Everything in Between (24 page)

“Professor Richardson,” one of the boys started, “we didn’t know what Elton was gonna do with—”

“Our DNA is on everything in your class!” Elton nearly shouted over his friend. “A stack of papers is like a DNA soup!”

“You think like a criminal, Mr. Dye,” Zae observed calmly. “I hate to disabuse you of your ‘DNA soup’ hypothesis, but you should know that the DNA was taken from right here.” She picked up Elton’s paper and pointed to the upper left corner, where a staple had been removed. “The odds of someone else’s DNA getting under the staple that used to be there are close to astronomical.”

“I think I want a lawyer,” moaned one of the boys.

“You’re not under arrest, young man,” Dean Sheppard reminded him. “Although how long that remains true is up to Prof. Richardson. She’s well within her rights to press charges for what you boys did to her vehicle. And if that happens, your futures at Missouri University will be in serious doubt. Felony convictions, especially for crimes committed against faculty or students, are not tolerated. The safety and well-being of our community comes before anything else.”

“Even huge alumni donations?” Elton’s voice shook in anger, fear, or both. “My grandfather and my dad have given a fortune to this school! It all dries up the second you piss us off!”

“Is that a threat or a confession, Mr. Dye?” the dean asked angrily. “Don’t you dare presume that alumni giving buys you free rein to terrorize my campus! This is your last chance, boys. Now would be a good time for a heartfelt confession.”

“Anybody could have walked by that car and just gotten sick,” Elton argued weakly. “Why does it have to be a conspiracy?”

“Nice try,” said the dean. “Try again.”

Furtive glances were thrown at Elton, and two of the boys looked near tears. The boy on Elton’s right opened and closed his fists and fidgeted in his chair.

“Very well,” said the dean. “Until we get to the bottom of this matter, you four are suspended from classes and all extracurricular activities—”

Elton’s right-hand man spoke out. “We’ve got a game Saturday!”

“We’re playing Lincoln University, they’re our biggest rivals,” said another boy.

“Then I suggest you resolve this as soon as possible,” the dean said.

Gritting his teeth, Elton stared at his lap. “Guys, they’re just trying to scare us.”

It’s working, too,
Zae thought merrily.
Little bastards…

“We did it,” came the small voice of the boy farthest on Elton’s left. “It was Elton’s idea. He was mad at Prof. Richardson after we saw her at a diner early Sunday morning. He said he wanted to teach her a lesson.”

“Damn it, Jeff,” Elton whispered.

“You’re the only one not on the football team,” Jeff countered. “My scholarship depends on my play. I can’t afford to miss a game.”

“You should have thought of that before you befouled Prof. Richardson’s car,” the dean said. “You boys will, of course, apologize to Prof. Richardson.”

Every boy nodded, except Elton.

“You will also remain on disciplinary suspension for two weeks, barring you from participating in extracurricular activities on campus.”

“But you said—” Jeff began.

The dean spoke over him. “A formal censure will go into your permanent records, and all four of you are hereby removed from Prof. Richardson’s class. Unless another instructor is willing to take you into his or her class this far into the semester, you’ll have to repeat the class next semester.”

Jeff’s chin trembled with the effort to hold back tears. Red-faced with anger or shame, the others shook their heads. Elton, his expression stony, sneered, “Will that be all?”

“No, actually, there’s one more thing,” the dean said. “Stay away from Prof. Richardson.”

“You decided to celebrate Halloween by buying Dr. Frank-N-Furter’s mansion? I’m telling you right now, I am not doing the Time Warp when Riff Raff opens that door.”

Zae stood on the broken walkway in front of a three-story Victorian. The wraparound porch was missing part of its railing and a significant section of plank flooring. Large peels of paint that had been black at some point, curved away from the house in sun-bleached gray curls. A porch swing, its seat splintered, dangled from its remaining rusted chain. What looked to be a rope hammock lay in a pile, the scent of fresh mildew wafting from it with each rush of wind.

“How much did you pay for this?” Zae asked bluntly.

