1 Maid for Mayhem, page 8
part #2 of Gretchen Gallen, Maid for Murder, Mysteries Series
Whenever I entertained the idea, I kept coming back to the inevitable “how we met stories.” Perhaps being from the South has made me a little touchy on the subject.
Now I was Googling for rabies in the county and got the statistics for every year. Not everyone knows there are two manifestations: dumb rabies and furious rabies. It’s easy enough to mistake dumb rabies for distemper or simply the death throes of any dying animal. I noted that the numbers were steadily increasing for Union County. Although it wasn’t documented, I thought the increase in the county’s cases was a direct result of our being the receptacle for all the animals being displaced by Charlotte’s rapid growth.
You know how you don't hear about something for ages and suddenly it’s everywhere? Well of course some of that now was because any death by rabies is huge national news (because terrified parents make for wonderful ratings) and Walker's autopsy results were out; the other was my indirect involvement (and Leslie’s) through caring for wildlife. But suddenly “sportsmen” were everywhere searching for nocturnal animals that were out in daylight or blasting away at strange dogs, and asking to borrow the traps they knew I had.
I knew what they were doing with those Have-a-Hart traps, and it was heartless. To shoot a wild animal enticed into a cage while you slept isn't exactly brave, but it didn't keep them from bragging about how many possums they had “bagged.” The irony here is that people so often group raccoons and possums together when they think of rabies, but possums are dead-end hosts. They are so unlikely to pass on the virus before death we are allowed to rehabilitate them. Despite the folklore, an animal most commonly known as shy or nocturnal will brave the day if food has been scarce and there is a litter to be fed. Many people interpret that behavior as a sign of rabies. So some perfectly healthy animals with kits at home were being destroyed.
Despite some educational press releases, the decimation of the wildlife in the area continued. One man in Marshville had actually shot a woman's golden retriever stating that he thought it was a mad coyote. It was common knowledge that it had more to do with an opportunistic asshole seeking revenge over a survey that revealed his barn had been built on her property.
In any event, I went back to Walker's to finish that job so I could submit the invoice and be done with him. The Sheriff's office had completed most of my tasks for me now, removing anything that could remotely be connected with child pornography, I noted gratefully. The payment had been made in advance, by Koy, which only made me more curious about the heirs.
Finally, Lucy and I made plans to go through Leslie's other rooms and her dresser and nightstands. After a few cancellations on my part — people do keep dying and I was determined to keep my nest egg — Lucy and I set a time to clean out more of Leslie's house. As soon as I arrived, Lucy handed me a cup of the best coffee I'd had since leaving Charlotte.
“Oh my gosh!” I exclaimed. “I'm coming to live with you.”
“Well as much as I'd like to take credit – it’s all in the machine. Rod gave it to me for a present.”
“Where can I get one?”
“It’s easy enough to find one, once you decide it’s worth $1,500 to $5,000 for the Jura Capresso.”
Ignoring my gasp she continued, “But it’s the best gift he has given me, hands down.” She glanced at one of those hands with a sizable rock on it. “I love it more than my engagement ring. In fact,” she said, striding quickly ahead of me, “when he first gave it to me? I had to go on sedatives because I couldn't stop drinking it.” I laughed just as her cell phone rang. She glanced down at it before sighing and flipping it open.
“What, Barb?
“Yeah, we were just going to go through that stuff today. I know you said you would take that job but you aren't here are you? And after the will was read you flew out of here like a bat out of hell. No. Fine.”
She clicked the phone shut.
“Barb doesn't want us going through the medicine cabinets. She says she has a neighbor going through hard times who could use Mother's medication.”
“The neighbor is on the same stuff?”
“Apparently.”
“A neighbor of Barb's?”
“I know, right? Someone in a million dollar condo needs to save money on medication. Must be a Madoff victim, or a... Oh! Who cares?”
“Well,” I mused, “you have to admit it is nice of Barb to care though. I thought it was awfully wasteful too. Why don't we just mail it to her?”
