Scraps of Paper (2 page)

“That was the best chicken and dumplings I’ve ever eaten,” she complimented as she paid the bill, leaving a generous tip.

The old woman’s attitude was friendlier and she smiled at Abigail for the first time. “Thank you. I can’t take all the credit for it, though.” She tossed her head in the direction of the kitchen. “The young man back there, my grandson, cooks nearly everything these days.”

“You must be proud of him then, he’s a good cook for as young as he is.”

From the kitchen a boy’s voice shouted, “I’m not that young!”

Stella rolled her eyes. “He’ll be sixteen next week. A good boy. Lives with me upstairs.” She pointed at the ceiling with her finger. “His folks died in an airplane crash two years ago.”

“Well, delicious food,” Abigail shouted back at the young man.

“Thanks. Come back sometime for breakfast. I make a mean pancake.”

“I might just do that,” Abigail replied loud enough for him to hear.

Stella continued, “I couldn’t handle this place without his and my brother’s help. The two of them take turns. Then I have a few friends that fill in for me and give me a day off once and a while. Running a restaurant, being a waitress, isn’t as easy as people think.”

“I know. I used to be a waitress in a burger joint when I was younger. I wasn’t much good at it. I was always dropping things and hated being groped by the men.”

“Well, I don’t have to worry about being groped any more, thank goodness. Not unless a man likes to pinch a bony old woman.” Stella fixed her eyes on Abigail. “You gonna go to the real estate office now?”

“I think so. Will somebody be there? Being late Friday afternoon and all.”

“Should be. If not, check back here about six. Martha usually has supper before she heads home, unless she’s taking care of business or has a date.”

“I’ll remember that, thanks.” That was three hours away.

Abigail stood up and slung her purse over her shoulder. She’d absolutely made the decision to find a house to buy. The longer she was in Spookie, the more she liked it, even if the inhabitants were a little…quirky.

The afternoon was cooling off, and with a gentle wind racing down Main Street, it would be a lovely evening. She roamed through the mini park around the courthouse, observing any townspeople she encountered. A few ignored her or stared, but most waved or smiled and she conversed with the merchants in the shops she entered and asked questions about this and that. Once they realized she was interested in them and their town, they opened up and talked to her as if they’d known her for years.

The grocery store, or general store, as the owner, John Mason, called it, was a pleasant surprise. Old-fashioned and full of nostalgic stock and food stuff like there might have been in the last century, as well as hand-made crafts, artwork from local artists and rows of glass jars filled with the kind of penny candy Abigail remembered fondly from her childhood. He had the strips of colored dots on paper, candied watermelon slices and tiny marshmallow ice cream cones. Mary Janes, Necco Wafers and licorice whips. It was as if she’d stepped forty years back in time. The grocery had an excellent, modest but adequate, selection of meat and produce. She could do her basic shopping there. Prices were fair. John Mason, a nice looking older man, never took his eyes off her the whole time she was browsing; but said little unless she asked something directly. He watched her as she walked out into the sunlight. He must like younger women, she thought, amused.

Next to the grocery was a hardware store where they also sold paint and wallpaper.

There was an ice cream and candy parlor, Ice Cream & Sweets, that made its own candy and pastries. Abigail bought a vanilla ice cream cone, and a cherry tart for later, and continued her exploration of the town.

There was a bookstore that not only sold new books, but had a selection of discounted used paperbacks. On her limited budget, recycled books would be about all she could afford. That and a library card. She was into science fiction and mysteries these days.

Eventually she found herself at the real estate office and since there was no receptionist, she asked the only person there where she could find Martha Sikeston.

“You’re looking at her,” the woman retorted, coming over to meet her. A short brunette with brown glasses framing brown eyes, she seemed sure of herself. She was dressed in casual black slacks and a T-shirt that had an American flag across the front and she must have had ten rings on her fingers. Abigail had a hard time not staring at the woman’s hands. Beautiful rings.

“And yes I’m a real estate agent. Here in Spookie we don’t stand on ceremony much, don’t dress in suits. Most of the time. I wear one when I’m showing a rich client something in a high price bracket. Otherwise, we’re pretty informal. You aren’t from around here, are you?”

“No. But I’m interested in looking at small fixer-upper houses for sale around town, because there’s just me. Name is Abigail Sutton.” Abigail put out her hand and shook Martha’s.

“There’s a few houses available.” Martha directed her to a chair in front of a desk. The desk had a computer, papers, books and maps strewn all over it and at least three days’ worth of empty meal bags and containers.

Abigail sat down, dropping her bakery sack and purse to the floor at her feet. “I don’t have a lot of money, either.”

Martha eyed her intently through her thick glasses as if she were thinking about something. “You sure you want to buy in this town that badly? Now, don’t get me wrong, I’ve lived here all my life and it’s a nice little place. Some people might say a bit strange. But we don’t have many outsiders moving in. We’re not big city.”

“That isn’t a problem, me being an outsider?” Abigail tried not to sound overly eager, but she wanted the woman to know she was serious. “Spookie reminds me so much of this little town I grew up in. I’m kind of starting my life over, you see. I quit my job in the city last month. I was a graphic artist, I mean, I am an artist. I live in this cramped overpriced apartment that I’ve been renting since my husband disappeared two years ago–they found him dead last month–and…I want to start over. Someplace entirely new with new people, new experiences, new surroundings.” She never blabbed this much to people she’d just met, but there was something empathetic about the real estate woman that lowered her defenses and made her want to confide secrets. She reminded Abigail of her older sister, who she hadn’t seen for years. Last she heard her sis was living up in Washington State selling furniture. Working her butt off, no time off, and unable to get away for a visit. Abigail missed her.

