This Old Souse (3 page)

“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 disagreeable 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.

O
N 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 tower
ing 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.

“It's terribly sad,” Judith declared. “It's not just the feeling of neglect. There's despair, too, and hopelessness.”

Renie nodded. “I'm becoming depressed just looking at it. But doesn't it make you curious?”

The human element—or lack of it—moved Judith, who was always intrigued by other people. “Yes. Yes, I have to admit it does.”

Renie turned to watch the mailman come across the street. “Good grief!” she exclaimed under her breath. “I don't believe it! That's Morty! I thought he would have retired by now.”

“Morty?” The name rang a bell with Judith. “The one who always left a trail of mail behind him and read all the magazines before he delivered them?”

“The very same,” Renie replied. “And here comes his awful dog, Zip Code.”

“Son or grandson of Zip Code,” Judith murmured.

Morty stopped at the curb, peering at Renie. “Do I know you?”

It had been going on forty years since Renie and Morty's last encounter. Both had been in their early twenties. Renie had bawled out Morty for delivering her copy of
Vogue
with mustard and ketchup smeared on its summer bathing-suit layout. Drool, too, she'd told him at the time.

“I don't think so,” Renie lied. Then she smiled. It was a big mistake.

“Those teeth!” Morty shouted, recoiling so fast that he dropped several pieces of mail. “You! It's Fang!”

Zip Code, a shaggy golden retriever, hid behind his master and growled.

“Okay, okay,” Renie said in an impatient voice. “Skip the past history. We're both older and hopefully wiser.” Indeed, Morty's blond hair was almost white and his ramrod posture had deteriorated into a sorry slouch. “Have you always been on this part of the route?”

“Why do you care?” Morty shot back. “How many times did you report me to the Langford post office?”

“I only did that once,” Renie said, “after I found my IRS refund in the hydrangea after the leaves fell off in the fall. It was my folks who called the post office about a dozen times. Dad hit the roof when you tore the fishing-hole maps out of his
Northwest Angler
magazine.”

“So I had a hobby on my days off,” Morty shot back. “What did you expect me to do? Play golf and walk eighteen holes? You should see my feet, they look like corncobs.”

“Please.”
Renie put her hands over her eyes. “Why haven't you retired?”

“I will,” Morty replied, “end of the month.”

“Congratulations.” Renie smirked. “To the people on your route, that is.”

Judith tapped Renie's arm. “Coz…” None too gently, she pushed Renie out of the way. The ungroomed Zip Code came out from behind Morty and warily approached the cousins. “That's a”—there were times when Judith couldn't tell a fib even in a good cause—“a real doggie dog. How long have you had him?”

“This guy?” Morty leaned forward to pat the dog's scruffy rump. “Twelve years. Fourth generation. I've always taken a Zip Code with me. Keeps the other dogs at bay.”

“So you've had this whole route all these years?” Judith inquired.

Morty glanced at Renie, then looked back at Judith. “Why are you two asking me these questions?”

“It's this place,” Judith replied, gesturing at the house. “Doesn't it seem kind of spooky to you?”

Morty, who was now standing on the sidewalk, glanced up the path that led to the front door. “Spooky? Gosh, I've never noticed. It's just another house, another stop on the route, another slot to fill, twenty-five steps to three stairs, back down again, twenty-five to the street, fifty-seven steps to the corner, then—”

Judith interrupted, though quietly. “Have you ever seen anybody around the house?”

“Like people?” Morty shook his head. “I don't see many people. Most of 'em work. Like me. Besides, I've only been doing this end of the route for the past year.
My supervisor finally decided I'd had enough of that other part of Langford.” He paused to glare at Renie. “What I put up with all those—”

“So,” Judith said to prevent another monologue from Morty, “whoever lives here does get mail.”

Zip Code was sniffing at Renie's shoes. Renie was doing a little dance to get away from the animal.

“Oh, they get mail,” Morty replied with a shake of his head. “They all get mail, every day, except Sundays and holidays, rain, shine, snow, hail, heat, cold, earthquakes—”

“Lots of mail?” Judith interjected, ignoring Renie, who had stepped—not too hard—on Zip Code's paw.

Apparently, Morty didn't notice. “Well—no.” The hint of a smile played at his thin lips. “I'll say that for them. Oh, they get the usual bills—utilities, mostly—and the flyers everybody else gets.” He bent down to retrieve the pieces he'd dropped, but Zip Code had grabbed one of what looked like a personal letter and was chewing it to bits. “Never mind,” Morty said, “that wasn't for these folks. It was for somebody in the next block.” He stroked the dog's neck. “Yum-yum, huh, Zippy? What he really likes are those big manila envelopes that look so important but probably aren't.”

Renie twirled around and wandered off down the street.

“At least,” Morty went on, sorting through the rest of the mail he'd picked up, “these people here don't get all those horrible catalogs. Two years ago, I ended up in traction after I threw my back out. No more of that, I said to myself. I load those blasted things into the van, but I dump 'em off at the nearest recycling
bin. Who needs all that junk? I figure I'm saving folks a lot of money. Besides, if they ordered the stuff, guess who'd have to deliver most of it?” He poked himself in the chest with his thumb.

“So they don't get actual letters here?” Judith asked, beginning to feel weary.

Morty scratched his chin, which looked as if it could use a shave. “Once a month, maybe. That's it.”

“I assume everything's addressed to Mr. and Mrs. Bland,” Judith remarked.

