Caveat Emptor and Other Stories (7 page)

I didn't say anything, and by the time we reached my house, Cody had forgotten about the policeman and was telling Amy about pirate ships. Sarah called an hour later and asked if I could give Cody supper.

“Glad to,” I said. “You going to the library to study?”

“I have an appointment with Wafford. He wasn't happy about it, but I told him that if he wouldn't see me at his office at six o'clock, I'd go to his house and stand in the street until his neighbors started calling the police.”

I let Amy and Cody eat in front of the TV set while they watched an old swashbuckler movie from the forties. It may have been considered gory in its time, but it wasn't nearly as violent as the Saturday-morning cartoons Amy watched religiously.

Sarah knocked on the door just as the movie ended. I sent the children to Amy's room, then set a cup of coffee on the table in front of her.

She ignored it. “I'm so mad that I can visualize myself buying a gun and shooting that man right between his beady eyes. Better yet, I could tar and feather him, then tie him to the back bumper and drag him through town. I don't suppose you have any tar out in the carport?”

“Sorry,” I said, a little taken aback at the venomous edge in her voice.

“I wanted to slap the smirk right off his face. He kept calling me ‘little lady' and ‘sweetheart,' all the while assuring me that the house was a real bargain and he'd done me a favor by selling it to me at less than fair market value. I offered to let him buy it back at the same price, but he gave me a bunch of bull about his cash-flow problems. Well, I've got a cash-flow problem too—all my cash keeps flowing into that black hole across the street. There's a leak under the kitchen sink, and the door to the hall closet is so warped I can't get it open. Cody found a dead bat in the bathroom last weekend. On top of everything else, I've got to worry that Gerald may bust into the house in the middle of the night.”

I patted her hand. “He never hurt anyone.”

“There's always a first time, isn't there? The police won't do anything because Gerald isn't breaking the law. I talked to the county prosecutor this morning about a restraining order. He can't take action until Gerald makes explicit threats or starts waving a weapon. Or murders us in our beds. He'd be in big trouble then. Isn't that comforting?”

“Now, Sarah,” I said, “Gerald's not going to do something like that. He's just confused and lonely.”

“And I'm the proud owner of a house with rats in the basement and bats in the belfry.” Her cheeks flushed, but she managed to get herself under control and added, “I'm not going to take it, Deanna. I've been pushed around all my life, first by my parents and then by an abusive jerk who used to hit me when his car wouldn't start on cold mornings.”

“Maybe you and Cody could stay here until you can afford an apartment,” I said. “I can sleep in Amy's room on a cot. It'll be crowded in the morning when we have to share the one bathroom, but—”

“No, thanks. This is my problem and I'm going to solve it. I'll think of something.”

She gathered up Cody's coat and books, then called him. He appeared with a construction-paper eye-patch, a mustache drawn with a felt-tipped pen, and a piece of paper covered with pencil markings.

“I'm Long John Silver,” he announced, “and I know where the buried treasure lies.”

Something strange flashed across her face. “In the basement?” she said softly.

“No, down by the creek under a big tree. Tomorrow I'm going to dig it up and give you a chest filled with gold doubloons.”

“Sounds good to me,” she said, helping him on with his coat.

After they left, I settled Amy at the kitchen table with her geography workbook and a gnawed pencil. Most of the time I sat with her to make sure she didn't start doodling, but that evening I was too distracted to stay put.

When my daughter finally came home, I went into my bedroom and lay down, wondering just what Sarah might have in mind.

Jem Wafford should have been doing the same.

What she did a few nights later was so peculiar I almost went across the street to make sure she wasn't drunk. I was in the front room when I noticed Gerald was back. He was getting to be a familiar figure in his overcoat, his hands in his pockets, his bald head reminding me of a full moon. I glanced at the upstairs windows to see if Sarah was there, but the shades were drawn.

I stayed where I was, my fingers crossed in hopes she hadn't gone out and bought a gun. Gerald may have frightened her, but she'd have a hard time convincing a jury she'd shot him in self-defense.

