Page 24 of The Treasure House

Flo scrambled up onto a box and rubbed the dusty windowpane with her hand, but I could tell by her crestfallen posture that there was no trace of the cat. If it had been a cat. It could have been an opossum or a raccoon. Oh God, what if I had raccoons? How on earth did you get rid of raccoons in your basement?

“It’s just a stray,” Jake assured me, reading my mind.

“A stray cat.” Flo shot me a sly look. “Maybe it’s good we don’t have a dog. It would only scare all the stray cats away.”

“There’s only one stray cat,” Jake said. “And see, it’s gone.” He made sure the window was latched, as if the cat would be able to open it. “Just keep this closed and you’ll be fine.”

“Or we could open it and keep the cat?” Flo suggested. “Since Mom won’t let me get a dog.”

“We’re not getting a stray cat. What if it has rabies?”

“I don’t think cats get rabies.”

“They do,” Jake told her. “So don’t go petting any stray cats.”

“We can get the cat checked by a vet before we keep it.” Flo gave me a pleading look.

“We’re not keeping it, Flo. Besides, you heard Jake, it’s gone.”

“Is that the furnace?” Flo quite cheerfully changed the topic, pointing to the squat black furnace in the corner.

“Yeah, although if you’re living here full time, you’ll want to change to a heat pump. They’re more efficient.”

My heart sank as Jake explained why I might want to spend a heap of money updating the heating and getting the plumbing checked out. Not to mention the ancient electrical mains. By the time we got out of the house, he’d told me another half dozen things that were going to drain my bank account. I sure hoped one of the paintings in the dining room was a Picasso.

As Jake held back the red-berried bushes to escort us back to the street, an older man climbed out of a white Lexus that was parked in the driveway of the neat little house next door.

“Well, hey, Jake. What’s going on here? Don’t tell me you’ve found someone interested in the old place?” He was a lean old man with shining brown eyes and close-cropped silver hair. He wore a crisp checkered blue shirt and neatly pressed jeans.

“Heya, Elton. Ayuh, these ladies are taking a look.”

“How come everyone around here says ayuh all the time?” Flo asked. “And I’m not a lady. Ladies are fancy people who wear stupid shoes.” Flo tramped through the wild edge of the garden and out onto the sidewalk. She squinted at the man next door. “Are you our new neighbor? And what does ayuh mean?”

“Manners,” I warned her, but the old guy didn’t seem to be offended. He was already introducing himself.

“If this is your new house, then ayuh, I’m your neighbor. Elton Coutts at your service.” He held out a hand for Flo to shake. “And ayuh is Maine for yes.”

“Why don’t you just say yes?” Flo seemed put out.

I adjusted my clothes, which had snagged on the bushes as we’d fought our way down the side of the house. I retied my ponytail and tried to look like I hadn’t been in a fight with the garden. Some first impression I was making.

“Why should we?” Jake grumbled.

“I’m Florence Copeland.” Flo shook Elton’s hand, ignoring Jake. “It should be Snee really, because my dad’s last name is Snee, but Mom wanted me to have her name, probably because she’s the one raising me. And, also, why don’t babies take their mom’s names? Seems to me moms do all the painful stuff to get the baby. But also, Snee is a horrible name. Imagine being called Flo Snee.”

Mr. Coutts nodded along. “Yes, well, I can imagine, given I got landed with Coutts. I didn’t have the option of taking my mother’s name, though—not back in my time—but I can’t say I would have wanted to, anyway.”

“Why not?”

“Her name was Sidebottom.”

Flo snort-laughed, which made Mr. Coutts grin, a big easy smile that made him seem like the world’s kindest grandpa. His gaze drifted to me.

“Hi,” I said, feeling absurdly shy. “I’m Zoe Copeland. Flo’s mom.”

“So, you’re moving in?”

“I think so.”