This Old Souse (22 page)

“I saw some of those when I was a kid,” Judith said. “I think it was right after you got out of the navy.”

“Probably,” Al replied, pausing as one of the four batters smacked a line drive home run just over the right field wall. “I don't know how much that stuff is worth. Somehow, it seems as if the collectors' items from the Pacific don't gain as much in value as Corky's stash from Europe. I think I'll sell the stuff anyway. I could use the money to buy another TV. You know, one of those big jobs with the flat screen.”

Judith laughed, as much in astonishment as amusement. “What on earth would you watch with so many sets?”

“Plenty of good stuff,” her uncle replied, picking up a TV schedule. “I've got that special sports package that shows games and other events all over the world. It'd be a moneymaker in the long run. I'd be able to see more, and thus, bet more wisely.”

“What does your bookie say about that?” Judith asked.

Uncle Al finally looked at his niece. “Not
bookie.
You
know they're illegal around here. I have a sports
broker.
In fact, he's also my stockbroker. A very versatile guy.”

That figured, Judith thought. Uncle Al was also pretty versatile, at least when it came to making a buck.

 

She ran out of signs about a mile from Uncle Al's house. By that time, the rain had begun to soak through her clothes. But she was only a few blocks from Moonfleet Street. She couldn't resist driving by the Bland property.

The worn stucco and tiles looked even more dilapidated through the rain. Slowing down near the walkway to the front door, she saw Luke Bland leaving the house. Fortunately, there was a parking place behind what looked like a brand-new Toyota SUV. By the time Judith had turned off the engine, Luke had opened the SUV and was reaching into the back.

Judith got out of her car. “Hi,” she called to Luke, whose upper torso was still inside the vehicle. “Are you delivering the groceries this week?”

Startled, Luke stopped whatever he was doing and stared at her. Despite the rain and gloomy clouds, he was wearing his sunglasses. “Ah!” he exclaimed, forcing a smile. “Mrs. Flynn. What can I do for you?”

“Nothing, really,” Judith said, approaching him. “I just happened to be driving by on the way home from my uncle's place. I saw you coming out of your parents' and thought I'd say hello. How is everybody?”

“Fine, fine,” Luke replied in a jovial voice that, to Judith's surprise, struck her as genuine. “Say, you
shouldn't be standing out in this rain. It's coming down pretty hard.”

Judith declined to take the hint. “I'm a native. I don't mind.”

“I'm not,” he replied, “and I want to get back under cover. Hold on.” He rummaged around inside the SUV, finally pulling out a tool kit and what looked like a wooden sign with matching posts. Setting his burden down on the parking strip, he grinned at Judith. “As long as you're here,” he said, picking up the sign and turning it around, “are you interested in buying a house? This one's for sale.”

J
UDITH COULDN'T HIDE
her astonishment. “For sale? What about your parents? And your aunt?”

Luke was still smiling. “We finally convinced them they'd be far better off in a retirement home. The police intrusion last week, and the possibility that a man was killed near the house, made them realize that it was time to move on. Lynette and I—along with Anna and Phil—are making the arrangements. We've found a very nice place for them not too far away.”

Judith was still flabbergasted. She studied the sign, which read:

FOR SALE
By appointment only—contact
LUKE BLAND
REAL ESTATE AND PROPERTY INVESTMENT

“I'd love to see the inside of the house,” Judith said. “When is it possible to do that?”

“Not until after the first of the month,” Luke
replied. “I'll start setting up appointments as soon as I hear from prospective buyers. We have to get the old folks settled, move the belongings they want to keep, and do some cleanup.”

“What about an estate sale?” Judith inquired, moving closer to the shelter of a tall cedar tree. “They must have some valuable pieces. Or at least items that would qualify as antiques after fifty years.”

Luke shrugged. “My parents couldn't afford expensive furnishings. Oh, I know that with so much restoration of older homes these days, people will pay exorbitant prices for anything that fits their period decor. Anna keeps up with that kind of thing. She says the best way to handle it is to sell the whole lot to an estate auction house.”

“That makes sense,” Judith said, flinching as a large drop of rain dripped from a cedar branch onto her nose. “What's the asking price?”

“Four ninety-five,” Luke replied, no longer smiling. “I'm afraid the house needs quite a bit of work.”

“Yes,” Judith murmured, moving another step or two to avoid the
drip-drip-drip
of the big cedar. “It'll have to be brought up to code.”

Luke bent down to open the tool kit. “I'd better get this sign up before I catch pneumonia. If you're really interested in seeing the house, give me a call along about Friday.”

“I will,” Judith said as Lynette Bland came out of the house.

“What's taking you so long?” she called to her husband as she came down the walk.

Luke looked up from the post he'd started to pound
into the damp ground. “What? Oh, I was talking to Mrs. Flynn here.”

Just before reaching the sidewalk, Lynette spotted Judith. “Oh.” She didn't look too happy to see their visitor. “Are you in the market for a house?”