“For this area, it was a steal.” Chip smiled. “I’m five minutes from you and Gian and Cinder and only twenty minutes from school. Both interstates are close by, and I can walk to Sheng Li.”

“How much did it cost?” Zae used the toe of her sneaker to poke at a dingy black coil on the lawn.

“That’s the sprinkler system,” Chip explained. “I’ll install it in the spring.”

“How much did this place cost you?”

Chip took her hand and pulled her to the front door. The three wide stairs leading to the porch screamed in protest under their weight. Chip dug the house keys from the front pocket of his jeans and opened the door. With a hand at the small of Zae’s back, he ushered her into the foyer.

“Good Lord,” Zae muttered.

A Hollywood set designer couldn’t have done a better job making the place look haunted. Cobwebs heavy with dust draped the dull chandelier hanging high over the cracked marble floor tiles and joined the balusters in the wide staircase facing the front door. Zae cleared a spot of dirt from the nearest tile to reveal a lovely champagne color. Perhaps Chip had done with his eyes what she had done with her toe of her sneaker—seen past the horror of the place to envision its potential beauty.

“This house was built in the late 1800s,” Chip said, excitement creeping into his voice, “but a lot of the materials came from back East with its original inhabitants. It has incredible architectural details.” He pointed to the molding. “That’s genuine cypress. All the carving was done by hand.”

“It’s going to be a nightmare to refinish,” Zae said, imagining the poor soul who’d be on his hands and knees with a toothbrush, prying years of grit and grime from the fine feather detailing of the molding. “What’s that smell?”

Chip sniffed. “Gian and I removed a dead raccoon from under the porch a couple of days ago. The smell hasn’t completely gone away.” In a blur of wool and denim, he darted into the room left of the corridor. “Come on, I want to show you the rest of the house.”

Zae joined him in what he called the parlor. Chip pointed out the hand-carved, cypress medallion that once supported another chandelier, or perhaps a globe light fixture, and the storage bench—its cushioned lid torn and askew—at the mullioned bay windows. He seemed especially pleased to report that the purplish hue of the glass panes indicated the presence of lead, which dated the glass to the late 1700s.

The living room was on the other side of the foyer. Bigger than the parlor, its most attractive feature was the triple-paned extra-tall windows that, once they’d been thoroughly cleaned, would allow the warmth of the southern sun to penetrate the room. Chip graciously caught Zae when she stumbled over an uneven section of flooring. “The floors are sturdy,” Chip told her, righting her. “They’re good ’ol yellow pine. Once I refinish them, you won’t believe how handsome they’ll be.”

The living room gave way to a formal dining room and Zae’s grudging admiration. The dining room was wide and the high ceilings gave it a regal spaciousness. Zae easily pictured guests mingling comfortably before sitting for a meal at the big table that apparently came with the house.

“It’s solid oak,” Chip stated proudly, knocking on its scuffed surface. “I might have to have someone come in to refinish it. I’m not sure I’d trust my skills to something like this.”

The feather pattern on the wide edge of the table matched that of the molding throughout the rooms of the lower floor. A quartet of gryphons complemented the thick trunk of the table’s base, its claw feet a masculine yet artistic touch. Zae stroked the table top, seeing the potential of the piece.

“Are there chairs to match?” she asked.

“In the basement.” Chip smiled. “Wanna see them?”

“Not right this minute.” Zae had no desire to burrow into the basement when the upper floor looked such a fright.

The kitchen occupied the rear of the first floor, and the parlor and dining rooms opened into it. Zae tried to ignore a twitch of envy. The kitchen was huge with plenty of cabinet and shelf space, and the breakfast nook at the wide windows offered a lovely view of the heavily wooded backyard. “This will have to go, I think,” Chip said, opening the stately Westinghouse refrigerator standing near the rear staircase. “It still works, though.”

Zae moved away from the cold air issuing from the empty refrigerator. “I kinda like it. My grandparents had a lime green Westinghouse like this one. That sucker could freeze a rump roast solid in about ten minutes.”

