service.”

  “Really? A maid service?”

  Thom nodded, smiling. “Yeah. And that switch over there, I’ll have Facility Services come out and fix it first thing tomorrow morning. It’ll work like a charm when you guys move in.”

  Robert was speechless. All he could manage was a grunt of mystified satisfaction.

  “Come on,” Thom said. “Let’s see the rest of the house.”

  “The rest of it?”

  “Oh yeah, this place is great. And like I told you in the car, I saved the best for last.”

  *

  They explored the first floor, Robert falling silent as they went through the master suite, the bathrooms, a conservatory, a family room, a kitchen that was going to send Sarah over the moon with pleasure, a covered balcony, a laundry room with a brand-new washer and dryer set. It was just incredible. And there was a ballroom, and leading off of that, a library.

  They paused there, in the library.

  “Parties would have started in there, I guess,” Thom said, pointing to the ballroom. “And then, afterwards, the men would come in here for cigars and drinks.”

  “Just like in the movies, huh?”

  “Looks like the kind of place that’d be in the movies, doesn’t it?”

  Robert wandered around the library. Windows along the south wall looked out on the flagstone drive, where Thom’s shiny black Lincoln waited next to an elaborate stone fountain. The painted walls and the sofa and the chairs were of a light, muted palette that reminded him of the sand from Cape Cod. There was a settled look about the furnishings and the window dressings that seemed to imply they’d been there a long while, yet the tones and ample light felt like more modern touches. “It’s perfect,” he said, studying a side table of stone-bleached antique wood.

  “I’m glad you like it, because that’s the one stipulation about living here. You can’t make any changes. None. The Gertrude Millard Estate wants it left exactly like it was when James Crook built it, or rebuilt it, rather.”

  “Yeah, you mentioned him in the car. This place is called Crook House, right?” Robert chuckled. “I don’t think I’ve ever lived in a house that had a name before.”

  “I can’t imagine it’d be that hard getting used to.”

  Robert laughed. “No, I guess not.” He crossed to the bookshelves along the west wall. “Hey, you said he rebuilt it. What’d you mean by that?”

  “It burned down sometime in the late ‘20s. Half of it did, anyway.”

  “Which half?”

  “The east wing, I think. That’s where most of the bedrooms are.”

  “Ah.” Robert studied the shelves, nodding to himself. The titles were all popular novels and biographies, nice hardbacks, a mix of writers, some accomplished, some overrated. So apparently the Gertrude Millard Estate’s injunction against making changes didn’t extend to the books on the shelf. That was good, because he had quite a few he’d want to replace from his own library.

  “What do you think?” Thom asked.

  “Nice.”

  “Ha! This is just the house library. It’s meant for entertaining, not for working. You ready for the real surprise?”

  “You mean there’s more?”

  “Oh God yes! Come with me. Let’s go upstairs.”

  Intrigued, Robert followed him. They passed through the entranceway and climbed the west stairs. Robert stopped midway to inspect a framed print of some ancient Chinese drummer, complete with a broad, upside-down bowl-shaped hat. “Nice,” Robert said sarcastically.

  Thom glanced at it and shrugged. “Yeah, well, Crook’s tastes weren’t for everybody, I guess. Come on.” At the top of the stairs, Thom pointed off to the left. “That way leads to the east wing. Most of the bedrooms are down there.”

  “Fourteen of them, you said?”

  “That’s right.” Robert gazed down a long hallway. There were windows along the left wall, but it was late afternoon, and the light that came through the windows was muted. A few tables and some decorative chairs at the far end of the hall were lost in the gloom of gathering shadows. There were fresh flowers in white porcelain vases on each of the tables, but those too had been robbed of their color by the fading afternoon sun.

  “This is what I wanted to show you down here,” Thom said, and gestured for Robert to follow him into the west wing. “Remember when we used to go watch the Yankees play?”

  “How could I forget?”

  “Well, check this out. This is your personal library.”

  “My personal...”

  Thom had stopped in front of a pair of large, heavy wooden doors. He put his hands on the twin wrought iron handles, smiled over his shoulder at Robert, and threw the doors open.

  Robert stepped past him, his mouth hanging open.

  “What do you think?” Thom said. “Not bad, huh?”

  “Oh good lord,” Robert said.

  The room was paneled on either side in olive wood. Three windows were placed along each wall, one set offering a view into the woods on the north side of the house, and the other, over the driveway where Thom’s car was parked. A massive oaken desk dominated the center of the room, and behind that, a curved bookshelf that stretched to the ceiling and ran nearly the length of the entire room.

