Everything they owned invested in this place, everything they had hoped for, even their very lives maybe…and now this.
Finally he trudged his way back to the kitchen door and stalked in. Catherine stood there. The kids were gone. He couldn’t hear them anywhere.
“Take off your boots, please.”
“Huh?” He looked down as if surprised to see that he had feet.
“Your boots. You’re muddying up the floor.”
He toed the boots off, then in a moment of rage, kicked them out the open door. They splashed into a puddle about where he had planned to plant a peach tree come spring.
“What’s wrong.”
He didn’t answer. He didn’t trust himself to answer. He took several deep breaths. Then several more.
“The kids came back into the house. They were frightened. terrified. Of you, I think. They said that something happened back there. Burt still had the box clutched in his hand. What was it?”
Willard ran his fingers through his hair and slumped onto a chair.
“A crack. A huge, gaping, monster of a f… of a crack.”
“Where?”
“Along the whole bedroom side of the house, I think. A big one. A couple of inches below the stucco line.” His mind hadn’t registered the full meaning of the different colors down there, not yet, so he didn’t mention that.
Catherine’s eyes widened in shock.
“And another one under the eaves where the wall joins the roof. There’s some uneven patching that no one would notice on a quick glance…maybe not even on a careful glance. We didn’t walk along that part of the wall before we bought the place. Maxwell stood with us at the corner and talked but didn’t go any further. We…I just assumed…
“Anyway, it looks like the entire wall slumps from corner to corner. I think its separated from the roof by an inch or two in the middle, just above Suze’s window.”
He laughed bitterly.
“I’m surprised the window hasn’t cracked. Yet.”
Catherine remained silent. For a long time.
Then she touched Willard’s hand. He didn’t move.
“Is there anything we can do about it right now?”
He shook his head. “We’ll have to call the city engineer’s office to have them send someone out, but that can’t happen until the soil is a lot dryer than it is. Without more rain, or at least nothing like the last four days, maybe three weeks, a month.”
“Is there any danger?”
“I suppose not. Like Maxwell said, the place has lasted nearly thirty years. The roof isn’t bowing anywhere, so it’s supported all right. I think. We’ll just have to see what the city inspector says when he comes.”
She nodded.
Outside, the clouds began to break up, signaling the official end of the worst storm in a decade. If they had looked carefully, the might even have seen some blue sky peeking through.
They didn’t look.
From the Tamarind Valley Times, 30 October 1991:
LOCAL BUSINESSMAN SOUGHT ON CHARGES OF FRAUD
Charges of real estate fraud and criminal negligence were formally brought against Andrew “Ace” McCall, sole owner of Ace-High Construction and McCall/Sidney Realty in Tamarind Valley early this morning.
State Real Estate Board investigators have provided evidence that McCall was personally involved in several schemes to defraud contractors, suppliers, and buyers of recently constructed homes in two subdivisions in the Valley.
Sunset Hills, located in the far eastern end of the Valley, and Charter Oaks, the newer of the two, located just west of the 101 Freeway, have both been under investigation for several months, although no actions have been taken against McCall until today. Charges range from using substandard materials to willfully subverting the local and state building codes, potentially endangering residents in both subdivisions.
A warrant was issued for McCall, although when contacted, the police indicated that he has not been located.
No clues have been found in relation to a second case apparently involving McCall, the mysterious disappearance two years ago of his former senior partner in Ace-High Construction and McCall/Sidney Realty, Bryan Sidney.
Sidney was last seen exactly two years ago today. No traces of him have been found to date. McCall was considered a subject of interest in the case but due to a lack of any substantive evidence no charges were ever filed.
If found guilty of the fraud and negligence charges as specified, McCall could face…
From the Cactus Spine (Newsletter of the Bureau of Land Management, Reno District), 24 December 1997:
GOOD TO SEE YOU GO (NOT REALLY!)
Farewell and best wishes to one of the stalwarts here at the Reno District. After forty-five years of government service, over thirty of them with the BLM, Abraham Morris-known affectionately as “Abe,” “The Old Man,” “That Old Fart,” and “Hey, You” (among other names, mostly unprintable)-has finally decided to call it quits, hang up his compass and canteen, and re-join the human race. Most people call it “retiring.” Abe calls it “recovering his lost humanity.”
Abe first joined the BLM in 1962 after serving in the Army and later in the Forest Service. During his more than three decades with us, he has worked throughout the Western States. His retirements goals include…
Chapter Eight
Abraham Morris, February 1998-November 2005
The Joys of Retirement
1
From the first moment he saw it outlined on the crest of the low hill, Abraham Morris knew that the house on Oleander was a perfect investment for him. He might be old, he thought ruefully as the realtor’s sleek car nosed into the driveway, they might figure him to be too decrepit to work for the federal government any longer, but he wasn’t senile. He had always had a nose for such things. He knew a good deal when he saw one.
Nothing happened to change his mind until after he had finished a walk-through of the house and the sorely neglected backyard. On the whole, he liked what he saw, liked especially the potential in the way the place was set on the property, the sense of roominess and openness. It kind of reminded him of Nevada…only green. Yes, there was a lot a good green thumb could do in the yard, and the house was larger than he had figured on getting for his money.
By the time he had finished with the showing, his mind was almost made up.
The realtor had three locks to check before leaving, so while she was finishing, Abe walked a short way down the front sidewalk, primarily to get a better view of the lot as a whole.
“That’s a death-house!”
His head jerked around sharply at the hoarsely whispered sound. For a moment, it was as if the voice had come from thin air, a disembodied sound that echoed strangely across the open yards. Then, squinting against the bright light, he finally spotted an woman next door, huddling in the shadow of a garage bearing the number 1042 in