“Because the whole thing is illegal. Mailing it would be worse. Apparently Barb is coming in soon to close on the townhome. She says she’ll take care of it then.”
“Oh well, I have sympathy for her neighbor,” I said neutrally.
“Yeah, she has no money and lives beside Barb.”
“What is the deal with you two?” I asked impatiently.
“The deal? The deal is she was always Mother’s favorite, helping her with animals, getting to be in any activity she wanted and she was spoiled rotten. Finally, Mother was just beginning to notice me. She started to sign me up for activities and just as suddenly she just canceled them all. No explanation, nothing. She put me in a Brownie troop and other than that, unless I went to camp, she never let me do anything.”
“And Barb got to keep her activities?”
“Well, actually no, that’s how it started. It’s complicated. Barb used to be such a pleaser then suddenly became this complete brat. She wanted to stop playing softball first, had absolute fits, then Mother just took her out of everything, then me too. As soon as school was out she sent Barb away for the whole summer to Camp Sissipahau. I was too young or I would have been farmed out too, I’m sure.
“The day things really started Barb was supposed to go somewhere. She was having a hissy fit. Mother was in Barb’s room trying to calm her down, then when she came out she was crying too. That’s the only time I have ever seen my Mother cry,” Lucy said, a bit of wonder in her voice.
“Then she called my Dad,” she continued. “He was a private pilot, of course. Mother had been too. He left his business convention immediately. He crashed and died on the way home. Mother wasn’t really paying any attention to either of us once Dad was gone. Barb kept acting out and Mother completely abdicated her role as a parent.”
“So you blame Barb for your lack of a relationship with your Mom as well as your Dad’s death?”
“Look,” Lucy said. “I know Barb was just a kid but I really think my Mother was trying to be a better parent to me at the time. Barb’s ‘phase,’ or whatever you want to call it, just made Mother lose it completely. Dad’s death, Barb’s tantrums, it was too much for her to handle. She just got more into the wildlife. People weren’t her thing anymore I guess,” she said bitterly. “She was like a ghost in the house when it came to us. As soon as camp was over she started sending Barb to boarding school in Asheville. I don’t think that was planned originally, but that became my fate too. I'm not saying it was a fate worse than death, the school was connected and that's how she got into Yale and I went to Dartmouth. She was accepted at Duke too, but by that time she wanted to keep her distance from Mother. I was still trying to get in Mother's line of vision so I would have killed to get in Duke.”
There was no point in explaining Barb wasn’t the one at fault there. It had been Leslie’s job to step up, and she had, for her own reasons, failed to do so. But I know siblings who hate each other for no reason at all that they can pinpoint, so I kept silent. On some level Lucy had to understand it too.
I had the following Thursday free and Lucy seemed to have lost her energy for the task for the time being so we decided to postpone the house clearing again. We still hoped to have everything ready and done by the time Barb came. If she wanted anything else by then it would be easy enough to locate.
I was restless, and, deciding it would be good for both of us, took Mosey for a walk. As soon as I opened the door he shot out of the house and ran for Leslie’s. This was not the walk I had in mind, but when I called him he came back reluctantly. Then, determined to lead the way, he trotted back towards Leslie’s carport. The hens had gone in to roost, I noted, and Mosey was scratching away at an area beside Leslie’s driveway. When he saw me looking he sat down innocently and stared at me, then looked back at the ground where he was sitting again.
I walked over. There was a tire impression, but beyond that I couldn’t see any small markings or a hole that would indicate what animal Mosey had been after. I guessed I should have felt gratified that he was becoming a normal dog again, but I missed the days of military-like obedience I had enjoyed from him when he had first come to live with me. Actually, I remembered it had distressed me a little that he had seemed so joyless at the time. That didn’t seem to be a problem now. Mosey was positively exuberant. I sighed and pulled the leash out of my back pocket. I hoped we could eventually come to a happy medium. As I dragged him home, I considered calling Rob, his previous handler, to see if there was anything I could do toward that end.