  Robert ran a finger along the shelf. He felt like a kid at Christmas. Before him was everything from the usual assortment of professional journals and popular novels to clothbound copies of Truman Capote and John Cheever and Don DeLillo and dozens more. He took down the copy of Capote’s The Grass Harp and flipped to the title page. “First edition,” he muttered, shaking his head. He flipped through a few more, his smiled widening. They were all first editions. “My God, this is like library porn.”

  Thom laughed hard at that.

  “Where did all these books come from? There’s some amazing stuff up here.”

  “The English Department’s had control of this house for about a decade, and we’ve had several different professors living here. A library builds up over the years.”

  “I’ll say.”

  “Go around the other s
ide,” Thom said. “There’s a little alcove back there with a cot.”

  Robert circled around behind the bookshelf, and sure enough, there was a narrow space between the shelves and the back wall of the room where a small, metal-framed Army cot shouldered up against the olive wood paneling. It looked like it hadn’t been slept in for a very long time. The sheets would have to be changed, he thought, before he’d lie down on that dusty thing.

  He came around the other side, hooking a thumb over his shoulder back toward the cot. “What’s that for?”

  Thom shrugged. “Beats me. I guess you’ll have a place to lie down if you’re working late.”

  “Yeah, I guess.”

  Old, yellowed pictures from the early days of baseball hung on the walls. Robert went over to one and saw a young man in an old-fashioned baseball uniform, a wooden bat resting on his shoulders. He had dark, intelligent-looking eyes beneath a high forehead. He looked ready for business. The date, handwritten at the bottom right of the picture, read 1909.

  There were lots of other baseball pictures down the length of the wall, most of them team pictures, but it was the picture of the young man that drew Robert in.

  “Is this Crook?” he asked.

  “Probably.”

  “He was a pro baseball player?”

  “Evidently.”

  Robert gestured at the room around them. “I didn’t think pro ball players made this kind of money back then.”

  “He was a dentist and a bootlegger too.”

  “He was a bootlegger? Are you kidding?”

  “Nope, Crook was a real crook. I guess the house comes by the name honestly.”

  “I guess so.”

  “I don’t know a lot about the house, but apparently there’s a pretty nasty story behind it. About Crook anyway. If you want, we have a guy in the History Department named Tony Udoll who knows all about it. I can give you his e-mail, if you want it.”

  “Yeah, sure. I guess.”

  Robert went back to the picture. Below it, resting on a pair of brass brackets, was a wooden baseball bat. It looked like the same one in the picture. He picked it up, and it felt good in his hands, like it was made for him.

  That’s the sweet spot. Right there on the meat of the bat.

  “Hey Robert, you okay?”

  Robert turned to him. “Huh?” he said.

  “Are you okay? You kind of zoned out there for a bit.”

  “I did?”

  “Yeah, for about a minute. You sure you’re okay?”

  Robert nodded. But he did feel a little dizzy. He put the bat back.

  “Okay. So, what do you think? You want the house?”

  Robert looked around the library again, at the books, the old baseball stuff, and it seemed too much, too good to be true, like there had to be a catch. He hated that about himself, that he could be so suspicious in the face of such generosity, and that from such an old friend. But he didn’t deserve this, and he knew it.

  “Robert?”

  “Yeah,” Robert said. He forced a smile. “You bet, Thom. Count me in.”

  December 15

  The next day, after lunch, Thom Horner drove him to the airport and walked him as far as the TSA security gate.

  “Well, this is it,” Thom said. He held out his hand. “This is as far as I can go.”

  “I guess so.”

  The two men shook hands.

  “There’s some new-hire paperwork to fill out, tax forms, benefits enrollment, that sort of stuff. If you want I can e-mail most of it to you so you can get a head start on it.”

  “That’d be great. Thanks.” The line moved, creating a gap in front of Robert. Others waiting behind Robert moved forward. Robert adjusted his grip on his carry-on and said, “Thom, look, I can’t tell you how much this means to me. The job, the house, working with you again – I feel like I’m on top of the world.”

  Thom beamed. “It’s good to have you back in the fold, Robert.” He pointed to the agent waiting to take his boarding pass and ID. “You need to get going. Say hi to Sarah for me, okay?”

  “I will.”

  “Oh, and tell her I haven’t forgotten how good she was at taking care of the office back before you stole her away. If you guys need a little extra help with the bills or whatever, you tell her to call me. I may have some work for her.”

