New Man in Town

Chapter 1“Just like that?” John stared at Wylie in disbelief. Wylie nodded. Sweeping his arm around to encompass the agency’s office, he replied, “I know right now you think I’m an A-one bastard, and maybe I am, but I’m burned out. Seven years of doing what? Catching straying spouses? Doing background checks? Stopping shysters trying to defraud an insurance company? Serving subpoenas?” “We find runaway kids, too,” John added hopefully. “Yeah, and some of them had a good reason to run but we were paid to drag them back home and not interfere.” Wylie shook his head in disgust. “In the rare cases where we did step in, family services found in favor of the damned parents, which sucks. Nope, this is it, John. I’ll sell you my half of the agency for, hell, name your price.” “A dollar.” Wylie snorted. “As if. I think it’s worth—” He stroked his short beard for a moment and then wrote down a figure, handing the paper to John. “Ten percent less and I guess you have a deal.” Wylie resisted grinning. He’d bid high, figuring John would want to halve the amount. “You got it.” He made a call to their lawyer to have him draw up the necessary papers and a p*****t plan that wouldn’t drain John’s bank account in one fell swoop, setting up a meeting for the following Monday. “What are you going to do now that you’re…retiring?” John asked snidely after Wylie hung up. “Move into the house Gramps left me for starters.” “You’ll hate it and be back in a month.” John nodded emphatically. “Then we can see about expanding the agency, maybe hire a couple of new people.” “Get that idea out of your head right now. I meant it when I said I’m burned out.” He pointed a finger at John. “You’re good at what you do but you could do better and build up business with Mary’s help, if you put your heart into it.” “Thanks for the back-handed compliment,” John replied, his expression turning sour. “And it wasn’t all on me. We were partners.” “I know that, and in the beginning we had big dreams and busted our asses to make it work, but there was too much competition from the big agencies. Our only saving grace was that we were cheaper, so we were able to keep our heads above water…barely.” “Without you I’ll go under,” John said morosely. “Even if Mary is willing to step in until I find someone else, they won’t be as good as you.” “Would closing the agency be so bad? You could join one of the big outfits and still be doing what you love without the stress of running your own business.” “I…guess. But damn it, Wylie.” “Think about it.” “I will. You’ll keep in touch?” “Of course, if for no other reason than to cry on your shoulder when I find out I’ll have to spend the next year fixing up Gramps’ house to make it livable.” John finally smiled. “It would serve you right.” * * * * The first thing Wylie did when he got home that evening was to call a moving company and set it up for them to come by Monday afternoon to pick up everything he’d be taking with him to his new house. It was in the small town of Earlston where his grandfather had lived all his life—before his death three months previously. With that taken care of, he went down to talk to the building manager, to let her know what was going on. As they were friends, too, all Mrs. James said once she got over her surprise was, “We’ll miss you, Wylie.” “Thanks. I know I should have given more warning, but I didn’t really make up my mind for certain until today.” She laughed. “Now you’re hell-bent-for-leather to get out of here before you change it?” Smiling, he replied, “Maybe? No, not really.” They chatted a bit about his plans, which he admitted were vague, other than undoubtedly having to do work on what had been his grandfather’s house. “It’s been standing vacant for the last three months.” “Then dusting will be you, to say the least,” she replied. “I hope that’s the extent of it, other than getting rid of some of the stuff he managed to accumulate that I don’t want. I guess I’m going to find out.” * * * * For the rest of the week, Wylie finished up the jobs he’d been working on and helped John set up a schedule for dealing with the ones coming up in the following weeks, now that he wouldn’t be there to handle them. “Not like there are that many,” he pointed out. “Give Mary the background checks and…” “She’ll kill me,” John grumbled. “Naw. She’ll do them because she loves you and wants to keep you happy.” “You sticking around is what would make me happy,” John retorted, although it was obvious by then that he knew that wasn’t happening. Over the weekend, Wylie packed his clothes, books, and all other items he couldn’t do without. He debated on which pieces of furniture he wanted to keep, ending up with what was in the bedroom—because he had no intention of