drawers, and a vanity table with a large mirror comfortably arranged. In the now-familiar way, the double closet
There’s not much as depressing as someone else’s old shoes, when you have the job of disposing of them. Jane had not cared to put her money into her clothes and personal accessories. I could not ever recall Jane wearing anything I noticed particularly, or even anything I could definitely say was brand new. Her shoes were not expensive and were all well-worn. It seemed to me Jane had not enjoyed her money at all; she’d lived in her little house with her Penney’s and Sears wardrobe, buying books as her only extravagance. And she’d always struck me as content; she’d worked until she’d had to retire, and then come back to substitute at the library. Somehow this all seemed melancholy, and I had to shake myself to pull out of the blues.
What I needed, I told myself briskly, was to return with some large cartons, pack all Jane’s clothing away, and haul the cartons over to the Goodwill. Jane had been a little taller than I, and thicker, too; nothing would fit or be suitable. I piled all the flung-down clothes and tossed the shoes on the bed; no point in loading them back into the closet when I knew I didn’t need or want them. When that was done, I spent a few minutes pressing and poking and tapping in the closet myself.
It just sounded and felt like a closet to me.
I gave up and perched on the end of the bed, thinking of all the pots and pans, towels and sheets, magazines and books, sewing kits and Christmas ornaments, bobby pins and hair nets, handkerchiefs, that were now mine and my responsibility to do something with. Just thinking of it was tiring. I listened idly to the voices of the couple working in the back bedroom. You would have thought that since they lived together twenty-four hours a day they would’ve said all they could think of to say, but I could hear one offer the other a comment every now and then. This calm, intermittent dialogue seemed companionable, and I went into kind of a trance sitting on the end of that bed.
I had to be at work that afternoon for three hours, from one to four. I’d have just time to get home and get ready for my date with Aubrey Scott… did I really need to shower and change before we went to the movies? After going up in the attic, it would be a good idea. Today was much hotter than yesterday. Cartons…where to get some sturdy ones? Maybe the Dumpster behind Wal-Mart? The liquor store had good cartons, but they were too small for clothes packing. Would Jane’s bookshelves look okay standing by my bookshelves? Should I move my books here? I could make the guest bedroom into a study. The only person I’d ever had as an overnight guest who didn’t actually sleep with me, my half brother Phillip, lived out in California now.
“We’re through, Miss Teagarden,” called the husband half of the team.
I shook myself out of my stupor.
“Send the bill to Bubba Sewell in the Jasper Building. Here’s the address,” and I ripped a piece of paper off a tablet Jane had left by the telephone. The telephone! Was it hooked up? No, I found after the repair team had left. Sewell had deemed it an unnecessary expense. Should I have it hooked back up? Under what name? Would I have two phone numbers, one here and one at the town house?
I’d had my fill of my inheritance for one day. Just as I locked the front door, I heard footsteps rustling through the grass and turned to see a barrel-chested man of about forty-five coming from the house to my left.
“Hi,” he said quickly. “You’re our new neighbor, I take it.”
“You must be Torrance Rideout. Thanks for taking such good care of the lawn.”
“Well, that’s what I wanted to ask about.” Close up, Torrance Rideout looked like a man who’d once been handsome and still wasn’t without the old sex appeal. His hair was muddy brown and only a few flecks of gray, and he looked like his beard would be heavy enough to shave twice a day. He had a craggy face, brown eyes surrounded by what I thought of as sun wrinkles, a dark tan, and he was wearing a green golf shirt and navy shorts. “My wife, Marcia, and I were real sorry about Jane. She was a real good neighbor and we were sure sorry about her passing.”
I didn’t feel like I was the right person to accept condolences, but I wasn’t about to explain I’d inherited Jane’s house not because we were the best of friends but because Jane wanted someone who could remember her for a good long while. So I just nodded, and hoped that would do.
Torrance Rideout seemed to accept that. “Well, I’ve been mowing the yard, and I was wondering if you wanted me to do it one more week until you get your own yardman or mow it yourself, or just whatever you want to do. I’ll be glad to do it.”
“You’ve already been to so much trouble…”
“Nope, no trouble. I told Jane when she went in the hospital not to worry about the yard, I’d take care of it. I’ve got a riding mower, I just ride it on over when I do my yard, and there ain’t that much weed eating to do, just around a couple of flower beds. I did get Jane’s mower out to do the tight places the riding mower can’t get. But what I did want to tell you, someone dug a little in the backyard.”
We’d walked over to my car while Torrance talked, and I’d pulled out my keys. Now I stopped with my fingers on the car door handle. “Dug up the backyard?” I echoed incredulously. Come to think of it, that wasn’t so surprising. I thought about it for a moment. Okay, something that could be kept in a bole in the ground as well as hidden in a house.
“I filled the holes back in,” Torrance went on, “and Marcia’s been keeping a special lookout since she’s home during the day.”
I told Torrance someone had entered the house, and he expressed the expected astonishment and disgust. He hadn’t seen the broken window when he’d last mowed the backyard two days before, he told me.
“I do thank you,” I said again. “You’ve done so much.”
“No, no,” he protested quickly. “We were kind of wondering if you were going to put the house on the market, or live in it yourself…Jane was our neighbor for so long, we kind of worry about breaking in a new one!”
“I haven’t made up my mind,” I said, and left it at that, which seemed to stump Torrance Rideout.
“Well, see, we rent out that room over our garage,” he explained, “and we have for a good long while. This area is not exactly zoned for rental units, but Jane never minded and our neighbor on the other side, Macon Turner, runs the paper, you know him? Macon never has cared. But new people in Jane’s house, well, we didn’t know…”
“I’ll tell you the minute I make up my mind,” I said in as agreeable a way as I could.
“Well, well. We appreciate it, and if you need anything, just come ask me or Marcia. I’m out of town off and on most weeks, selling office supplies believe it or not, but then I’m home every weekend and some afternoons, and, like I said, Marcia’s home and she’d love to help if she could.”
“Thank you for offering,” I said. “And I’m sure I’ll be talking to you soon. Thanks for all you’ve done with the yard.”
And finally I got to leave. I stopped at Burger King for lunch, regretting that I hadn’t grabbed one of Jane’s books to read while I ate. But I had plenty to think about: the emptied closets, the holes in the backyard, the hint Bubba Sewell had given me that Jane had left me a problem to solve. The sheer physical task of clearing the house of what I didn’t want, and then the decision about what to do with the house itself. At least all these thoughts were preferable to thinking of myself yet again as the jilted lover, brooding over the upcoming Smith baby… feeling somehow cheated by Lynn’s pregnancy. It was much nicer to have decisions within my power to make, instead of having them made for me.
Now! I told myself briskly, to ward off the melancholy, as I dumped my cup and wrapper in the trash bin and left the restaurant. Now to work, then home, then out on a real date, and tomorrow get out early in the morning to find those boxes!
I should have remembered that my plans seldom work out.
THREE
Work that afternoon more or less drifted by. I was on the checkout/check-in desk for three hours, making idle conversation with the patrons. I knew most of them by name, and had known them all my life. I could have made their day by telling each and every one of them, including my fellow librarians, about my good fortune, but somehow it seemed immodest. And it wasn’t like my mother had died, which would have been an understandable transfer of
