This Old Souse Read online

  Still wary, and darting Renie distrustful glances, Phyliss complied. Five minutes later, the cousins were driving off in the Joneses’ Toyota Camry.

  “She’s getting nuttier by the day,” Renie remarked as they reached the top of Heraldsgate Hill and proceeded through the business district.

  “Maybe,” Judith allowed, “but she’s still a wonderful worker. I gave her a raise the first of the month.”

  “You’re too good,” Renie declared.

  “No,” Judith responded. “She deserves it. During all the months that the workmen were repairing and renovating the B & B, Phyliss had to put up with a lot. We all did. And after everything was finished, upkeep had to be relearned by both of us. Different upholstery, different drapes, different appliances—it’s an adjustment when everything comes at once.”

  “That’s true,” Renie agreed as they turned off Heraldsgate Avenue to head for the bridge across the ship canal. “I’m still figuring out all the features of my new washer and dryer. It’s like flying a jet. The control panels have me baffled. By the way, we’re dropping off SuperGerm first.”

  “That’s fine,” Judith said. “Should I stay in the car?”

  Renie shook her head as they waited for a lull in traffic to get onto the city’s major north-south thoroughfare. “It won’t take long, and I’d like to have you meet Garth. He’s a good guy. Creative, too, though he doesn’t possess much curiosity about everyday things.”

  “Such as your mystery house?”

  “Such as,” Renie said, stepping on the gas as the Camry approached the bridge. “Bill isn’t interested in it, either. Of course, being from Wisconsin, he didn’t grow up in the neighborhood. But Madge Navarre did,” Renie continued, referring to her friend from junior-high-school days, “and I think she thinks I’m crazy.”

  “I get it,” Judith said with a smirk. “I’m supposed to prove you’re not nuts.”

  Renie had taken the first right-hand turn at the end of the bridge. “Well…maybe. But you’re even more intrigued by mysterious people and things than I am. In fact, I’m the one who usually tries to talk you out of your frequent flights of fancy.”

  “Which,” Judith said, looking grim, “too often turn out not to be fanciful.”

  “All too true,” Renie remarked. “So humor me, okay?”

  Judith held up her index finger. “Just this once. I told you, coz, I’m getting into the busiest part of the year. I honestly don’t have time to devote to your little mystery.”

  “You wouldn’t say that if a corpse turned up in your freezer,” Renie retorted.

  Judith shuddered. “Don’t say that! I’ve had more than my share of bad luck. It’s been over a year since I’ve run into…any problems. Let’s keep it that way.”

  “Of course,” Renie said, slowing down on a street of relatively modest homes. “I’m not wishing for trouble. If I alter a couple of features in my artwork, I won’t need to get the owners’ consent. But I’d really like to find out why that house looks so vacant when it isn’t. Or so I figure.”

  On-street parking was at a minimum. Judith and Renie had to walk almost half a block to reach Garth Doyle’s residence. A trio of children in a neatly kept yard stared as Renie carried SuperGerm past them.

  Garth’s studio was in the basement of his Tudor-style brick home. The cousins entered through the attached garage and knocked on a wood-frame door with a brass plaque that read DOYLE DESIGNS.

  Garth answered promptly. “If it isn’t Serena and her cousin. Which is which?” He looked from SuperGerm to Judith and back again.

  “Very funny,” Renie shot back, then made the introductions. “Garth’s quite the kidder,” she added for Judith’s benefit.

  Judith observed that Garth was indeed a jovial man with a hearty laugh. He was of average height, but substantial girth; his hair and beard were turning gray; he wore rimless half-glasses and a shabby brown sweater over a denim shirt and blue jeans. Upon entering the studio, however, Judith noticed that everything appeared to be state-of-the-art. Or as far as Judith could tell from her limited experience. Renie was terrified of anything more complicated than a computer with basic design software. It had taken her several years to make that jump, and she remained entrenched in outmoded technology.

  As Renie and Garth discussed how to tweak SuperGerm, Judith admired several works in progress. While Garth might rely on technology, he was also a hands-on kind of guy. There were several small clay models of all sorts of things—trees, animals, buildings, people. Judith was studying three-inch figures of Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs when Renie called to her.