On second thought, I didn’t want Rob to feel his great and valuable sacrifice had gone unappreciated, or that I didn’t know how to handle Mosey. I decided to drop him another thank-you note and do a little research on my own when I had time. Surely when a working dog lost his job it would be normal for him to revert to regular dog behavior. I had never thought of that particular parallel: Mosey and I had both been “let go,” as it were, at about the same time.
Mosey’s regression was a conundrum but one I would have to put on the backburner. Lucy was on a new mission. She began to settle into her role as owner of her mother's property and toward that end she began working on a series of projects. The first was a valiant campaign of goat removal as she made plans to divide her mother's forty-acre pasture into two twenty-acre tracts and put her horses in one. That left yet another twenty acres that Leslie has reserved for the estate. Actually when push came to shove, Lucy was having a hard time getting rid of the goats at all. No one seemed to want to keep the goats permanently. A number of people wanted to borrow them to get rid of kudzu.
One man who called wanted to know how long it would take two goats to eat an acre of kudzu. “Did you mean to call John Nash?” She barked at him. “I stopped doing those problems in high school. You know how you get rid of kudzu on your property?” Lucy asked him. “Same way you get rid of bamboo. Move.”
Actually, goats would have been perfect for kudzu removal. They love it and it is full of nutrition. But since Lucy was against loaning or renting them out, I suggested she have the goats fixed. We usually lost a few during their birthing seasons; according to Lucy the number in the herd hadn't increased as much over the years as one might expect. So eventually attrition would diminish the herd. The chickens were getting a little overwhelming as well. Eighteen birds produce a lot of eggs, so I had taken to bringing a dozen or so along whenever I visited someone.
Dividing the pastures was a simple matter of gating the river bridge between the two sections of the existing pasture, and we had Jackson do just that on his next maintenance trip. Jackson loved outdoor work, but the more you gave him the more he cursed and swore and insisted this was the last time we would see him again. “I don't need this; I shoulda joined a gang 'stead of college. Thought I was gonna fix everybody’s personal computers. You know what they do? People jus’ throw them away. They don' even have nobody take a look, they jus’ pitch 'em in the garbage. I might as well have gone to school to learn to fix toasters! Jus' disposable, everythin' is disposable, everythin’ is dispensable. Now here I am fixing doors for billy goats gruff. Might as well be a hundert years ago and me saying ‘Yes’em’ and tippin' my hat to two scrawny white girls. One of them,” he peered up at me then in the direction of my cabin, “so tall if she fell she’d be halfway home.”
Lucy laughed and handed him a check. He unfolded it boldly and stared at it and smiled broadly before stuffing it in his back pocket. “Sheeyut. I coulda made that without rolling outa bed if I had joined a gang.”
“No,” Lucy said grinning. “You coulda' made that if you had gone to pharmacy school at Wingate. His Dad is a professor there. Isn’t that right, Jackson?”
Jackson mumbled something about enrolling in law school in the fall, then informed us that “pills is pills, don’t need no degree to be handing them out. If I’d known 'bout that I coulda’ started when I was fourteen. I tell you one thing, when I get my next degree, it won’t be from a Veterinary school. A goat is a nasty animal; I jus’ can’t abide it.”
Then he swaggered off to get some tool from the shed and Lucy smiled. “Best SAT scores to come out of the town in five years. Just about broke his dad’s heart when he went into IT instead of medicine. He’s better than this job, but it drives his dad crazy and he always liked the outdoors. So it serves two purposes while he studies for the LSAT. It sure is turning out well for me.”
“But he lives near a gang neighborhood?”
“Complete claptrap. Jackson's family moved to one of the finest historic homes in the county, one of the original founding family mansions. He has his great grandmothers' old house just around the corner from it. You've got to admit, there aren't many small towns with this many historic homes left. And that’s another issue. He doesn’t want to settle far from home.”
“And he can’t find work?”
