A Town, a Disappearance, and a Cat

Chapter 2-1

Chapter 2As it would bring me close to Winterdale, I took I-70 across the country to Ohio, pulling my motorcycle behind the U-Haul on a trailer designed for hauling them. I made it to the nearest city, twenty miles south of my destination, around nine Sunday evening, found a motel, and stayed the night rather than arriving at the house after dark.

“What’ll you have, hon?” the waitress asked me the following morning after I’d found a vacant table in the motel’s restaurant.

“I think scrambled eggs and sausage.”

“White, rye, or sourdough toast?”

“Definitely sourdough,” I replied.

“A smart man. Coffee?”

“Please.”

She turned in my order and returned to fill my cup.

“How far are you going?” She grinned. “Yes, I’m nosy. Comes with the territory.”

“Up to Winterdale,” I told her.

“Oh. Cute town if you don’t mind that there’s no excitement there.” She chuckled. “I probably shouldn’t have said that, especially if you’re visiting family.”

“Actually, I’m moving there, or to be specific, a couple of miles outside of town. I inherited my grandfather’s house.”

She stood there, her hip c****d as she looked at me. “Seriously? A young man like you stuck in the middle of nowhere?”

I bit back a laugh at the young man as I’m thirty-one, but then she was definitely on the far side of fifty so maybe to her I was.

“I’m a writer, so I don’t mind being in the middle of nowhere.”

“Do tell. But not right now,” she quickly added as a couple of people came into the restaurant. She hurried over when they took a table across the room, leaving me to read the book I’d started the previous evening before going to bed.

“So,” she said a few minutes later as she set my breakfast in front of me. “What kind of writer?”

“Primarily mysteries, plus a couple of thrillers.”

“Oh. Not my kind of books. I’m more into romances. Would I have heard of you, though?”

“Maybe. My name’s Shaun Marlow.”

She frowned and shook her head. “Nope. But next time I’m in the bookstore I’ll look for you. Well, for your books.” She grinned before topping off my coffee and leaving.

By the time I finished eating and had paid the bill, it was almost nine. I went up to my room to get my bag, stopped at the front desk to pay for my stay and leave the keycard, and then took off for my new home.

* * * *

I drove through Winterdale mid-Monday morning. It hadn’t grown any since I’d been here six months ago, although I did notice there was a new bar in what had been one of the gift shops last time I visited Grandpa. Other than that, it was much as I remembered—one- and two-story buildings, mainly brick or with wood siding painted in pale blues, soft yellows, and greens, although a couple of them had fieldstone fronts.

From west to east along Main Street, I passed a bar and gift shop to my right, a restaurant and then the dry goods store on my left. Past the first intersection was a hardware store, the sheriff’s office in a building standing by itself, and several small businesses including another gift shop and the local newspaper office. In the next block, among places like the post office and the tiny library, was the new bar. The local bank, all white granite and ornate columns, was across the street from it. Lastly, on the far side of the final intersection, there was a diner to my right. Opposite it was the local grocery store.

I continued on, following the road as it gently curved right. Soon, all I saw were trees and small fields with an occasional house well off to the sides of what was now definitely a country road. Finally the road had curved enough to be heading north and I saw my new home to my left. It was almost exactly as I remembered, if slightly more weatherworn. What Grandpa had called utilitarian.

On the front were two doors and three windows on the ground floor and one window in the gable at the right side. The door beneath it had a tiny stoop. I knew it opened directly onto the hallway running the depth of the house. The second door, at the far end, was for the kitchen. Both doors were painted green and the trim was rust brown. The exterior walls were wood. They had once been painted green as well. Now, they were primarily gray with patches of peeling green paint, giving the place an abandoned look. I felt a sense of remorse that I hadn’t done something to change that the last couple of times I’d visited Grandpa, even if it was only to remove the last of the green paint.

A rolling lawn swept down toward low brush between the house and the road. Tall bushes hid the entrance to the driveway which was accessed from a narrow side road. Behind the house there were a scattering of trees and behind them a wide field and then more trees. The stream running through them marked the rear edge of the property.

I drove up the side road, avoiding a couple of potholes, and turned into the drive. I followed it to the back of the house, parking by the back door. Getting out, I unlocked the door and stepped into the hallway. There was a staircase to the second floor and a door to the basement on one side.

I was assailed by fond memories of my visits with my grandparents, especially Grandpa. I knew, because Mr. Holmes had arranged it, the utilities had been turned on again, which was good because the hallway was dark. I flipped on the overhead light. He’d also had a cleaning crew come in so, hopefully, I wouldn’t be dealing with an inch of dust on everything.

At the far end of the hallway, right before the front door, were arches that opened onto the living and dining rooms respectively. The door to the kitchen was on the far side of the dining room. Behind the living room was the door to the room that had served as parlor for my grandparents where they could escape from their two children—my father and his sister, my aunt. She had died one winter’s day two years ago in the same car crash that had taken my grandmother’s life.