  “Garth and I have finished,” she said to Judith. “Come join us.”

  Garth’s expression grew curious as Renie launched into her explanation about the nearby Spanish-style house. “Have you asked anybody about that place since I last mentioned it?”

  “I did,” Garth replied, looking amused. “I saw a man come out of the house across the street—the south side. He told me that it was occupied, though when I pressed him for details, he admitted he hadn’t seen anybody that he could recall. But he’d noticed the mailman deliver there a few times, so he assumed the owners might be elderly and not likely to go out much.”

  “They’d have to be elderly,” Renie said, “if they’ve been there for fifty years. But that doesn’t account for them not ever leaving the house.”

  Garth chuckled in his rich, deep manner. “Now, Serena, how many times have you actually been by that place over the years?”

  Renie made a face. “Okay, until lately I probably haven’t gone by it more than half a dozen times since I moved away. But in the old days, I suppose I’d walk by it once a month, coming from junior high and high school.”

  “Always at the same time?” Garth inquired.

  “Well…yes, around three in the afternoon,” Renie said. “I forget what time school let out. In fact, at my age, I’ve practically forgotten going to school. But,” she added in a stubborn voice, “I certainly remember the house. It’s as if it were in a time warp.”

  Garth rubbed his bearded chin. “Langford is such an ordinary part of town. Most of the houses are strictly middle-class, mainly built after 1910. Oh, there are a few big, expensive homes—including your villa, if it were better maintained—but by and large, this is what we used to call a lunch-bucket neighborhood.”

  “I know.” Renie smiled. “Our house had four rooms until Dad expanded the attic.”

  Garth waved a hand. “This one was six rooms—until I finished off the basement and put in the studio.”

  Judith listened with half an ear as Renie and Garth discussed local demographics. Anxious to get going, she finally tapped her watch. “Coz, I hate to break up this—”

  “Okay, okay,” Renie snapped. “We’re out of here. Thanks, Garth. Let me know when SuperGerm is ready for delivery.”

  “Will do,” Garth replied.

  Making hasty farewells, the cousins left the studio and walked back to the car. A few drops of rain were falling, but not enough to daunt native Pacific Northwesterners. Indeed, neither Judith nor Renie owned an umbrella. The rain was too unpredictable and rarely more than a drizzle. Umbrellas were only a nuisance, extra baggage that was often lost or mislaid by those who used them.

  Parking was allowed on both sides of the street, creating a one-lane thoroughfare. Renie drove slowly, negotiating the traffic islands at each intersection. After two and a half blocks, she took a right-hand turn. At the next cross street, Judith spotted Renie’s obsession.

  The property took up the south end of the block facing Moonfleet Street. A rockery, now overgrown with large ferns, ivy, and Oregon grape, surrounded the lot on three sides. Tall firs and cedar trees obscured the house from view. Renie slowed the Camry to a crawl. Above the dense shrubbery, Judith could see beyond the peeling white stucco walls and the red-tiled roof, both of which sprouted large patches of moss. There was no lawn; there was no garden. A dirt track separated the property from its
neighbors.

  “I’ve never driven up that alley,” Renie said as they pulled to a stop. “I don’t know if Cammy would like it,” she added, using the Joneses’ nickname for their car. “It doesn’t look as if it’s ever used.”

  Judith put on her glasses for a better view of the house, which faced south on Moonfleet. The cousins were on the east side. The first thing Judith noticed was that the dwelling was a two-story structure with a one-story wing jutting from the main building. The wing had an arched passageway, a grilled window in the front, and one on the side. Ornamental tiles formed a pleasing pattern above the window that looked out onto the street. A tower almost in the center of the house rose slightly higher than the red-tiled roof. There was a balcony on the second floor of the main structure, and the only chimney was at the west end. Even though the stucco was peeling from the exterior and the roof was badly faded, the house was still impressive.

  “The shades are drawn and the drapes are pulled,” Renie noted. “It’s always been that way.”

