New Man in Town

Chapter 2

Chapter 2Because he wanted to be at the house before the movers arrived, Wylie drove through the night, pulling into Earlston early Tuesday morning. He stopped at one of the few fast-food outlets to get coffee and a breakfast burrito to take with him and continued on to his new home.

It looks just the way I remember. A thought that amused him on some level as, knowing his grandfather, he knew nothing would have changed in the two years since he’d last seen it.

There was a driveway with cracked pavement, set between low slopes covered with grass. At the end of it was the garage, which took up what he thought of as the ground floor of the house. He parked in front of it, got out, and took the steps, two at a time, that went up to the small porch and the front door. He had the keys for the house, and for his grandfather’s old truck. The lawyer had sent them to him along with a copy of his grandfather’s will three months previously. He had also arranged for the utilities to be turned on once Wylie let him know when he’d be moving in.

As soon as he was inside, he hung his jacket on the hook by the door and looked around. Like the exterior, it was pretty much as he remembered. The first floor was comprised of a large main room with an arch at the rear opening onto a full kitchen. Off to the side of the kitchen was an empty pantry with a set of stairs that went down to the garage and the small basement next to it that held, among other things, a washer and dryer. At the right side of the main room was a flight of stairs leading up to the second floor, with a small closet under them.

“Mrs. James was right, I have a lot of dusting in my future,” he said, running his finger over the top of the dining table in one corner of the room.

The ugly sofa stood in all its ‘splendor’ in the center of the room, with a long, low coffee table in front of it. The walls were still the same drab green that he remembered, with dark oak woodwork that made the room seem more like a cavern than a living space. Empty built-in bookcases lined the left wall, between the windows that looked out over the side yard.

Going upstairs, Wylie checked the two bedrooms and the ancient bathroom with its pedestal sink and clawfoot tub—which thankfully had been set up so he could shower as well. Without exception, the walls in the bedrooms and hallway had been painted a pale gold. Something I can live with for now.

One of the bedrooms had been his grandparent’s. It held a large bed frame, without the mattress, and an old, battered dresser, as well as a small table and two chairs sitting on a throw rug in front of the window. He was relieved, when he checked the closet, to find it empty, as were the dresser drawers.

The second bedroom, where he’d stayed during his infrequent visits, had a single bed and a small dresser. Since he had already decided he’d turn it into a home office, he figured if he put the bed against the wall it could serve as a makeshift sofa for the time being. He’d move the dresser to the end of the hallway opposite the bathroom and use it to hold linens and towels.

He was on his way downstairs when the doorbell rang. Certain that it was the movers; he hurried across the main room to let them in. He was half right. One of them stood on the porch, asking if Wylie would please move his car so that they could pull into the driveway. There was also another man he vaguely recognized, although he didn’t know why. He didn’t take time to find out at the moment as he quickly went to back his car onto the street.

Once the moving van was in the driveway, the men began unloading the furniture which gave Wylie a chance to ask the stranger, “Do I know you?”

The man waggled his hand. “I live two doors down. We met a couple of years ago when you and Tom were taking a walk and my dog decided to make the great escape through the front gate to join you.”

It took Wylie a second to remember the incident. Then he laughed. “Yeah. He got real pissed when you caught him and dragged him back home.”

“No kidding. Anyway, I heard you inherited Tom’s house so I thought I’d be the first person to officially welcome you to the neighborhood. In case you’ve forgotten, my name’s Garry Parish, double r.”

“In which?” Wylie asked with a grin before they had to step to one side to let the movers bring in the sofa.

“Huh? Oh, in Garry. Don’t ask. Mom said it was an old family spelling.”

“I’m Wylie, but I guess you know that,” Wylie replied.

“Yep, from Tom’s talking about you. You didn’t have the beard and mustache back then.”

“I got tired of shaving,” Wylie replied with a smirk. “No, really, it’s something new for me. An experiment.”

“A successful one, I’d say.”

“Mr. Lewis,” one of the movers said from the doorway. “You’ve already got that old sofa. Where do you want us to put the new one?”