“Oh, he is brilliant, but there’s nothing close enough to suit his talents and education. In the meantime, he helps a lot of people with their computers, got my Mother all set up with programs for the blind. If you need anything on that score, everyone knows to go to Jackson. You’ll be embarrassed by how little he charges, so just ignore him and pay what it’s worth. But ask now, he’s heading back to school as soon as he decides which university. He will definitely get a kickass score on the LSAT. Trust me, Gretchen, if you ever have a computer problem he can’t fix? I’ll eat—,” she grinned mischievously and I held up my hand for her to stop.
“I think I can imagine what you are going to say next, but let’s just agree it was going to be witty and filthy and leave it at that.”
“You’re missing out,” she griped, “this is why I like men better. They are never disappointed when I open my mouth.”
“OK, OK, that’s enough,” I said smiling, “call one of your male friends when you get home and tell him everything I missed.”
Lucy laughed and headed to her golf cart, the main mode of transport on our private roads from one neighbor to another.
I waved and set off for home, wishing somehow that lovely cabin could always be mine. I considered running the market value on it and investigating the neighborhood HOA's willingness to divide the cabin and some land from the main property. That was a long shot. The association had declined many such requests from homeowners in the past. Also, I didn't want my friendship with Lucy to interfere and make her feel obliged. At any rate, I reflected, I had three more years, anything could happen in that amount of time. Given the metamorphosis I had experienced during the last eighteen months I didn't need to jump the gun.
Tweet from @foralark: My mother’s mantra: “Always look your best; you never know who you might see.”
Chapter 11
I love my house, which I am stubbornly calling it. Leslie's family had always owned the “home place” and built this for their help before SkyHaven had even become a neighborhood. Once SkyHaven was complete they had requested inclusion for the amenities, particularly the airstrip. From the sturdiness and quality of the materials used back then, they treated their help pretty well by my standards.
The cabin is a small two-story, but what there is of it is all hardwood floors, stone fireplaces, a porch in front and back and plenty of windows which Leslie had added later. When the leaves disappear I’ll be able to catch sight of Leslie’s house — but just barely — from my back porch. It’s about 1,100 square feet heated, with a second floor walk-in attic that could become an amazing master suite one day with high ceilings and exposed beams. It has a green tin roof which turns the rain into music above me while I read in the window seat in my room. I’m surrounded by majestic trees with a long driveway that snakes off of Newtown Road, while Leslie's entrance is through the neighborhood. Although I can hear the odd car on that weak artery, no one can even glimpse my house from the road. All tales about Southern hospitality aside, I generally know when someone is coming because they call first.
So when I went in my shortie PJ's to take Mosey out the next morning and he wasn't ready, it wasn't a big deal. Sometimes the first trip just primes his pump. Of course, just as I stepped out of the bath he was ready, and I was not by any means.
I managed to slip on my bra and panties, but he was getting anxious. I know all too well that if you let your dog get to the point where he drops his standards and pees in the house it’s not going to happen just once. Mosey’s standards had been declining enough lately. Besides, I had often reflected that I could probably sunbathe in the nude here with all the seclusion, so there was no risk of being seen.
I opened the back door, which would be facing Leslie's’ through the woods, but still a considerable distance, and watched him from the threshold as I towel dried my hair. As usual, he took forever. The least thing could distract him from his perfect spot. As soon as a leaf blew by he would look up, startled then start his rounds all over again. He was getting dangerously close to the woods, and although he knew his bearings and boundaries perfectly, this was unusual for him to even attempt to leave my line of vision. I decided I was ruining this dog with my indulgence.
I had Mona coming for coffee today (my deposit in the bank of good Karma), and I was getting anxious. Now Mosey was headed purposefully through the woods towards Leslie's house, ignoring my calls. Even though I knew there wouldn't be traffic he could be quite quick when he made his mind up to go somewhere. There were pastures upon pastures where I could lose him.