“Oh, yeah. Except for the stuff marked ‘Resident' or ‘Addressee' or—here's the one that really gets me. ‘To Our Friends at…' Now, you know danged well, they aren't friends. They don't even know each other. It's just a—” This time, Morty interrupted himself. “Hold on. A while back, there was a letter addressed to somebody who wasn't named Bland. I noticed, 'cause I pay close attention to names and addresses. In fact, I think there've been some other letters to whoever it was.”

Judith spoke loudly and quickly to drown out Renie's strangled cry of disbelief. “What was the name on the envelope?”

“I don't remember offhand,” Morty replied, “but it was the right address.”

“Maybe someone lives with them,” Judith ventured.

Morty shrugged. “Could be.” He glanced at his watch. “I'd better be on my way. Don't want to get behind.” He scrutinized his watch more closely. “Gee, I'm already an hour or so off schedule. Guess I shouldn't have had that second cup of coffee.”

Morty sauntered up the path, with Zip Code trailing behind him. Judith joined Renie at the corner.

“Did you hear that?” Judith asked. “There's a third party living in the house.”

“I heard it,” Renie replied grimly. “I heard all of it. I can't believe that after all these years, I had to run into Morty the Mailman.”

“I wonder who else is living there,” Judith mused, ignoring Renie's complaint. “A sister of Mrs. Bland? A child who's returned after a divorce? A friend?”

The cousins had turned the corner and reached the unpaved alley. “Any of the above,” Renie said. “Are you coming with me?”

Judith studied the dirt track. “There are too many potholes and rough spots. I don't want to risk a fall. Go on without me. I'll wait here.”

Renie paused several times during her mission. Upon reaching the garage, she went out of sight, apparently exploring from every angle. It seemed to Judith that the alley wasn't intended for communal purposes, but belonged to the Blands. There were tall trees and big shrubs on both sides. Through a thicket of blackberry vines, Judith could make out a wire fence that probably marked the property line.

All she could see of the garage was part of a red-tiled roof. She shifted her gaze to the house itself. From the side angle, the only windows she could see were two casements upstairs and the one with the grille in the arched wing. Heavy curtains drooped behind the small panes on the second floor; fusty drapes sagged behind the tinted glass at ground level. Judith swore she could almost smell the dust and mold inside the house.

And then, to her amazement, she saw movement be
hind the upstairs curtains. Ever so slowly, they parted. An inch, no more, not enough to allow her to see a person. But someone was there. Judith looked away, turned in every direction, and whistled shrilly.

“Renie!” she called loudly. “Come, Renie! Come, nice doggie!” Judith moved beyond the alley, toward the adjacent property with its one-story frame house.

A minute later, Renie came running down to the sidewalk. “What's up?” she asked, a bit breathless.

Before Judith could reply, Zip Code came bounding down the street, barking his head off. He leaped on Renie, almost knocking her down and licking her face. “Hey!” she yelled. “Cut it out! You've got letter breath!”

Judith firmly grasped Zip Code's collar and pulled the animal away from her cousin. “Zippy! Nice doggie! Go find Morty.”

Panting, Zip Code eyed Judith for a brief moment before trotting away.

“You should have called for a cat,” Renie said, taking a tissue out of her purse and wiping her face. “What's up?”

“Someone's peeking through the upstairs window,” Judith replied, explaining how she'd seen the curtains move, but couldn't make out a face or a figure. “We'd better get out of here.” She gazed up at the house on the other side of the wire fence. “Should we call on these neighbors?”

Renie pointed to the empty attached garage. “Their car's gone. It doesn't look as if they're home. We might have better luck with the guy on Moonfleet that Garth talked to.”

“But he didn't know anything,” Judith pointed out.

“True,” Renie agreed. “I don't suppose canvassing the entire neighborhood would help, either.”

It was starting to rain again. The cousins stood on the sidewalk, contemplating their next move.

“I really should get home,” Judith finally said. “We can always come back.”

Renie grinned. “You're hooked, aren't you?”

Judith winced. “Well…I guess. Now that we've put names to the owners and know that somebody's inside and the place feels so forlorn and sad—”

“Ha!” Renie rocked back and forth on her heels. “I knew it. You're a sucker for a sob story.”

“Don't rub it in,” Judith retorted. “We'd better go. I doubt that whoever was watching us is still at the window. They can't see us from there and won't know where we parked.”

“Probably not,” Renie agreed, “unless they've been on the lookout all along.”

The cousins went back down the street and crossed over to the other side. Before getting into the Camry, they both looked back at the house.

“The mail's still in the mailbox,” Judith noted. “There's a milk box on the porch, too.”

“So I see,” Renie said. “We could wait until somebody comes to get it.”

“Like Joe on a stakeout?” Judith shook her head. “What do you bet they don't come out until after dark?”

“Could be.” With a shrug, Renie got into the driver's seat.

“Tell me what the view from the alley was like,” Judith said after they were under way.

“Not much,” Renie answered with a scowl. “I could hardly see anything of the house. It's blocked off by the trees and shrubbery. They've got rhododendrons that must be ten feet tall. I could just barely make out a small storage shed and what might have been a greenhouse, but it's in a state of virtual collapse. Near the fence on that side was probably once a fishpond—you can see the rectangular concrete outline, but it's full of moss and weeds and scilla. There must be a back door, but I couldn't see it. As for the garage, it's locked up. There are two small windows, but they're covered with what looks like cardboard and chicken wire, not to mention cobwebs.”