Page 10 of Something Old

She rechecked the information Grant had entered into her phone. Maybe he’d accidentally transposed a couple digits? Maybe there was another Salmon Way or a Salmon Street or something, and her GPS had confused the two? Either way, something must’ve gotten messed up. This couldn’t be the place. Surely, Grant would’ve given her a heads-up or an explanation or—

She was about to hit the gas and leave, an excuse already forming in her head, should he return to the store, when a dog she recognized loped into view from around a bend in the long, twisting driveway. And, of course, because that was her luck in a nutshell, Grant was right behind him. He scowled at her parked vehicle.

Shaking her head at herself, Madeline turned into the driveway, which was more of a country lane really—and a super creepy, horror-show-worthy lane at that—and slowly proceeded forward. At best, it would be a wasted trip. At worst . . . well, let’s just say she was glad she’d told Aisha, who was moving in more stock today, her plans to check out Grant’s furniture, along with his address. At least her body would be found.

As her van crept along, however, curiosity started to get the better of her. She couldn’t help but gawk. There was so much stuff on the property. Multiple rows of old vehicles lined both sides of the lane, and junk of all sizes and imaginings stretched out in every direction beyond that. It was . . . bizarre. Grant continued to show no hint of recognition, his frown only deepening the further into the yard she got.

When she was close enough to not have to bellow, she unrolled her window, about to call a greeting—but Grant beat her to it.

“Oh, it’s you.” His tone suggested she was an unwanted guest who couldn’t take a hint and bugger off, despite his many requests for her to do so.

But Madeline didn’t care if Grant was a bear. She’d worked in customer service in some way or another most of her life, and the world was filled with all sorts. Grant’s being an ass wasn’t personal. And yet . . . she’d be lying if she said she didn’t feel purposely misled. It was difficult to believe there was anything that wasn’t an environmental hazard in this rubble yard, let alone anything “really nice,” as promised. His bizarre rudeness, as if he was the one doing her a favor, not the other way around, was just icing on the shit-cake.

Grover, however, wagged his tail and looked at her hopefully. Grant reached down and rubbed the dog’s ears, and he slumped against his owner’s long, denim-clad legs in pleasure. Now they were both staring at her.

Madeline sighed. Grant really was strangely unpleasant—but almost too over-the-top to be genuine. He was like a parody of a bad-tempered hermit type. He seemed to shower regularly enough, however. Small mercies! His hair and beard were shaggy and overgrown but looked shiny and clean as she’d noted the day before, actually.

He wore well-fitted, faded jeans and a moss-green wool sweater that would’ve looked lovely with his sea-blue eyes and sandy hair, except that he paired them with such a dour expression. And that was another thing that reminded her of their first encounter. His intense eyes were sad, not angry; they didn’t match his irate persona.

Grant lifted his hands in an impatient what-are-we-waiting-for gesture, and she resisted the impulse to flip him the bird. Whether he was sad or just a jerk was irrelevant. She only had so much patience. He should have his own T-shirt: Grant Graham, Super Grouch! But she’d learned to trust her gut around people, and she didn’t think he had foul play on his mind. Still, it was better to be safe than sorry. She sighed, held up a finger, and texted Aisha. “I’m here. Please call in fifteen minutes. If I don’t answer, come over like you so kindly volunteered to.”

Aisha instantly replied with a surprised face, a question mark, and a thumbs-up. Madeline smiled in spite of herself—a smile she dropped when she turned back to address Grant through the open driver-side window once more.

“Show me where to park, and let’s get this over with.”

If he found her new reciprocal brusqueness as off-putting as she found his, his face gave no sign of it. He nodded tersely, turned his back to her, and strode into the shadows of the winding drive, motioning over his shoulder for her to follow him.

Chapter 9

Grant directed Madeline to park alongside his truck. She did, so close her passenger door was almost brushing his driver side—out of necessity because the lot was so full of crap.

Grover happily accepted hello pets when Madeline climbed out of her vehicle, then curled up for a nap on the exposed foam and springs of an old truck seat sitting beneath a tree. Madeline followed Grant through the maze of junk toward the side door of the house, the only entrance offering a mostly clear path to all the rooms. As they walked without conversing, he realized that deep down, he hadn’t expected her to show up. He’d also completely forgotten what it looked like from an outsider’s point of view.

Unable to pick one thing—or one mess, more like it—to focus on, her head moved in constant swivel. And who could blame her? But this was just her reaction to the yard and parking area. Wait until she saw the inside of the house or the garage. His face burned, and he gritted his teeth.

“Keep your shoes on.”

She nodded and followed him in. This area was insanely crowded too, but in a slightly more organized way than much of the house. Boxes and totes lined the hallway two rows thick and towered almost to his shoulders, leaving only a very narrow path to the building’s innards. He and she walked so close together they were nearly touching, again by necessity.

When they got to the first accessible room via the path—the living room, if one could reasonably call it that—Madeline made a surprised sound, then flushed bright red. Grant winced and avoided her eyes.

“It’s a dump, I know. I should’ve warned you. I never have anyone over here, and I forget what it’s like because I’m used to it.”

Madeline patted his arm, and Grant glanced over at her, surprised. Her expression was serious, but she didn’t seem about to flee or anything. “How long have you lived like—I mean, how long did it take for you to accumulate all this?”

She sounded genuinely curious, but there was no overt criticism or judgment in her voice. He bristled, nonetheless, staring at her. Then he let out a barking laugh. Cripes! She thought this garbage dump was his. But then again, why wouldn’t she? In his discomfort with approaching her for help, he’d left out a lot of pertinent details.

“Are you nuts? This nightmare isn’t mine. It was my father’s. I inherited it. Lucky me.”

Madeline’s mouth pursed, and her eyes narrowed. She looked on the verge of saying something much different than what she finally uttered. “And you’re all alone with it? You don’t have anyone to help get it sorted?”

“No,” he snarled, then scrubbed his face roughly with one hand. He needed to get a grip on himself. Whatever his issues were, they weren’t this woman’s fault. He strove to soften his tone but didn’t think he succeeded. “What does that matter, anyway? What’s anyone else going to do that I can’t?”

Madeline shrugged and scanned the room again. Then, bizarrely, turning her head this way and that, she visibly sniffed the air. “You are lucky, actually. It could definitely be worse.”

Grant followed her gaze, taking in the cascading piles of . . . you-name-it. Mountains of clothes his father had never worn, most secondhand, most not his size, some not even men’s clothes. Books, books, and more books—again, most of which had never been cracked, at least not by his dad. Grant hadn’t known he could hate books or would ever consider them junk until the first time he’d stepped in here after years of not having done so. Sets of cookware, new, still in original packaging. Sporting equipment. Boxes bearing As Seen On TV gimmicks. And those were only the most obvious stacks.

“It’s a bit musty like any place this packed will be because there’s no air circulation, but it’s not noticeably damp. Also—hence the luck I mentioned—at least he didn’t collect animals too and have a hoard of cats or something.”