I had no doubt he could find his way back to me as long as no one found him in the interim. If so, they would undoubtedly keep him, or, recognizing him for what he was, turn him in. I was pretty sure I had gotten him through unusual channels and I may not get him back as quickly.
Now I was Googling for rabies in the county and got the statistics for every year. Not everyone knows there are two manifestations: dumb rabies and furious rabies. It’s easy enough to mistake dumb rabies for distemper or simply the death throes of any dying animal. I noted that the numbers were steadily increasing for Union County. Although it wasn’t documented, I thought the increase in the county’s cases was a direct result of our being the receptacle for all the animals being displaced by Charlotte’s rapid growth.
You know how you don't hear about something for ages and suddenly it’s everywhere? Well of course some of that now was because any death by rabies is huge national news (because terrified parents make for wonderful ratings) and Walker's autopsy results were out; the other was my indirect involvement (and Leslie’s) through caring for wildlife. But suddenly “sportsmen” were everywhere searching for nocturnal animals that were out in daylight or blasting away at strange dogs, and asking to borrow the traps they knew I had.
I knew what they were doing with those Have-a-Hart traps, and it was heartless. To shoot a wild animal enticed into a cage while you slept isn't exactly brave, but it didn't keep them from bragging about how many possums they had “bagged.” The irony here is that people so often group raccoons and possums together when they think of rabies, but possums are dead-end hosts. They are so unlikely to pass on the virus before death we are allowed to rehabilitate them. Despite the folklore, an animal most commonly known as shy or nocturnal will brave the day if food has been scarce and there is a litter to be fed. Many people interpret that behavior as a sign of rabies. So some perfectly healthy animals with kits at home were being destroyed.
Despite some educational press releases, the decimation of the wildlife in the area continued. One man in Marshville had actually shot a woman's golden retriever stating that he thought it was a mad coyote. It was common knowledge that it had more to do with an opportunistic asshole seeking revenge over a survey that revealed his barn had been built on her property.
In any event, I went back to Walker's to finish that job so I could submit the invoice and be done with him. The Sheriff's office had completed most of my tasks for me now, removing anything that could remotely be connected with child pornography, I noted gratefully. The payment had been made in advance, by Koy, which only made me more curious about the heirs.
Finally, Lucy and I made plans to go through Leslie's other rooms and her dresser and nightstands. After a few cancellations on my part — people do keep dying and I was determined to keep my nest egg — Lucy and I set a time to clean out more of Leslie's house. As soon as I arrived, Lucy handed me a cup of the best coffee I'd had since leaving Charlotte.
“Oh my gosh!” I exclaimed. “I'm coming to live with you.”
“Well as much as I'd like to take credit – it’s all in the machine. Rod gave it to me for a present.”
“Where can I get one?”
“It’s easy enough to find one, once you decide it’s worth $1,500 to $5,000 for the Jura Capresso.”
Ignoring my gasp she continued, “But it’s the best gift he has given me, hands down.” She glanced at one of those hands with a sizable rock on it. “I love it more than my engagement ring. In fact,” she said, striding quickly ahead of me, “when he first gave it to me? I had to go on sedatives because I couldn't stop drinking it.” I laughed just as her cell phone rang. She glanced down at it before sighing and flipping it open.
“What, Barb?
“Yeah, we were just going to go through that stuff today. I know you said you would take that job but you aren't here are you? And after the will was read you flew out of here like a bat out of hell. No. Fine.”
She clicked the phone shut.
“Barb doesn't want us going through the medicine cabinets. She says she has a neighbor going through hard times who could use Mother's medication.”
“The neighbor is on the same stuff?”
“Apparently.”
“A neighbor of Barb's?”
“I know, right? Someone in a million dollar condo needs to save money on medication. Must be a Madoff victim, or a... Oh! Who cares?”
“Well,” I mused, “you have to admit it is nice of Barb to care though. I thought it was awfully wasteful too. Why don't we just mail it to her?”
“Because the whole thing is illegal. Mailing it would be worse. Apparently Barb is coming in soon to close on the townhome. She says she’ll take care of it then.”