I had already decided to use the parlor as my office, which meant storing the furniture, other than the sofa, in the basement for the time being. Thankfully, there was Wi-Fi, or I’d have been out of luck when it came to using my computer for research and all the other reasons anyone, but especially an author, needs to get online.

The living room was comfortable, with pale beige walls, brown carpeting, and cream drapes over beige sheers. There was a sofa that had seen better days, two armchairs, and a pair of narrow bookshelves only partially filled with books and bric-a-brac. A large window opposite the hallway arch let in mid-morning sunlight once I opened the drapes, as did the narrower one facing the front yard. The same was true for the dining room windows when I opened their drapes. It held an oak dining table with four chairs, a credenza, and china cabinet.

The kitchen was, as with the rest of the house so far, almost exactly as I remembered. There were two windows on the side wall with a table between them. The door opening onto the front yard had a tall cabinet next to it. The appliances, a refrigerator and stove, were along the back wall. Counters, with the sink in the center one, took up the wall opposite the windows, with cupboards above and below them. The walls had once been bright yellow but had faded with the passing years. The floor was oak planked, the cupboards were also oak, and the counter was pale tan granite—an addition my grandmother had insisted on after their kids had moved away. I checked the refrigerator and found, thankfully, that the cleaning crew had emptied it of whatever had been left when Grandpa died, and it had been turned on. There were canned goods, dishes, and pots and pans in the cupboards, and more non-perishables in the cabinet which served as a makeshift pantry beside the door to the front yard.

I wasn’t in the mood to unpack the U-Haul yet, so I went upstairs. The master bedroom was above the living room, with windows in gables at either end. The furniture was all there, including the queen-sized bed. Someone, maybe the cleaning crew, had stripped off the linens, leaving only the multi-colored quilt to cover the mattress. There was a large dresser as well as a closet. They both held Grandpa’s clothes. Something I’d have to deal with before I could bring in mine as I planned to use this as my bedroom.

Along the hallway were two small bedrooms—I’d used one whenever I came to visit—with windows facing the backyard. Across from them was a relatively large bathroom my grandparents had updated four years ago, replacing the claw-footed tub with a combination shower and bathtub. There was a small closet next to the bathroom on one side, and a linen cupboard on the other.

All in all, although it was a bit large for one man, I was quite happy the house was mine.

* * * *

I made lunch, heating canned chili and adding crackers, and then went to work moving what furniture I wasn’t going to use in the parlor down to the basement. I pushed the sofa along one wall so there’d be room for my desk and one of the bookcases. My other bookcase would go in the living room, which meant moving the two that were there closer together to make room for it.

“I’m definitely going to get my exercise by the time I finish,” I grumbled. Not that it really bothered me, all things considered.

I cleaned out the closet and dresser in the master bedroom, transferring Grandpa’s clothes to one of the smaller bedrooms for the time being.

After stopping to rest and drink a tall glass of cold water, I unhitched the motorcycle trailer so I could back the U-Haul to the rear door of the house. Then, I went to work hauling in all the boxes I’d packed, taking them into whichever room they belonged, brought in the bookcases, and put them together.

Finally came the problem of the desk. It had two parts and I discovered if I put the hutch on its side I could ‘roll’ it through the house by tipping it side to top to side to bottom until I got it into my office.

A fast measurement of the desk itself let me know it would barely fit through the door, but barely was enough. With the drawers removed, I did the same rolling as I had with the hutch. By the time I got it and the drawers into the office my arms ached and I was drenched in sweat.

“Time for a shower,” I said told myself. “Then into town for supper and maybe, if I have the energy, food shopping so I can have a hot breakfast.”

I found towels and washcloths in the linen cupboard, undressed, and showered, standing under the hot water until it started to cool. Drying off, I went to find the box where I’d packed my kit with all my personal items. I got lucky; it was in the second one I opened. Back in the bathroom, I combed my hair, sprayed on deodorant, and put everything away in the medicine cabinet above the sink.

I opened another box, which held my underwear, socks, and tank tops, put on briefs and socks, and then opened two more boxes before finding my jeans. Pulling out a pair, I put them on, and then got a long-sleeved T-shirt from another box, as well as my leather jacket, vowing to put everything else away when I got home after supper.

Taking my wallet, phone, and keys from the pockets of the jeans I’d been wearing, I went downstairs. I turned on a light in the living room, left the one in the hallway on, and went into the back yard after locking up. Then, I took my pride and joy, a 2003 Harley Softail, off the motorcycle trailer, hopped on, started it after I put on my helmet, and headed to Winterdale.

* * * *

I parked the bike in front of one of the restaurants along the main street. Getting off, I put my helmet in one of the saddlebags, and then debated whether to eat at this place or at the fancier one farther down the street. I’d visited each of them with Grandpa while he was still alive and liked them both, so it was an either-or decision. I opted for the closest one, crossed the sidewalk, and entered.