  Judith was still staring through the car window. “It’s not a huge house—four bedrooms at most. And even though the land goes from corner to corner, it’s a narrow block. Three legal lots at most. What do you figure the place would sell for, even without improvements?”

  Renie considered. “Langford isn’t as pricey as Heraldsgate Hill, but it’s an up-and-coming area. I’d guess maybe seven, eight hundred thousand?”

  Judith nodded. “That sounds about right.”

  Renie pointed to the yard. “The woodpile’s down, but it’s June. There aren’t any toys that I can see, but if there were ever kids living in the house, they’d be grown up by now. There’s a detached garage on the far side of the house that you can’t see from here. In fact, you can’t see it at all anymore because the trees and shrubs have grown so high since I was a teenager.”

  Movement nearby caught Judith’s eye. She turned to look out the other window. Two women in their thirties were coming out of a modest Craftsman-style house across the street and heading for an SUV parked at the curb.

  “Quick,” Renie said as she rolled down Judith’s window, “ask them who lives here.”

  “Hi,” Judith called. “Could you tell us something?”

  The taller of the two came into the street and stood by the SUV. “Are you lost?”

  “No,” Judith replied with her friendliest smile. “Do you know who lives in this wonderful old Spanish house?”

  The woman frowned slightly. “Why do you want to know?”

  Judith shifted into her small-fib-in-a-good-cause mode. “It’s exactly the kind of house my husband and I’ve been looking for. That style is very hard to find in this city. I wondered if it might be for sale. It looks deserted.”

  “Heavens, no,” the woman replied. “I doubt very much if the owners would want to sell. They’ve lived there for years.”

  “Then,” Judith said, keeping her smile fixed in place, “they might be thinking of moving to a smaller place. I mean, if they’re getting up in years.”

  “Doubtful,” the woman said, opening the SUV’s door.

  The second woman was already in the passenger seat. She leaned over, calling to her friend. “Come on, Glenda, let’s go. We’re supposed to meet Maddy at one.”

  Judith waved a hand. “Please—wait. Do you know the owners’ names?”

  Glenda, who had started to get into the SUV, shot Judith an exasperated look. “Yes. They’re Dick and Jane Bland. Now will you please move your car so we can get out of here and go to lunch?” She sat down hard in the driver’s seat and slammed the door.

  “Twerp,” Renie growled as she took her time starting the Camry.

  “Well, now you know.” Judith took off her glasses and slipped them back into their leather case. “An elderly couple named Bland live in your so-called mystery house. Are you satisfied?”

  The question was met with an ominous silence. On the way back from Langford, Judith deliberately steered the conversation in directions other than the Spanish house. Renie’s responses were terse, however, and her short chin was set at a pugnacious angle.

  They had crossed the bridge over the ship canal when Judith realized that Renie wasn’t in the right-hand lane to make the turn onto Heraldsgate Hill.

  “Hey!” she cried. “Where are we going? I’ve got to get home.”

  “Open the glove compartment,” Renie commanded. “Get out the phone book I use for my cell.”

  “Dammit,” Judith began, but obeyed. “I really don’t have time for this. Whatever this is,” she added.

  “It may only be a detour,” Renie retorted. “Look up the Blands.”

  As fast as she could, Judith flipped through to the residential B section. There were a handful of Blands but no Richard, Rich, Rick, Dick, or any initials that might be the couple on Moonfleet Street. “Drat,” said Judith, returning the directory to the glove compartment. “Now I am getting mad at you.”

  “Oh, be a sport, coz,” Renie urged. “How many times have you dragged me into all sorts of weird situations, not to mention occasionally risking my life and all my limbs?”

  Judith grimaced. Renie had gone far beyond the call of kinship to help Judith solve her own mysteries, most of which had exposed them both to danger. It was not yet one o’clock. None of the guests were due until four at the earliest. Joe was over on the Eastside helping to sort out an insurance scam. Phyliss was used to working unsupervised. Gertrude wouldn’t care if her daughter was tardy. The old girl was too wrapped up in her movie script.

  “Okay,” Judith said, leaning back in the seat. “Where are we going?”