“Oh, hell. I guess anywhere until I figure out what to do with the monstrosity.” He heard Garry laugh and grumbled, “Well, it is.”

“I know, but Tom refused to get rid of it. He said it held memories. If you want, I can help you lug it out to the storage shed in back.”

“I’ll be forever in your debt if you do.”

“Careful, I might call you on that someday,” Garry replied, grinning. “Okay, let’s do it.”

While the movers went to bring in the next load, Wylie and Garry wrestled the old sofa out the back door in the kitchen, down the porch steps, and across the yard to the shed.

“Oh, great,” Wylie said when he opened the shed door. “Did he ever throw out anything?” There was more old furniture, boxes that he wasn’t about to explore anytime soon, as well as gardening tools crammed into one corner.

It took some rearranging, but eventually they made room for the sofa, standing it on its end along one wall.

“Done and done,” Garry said, brushing his hands together as they walked back to the house. “You’d better hope there’s nothing else you want to stick in there.”

“No kidding. I don’t think there is, though. Oh, hell.”

“Uh-oh, do I want to know?”

Wylie shook his head. “Probably not, but his bed and dresser have to go since I brought mine with me.” They headed upstairs to the bedroom, which now held Wylie’s bed and dresser crammed into one corner, as well as the ones that had been his grandfather’s.

“This shouldn’t be too hard,” Garry said, eying the bed. “It’s only head and footboards and the rails. If we take the drawers out of the dresser…”

“That’ll help. I can use it for storage in the basement.”

As they took everything down there, Garry asked, “What happened to all his things, like clothes and knickknacks and what have you?”

“When I spoke with his lawyer, back when I first found out I’d inherited the house, I asked him to give all Gramps clothes to the local thrift shop. As for the rest of the stuff, other than the furniture, he said he’d hire someone to pack it up and…Okay, I guess that’s what’s in the boxes in the shed, except for all his tools.” He gestured toward the workbench along one basement wall, separated from the washer and dryer by a slop sink.

“So you’re in for a treasure hunt, once you’ve settled in,” Garry replied with a grin.

“From what I remember, he didn’t have anything remotely close to a treasure.”

“You never know. There could be some stuff that has antique value.”

Wylie nodded. “Maybe. I guess I’ll take a look if I get terminally bored.”

A few minutes later, as they put the drawers back in the dresser, Garry said, “Do you mind if I ask what you’re going to do, once you’re all moved in? Tom told me you were a private detective. Are you going to start up again, here?”

Wylie snorted. “Not if I can help it. I want to get away from all that. I guess, for a while, I’ll just enjoy not having to do anything. Okay, I’ll do some redecorating, paint the walls, and maybe get new carpeting that doesn’t look like it was laid when the house was built, and get rid of the God-awful linoleum in the kitchen.”

“That’ll keep you busy for the next couple of months,” Garry said with obvious amusement.

“I suspect so.” Closing the last drawer, Wylie headed upstairs with Garry right behind him. When they got to the kitchen, he asked, “What do you do to keep a roof over your head?”

“I own The Parish Garage.”

Cocking his head, Wylie said, “I don’t remember seeing it the last time I visited Gramps. Oh, well, at least when my car decides to die I know where to take it.”

Garry grinned. “You might be disappointed.”

“Why?”

“It’s a bar and restaurant. Before you ask, it used to be Miller’s Garage.”

Wylie snapped his fingers. “Then I do know it, or where it is.”

“Good. I used to manage Molly’s Eats but I always wanted to have my own restaurant. It’s what I went to school for. When Miller decided to shut down his business and retire, I bought the building. Then I did extensive remodeling on the interior and renamed it The Parish Garage. We’ve got the best food in town, at least according to my regulars.”

“Great. I might check it out tonight. I’ve got the feeling by the time I get finished doing at least a cursory cleaning and unpacking some of the boxes I’m not going to be in the mood to cook.” Wylie opened one of the kitchen cupboards and sighed. “I’ll have to go grocery shopping before I can cook, and that won’t happen until tomorrow.”