“Oh well, I have sympathy for her neighbor,” I said neutrally.
“Yeah, she has no money and lives beside Barb.”
“What is the deal with you two?” I asked impatiently.
“The deal? The deal is she was always Mother’s favorite, helping her with animals, getting to be in any activity she wanted and she was spoiled rotten. Finally, Mother was just beginning to notice me. She started to sign me up for activities and just as suddenly she just canceled them all. No explanation, nothing. She put me in a Brownie troop and other than that, unless I went to camp, she never let me do anything.”
“And Barb got to keep her activities?”
“Well, actually no, that’s how it started. It’s complicated. Barb used to be such a pleaser then suddenly became this complete brat. She wanted to stop playing softball first, had absolute fits, then Mother just took her out of everything, then me too. As soon as school was out she sent Barb away for the whole summer to Camp Sissipahau. I was too young or I would have been farmed out too, I’m sure.
“The day things really started Barb was supposed to go somewhere. She was having a hissy fit. Mother was in Barb’s room trying to calm her down, then when she came out she was crying too. That’s the only time I have ever seen my Mother cry,” Lucy said, a bit of wonder in her voice.
“Then she called my Dad,” she continued. “He was a private pilot, of course. Mother had been too. He left his business convention immediately. He crashed and died on the way home. Mother wasn’t really paying any attention to either of us once Dad was gone. Barb kept acting out and Mother completely abdicated her role as a parent.”
“So you blame Barb for your lack of a relationship with your Mom as well as your Dad’s death?”
“Look,” Lucy said. “I know Barb was just a kid but I really think my Mother was trying to be a better parent to me at the time. Barb’s ‘phase,’ or whatever you want to call it, just made Mother lose it completely. Dad’s death, Barb’s tantrums, it was too much for her to handle. She just got more into the wildlife. People weren’t her thing anymore I guess,” she said bitterly. “She was like a ghost in the house when it came to us. As soon as camp was over she started sending Barb to boarding school in Asheville. I don’t think that was planned originally, but that became my fate too. I'm not saying it was a fate worse than death, the school was connected and that's how she got into Yale and I went to Dartmouth. She was accepted at Duke too, but by that time she wanted to keep her distance from Mother. I was still trying to get in Mother's line of vision so I would have killed to get in Duke.”
There was no point in explaining Barb wasn’t the one at fault there. It had been Leslie’s job to step up, and she had, for her own reasons, failed to do so. But I know siblings who hate each other for no reason at all that they can pinpoint, so I kept silent. On some level Lucy had to understand it too.
I had the following Thursday free and Lucy seemed to have lost her energy for the task for the time being so we decided to postpone the house clearing again. We still hoped to have everything ready and done by the time Barb came. If she wanted anything else by then it would be easy enough to locate.
I was restless, and, deciding it would be good for both of us, took Mosey for a walk. As soon as I opened the door he shot out of the house and ran for Leslie’s. This was not the walk I had in mind, but when I called him he came back reluctantly. Then, determined to lead the way, he trotted back towards Leslie’s carport. The hens had gone in to roost, I noted, and Mosey was scratching away at an area beside Leslie’s driveway. When he saw me looking he sat down innocently and stared at me, then looked back at the ground where he was sitting again.
I walked over. There was a tire impression, but beyond that I couldn’t see any small markings or a hole that would indicate what animal Mosey had been after. I guessed I should have felt gratified that he was becoming a normal dog again, but I missed the days of military-like obedience I had enjoyed from him when he had first come to live with me. Actually, I remembered it had distressed me a little that he had seemed so joyless at the time. That didn’t seem to be a problem now. Mosey was positively exuberant. I sighed and pulled the leash out of my back pocket. I hoped we could eventually come to a happy medium. As I dragged him home, I considered calling Rob, his previous handler, to see if there was anything I could do toward that end.
