sewing room… of course, that could be a bedroom, too. And there’s an attic, with a boarded floor. Very small. Access through a trapdoor in the upstairs hall.”
We were in the family room, a large room with many windows. The pale carpet smelled mildewy. The double doors into the dining room were glass-paned. The dining room had a wood floor and a built-in hutch and a big window with a view of the side yard and the garage. After that came the kitchen, which had an eat-in area and many, many cabinets. Lots of counter space. The linoleum was a sort of burnished orange, and the wallpaper was cream with a tiny pattern of the same color. The kitchen curtains were cream with a ruffle of the burnished orange. There was a walk-in pantry that had apparently been converted into a washer-dryer closet.
I loved it.
The downstairs bathroom needed work. New tile, recaulking, a new mirror.
The downstairs bedroom would make a great library.
The stairs were steep but not terrifying. The banister seemed quite solid.
The largest bedroom upstairs was very nice. I didn’t like the wallpaper too much, but that was easily changed. Again, the upstairs bath, which opened into the hall, needed some work. The other bedroom needed painting. The small room, usable as a storeroom or sewing room, also needed painting.
I could do that. Or better yet, I could have it done.
“You look pretty happy,” Eileen observed.
I had forgotten anyone else was there.
“You are actually considering buying this house,” she said slowly.
“It’s a wonderful house,” I said in a daze.
“A little isolated.”
“Quiet.”
“A little desolate.”
“Peaceful.”
“Hmmm. Well, as far as price goes, it’s a bargain… and of course, there’s the little apartment over the garage that you can rent to whomever… that’ll help with the isolation, too.”
“Let’s see the apartment.”
So down the stairs and out the kitchen door we trooped. The flight of stairs up to the little second floor seemed sturdy enough; of course, this addition was only six years old. I followed Eileen up, and she unlocked the glass- paned door.
It was really one large open area, the only sealed-off part being a bathroom at one end. The bathroom had a shower, no tub. The kitchen was just enough for one person to heat up a few things from time to time; the mother had gone over to the house for most of her meals. Some nice open shelves had been built in, and there were two closets. There was a window air conditioner, but no hint of how it had been heated.
“A kerosene space heater is my guess,” Eileen said. “There shouldn’t be any problem in an area this size.”
Perhaps I could rent this to a student at Lawrenceton’s little Bible college or to a single schoolteacher. Someone quiet and respectable.
“I really like this,” I told Eileen unnecessarily.
“I can tell.”
“But I need to think about it, of course.”
“Of course.”
“I can afford it, and the repairs, and pay for it outright. But it is stuck out of town, and I need to decide if that would make me nervous. On the other hand, I can practically see Mother’s house from here. And if you could find out who owns this field, I’d appreciate it. I wouldn’t want to buy out here and then discover someone was putting up a discount mall. Or a chicken farm.”
Eileen scribbled a note to herself.
I told myself silently that if any of these variables didn’t work out, I would hire an architect and have a house very similar to this one built from scratch.
“And I’ll keep looking, too,” I told Eileen. “I just don’t want to see anything cramped.”
“Okay, you’re the boss,” Eileen said agreeably. It had grown dark enough for her to switch on the car lights as she turned around on the apron to the side of the garage to negotiate the long driveway.
We went back to town in silence, Eileen obviously trying not to give me some good advice, I in deep thought.
“Wait a minute,” Eileen said, her voice sharp.
I snapped out of my reverie.
“Look, that’s Idella’s car. But she’s not showing the Westley house today. My God, look at the time! I’m showing it in an hour to a couple who work different shifts all week. I’m going to need that key.”
Eileen was seriously miffed. If I’d been just any client, she would have waited until she got me back to the office and then returned to or called the listing, but since I was part of the realtor family, she felt free to vent in front of me. Eileen pulled into the driveway and swung out of her car with practiced ease. I got out, too. Maybe Idella would know if Emily Kaye had already responded to my counteroffer.
There was no client car parked by Idella’s.
“The Westleys moved last week,” Eileen said, and opened the front door without knocking. “Idella!” she hooted. “I’m going to need this key in an hour, woman!”
Nothing. All within was dark. We went in slowly.
For once, Eileen seemed disconcerted.
Eileen called again, but with less expectation that she would be answered. The blinds and curtains were all open, letting in some light from the streetlamp one lot away. Eileen tried to flip on a light, but the electricity had been turned off.
The house was very cold, and I pulled my coat tighter around me.
“We should leave and call the police,” I said finally.
“What if she’s hurt?”
“Oh, Eileen! You know…” I couldn’t finish the sentence. “All right,” I said, bowing to the inevitable. “Do you have a flashlight in your car?”
“Yes, I do. I don’t know where my head is!” Eileen exclaimed, thoroughly angry with herself. She fetched the flashlight and swept its broad beam around the family room. Nothing but dust on the carpet. I followed her and her flashlight into the kitchen… nothing there. So, back past the front door and down the hall to the bedrooms. Nothing in the first one to the left. Nothing in the bathroom. By now, tears were running down Eileen’s face and I could actually hear her teeth chattering.
Nothing in the second bedroom.
Nothing in the hall linen closet.
Idella was in the last bedroom. The flashlight caught her pale hair, and the beam reluctantly went back to her and stayed.
She was crumpled in a corner like a discarded bedspread. Tonia Lee had been arranged, but Idella had just been dumped. No living person could have been lying that way.
I made myself step forward and touch Idella’s wrist. It was faintly warm. There was no pulse. I held my hand in front of her nostrils. No breath. I touched the base of her thin neck. Nothing.
You never know about people. I heard a slithery sound, and the flashlight beam played wildly over the walls as tough Eileen Norris slid to the floor in a dead faint.
Of course, there wasn’t a phone in the Westley house. I had the sudden feeling I was on an island in the middle of a populous stream. I hated to leave Eileen alone in the dark and silence with Idella’s corpse, but I had to get help. There was a car at the house to the right of the Westleys‘, the helpful flashlight revealed, and I knocked on the screen door.
A toddler answered, in a red-checked shirt and overalls. I couldn’t tell if it was a little boy or a little girl. “Could I speak to your mommy?” I said. The child nodded and left, and after a moment a young woman with a towel around her hair came to the door.
“I’m sorry, I’ve told Jeffrey not to answer the door, but if I don’t hear the doorbell in time, he zooms to it,” she said, making it clear she thought that very clever of Jeffrey. “Can I help you?”
