“Okay, great. Thanks.” I close my fingers around the keys and my heart thumps in response. I’m about to unlock the door to my first house.
“I’ll let you get to it then. It’s wonderful to meet you, Abigail.” She pats Walt on the head and immediately his motor starts up with a purr.
Traitor.
She turns to leave, then stops. “Come by anytime to get the key to your room and have a bite of supper. And let us know if you’ll need any help bringing your luggage over.”
“Umm, I’m staying here tonight.” I point to the house with one thumb. “Thanks anyway.”
“Didn’t Eunice tell you? None of your services are hooked up, so you could stay here, but you’d have no power, water, or electricity.”
I purse my lips together, holding in the string of curse words on the tip of my tongue. “She didn’t mention that, no.”
“Oh, dear, yes. It usually takes Gus about a week.”
“A week?” Are you freaking kidding me? “Is there no one else who can do it?”
Shaking her head, she says, “Nope, just Gus Nickerson. He’s the only one in the area who has the permits.”
“But, that’s ridiculous. Isn’t it just a quick flip of some switch or something?”
“I suspect so, but Gus isn’t one to rush anything. He doesn’t believe in being in a hurry,” she says. “If you ask me, a lot of people should take a page out of his book.”
But I didn’t ask, and I really don’t care about Gus the gas guy’s beliefs, so… “Right, sure,” I answer, wanting to return to the real issue. “So, is there any way I can get a hold of Gus to ask him to hurry just this once?”
Instead of answering, Nettie chuckles softly. “We’ve got a lovely corner room with a big soaker tub reserved for you and Walt here. Fifty percent off your stay since you’re a neighbor,” Nettie says, turning to leave.
Fifty percent off? When I shouldn’t have to pay for anything because I should be staying in the house I just paid for? “I’m assuming the utility company will pay since they’re failing to provide timely service.”
“That’s considered timely here.” She calls over her shoulder, “Dinner’s served from five ’til seven. Tonight is lobster bisque, Caesar salad, and biscuits, followed by roast chicken and mashed potatoes with gravy.”
I fume silently as she disappears down a path through the trees that separates my lot from hers. I am clearly in need of a tall fence around the property to keep Nosy Nettie out. But first, I’m going to call up the gas company and give them a piece of my mind. “Gus doesn’t believe in rushing,” I mutter. “This is insane.I’mthe customer andIbelieve in rushing so he better damn-well rush.”
I try to put Walt down, but he resists, digging his claws into my shoulder. “Ouch, all right,” I say, straightening up.
First, go inside. Then put the cat down. Then call the utility company. Or fight the spider-rats, then call them.
My skin feels prickly as I make my way over to my front door, trying to convince myself there’s no such thing as a cross between a rat and a giant spider, but only managing to invent spider-riding rodents instead. “Oh, Abby, what were you thinking?”
Walt makes opening the ancient screen door a sweaty affair, but there’s no point in trying to put him down, not unless I want him to take long strips of skin with him. I prop open the screen door with one foot while I fiddle with the lock. “It’s okay,” I tell him. “There’s nothing to be afraid of…except whatever’s living in there.”
Turning the handle, I draw a deep breath and open the wooden door. It feels stiff and creaks loudly, and I can’t decide if it’s welcoming or warning me. When I step inside, I’m greeted by beams of light that shine through the cracks in the boards on the windows. Thick layers of dust hide the true colors of the home, and when I move, tiny particles dance and swirl in the light. Standing perfectly still, I hold my breath, listening for scurrying or scratching sounds, but there’s only silence.
“Do you smell or see any tiny poops?” I ask Walt as I scan the floor of the small foyer. He doesn’t seem like a cat who’s just picked up the scent of something delicious to chase, so I continue on.
Once inside, I’m given three choices—up the stairs in front of me, through the wide opening to my right, or through the door to my left. Deciding to go right, I find myself standing in the living room with a high, sloped ceiling held up by dark wooden beams. There is a stone fireplace with a thick, wooden slab for a mantle. Floor-to-ceiling bookshelves line one wall, and if they aren’t rotten, they’ll be filled soon. Other than that, the room is bare. A cheap green carpet covers the floor, and I wonder if it’s too much to hope for beautiful wood plank floors under it. Of course it is.
I lean forward and Walt hops out of my arms onto the floor. “Seriously? You’re terrified of grass, but you’ll happily wander around on a filthy, stained carpet? What does that say about my housekeeping skills?” I say. "Don't answer that."
I follow the carpet through a wide opening in the far wall where a long, wooden table fills up most of the space. There are no chairs, but the table appears to be handcrafted and is what the host ofAntiques Roadshowwould call ‘a find.’ Upon closer examination, I realize the table is not only dusty, but is also sprinkled with dead flies. Yuck. Turning, I see the kitchen on the other side of the dining area. It’s a modest galley-style setup, but it’s more than enough room for me to toast Pop-Tarts.
Once I’m standing in front of the sink, I peer through the crack in the boarded-up window that overlooks the backyard. I glance at Walt, who has followed me. “What a pleasant view we’ll have when I don’t do the dishes.”
A few minutes later, I've ventured as far down into the basement as I dare without electricity. Using the flashlight on my cell phone, I stop on the bottom step where I scan the room for wildlife or dead bodies, my heart in my throat the entire time. But instead of anything rabid or rotting, I find a furnace, a hot water tank, and an ancient washer and dryer sitting on a disappointing dirt floor. The cement walls are broken up only by one small window so covered in grime it barely allows in any light. I used to hate my tiny laundry/storage room back in Manhattan, but compared to this dungeon, that seems like a positively luxurious place to hang my unmentionables.
The top floor is much less spooky and by the time I've walked through the three small carpeted bedrooms and one bathroom, I'm almost confident that the house isn't overrun with things that leave trails while they scurry about. Having set that fear aside, I return to my original goal, which is to call the utility company and give them a piece of my mind. We'll see if a little New York attitude can light a fire under Gus the Zen Gasman's ass because there is no way in hell I'm staying at that B&B tonight.
Chapter Five