On second thought, I didn’t want Rob to feel his great and valuable sacrifice had gone unappreciated, or that I didn’t know how to handle Mosey. I decided to drop him another thank-you note and do a little research on my own when I had time. Surely when a working dog lost his job it would be normal for him to revert to regular dog behavior. I had never thought of that particular parallel: Mosey and I had both been “let go,” as it were, at about the same time.
Mosey’s regression was a conundrum but one I would have to put on the backburner. Lucy was on a new mission. She began to settle into her role as owner of her mother's property and toward that end she began working on a series of projects. The first was a valiant campaign of goat removal as she made plans to divide her mother's forty-acre pasture into two twenty-acre tracts and put her horses in one. That left yet another twenty acres that Leslie has reserved for the estate. Actually when push came to shove, Lucy was having a hard time getting rid of the goats at all. No one seemed to want to keep the goats permanently. A number of people wanted to borrow them to get rid of kudzu.
One man who called wanted to know how long it would take two goats to eat an acre of kudzu. “Did you mean to call John Nash?” She barked at him. “I stopped doing those problems in high school. You know how you get rid of kudzu on your property?” Lucy asked him. “Same way you get rid of bamboo. Move.”
Actually, goats would have been perfect for kudzu removal. They love it and it is full of nutrition. But since Lucy was against loaning or renting them out, I suggested she have the goats fixed. We usually lost a few during their birthing seasons; according to Lucy the number in the herd hadn't increased as much over the years as one might expect. So eventually attrition would diminish the herd. The chickens were getting a little overwhelming as well. Eighteen birds produce a lot of eggs, so I had taken to bringing a dozen or so along whenever I visited someone.
Dividing the pastures was a simple matter of gating the river bridge between the two sections of the existing pasture, and we had Jackson do just that on his next maintenance trip. Jackson loved outdoor work, but the more you gave him the more he cursed and swore and insisted this was the last time we would see him again. “I don't need this; I shoulda joined a gang 'stead of college. Thought I was gonna fix everybody’s personal computers. You know what they do? People jus’ throw them away. They don' even have nobody take a look, they jus’ pitch 'em in the garbage. I might as well have gone to school to learn to fix toasters! Jus' disposable, everythin' is disposable, everythin’ is dispensable. Now here I am fixing doors for billy goats gruff. Might as well be a hundert years ago and me saying ‘Yes’em’ and tippin' my hat to two scrawny white girls. One of them,” he peered up at me then in the direction of my cabin, “so tall if she fell she’d be halfway home.”
Lucy laughed and handed him a check. He unfolded it boldly and stared at it and smiled broadly before stuffing it in his back pocket. “Sheeyut. I coulda made that without rolling outa bed if I had joined a gang.”
“No,” Lucy said grinning. “You coulda' made that if you had gone to pharmacy school at Wingate. His Dad is a professor there. Isn’t that right, Jackson?”
Jackson mumbled something about enrolling in law school in the fall, then informed us that “pills is pills, don’t need no degree to be handing them out. If I’d known 'bout that I coulda’ started when I was fourteen. I tell you one thing, when I get my next degree, it won’t be from a Veterinary school. A goat is a nasty animal; I jus’ can’t abide it.”
Then he swaggered off to get some tool from the shed and Lucy smiled. “Best SAT scores to come out of the town in five years. Just about broke his dad’s heart when he went into IT instead of medicine. He’s better than this job, but it drives his dad crazy and he always liked the outdoors. So it serves two purposes while he studies for the LSAT. It sure is turning out well for me.”
“But he lives near a gang neighborhood?”
“Complete claptrap. Jackson's family moved to one of the finest historic homes in the county, one of the original founding family mansions. He has his great grandmothers' old house just around the corner from it. You've got to admit, there aren't many small towns with this many historic homes left. And that’s another issue. He doesn’t want to settle far from home.”
“And he can’t find work?”