“Not really,” Judith said, “but one of my cousins is. They're moving here from Nebraska. This might be just the right kind of property for them,” she went on, elaborating on her fib. “Spanish style is unusual in Beatrice, where they live now. Not to mention that they're very handy at repair work.”

Lynette's pale face brightened slightly. “Really? If they're still in Nebraska, they can take a virtual tour of the house once Luke has it ready to show on the Internet. Excuse me,” she said, noting that Luke had almost finished his task. “I have to go back inside to get my purse. I took the afternoon off from work, so we're heading home.”

“I'll get your purse,” Luke said, adjusting the sign, which hung from two short chains. “I want to say good-bye to the oldsters.” He headed for the house. The rain had almost stopped.

“Would you mind showing me something?” Judith asked Lynette.

“What?”

“My cousins have always wanted a water feature,” Judith lied. “They're great gardeners, too, especially with wildflowers and native plants. Did someone say there'd been a fishpond here?”

Lynette frowned. “Yes, years ago.”

“Does it still exist?”

“Sort of.” Lynette had started walking down the
street toward the far corner. “You can see what's left of it from the side of the house.”

Through the fence and next to the collapsed greenhouse covered with blackberry vines was the outline of a concrete pond. Two thirds of it was overgrown with scilla now past its prime, ferns, vetch, and weeds. All but the rim of the formation was covered with moss. Renie was right. It was no more than a foot deep, though it was five feet wide and about eight feet long.

“It could be salvaged,” Judith remarked. “I assume the pipes are still underground.”

“I wouldn't know,” Lynette replied. “It was before my time.”

“Just as well to leave it drained,” Judith said, and then lied some more. “I once heard of a child who wandered into someone's yard and drowned in a pond that was unattended.”

Lynette nodded once. “Like those refrigerators people leave in their yards. Kids can't resist exploring.”

“Speaking of drowning,” Judith said as they walked back down to the corner, “I understand Anna's first husband, Arthur, drowned. How awful. Was he swimming?”

“Fishing,” Lynette said. “Alcohol and trout don't mix.”

“Oh, dear,” Judith said softly, “that's so sad. Was he alone?”

“No. He was with some shirttail relation visiting from out of town. They'd both been drinking. They were on a lake someplace up near Blue Mountain. The boat tipped over, I guess. The other fellow managed to
save himself, but he couldn't rescue Art. It was very hard on Anna. They'd been married seven years.”

“No children, though?”

Lynette shook her head. “Anna can't have children. I'm not sure she really wanted them. She's very career-minded, and neither Art nor Phil seemed to care.”

“She was lucky to find Phil,” Judith noted. “That is, another man who didn't insist on raising a family. Was the problem hereditary?”

Lynette looked blankly at Judith. “How do you mean?”

“Well,” Judith said, feeling awkward, “her mother, Jane, apparently didn't think she could have children or they wouldn't have adopted Luke. But after several years, she got pregnant with Anna.”

“Yes.” Lynette glanced across the street toward Elsie Bruce's house. “But I don't think the medical conditions were similar. Anyway, she'd known Phil for years. I think they met in high school. They didn't date, in fact, they didn't run into each—” Lynette stopped just short of Judith's car. “Why am I telling you this?”

“People tend to do that with me,” Judith said with a wry smile, though she knew the thaw between them was partially caused by her relations' alleged interest in buying the house. “I'm told I invite confidences.”

Lynette shrugged. “Well, none of this is confidential. But I'm usually not a babbler. Ah,” she went on, espying her husband coming across the sidewalk, “Luke's ready to go. Check the Internet in a couple of weeks. You can tell your relatives to watch for it, too.”

Judith said she would. But of course the only relative she was going to tell was Renie.

 

They can't do that,” Renie declared, insisting that Judith stand by the heat vent in the Joneses' living room. “Don't move. You're very dampish and likely to grow mold.”

“What do you mean?” Judith asked. “If Mr. and Mrs. Bland have agreed to sell the house, why shouldn't they?”

“Because,” Renie stated in a stubborn voice, “it's bad business to put a house up for sale shortly after a crime has been committed there. It's much better to wait six months. There's such a thing as ‘disclosure,' you know.”

“I thought it was one of those ‘don't ask, don't tell' situations,” Judith responded, shaking out her cotton slacks.

“That happens sometimes,” Renie admitted, “but it's unethical and dishonest.”

Judith slowly shook her head. “The problem is that no one except those of us directly involved know that a murder occurred on the Bland property. What little media coverage there was mentioned that the victim was found in the trunk of a car on Heraldsgate Hill. As far as the public is concerned, there's no connection with Moonfleet Street.”

“Luckily,” Renie noted with some asperity, “there's no public connection with you, either. But I still don't think it's right for Luke Bland to sell the house so soon after the tragedy. The neighbors know
something
happened there, or the cops wouldn't have shown up. You can bet Elsie Bruce would give prospective buyers an earful.”