  “Really? You’d do that?”

  “Of course I would. Tell her to call me, okay?”

  Robert nodded. “Yeah, I will.”

  “Good. Now get going. I’ll see you on the eighteenth.”

  They shook hands again and Robert made his way through security and onto his plane. He’d brought some notes along for the courses he was going to be teaching in the spring, and he’d had every intention of going through them on his flight, but he found it impossible to concentrate. He just felt so good. For the first time in a very long time it looked like he might actually be able to finally get ahead. He stared out the window most of the way home, thinking how nice it was going to be to get out from under all his bills. He was so tired of feeling trapped, like he was treading water. For so long he’d felt frustrated, helpless, angry. But those days were about to be gone, and he couldn’t keep the smile off his face.

  His high spirits carried him all the way home. The drive from Jacksonville to Gainesville was gray and rainy, but not even the weather and the slow crawl through traffic could sour his mood.

  It took a trip to the mailbox to do that.

  His was located in a bank of other mailboxes down at the end of his block. There was a thick stack of bills inside. He hadn’t checked it in about a week, and he could tell from the soft but insistent shades of pink and yellow on some of them that they contained late notices.

  Without bothering to look through them he went back to his car and dropped down heavily behind the wheel. He hadn’t even noticed the change, but his good mood was gone now. And he was sweating. His mouth tasted awful, metallic and gross. His anger was rising too, heat spreading across the skin of his face as he dropped the car in gear and drove the rest of the way home.

  He turned off the car but didn’t bother to get out. Not right away. He wasn’t ready for that yet. Coming back here to this little brown and white track home, tenth down in a seemingly endless row of identical crappy track houses, with its peeling paint and weedy yard and splintery front steps and Angela’s bike on the front walk, the mail in his lap, he felt so damned defeated. And he hated that. He shouldn’t have to feel this way. He loved Sarah. He loved Angela. They were his world, his center, his pride and joy. And yet there were times, like now, when all he wanted to do was back his car out of the drive, head toward the Gulf of Mexico, and drive right off the end of the pier.

  He closed his eyes and tried to let the anger melt away.

  Come on, buddy, pull it together.

  Crook House, he thought. Crook House, Crook House, Crook House. Over and over, like a mantra. How nice that’ll be.

  *

  Sarah was at the kitchen table, helping Angela with her homework.

  She glanced over her shoulder when he walked through the door and her expression brightened.

  “Daddy!” Angela yelled. She climbed out of her chair and ran for him, wrapping him up in a hug that somehow, for a moment at least, made everything right in his world. He could stay like this all day.

  “Hi, Baby,” he said. “What are you guys doing?”

  “Fractions. Hey Daddy, you smell.”

  He laughed. “I’ve been cooped up in a plane all day, Baby.”

  “Are we going to San Antonio, Daddy?”

  Robert mussed her thick brown hair, so like her mother’s. “You bet we are. Wait till you see the place where we’re gonna live. It’s a mansion.”

  “Cool. Daddy, we’re gonna have hamburgers tonight to celebrate.”

  He glanced from Angela to Sarah. Sarah gestured toward the kitchen. On the counter next to the sink was a large mound of hamburger sweating under cellophane, tomatoes, a ja
r of pickles, a head of lettuce, a box of Franzia Chardonnay next to a pile of potatoes and the deep fryer for Sarah’s famous homemade French fries.

  “Wow, now that is a celebration.”

  Sarah walked toward them. “All right,” she said, patting Angela on the shoulder. “Go back and finish your homework. Let me say hi to Daddy.”

  “Okay.”

  With a flip of her hair and a little skip, Angela went back to the table, leaving Robert alone with Sarah.

  For the first time, he noticed something dark in her expression.

  “Everything all right?”

  She nodded, then leaned in to hug him.

  “It’s good to have you home.”

  “Good to be home.” He put his hands on her shoulders and held her out at arm’s length. “Thom Horner really came through for us. You should see this place he got for us. Sarah, I think, by this time next year, we could be pretty close to where we need to be. We might even be able to finally start saving some money toward Angela’s college.”

  She smiled, but to Robert it looked forced.

  “Something’s wrong,” he said.

  Sarah wrinkled her nose at him without losing her smile. “She’s right. You do smell. Why don’t you go take a shower? I’ll tell you about it when you get out.”

  “A shower sounds good.” He lowered his voice to a whisper. “You wanna join me?”

  “I’m helping your daughter with her homework, you pervert.”

  “All right,” he said.