  “Downtown,” Renie replied, sailing along at ten miles over the forty-mile-an-hour speed limit. “I want to check the rolls at the county courthouse.”

  It took ten minutes to get to the courthouse, another ten to park, and a quarter of an hour to find the right department and the proper records. Judith’s artificial hip was beginning to ache, but she kept her mouth shut. Renie, who was carrying a large, worn binder, would retaliate with complaints about the shoulder that still bothered her even after extensive surgery.

  Fortunately, the cousins found a place to sit down. “You do have the address,” Judith said.

  “No,” Renie admitted. “I’ve never been able to see the house numbers. But since it’s the only residence on that side of Moonfleet, I can’t miss. The houses across the street are in the twenty-one–hundred range, odd numbers. Ah!” In triumph, she looked up from the big binder. “I got it! It’s two-one-oh-eight.”

  Judith scooted her chair around for a closer look. The yellowed page showed the original plat, with a floor plan for the house and the garage. The date was April 11, 1925.

  Renie moved on to the information about ownership. “The house was completed in March of 1926. The builder was somebody named L. R. Engstrom, and the first owners were Preston D. and Eleanor F. Conway, who paid thirty-five hundred dollars for it.” She moved her finger down the page. “They sold the place in 1933 for five thousand dollars. Maybe they couldn’t keep up the payments during the Depression. Anyway, the new owners were Ruben C. and Ellen M. Borbon. Ruben must have passed on by the time it was sold again for seventy-five hundred dollars in 1947 by Mrs. Borbon to…” She paused and took a deep breath. “To Richard L. and Jane C. Bland.”

  “You’re right.” Judith swiftly calculated the years. “They’ve lived there for well over a half century. Goodness, they must be old.”

  “Fairly old,” Renie amended. “We aren’t spring chickens, either. It’s possible that they bought it as newlyweds. They might be in their early seventies.”

  “That’s not old anymore,” Judith said wistfully. “It used to be, though.”

  Renie stood up. “Let’s go.”

  “Home?” Judith asked hopefully.

  “No. Back to Moonfleet Street.”

  Judith did her best to catch up with Renie, who was sprinting toward the elevators. “Why?”

  “That di
sagreeable neighbor is probably still out to lunch,” Renie said, entering the elevator and poking the button for the street level. “I want a better look at the house.”

  “Coz—” Judith began in a pleading tone.

  “It’s only two o’clock,” Renie interrupted. “I’ll have you back at the B & B by three. I promise.”

  The elevator doors opened onto the lobby. “Okay,” Judith said with a sigh. “I guess I owe you.”

  “You bet you do,” Renie retorted as they waited for the light to walk across the street to the parking garage. “Besides, this is just a little harmless fun.”

  “True,” Judith allowed.

  Or maybe not.

  TWO

  ON THEIR RETURN trip to Moonfleet, Renie found a parking place across the street from the front of the house. “We can’t see much of anything from here except for that path that goes up from the sidewalk,” she said. “We’ll have to get out and walk.”

  “Walk?” Judith responded. “How about carrying me? I’m getting gimpy from all this walking.”

  “Nonsense,” Renie snapped. “We haven’t walked any farther than you’d do at home, especially going up and down all those stairs. Furthermore, I can’t carry you. My shoulder, remember?”

  The drizzle had stopped, though the sky remained cloudy. As the cousins got out of the car, they saw a postal van pull up at the corner.

  “Aha!” Renie exclaimed under her breath. “We can interrogate him.”

  “Why not?” Judith said in an indifferent voice. “Maybe I can spare my hip by riding around in his pouch.”

  Crossing the street, the cousins peered up through the narrow path that was flanked by towering camellia and lily-of-the-valley bushes. They could see the arched front entrance. The door was made of vertical mahogany planks with three ornamental hinges and a matching knocker. Faded multihued tiles surrounded the door. The large arched first-story window was made of tinted glass. There were two smaller rectangular windows in the tower, one on the first floor, the other on the second. There was no lawn—only dirt, rocks, and a few weeds. Despite the secluded setting and beauty of design, the overall impression was bleak. Judith sensed that this was not—perhaps never had been—a happy house.