I was beginning to feel relieved when her front porch light went on and she came outside. Her hands were blessedly empty, and she was dressed only in jeans and a thin T-shirt. I expected her to start cursing at Gerald, but she went down the steps and across the yard to join him. He retreated, but she kept smiling and talking like he was a neighbor from down the street. Pretty soon he stopped edging away from her and began to bobble his head. I couldn't see if he was saying anything in response—I'd have been surprised if he had—but Sarah didn't seem to notice. After a moment, she put her hand on his arm and led him toward her house. He moved reluctantly, but she kept her grip on him. Before long, they were inside and the front door was closed.

My heart was pounding so hard that I sat down in the rocking chair and forced myself to take a couple of slow breaths. I'd been the one swearing that Gerald wouldn't hurt anyone, but I had no way of knowing how his mother's death might have affected him deep down inside. Staring at the house was one thing; actually being inside it might set off all kinds of raw emotions.

I waited twenty minutes, then broke down and dialed Sarah's telephone number. I didn't know what I was going to do if she didn't answer, but she picked up the receiver.

“Is everything okay?” I asked, trying to keep the urgency out of my voice so Amy wouldn't get alarmed.

“Everything's fine, Deanna. Gerald and I are having a nice talk about when he and his mother lived here.”

“I just thought I'd better …”

“I know,” she said. “I'd do the same thing if the situation was reversed. I need to get back to my guest now. Don't worry about us.”

All the same, I stayed by the window until I saw Gerald leave, and I made sure I got a good look at Sarah standing in the doorway. Rather than scared, she had a funny smile on her face. Smug.

“I saw you and your mother had company last night,” I said to Cody the following afternoon after I'd softened him up with ice cream and cookies.

“Yeah,” he said without enthusiasm. “She made me turn off the television and go upstairs, even though I already did my homework.”

“So you didn't hear what they were saying?”

“No. May I please have some more ice cream?”

Amy snickered. “Pirates don't eat ice cream unless it's got blood and bones mixed in it.”

“Says who?” he retorted, baring his teeth.

She obligingly squealed and ran out the back door, with Cody on her heels. My attempt to play private detective had flopped like a bad movie, I thought, as I set their bowls in the sink and turned on the water.

And I had a feeling I wouldn't do much better with Sarah.

Gerald appeared several times over the next few weeks, and each time Sarah went outside and escorted him into the house. Cody let drop one afternoon that Gerald had eaten supper with them the previous night and, for some reason that he wouldn't explain, solemnly swore that Gerald was descended from real pirates. Sarah smiled and waved when I saw her in her driveway, but she stopped coming over to have coffee before she fetched Cody. Some days I wanted to go across the street, grab her shoulders, and shake the truth out of her. I didn't do anything, though, except weasel what I could out of Cody while we walked home from the bus stop.

One afternoon while I was waiting for them, Jem Wafford's Cadillac swung around the corner and sped down the street. Years ago he'd given up trying to persuade me to sell, so he didn't bother to nod at me. As soon as Cody and Amy climbed off the bus, I hustled them to the house. Wafford was sitting in his car in Sarah's driveway. I told the children to make themselves peanut butter sandwiches, then crossed the street, and waited until he climbed out.

“Mrs. James,” he said, pretending he hadn't left me in a cloud of dust minutes earlier, “how are you doing? Your back any better these days?”

“My back is none of your business,” I said. “Are you looking for Sarah? She usually doesn't get home till six o'clock.”

He took out a handkerchief and wiped his neck. “I dropped by on the chance I'd catch her on her day off.”

“She doesn't have a day off. She's a full-time student and puts in thirty hours a week at a preschool. Weekends, she studies and does housework.”

“You've got to admire that kind of determination,” he said, beaming at me like he and I were the proud parents of a prodigy. “A single woman with a child, struggling to put herself through school so she can—”

“What do you want, Wafford?” I said bluntly.

“Is she still having trouble with Gerald?”

“You'll have to ask her yourself.”