“They don’t make ’em like this anymore, for sure,” Chip sighed. “Maybe I’ll keep it in the basement or the garage.”

The wide staircase led them to the second floor. The warped floorboards protested their presence in an eerie voice of creaks and pops as Chip lead Zae through the four bedrooms of the second floor. A large bathroom with a double basin counter joined the two big bedrooms on the north side of the house. A slightly smaller bedroom on the east side of the house had its own bath, although it housed a shower and no bathtub. Unbidden, the thought occurred to Zae that the room would be perfect for a pre-teen boy.

The master bedroom dominated the south side of the second floor. Each bedroom had its own fireplace, but the one in the master bedroom was exquisite. Tall, wide and deep, its mantel was a solid slab of cool black marble. The looking glass mounted above it was a lovely focal point, and the carving on the frame matched the molding on the closet doors.

“This room has pretty good closet space,” Chip said, throwing open the double doors.

Zae’s jaw fell.

No mere walk-in, the closet was half the size of the smallest bedroom. Built-in shelving, drawers and adjustable clothing bars ensured that the lucky woman sharing the master bedroom would have a place for everything. Including belts and scarves, which would go on little hooks mounted on a sliding fixture near the door.

“Do you like it?” Chip asked.

“It’s okay,” Zae said blithely, although she stroked her lower lip to make sure she wasn’t drooling.

A second, narrow staircase led to the attic, and there Zae could no longer suppress her enthusiasm for Chip’s find. The attic covered the length of the house. Windows situated between the odd angles of the roof provided ample natural light. The dusty floors were in near perfect condition, which showed Zae just how beautiful the other floors could be once they had been restored.

The previous owners had left behind treasures that perhaps had no value but neither were junk. Wire dress forms covered in poplin ticking, trunks full of handmade quilts, bins of old wind-up toys, dolls, a toboggan and wooden skis—“There’s a year of
Antiques Roadshow
episodes up here,” Zae said.

“I found a safe in the wall,” Chip said, walking her to an empty space near the floorboards. It was slightly larger than a shoebox. “There was nothing valuable in it. Just some old letters.”

He handed one to her, and Zae carefully opened the square of yellowing paper. The ink had turned dark brown, but the hand was perfectly legible. Dated September 14, 1950, the letter was addressed to Ruby Montgomery. Zae read it, learning that the author was a soldier stationed in France. And that he loved Ruby very much.

“This house belonged to a woman named Ruby Montgomery,” Chip explained as Zae read the letter. He moved among the boxes and furniture covered in cloth heavy and brown with years of dust. “She spent most of her life a widow. That letter you’ve got was written a few days before PFC Hiram Montgomery died from injuries he received during the Inchon invasion in the Korean War.” Carefully, so as not to send a suffocating cloud of dust into the air, he gently pulled the cover from a stand-up piano that had likely last seen the light of day around the same time Scott Joplin wrote the “Maple Leaf Rag.” “The first time I came by to see the house, Ruby’s daughter gave me a lot of the history of this place. She told me that Ruby raised four kids alone in this house, and she went to college after her youngest graduated high school. They both graduated from Washington University the same year. Ruby went on to medical school. She got her medical degree, and she practiced for twenty years.”

Zae set the letter on top of the empty safe, then joined Chip at the piano. He sat on the stool, its rusty stem squealing, and ran his fingers over the ivory keys. The instrument was horribly out of tune, yet Chip managed to pick out a recognizable rendition of “East of the Sun.”

“Ruby was active in her community and was well-known for her philanthropic endeavors,” Chip went on as he softly played with Zae’s arms wrapped around his shoulders, her chest pressed to his back. “She funded the town’s first library, and endowed a scholarship for any high school student who wanted to pursue medicine in college. She never remarried. She never fell in love again, as far as her children knew. She spent the last five years of her life, living with one of her daughters after suffering a stroke. None of the kids wanted the house, since it had fallen in such disrepair. When Ruby died last year, her kids just wanted to get rid of it.”