CHAPTER NINETEEN
Somewhere, a rooster made its presence clear as the little buggy trundled into the front yard of Larry Grime’s home. A somewhat shambolic building with ill-fitting window casements, warped and roughly shaped wall panels, and a door which appeared to be about to collapse, it seemed to be the product of an unskilled carpenter. Its roof sagged under the weight of a huge bird’s nest. When Roose brought the buggy to a halt, he spent a few moments gazing at the building in disbelief. “Is this it?” he asked.
“As far as I know,” said Cathy, jumping down from the seat. “I’ve never been here before, but he’s always talking about it.”
“You mean he wants people to know he lives in … this?”
“Oh, I think he’s mighty proud that he built it all by himself.”
Roose pushed his hat back
