Chapter 8
ELIAS
The moment I met the realtor, I knew Abigail would freak out. Not a panic attack but a full-on meltdown. This ancient man with the patience of a flea in his suede-patched houndstooth jacket that smelled of mothballs wasn”t listening to a word Abigail was saying.
”I was promised these keys would be available after 2 p.m., and it”s 3 p.m. Mr. Brickner verified that the property was mine, and I”ve shown you the paperwork. So what”s the problem?” Her eyes twitched, and her hands bunched at her sides, ready to explode. I thought it best to stand off, giving her time and space to work things out independently. I was her crutch, not her fixer.
”Miss, uh, what”s your name again?” His dismissive tone wasn”t lost on her.
”I”ve told you three times, Abigail Farnsworth-Burton. Why are you giving me such a hard time?” she said. I”d give this guy another minute before pinning him to the wall.
”Yes, Farnsworth. I knew your family back when. They were nothing like you. Wait here, and let me dig through the back for those keys.”
She whipped around, mouthing silently, ”Nothing like me? What the fuck? What”s your name, buddy?” Her hazel eyes glowed under the dim light. Her chest heaved in frustration, and she looked hot as fuck. Usually, I was tongue-tied. However, this little minx unraveled my tongue when her honor was at stake. My words flowed out of my mouth before I realized what I was saying to this old geezer.
”Hey! Buddy, what”s your problem? And what kind of crack is that to make to one of Mystic”s newest citizens? Has she done anything to you personally?” I was offended by this dude”s attitude. Poor Abby was made to feel less than, and that didn”t sit right with me. He gave me some side-eye and walked through the door behind the counter. Jerk.
While we waited for Grandpa to get her keys, I walked up to her, put my hands on her slim shoulders, and looked her straight in the eye. ”This jerk doesn”t know you or what you”re made of. Be polite but stand your ground. You deserve this opportunity, and this guy has no right to take potshots at you. Got it?”
I squeezed her shoulders again and nodded. I turned her around to face the counter again and rubbed her shoulders until the man returned.
He shuffled up to the counter, carrying a skeleton key hanging from a brass ring along with two more modern keys. ”It”s been two years since I”ve seen these keys. Here. Sign this document, and I”ll find someone to drive you over to the house and show you the place.” He threw the keys on the counter and shoved a bulging yellow envelope at her. The way he brusquely handled her paperwork made him as hospitable as a corrections officer.
”Clarence!” He bellowed across the room. Another older man shuffled over to us. At least he forced a smile on his face.
”Coming, Henry. Hello, kids.” His voice crackled like sandpaper.
”Take these people to the old Farnsworth property and show them around. Don”t take too long, though. We have a gin rummy game starting in an hour. Don”t be late,” the old fart warned.
Clarence made a three-point turn and aimed himself at the front door. ”Come on now. I don”t want to miss Edna”s rhubarb pie.”
I looked at Abby and took her hand. Clarence told me to follow him to the house, but I was sure I could use my truck navigation and arrive, fix the front gate, and make dinner before he arrived. I”m not against the older generation. I like them a lot. I just wanted to move this day along and put my feet up.
The short path lined by trees opened to a majestic, whitewashed mansion with four massive columns in the center main section of the home and four half columns on either side of the middle. My jaw dropped, and I almost forgot to put my truck in Park.
”Geezus, Abby. You really are an heiress. How many square feet did that document say this was?” I looked at her in awe. She swayed in her seat, and I pushed her shoulder upright.”Abby! Are you all right?”
Quietly, she opened the door and walked directly to the center of the driveway, making a panoramic study of the view in front of her.
”It”s so beautiful I want to cry.” She moved toward the left side of the house and continued her walk down the straightaway, her head pivoting from side to side.
There was another door on an angled porch on the side of the house. What must have been a mauve wreath hanging on the door now looked like a muskrat chewing on its tail. Disgusting. She kept moving forward to what previously could have been lush, beautiful gardens, but, again, everything was dead, matted, and musty.
Abby turned back to face me. ”Why do you call me Abby? I”m Abigail.” Wait! What? Where did that come from?
My eyes went wide, and my hands floated in front of me, hands up. ”Uh, I don”t know. When did we go from a beautiful house to me calling you Abby?”
Her face went stern, and her hands pushed into her hair. ”Sometimes my thoughts get jammed and emerge at weird times. Never mind that. I”d like you to call me Abigail like everyone else does.”
I made a ”whatever” face and walked back to the front of the house. Clarence finally made it in his 1982 Dodge K car, and I wanted to get the grand tour over so I could get back on the road and home by midnight. He handed A-B-I-G-A-I-L”s keys to her so she could have the honors, and, when she did, no lie, two bats and a flock of flies flew over our heads. God help us for what we”re going to find next.
”Holy shit! That better be the only critters alive in there,” she exclaimed.
Still affronted by her earlier remark, I zipped my lips and took stock of all that needed attention. Why? Who knew? I wasn”t staying, and I wasn”t fixing anything, so why did I get the nagging feeling I was?
Clarence stepped onto the checkered, linoleum foyer and didn”t move. He pointed to everything instead.
”This is the dining room and, beyond that, the kitchen. To the right is the salon, and a grand living room is on the other side of the room. The giant mirror is original to the house. This piano was a gift from a seafaring family I can”t recall exactly. Sometime at the turn of the 20th century.” He took two steps to his left at the bottom of the curved stairway to the upper level.
”Notice the pastoral mural hand-painted back in the eighteen hundreds. I can”t remember who did it. Upstairs are five bedrooms and a study. The side door has a separate entrance to this floor from the driveway, and the last bedroom down the hall has a hidden stairway down to the kitchen. It must have been servants’ quarters at the time it was built. Any questions?” Clarence made to walk out the front door when Abigail huffed.
”Mr. Clarence. Is the electricity turned on? The water? Gas? Or will I live in the dark and bathe in a nearby stream?” I liked her sass. I liked that she remembered to ask those necessary questions before he left. Whatever disability she claimed to have, she was managing this transition quite well. Unless, of course, you count the meltdowns and panic attacks. Seriously, though, anyone being thrown into her circumstances would have felt the same way.
I smiled, showing encouragement and how proud I was of her. ”Great questions. Where”s the fuse box, too? The furnace and water heater, as well.” Sorry. I had questions, too.
Clarence made another three-point turn back to point again. ”Mechanicals are in the basement. The light switch is at the bottom of the stairs through the kitchen. Electricity is on, but water and gas won”t function until tomorrow. Mr. Attison didn”t get notice of your arrival until yesterday.”
He gave a small wave and carefully shifted one leg over the threshold onto the porch and then the other. You had to give him props for his dexterity, given his age. I hoped I still could move at all at his age.
I followed him outside and brought Abigail”s things into the foyer and front room. She”d have to figure out where she would like to sleep and every other decision alone. I grabbed the last of her things from my truck, and the only thing left was her soft scent in the cab. I was preparing to give her my goodbyes when I heard a scream from the kitchen.
”Abigail! What”s going on?”