“Stocking up would be a good idea,” Garry agreed. “That said, I’d better get out of here. My employees like it if I show up on time to let them in.”

“Thanks for your help. I owe you.”

“Invite me to dinner when you’ve settled in,” Garry replied. “It’ll be a change from restaurant food, even if—” he grinned, rubbing his fingernails on his shirt, “—what we serve is the best around.”

“No ego there, but you’re on in spite of the ‘brag’. Again, thanks for giving me a hand.”

“You’re welcome.” With that, Garry left, followed soon after by the movers, once they had brought in the last of the boxes. Since Wylie had labeled them, they took some upstairs to the bedrooms and put others in the kitchen or the main room, as designated.

“Now I have to figure out where they put the vacuum,” Wylie muttered as he looked around. “There’s no way I’m unpacking anything until I’ve done some basic cleaning.” He finally found it, hidden behind the boxes holding his books.

He didn’t finish cleaning until late in the afternoon, at which point he sank down on his sofa with a sigh of relief—until he looked at the boxes which still had to be dealt with. “I need a servant or three,” he grumbled. “Or better yet, I need to see if Garry’s restaurant is as good as he thinks before I do anything else.”

Going upstairs, he quickly unpacked his suitcase and the boxes with his clothes, hanging up his pants and shirts and putting the T-shirts, sweats, and underwear in the dresser after moving it and the bed where he wanted them. Then he made the bed once he found the box holding his linens. When he finished, he got a towel and a washcloth from the same box, as well as the personal items that were in his suitcase, and went to take a shower. Setting the soap and shampoo on the window ledge, he stepped into the shower, turned it on, and let the hot water ease the aches in his back and shoulders while he washed up. When it turned cool he stepped out, dried off, and dealt with his hair. Returning to his bedroom, he got dressed in clean jeans and a button-down shirt. Checking that he had his wallet and keys, he went downstairs, getting his jacket from the hook by the front door, in deference to the cool night air. He locked the door on his way out, and took off for where he remembered Miller’s Garage used to be—at the far end of Market, the main street which ran through the ten block area that comprised the town’s business section.

Wylie found the building easily enough because it looked as it had the last time he’d seen it, albeit with fresh paint and a sign over the front entrance that said ‘The Parish Garage—Fine food and drinks’. He parked in the lot next to it and then went inside.

What had been the garage’s small showroom and office area was now a well-appointed bar with an archway at the side opening onto the restaurant—which had previously been the repair area of the garage. At the moment, given the hour, the place was busy, every table occupied in both the bar and the restaurant.

“Are you here for dinner?” the woman at the hostess station asked him.

“Yes.”

“Only you or will someone be joining you?”

“Just me.”

She checked her computer, took his name, and told him there would be approximately a fifteen minute wait. He thanked her, and then crossed the room the bar, getting there seconds after someone vacated a stool, sat, and ordered a beer.

He’d barely taken his first sip when he felt a hand on his shoulder and turned to see Garry standing there.

“You found us.”

Wylie chuckled. “It wasn’t all that hard.”

“What do you think of my place?”

“From what I’ve seen so far, you did a great job of turning it into a restaurant,” Wylie replied. “It’s popular, too. Tourists?”

“About half and half, as usual. The joys of Earlston being a tourist town.”

“Keeps you in business, so don’t knock it,” Wylie said with a grin.

Garry laughed. “Trust me, I’m not. Have you settled into your house?”

“Define ‘settled’. I vacuumed and dusted, made the bed, put away everything that belongs in the bathroom, and my clothes. By the time I finished it was dinnertime, so here I am.”

“Tomorrow you tackle the downstairs, I take it.”

Wylie nodded. “More or less. Deal with the kitchen then grocery shop, which should put a big dent in my bank account. Oh, is there someone in town you’d recommend to paint the main room for me?”

“Yep, Carl Mulligan. He’s the local jack-of-all-trades, so to speak. He painted my bedrooms and did a damned good job of it.”