“Oh, he is brilliant, but there’s nothing close enough to suit his talents and education. In the meantime, he helps a lot of people with their computers, got my Mother all set up with programs for the blind. If you need anything on that score, everyone knows to go to Jackson. You’ll be embarrassed by how little he charges, so just ignore him and pay what it’s worth. But ask now, he’s heading back to school as soon as he decides which university. He will definitely get a kickass score on the LSAT. Trust me, Gretchen, if you ever have a computer problem he can’t fix? I’ll eat—,” she grinned mischievously and I held up my hand for her to stop.
“I think I can imagine what you are going to say next, but let’s just agree it was going to be witty and filthy and leave it at that.”
“You’re missing out,” she griped, “this is why I like men better. They are never disappointed when I open my mouth.”
“OK, OK, that’s enough,” I said smiling, “call one of your male friends when you get home and tell him everything I missed.”
Lucy laughed and headed to her golf cart, the main mode of transport on our private roads from one neighbor to another.
I waved and set off for home, wishing somehow that lovely cabin could always be mine. I considered running the market value on it and investigating the neighborhood HOA's willingness to divide the cabin and some land from the main property. That was a long shot. The association had declined many such requests from homeowners in the past. Also, I didn't want my friendship with Lucy to interfere and make her feel obliged. At any rate, I reflected, I had three more years, anything could happen in that amount of time. Given the metamorphosis I had experienced during the last eighteen months I didn't need to jump the gun.
Tweet from @foralark: My mother’s mantra: “Always look your best; you never know who you might see.”
Chapter 11
I love my house, which I am stubbornly calling it. Leslie's family had always owned the “home place” and built this for their help before SkyHaven had even become a neighborhood. Once SkyHaven was complete they had requested inclusion for the amenities, particularly the airstrip. From the sturdiness and quality of the materials used back then, they treated their help pretty well by my standards.
The cabin is a small two-story, but what there is of it is all hardwood floors, stone fireplaces, a porch in front and back and plenty of windows which Leslie had added later. When the leaves disappear I’ll be able to catch sight of Leslie’s house — but just barely — from my back porch. It’s about 1,100 square feet heated, with a second floor walk-in attic that could become an amazing master suite one day with high ceilings and exposed beams. It has a green tin roof which turns the rain into music above me while I read in the window seat in my room. I’m surrounded by majestic trees with a long driveway that snakes off of Newtown Road, while Leslie's entrance is through the neighborhood. Although I can hear the odd car on that weak artery, no one can even glimpse my house from the road. All tales about Southern hospitality aside, I generally know when someone is coming because they call first.
So when I went in my shortie PJ's to take Mosey out the next morning and he wasn't ready, it wasn't a big deal. Sometimes the first trip just primes his pump. Of course, just as I stepped out of the bath he was ready, and I was not by any means.
I managed to slip on my bra and panties, but he was getting anxious. I know all too well that if you let your dog get to the point where he drops his standards and pees in the house it’s not going to happen just once. Mosey’s standards had been declining enough lately. Besides, I had often reflected that I could probably sunbathe in the nude here with all the seclusion, so there was no risk of being seen.
I opened the back door, which would be facing Leslie's’ through the woods, but still a considerable distance, and watched him from the threshold as I towel dried my hair. As usual, he took forever. The least thing could distract him from his perfect spot. As soon as a leaf blew by he would look up, startled then start his rounds all over again. He was getting dangerously close to the woods, and although he knew his bearings and boundaries perfectly, this was unusual for him to even attempt to leave my line of vision. I decided I was ruining this dog with my indulgence.
I had Mona coming for coffee today (my deposit in the bank of good Karma), and I was getting anxious. Now Mosey was headed purposefully through the woods towards Leslie's house, ignoring my calls. Even though I knew there wouldn't be traffic he could be quite quick when he made his mind up to go somewhere. There were pastures upon pastures where I could lose him.
I had no doubt he could find his way back to me as long as no one found him in the interim. If so, they would undoubtedly keep him, or, recognizing him for what he was, turn him in. I was pretty sure I had gotten him through unusual channels and I may not get him back as quickly.
