Wednesday's Word: Close. An Excerpt from Small Town Secrets

 Welcome to Wednesdays where I share a snippet from one of my stories using the previous day's word from the New York Times' game, WORDLE. Yesterday's WORDLE was CLOSE. 

This is an excerpt from Small Town Secrets, currently on SALE for only .99 cents.

ON SALE NOW

You have arrived at your destination, the GPS announced. 1123 East Jordan Trail.

 

I pulled over to the gravel shoulder and stared at the wall of blackberry bushes lining the road. I edged the car forward another few feet and spotted a lone mailbox nailed to a tree. Hovde was painted on the side in black ink.

 

I parked the Honda because if I tried to drive down the dirt path, the berries would scratch the car’s paint. How long had Olivia been gone? I climbed out of the car. The air, thick with unshed rain, smelled of pine trees and a distant dairy farm. Somewhere close, a river tumbled over rocks. Birds darted overhead and a squirrel chittered in a nearby tree. My feet scrunched on the gravel as I picked my way down the path. I rounded the corner and the house came into view.

 

Tall, and graying with age, the cottage and lawn needed love and attention. I liked the porch, the dormer windows, and the Dutch door—which I immediately decided to paint yellow. My fingers curled around the keys in my pocket, and I wondered about Olivia and how an elderly woman could live in such isolation. I thought about my father growing up here and my imagination faltered.

 

My phone buzzed. I answered.

 

“Are you there yet?” Piper asked.

 

“Just got here.” I walked through the dandelion-strewn grass, taking mental notes on all the needed repairs. The roof didn’t look too bad, although the chimney had lost a couple of bricks. One rain gutter hung at half-mast. The porch had a broken step. Cobwebs framed the windows.

 

Piper squealed. “Put me on video!”

 

“Don’t you have work?”

 

“I’m on my lunch break.

 

I obeyed and held up the phone so she could see me approaching the house.

 

“Wait!” Piper called out. “Are you there alone?”

 

“Yes. Mom was going to come, but one of her patients had an emergency.”

 

“Don’t take another step,” Piper said, her tone ominous. “What if this is a setup?”

 

“A setup?” My steps faltered.

 

“You didn’t actually meet with an attorney, did you?”

 

“No, but—”

 

“And you just got the keys from a safe deposit box?”

 

“Yes, but—”

 

“What if a serial murdering rapist is waiting for you?”

 

I glanced at the dark and vacant windows. The eerie quiet enveloped me like a thick blanket. “There’s no one here.”

 

“How do you know?”

 

“I haven’t seen another car or person for at least a mile, maybe two.”

 

“Well, maybe the murdering rapist walked there.”

 

“I’m twelve miles outside of town.”

 

“Outside of Cascadia?”

 

I nodded, even though I knew she couldn’t see me. “I’m here. I’m not going back.”

 

“Then keep me on the line,” Piper said.

 

With my phone held aloft, I walked toward my new house.

 

A handful of fallen leaves dotted a thick patch of English Ivy climbing over the porch rail. I stopped by a gnarled crabapple tree.

 

“What are those?” Piper asked. “Apples?”

 

“They’re probably too sour to eat.” I fished a skeleton key out of my pocket, inserted the key in the door and pushed it open to reveal a large room dominated by a stone fireplace with a wide stone hearth. The room smelled of disinfectant.

 

“Did you bring a suitcase? Are you moving in?”

 

“No. I’m just…I didn’t even know if this place was habitable, but I think it’s sort of perfect.” I stepped inside and strode across the room to a large picture window framing the distant foothills. A gray cloud gathered over a pinnacle, and cast a menacing shadow on an otherwise sunny world of trees and birds. “I think I’ll be happy here.” My statement sounded like a question.

 

A comfy-looking cream-colored sofa with fat cushions looked new, as did the two club-style chairs flanking the fireplace. However, the needlepoint pillows tucked into the sofa’s corners and the crazy quilt draped over the sofa’s arm looked vintage. A well-stocked bookshelf dominated one wall.

 

 “What are you going to do all the way out there on your own?” Piper asked.

 

“Read?” I showed her the shelves full of books.

 

“It’ll be a long drive to work every day,” Piper said in a dire tone.

 

“I won’t stay forever. I’ll spruce it up and, when the market’s right, I’ll sell.”

 

I wandered into the kitchen and opened the archaic refrigerator. A faint odor of sour milk escaped. A couple of empty trays sat in the freezer.

 

“You have to make your own ice,” Piper predicted.

 

“There are worse fates.” I closed the fridge with a bang and pointed my phone at a dark corner where a collection of wires nestled in a rusty, dented metal box. “I think that’s a space heater.”

 

“There’s a fireplace,” Piper put in.

 

Making ice I could do. I didn’t know if I could make a fire, and I had serious misgivings about the space heater.

 

I strode through the tiny kitchen and into a mud room complete with a modern washer, but no dryer. A clothesline hung between the house and the shed. A mean wind tossed the cord in a jiggly dance. The gray cloud lowered over what I now considered my property.

 

“You better go home,” Piper said, reminding me of the dirt path I’d taken to get here. “Unless you don’t mind getting caught in rain or mud.”

 

“I’m perfectly safe.” But I wondered who I was trying to convince, her or me?

 

I headed up the tiny, steep stairs. A claw-footed tub dominated the bathroom. The toilet had a pull chain and a lone light bulb dangled over the mirror on the medicine chest.

 

One bedroom had a pair of twin-sized beds topped with what looked like homemade quilts, a dresser, and a rocking chair. The next bedroom had a queen-sized bed with a plain white duvet and two fluffy pillows. The linens looked brand new. I went to the dresser to pull open a drawer. Empty. As was the closet.

 

“Someone must have cleaned out Olivia’s things,” I told Piper.

 

“Your father?”

 

Curious.

 

“One of my patients told me that when someone dies, the money is in the minutia.”

 

“What does that mean?” Piper asked.

 

“It means every little thing adds up. The Facebook marketplace makes it easy.”

 

“I can’t see people coming all the way out there,” Piper said with a snort.

 

“Maybe my mom will let me sell things from her house.”

 

From the front bedroom window, I watched the drizzle turn into a full-fledged storm, with the clouds climbing up to engulf the mountains. Was that a roofline sticking up out of the trees? Could there be neighbors after all? Lightning cracked. A faint rumble of thunder shook the house and something or someone scurried above me.

 

“I might not be alone,” I whispered. I found the attic hatch in the closet of the second bedroom and hauled a red ladder-back chair into the closet and made sure the attic door was secure.

 

“Get out of there now!” Piper whisper-yelled.

 

“It’s just some animal,” I whispered back. But I didn’t feel as confident as I had before. I trotted down the stairs, banged out the front door, dodged raindrops, and sprinted across the lawn to the safety of my car.