Martha put her hand up and flashed her a smile. “It’s okay. You don’t have to explain to me why you want to move here. I can see you’re sincere. And I wasn’t trying to discourage you from buying a house. I merely wanted to make sure you understood that most of the people in town have lived here all their lives and are pretty set in their ways and habits. They’re secretive, simple people. And, I have to warn you, gossip is a way of life here.”

“Everyone I’ve met so far has been so helpful and kind.”

Martha seemed pleased. “Have they?” She began paging through a notebook, every once and a while glancing up at Abigail, her expression one of restrained friendliness. “No, no…no,” she muttered, turning pages and shaking her head. “Too big, probably too expensive. No, too…not you. This one has a horse barn and pastures.”

“I don’t have horses,” Abigail informed her. “Don’t have any animals. Now, anyway.”

When the real estate lady found a house that was a possible, she’d show it to Abigail and they’d talk about it, when they weren’t talking about the town.

After a half-hour, during which the two women found they had a lot in common, Martha had compiled a list of three potential residences. All empty and ready to move in and inside Abigail’s budget.

“All three houses are practically within walking distance and if we use my car, it’ll take no time at all,” Martha said, as Abigail followed her to a Ford Taurus. Outside the evening shadows were descending, the hot day was waning. Abigail had stopped wearing her watch, but she guessed it was near six o’clock.

An hour later they were back. None of the three houses had appealed to Abigail. One had been in unlivable disrepair, the second was full of bugs and the third had a wet basement.

“Martha, aren’t there any others I could look at?” Abigail was discouraged. “I really have this feeling about this town. I want to live here. But preferably not in a cardboard box.”

“That’s funny.” Martha stared at her, and after her smirk faded a look of uncertainty crossed her face. “Well, there is one place left for sale hereabouts. I wouldn’t normally mention it except you said you were handy with a hammer, wallpaper and paint, and really wanting to find something cheap. The house is isolated, yet close to town, but…I’m not going to lie to you. It needs work. Cosmetic, mostly. The old Summers’ house about a mile down the road. Cute little yellow frame house with a hundred flowers around it and a lovely bay window in the kitchen overlooking woods. Been empty for over a year, needs fixing up–paint and elbow grease mostly. Old lady Summers was too sick the last couple of years to take care of it.”

Abigail was grinning. “The house sounds perfect. What happened to the old lady?”

“The old lady, Edna Summers, died there. Right there in the living room. She had a reputation as being eccentric, to say the least. She had no friends and fewer visitors. Kept to herself. Everyone thought she had these terrible secrets.”

“No family to take the house?”

“None that we could find. Edna had a younger sister with two kids who drove away one day and never came back. That was thirty years ago. They’ve been living somewhere else, or so some have always believed. But they never returned, any of them, not even for Edna’s funeral or to claim the house and property. Edna was totally alone the rest of her life. And died alone. Some people say the house is haunted. Don’t know why, it just has that reputation. Sad story, huh?”

“Very.”

“That isn’t the strangest part. Towards the end of her life when she wasn’t in her right mind, Edna hinted to a few people that her younger sister and her two children hadn’t driven away all those years ago, but had
vanished
. No one believed her, but when Edna died and her sister never showed up for the funeral, then people began to remember what Edna had been saying. Remembered the other sister and her kids hadn’t been seen, not once, since that summer thirty years ago. Kind of a mystery, hey?”

“The world’s full of mysteries,” Abigail muttered, but her interest was tingling, her face flushed. Only someone who’d had a loved one disappear as Joel had disappeared on her would know how she felt. That house. She knew, even before she saw it, it would be the one. She just had a feeling. “Let’s go have a look. I don’t care who used to live or died there, who vanished from it. It isn’t the house’s fault. I want to see it.”

The moment Abigail walked up the sidewalk and onto the porch she knew it was going to be her home. Gigantic elms shaded it, yellow and ivory rose bushes nestled along the front and there was a wooden swing hanging from the porch roof. Lower level four rooms and one loft bedroom upstairs sparsely filled with left behind furniture Martha said she could pitch or keep. The loft bedroom had three tall windows and the view was soothing, trees and woods and a sky fading into a summer evening of wispy pastels. Abigail couldn’t believe how right it all felt.

“How much is it?” she asked Martha, unable to take her eyes off the house, after they’d locked the front door and were sitting in the car. She was thinking about Edna’s sister and her two children. Had they disappeared the same as Joel, into death, or were they growing old somewhere in another town. She shivered.

“Real cheap. Just back taxes due on it and bank fees. House belongs to no one. Been in probate because there was no will.” She wrote down a figure and showed it to Abigail.

Ridiculously cheaper than Abigail could have imagined. “You got a deal.”

“Well, then, welcome to the town. Maybe you’ll even fit in. Takes a crazy person to live around here and you strike me as crazy as they come. Artist and all.”

“Thank you, Martha.” Abigail chuckled. “By the way, what was the younger sister’s name? The one who may or may not have vanished all those years ago?”