Page 16 of The Treasure House

“You seem to know a lot about this place.” I looked up at the bulbs on their dusty cords. The light shades were the least of my problems with this room. The wallpaper was so old it was difficult to tell what color it might have been; I could barely make out the floral print through the murky stains. “How come you’re so familiar with it?”

“It’s a small town.” He shrugged. “Everyone knows a lot about everyone. Light shades and all.”

“Who was the lady who lived here?” I touched my toe to the rag rug. Beneath it, the floor was peeling black-and-white-checked linoleum.

“Did she die here too?” Flo interrupted eagerly, looking up from an old flour sifter she was playing with. “Is she one of the ghosts?”

Jake flinched.

“Flo! You’re talking about his neighbor.”

“Oh.” She was chagrined. “That’s right. I’m sorry for your loss.”

“There are decent floorboards under the linoleum too,” Jake said. “And the walls are fine under all that paper. You could make it real nice.” He cleared his throat and shot me and Flo a darting glance. “Maybe she does haunt this place a little.” He glanced around. “She certainly hated to leave all her things.”

The stuff in that kitchen was suffocating. Everything from plastic milk crates of tableware to jugs crammed full of random utensils to a pyramid of empty vases. There were pots and pans of every era—old cast-iron frying pans and 1970s beige saucepans with brown flowers splattered on their sides. There were at least four old blenders and two coffeemakers. There was also a stack of newspapers in one corner, all yellowed with age. I wouldn’t have been surprised to pick one up and find news of the Civil War. Then there was the non-kitchen stuff: paintbrushes, a big sewing basket with patchwork quilt squares spilling out, and, randomly, a wine bottle stuffed with a Kewpie doll on a stick, the kind of doll that you buy at local carnivals. It was a complete assault on the senses.

Flo found a big frilled-edge glass candy dish full of colored buttons. She was running her hands through them, and they made a cascading clatter as they fell back into the dish. Somehow the same things that I found overwhelming filled her with joy.

“How old is this place?” I realized I should probably have asked the real estate agent this question. The shingled frontage hinted at age, and age meant problems.

“It was built in the 1870s, I think.” Jake cocked his head. “Maybe it was the 1880s. But it’s old. You could ask Elton next door—he’d probably know, given his is the same vintage.”

“Awesome!” Flo held up an octagonal crystal button. “We get to live in history.” Then she flinched, as though something had just occurred to her. “Wait. Does this place have wi-fi?”

“Not yet,” Jake replied.

“Mom,” Flo’s tone was dire. “We can’t live without wi-fi. You’d better put that at the top of the to-do list.”

Forget wi-fi, how was I going to cook on a stove that looked straight out of Downton Abbey? I had no interest in mangling our washing every week either.

“I’m sure Elton would let you tap into his wi-fi next door until you get yours set up,” Jake told us, running a hand through his hair. He looked as overwhelmed as I felt, and he wasn’t even the one buying the place.

“How did anyone live here without internet?” Flo was bewildered.

“It was mostly a summer holiday place, from before the internet was even an idea.”

“Shame. I bet she would have loved eBay,” Flo said cheerfully.

“Is there heating?” I looked around for radiators. The thick old walls kept the place cool, even on a sticky-hot summer’s day. I could only imagine how cold it would get in the winter.

“There’s a furnace in the basement—I’ll show you down there before we finish up.”

I breathed out. Okay. So at least it had heat.

“There’s no cooling, but it’s designed for all the windows to be thrown open in the summer to catch the coastal breezes.”

I doubted we could even find enough windows to open, given all this trash.

“Seen enough?” Jake asked, giving me a knowing look.

I didn’t want to give him the satisfaction, even though my dreams were crumbling in the face of all the junk.

“Are you kidding?” Flo exclaimed. “We haven’t even seen my attic room yet!”

Jake’s blue-green eyes held mine. “You sure you want to keep going? It gets worse.”

Worse? How could it get worse? I swallowed. “We want to see it all,” I insisted, tearing my gaze away, so he wouldn’t be able to see how freaked out I was.