Wylie was about to reply when the hostess came over to tell him his table was ready. He thanked Garry for the suggestion and followed her to one against the far wall of the restaurant. After perusing the menu she handed him, he was ready to order when the waitress came over. After she left, he took the paperback he was reading from his jacket pocket. He’d barely opened it to where he’d left off when he heard someone say, “I hear you need a good painter.” Looking up he saw an older man wearing overalls and a baseball cap.

“You must be Carl Mulligan,” Wylie replied.

“Yep. Garry pointed me your way.” Without asking, he pulled out the other chair and sat. “You’re Tom’s grandkid, right?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Forget the ‘sir’. I’m Carl, pure and simple. So what do you need painted? My guess would be the main room. God-awful color now, if you ask me.”

Wylie laughed. “I agree. I haven’t thought about what color it should be quite yet.”

“Tell you what. I’ll come by tomorrow with some paint samples. You can look at them and then decide if you want to hire me.”

“Thank you.”

“Your granddad was a good man, Wylie,” Carl said. “Drank a bit too much but can’t say’s I blame him. He missed his wife something awful.”

“I know.”

“He was real proud of you.”

Wylie looked at him in surprise. “He was?”

“Yep. ‘Course he probably never told you. He was kinda shy on giving out compliments, but he’d brag about how you had your own business, you and a partner. Wasn’t too happy about your other choices but I get there’s not a damned thing you can do about that.”

Chuckling, Wylie replied, “Not really.”

“Okay, I’ll leave you to it since Nelly’s on her way over with your dinner and…What time tomorrow?”

“Can you wait until after one? I have to grocery shop in the morning.”

“Sure thing. See you then.”

Carl had barely left when the waitress, who Wylie could only presume was Nelly, set his meal down in front of him.

“Do you want another beer?” she asked.

“No thanks, but I would like some coffee.”

“Okay. I’ll be right back.”

She was, filled his cup, and then said, “I hear you’re Tom Lewis’s grandson.”

“The word spreads fast. I am.”

“It’s a small town, so don’t be so surprised. Nice to meet you. He used to come in now and then. I liked him.”

“So did I,” Wylie replied, which wasn’t totally a lie. He had, when his grandfather was sober.

“I’d hope so.” She smiled, said, “Enjoy your dinner,” and moved on to another table seconds after he said, “Thank you.”

The food, as Garry had promised, was excellent. Wylie ate slowly while he read, savoring every bite. When the waitress came by to ask if he wanted dessert, he declined. “If I eat any more I’ll waddle out of here. Perhaps next time. If I may have the check, please.”

She gave it to him, he handed her his credit card, and then finished his coffee as he waited for her to return. Once he’d signed the slip, adding a tip, he stood and walked toward the front door. Garry intercepted him, asking if he’d enjoyed his meal.

“Definitely. I’m sure I’ll be back, often.”

“I hope so,” Garry replied.

“And I haven’t forgotten,” Wylie said. “Once I’m fully settled in, if that ever happens—” he rolled his eyes, “—I’ll have you over for dinner.”

“I’m looking forward to it.”

With that, Wylie left. When he got home, he spent some time unpacking the boxes of kitchen items, including the non-perishable food he’d brought with him from his old place. That way, he’d be able to make breakfast in the morning. Then, he realized that wouldn’t happen until he went shopping. I don’t think I want soup or dry cereal without milk. At least I have coffee to get me going.

He gathered up the empty boxes, took them down to the basement, and then went upstairs to get ready for bed, which meant washing up, brushing his teeth, and putting on a clean pair of briefs. Before he lay down, he crossed to the window that looked out over the back yard. Beyond the fence surrounding it he saw houses to the north, and then low, rolling hills with lights from a few scattered homes shining through the trees.

I think I’m going to like it here. In fact I know I will, even though it’s very different from the city. Thanks, Gramps, for giving me the house.

He stretched and yawned, suddenly very tired from everything he’d done since he’d arrived that morning. Getting into bed, he pulled up the covers, and moments later he was asleep.