“That's true,” Judith allowed. “Elsie's probably already jabbering her head off to Teresa about the ‘For Sale' sign.” She snapped her fingers. “Teresa! Why haven't I talked to her? She warned us to keep away from the house. Why?”

Renie looked thoughtful. “Superstitious? If I had to look at that house every day, I'd get the willies, too. As it was, I used to see it maybe once every couple of weeks during the school year. I merely became obsessed.”

“We should ask her,” Judith said. “Where did you last toss your phone?”

Renie tended to be careless with her cordless phone, leaving it outside in flower beds, on top of the garbage can, and inside the clothes dryer. Judith felt it was fortunate that her cousin had a lease agreement allowing her to have the phones replaced after they'd been on the spin cycle too long.

“Ah…” Renie glanced around the living and dining rooms. “The kitchen, I think. Yes, it's in the silverware drawer. Hold on, I'll get it.”

“The directory, too,” Judith shouted after her cousin.

Renie returned with both items and handed them to Judith. “Remember, Elsie's still listed under her late husband's name.”

“I know,” Judith said, moving from the heat vent to an armchair. Finding Elsie's number, she pressed the buttons. The “3” seemed to stick, but the call went through. “What did you spill on this?” Judith murmured.

“Pepsi,” Renie replied, unconcerned.

Teresa answered on the fourth ring.
“Hola,”
she said.

Judith identified herself. “My cousin and I called on Mrs. Bruce last week.”

“Oh, sure,” Teresa said with a little laugh. “You were grilling her about the Blands.”

“Yes,” Judith responded, “and when we were leaving, you warned us to stay away from the Blands' house. How come?”

There was a pause at the other end. “Sorry,” Teresa said, “I had to move into another room on the off chance Mrs. Bruce could catch a word or two.” She cleared her throat. “I was probably being silly. But when I first came to work for Mrs. Bruce a couple of years ago, she told me—while I pretended not to understand, of course—that the house was haunted. She said there'd been strange doings there at night a long time ago, and she insisted she'd seen a ghost walking in the grounds after that.” Teresa paused again. “Mrs. Bruce forgets some things, she gets them mixed up, she rambles. In any event, she never mentioned the house being haunted after that. But about three weeks before you stopped by, I had to get up in the middle of the night to go to the bathroom. Hold on.”

Teresa apparently turned away from the receiver.
“Sí, señora!”
she called.
“Las esmeraldas, sí, sí. Ahora, pronto, sí.”

“More emeralds,” Teresa said into the phone. “Gimme a break. Where was I?”

“Going to the bathroom,” Judith said, anxiously waiting for Teresa to finish her tale.

“Right. The moon was out that night, and from the upstairs bathroom window, you can look out on the Bland place. I swear to God, I saw what looked like a ghost.”

“You saw a ghost?” Judith said for Renie's benefit.

“You may think I'm nuts,” Teresa said, “but I do believe in ghosts. Our neighbors in Medford had one when I was growing up. I never saw it—actually, it was a her—but it was all pretty convincing. Rumpled quilts, lights turned on by themselves, furniture moved—the whole bit.”

“What exactly did you see from the bathroom window?” Judith asked.

“A white figure, moving slowly in front of the house and then disappearing around the other side. I'll admit,” Teresa went on, “it was hard to see with all the trees and shrubs over there. But I caught several glimpses between the greenery until the figure went out of sight.”

“The white figure was moving west or east?” Judith inquired as Renie stood rooted to a spot in front of the sofa.

“Is that important?”

“Just curious,” Judith said.

“Umm…it would be to the west,” Teresa replied. “Toward the back of the house where the garage is located, if you know where I mean.”

“Yes,” said Judith, “I know where the garage is. Did you see anything else?”

“No. I waited for several minutes,” Teresa said. “Finally, the moon went behind a cloud and I couldn't see much of anything. Look, I'm probably being silly. I shouldn't have scared you. But that place is really creepy, ghost or no ghost. I couldn't get back to sleep the rest of the night.”

“It's creepy all right,” Judith agreed.

“I'll be relieved when they sell it and move out,”
Teresa declared. “On top of everything else, now their blasted alarm system keeps going off. You can hear it everywhere. Fortunately, Mrs. Bruce is immune as long as she doesn't have her hearing aids turned on. Oh—by the way, did you know the house is for sale?”

“I did, actually,” Judith said. “I'm afraid I didn't heed your warning.”

“Well, as long as you haven't seen any—
sí, señora! Oro, muy bonito!
” Teresa lowered her voice. “Now she's on the gold wagon. Gotta go.”

“Ghosts, huh?” Renie said when Judith rang off.

“Ghostlike figure,” Judith replied. “I suppose it could be one of the Blands in a nightshirt, getting some fresh air. They certainly don't go outside very often during the day.”

“Chasing squirrels, maybe,” Renie remarked. “Hey, you're pretty well dried out.”

Judith didn't respond immediately. She'd stood up and put the phone down in the armchair. Pacing around the living room, she didn't hear Renie. “Prepare yourself, coz,” she said suddenly. “We're going in.”