sleeping in the bed where his grandfather had died—as well as his desk, the roll-around office chair, and one bookshelf from the living room which he planned on putting in what would be his home office. He would also take his sofa and the matching armchair. From what he remembered, his grandfather’s sofa had been an overstuffed monstrosity that, in Wylie’s opinion, he should have replaced as soon as his wife had passed away, or even before then. At least that’s how I felt about it the last time I visited him, which was, damn, two years before his death. He might have felt guiltier than he did about how long it had been if his grandfather hadn’t been a crusty old man who sometimes drank too much. When he was sober, he and Wylie got along fairly well during Wylie’s rare visits. When he was in his cups, which was more often than not, he made it quite clear he didn’t approve of Wylie’s choice of career, or his ‘profligate ways’, to quote him. It was his definition of the fact that Wylie was gay and open about it—except when he was around his grandfather’s acquaintances because he didn’t want to make ‘waves’, as he thought of it. Wylie didn’t understand why his grandfather had left him the house until he’d asked his father. Alan Lewis had replied, “It was his father’s before him. He knew I didn’t want it and you’re the only family left other than me. He refused to let it go to some stranger who wouldn’t appreciate its history.” That made some sort of convoluted sense Wylie decided—at least to his grandfather. He’s lucky I didn’t decide to sell it as soon as Dad had him buried in his and Mom’s family plot. Hell, I’m lucky I didn’t or I wouldn’t have a place to live now that I’ve decided it’s time to move on with my life. Monday morning at the lawyer’s office, Wylie signed the necessary documents pertaining to his selling his half of the agency to John. Then they went on to the bank where John set up the monthly p*****t plan to transfer money from his account to Wylie’s. Before John returned to the agency, he took Wylie out for a farewell lunch. They kept the conversation light, recalling amusing cases from the past few years and speculating about how Wylie would adapt to life in a small town. “It will be a hell of a lot different from the big city,” John pointed out with a laugh. “No kidding,” Wylie agreed. “Still, it’ll be nice not to have to deal with traffic jams and long lines at check-out counters and getting around people who think they own the sidewalks, etcetera, etcetera.” John snorted. “It’s not that bad. Well, usually.” “Sure feels like it sometimes. I think I’m going to like the slower lifestyle.” “You’re going to have to get a job, you know. The money your granddad left you won’t last forever.” Wylie agreed. Along with the house, he’d inherited a third of his grandfather’s surprisingly large savings, the rest going to his father. With selling John his half of the business, there would be enough left to tide him over for at least the next year before he had to worry about finding work. What kind, he had no clue. He’d figure that out when the time came. “If nothing else,” he said in response to John’s statement, “I can get a job at a restaurant or in one of the shops, I suppose, since it’s a tourist town. I’ll figure it out when the time comes.” “That should be…interesting, and not in a good way. You’d do better in a bar, if there are any.” “Trust me, there are, and Gramps knew every one of them.” “There you go, you’ll have an in,” John replied with a laugh. Wylie twirled a finger, and then, since they’d finished eating, John paid the check and they left. “I’ll call when I get there,” Wylie promised him when they got to the lot where they’d parked their cars. “You’d better. I don’t want to worry that you died in some freak accident on the highway.” “Not happening,” Wylie retorted. He gave John a fast hug. “Take care of yourself.” “You, too,” John said, returning the hug. “Drive safe.” “I will.” He got back to his apartment a few minutes before the movers arrived. Once they’d packed everything into their truck and left, he got the suitcase he was taking with him, which held a couple of changes of clothes, his personal items, and his laptop, locked up for the last time, and went down to give Mrs. James his keys. “There’s still some furniture up there that I don’t need,” he told her. “No problem. I’ll call the local shelter to come pick it up. What they can’t use, they’ll sell.” “You’re a good woman,” he replied. “But then I knew that.” She gave an embarrassed shrug and hugged him. “You take care, and email sometimes to let me know how you’re doing.” He promised he would before heading out to his car. After tossing the bag in the trunk, he set out to face his new and very different life.