Wafford leaned his bulk against the Cadillac and gazed up at the second-story windows. “What about you, Mrs. James? Have you talked to Gerald recently?”

My curiosity got the better of me, so instead of stomping off, I said, “Not that I recall. Why?”

“At his request, I stopped by the group home where he lives. We had a real interesting talk. I'm just wondering”—he tapped his temple—“how reliable he is.”

“I couldn't say.”

“He's been out here quite a bit, hasn't he?”

“What if he has?” I shot back.

“He told me that his mother was a miser, that she squirreled away a good deal of cash before she died.” Wafford looked at me, his mouth curled in a smile but his eyes slitted like a snake's. “You ever get the idea she was putting away cash for a rainy day?”

Something was going on. I didn't know what, and if somebody'd offered me a million dollars, I couldn't have come up with the right answer.

“Maybe,” I said cautiously. “She stayed to herself.”

“Gerald seems to think she did,” he said, “but he's not the most reliable witness, considering.”

“Considering,” I echoed. To this day I can't explain why I added, “But he's not the kind who tells tales. His imagination was never a strong point.”

“No, it wouldn't be,” Wafford said with a snicker. “Mr. Sticklemann's family owned all the land out this way once upon a time. They sold it off part and parcel over the years, most likely for cash. Folks like that didn't trust real-estate brokers and bankers.”

“I don't suppose so,” I said, still feeling like I had a role in a play. I could almost hear Sarah coaching me from the wings, but my script was too blurry to read. “Mrs. Sticklemann wasn't the kind to deal with bankers. She was real independent.”

“That's what I was thinking.” Wafford took another swipe at his neck, then stuffed his handkerchief in his pocket.

“She sure didn't squander any of it. She had that ancient Pontiac when she died, and heaven knows she never took a vacation or had repairs done to the house.”

Just then Sarah drove up. I was waiting for her to snarl at him, so I was a little bewildered when she asked me to watch Cody for a while longer and invited Wafford to go inside for iced tea.

Wafford's car was still in the driveway long after Cody'd gone home and Amy had eaten supper. I was reluctant to do any more than watch from behind the curtain in the front-room window, and that's what I was doing when Sarah came walking across the street for what turned out to be the last time.

I opened the front door as she came onto the porch. “Everything all right?” I demanded.

“Wafford has offered to buy back the house for what I have in it and more. We agreed that I'd move out tonight and collect my furniture later. I want to thank you for everything you've done, Deanna. I'll write once Cody, Gerald, and I have a new address.”

“Gerald?”

“I've agreed to take him with us to be my resident babysitter and handyman. He did me a favor and I owe him big. I'll swing by the home and pick him up on my way out of town.”

I was afraid to go into it any further. “What about your classes?”

“I'm not sure I want to be a teacher,” she said with a wry grin. “I may decide to go into real estate. I've learned quite a bit over the last few months.”

“What about Wafford?”

“He's inspecting the property to make sure it's in the same condition as it was when I bought it. He'll leave before too long.”

She hugged me, then turned around and went home. Over the next hour, she and Cody loaded the car with suitcases and boxes. Wafford's Cadillac was in the shadows at the far end of the driveway, but he never emerged with an armload of anything. Not that he was the kind to help anybody.

Amy finally started nagging me to help her with her homework, so I abandoned my vigil and went into the kitchen. After she'd finished and gone to bed, I went back to the front room. Sarah's car was gone. Wafford's car was still there, and a light was on in the back of the house. I couldn't imagine what he was doing.

It was none of my business, so I made myself some popcorn and turned on a movie.

The next morning I noticed Wafford's car was gone too. I fixed pancakes, then listened to my daughter gripe about her boss before she gulped down a cup of coffee and shooed Amy out the door to drive her to school.

The ritual was familiar, but not comforting. Once I had the house to myself, I tidied up and started a load of laundry, but the window in the front room was a magnet. Why had Sarah befriended Gerald, of all people? Even odder, why had Wafford agreed to buy back the house? He'd always circled like a vulture, waiting to foreclose on hapless widows and families whose breadwinners had been fired or become disabled.