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CHAPTER TWENTY
Taylor’s eyes scannedthe scenery from the airport to her home, taking in the industrial area around the airport and the surrounding neat housing developments that eventually disappeared, becoming sprawling dairy farms of cornfields and cow pastures. These yielded as woods became more abundant along the country roads, with only a few houses interspersed every mile.
Four hours since their journey began, their rental car pulled into the long driveway of a white clapboard Cape with dark blue shutters. A forested area enclosed the lawn, the edges ruffled with native ferns, jack–in-the-pulpits, and small tree saplings. What once resembled a neat, trim grass now looked like a shaggy meadow, months overdue for a mower pass.
“So much for the hired lawn service,”Roberta said, her tone laced with sarcasm.
Despite her voice message to Erica, no one met them at the house. The front door opened into a neat, sparsely furnished hallway with hardwood floors
Taylor was startled by the look of the living room as they walked in from the hall. He had not known what to expect, but he certainly had not expected this cozy and warm-feeling room. The morning sun streamed through bright unobstructed windows giving an expansive view of the surrounding yard and woods. Sunlight gleamed off one visible spot on the coffee table, adding to the earthy glow as it bounced among the tans, browns, terra cotta, and pumpkin colors prevalent in the room. A microsuede-covered sofa looked inviting, covered though it was with a half dozen pillows in various colors and patterns. The rich prints, contrasting textures, and traditional furniture pieces with slightly modern lines gave the room an Italian feel. Taylor felt comfortable, wishing he could sink his travel-weary body down on the sofa or tapestry-covered overstuffed chair for a breather.
Accents, scattered here and there, gave the room a lived-in, designer feel. A tall glass table lamp stood ready on a side table beside the chair. A porcelain vase sat on the coffee table filled with the desiccated remains of roses.
Scattered among all Roberta’s fine things was the detritus of a college student. Giant dust bunnies gathered along the edges of the textured mahogany-colored rug over the hardwood floors and congregated in the corners. Empty soda cans littered every horizontal surface. Assorted clothes lay over the arms of the sofa and chairs. The coffee table was strewn with empty candy wrappers. Books and magazines were stacked in untidy overflowing piles on the floor.
Roberta stood speechless, her mouth hanging open at the sight of her living room. Taylor watched as she walked, dazed, through a curved archway into the kitchen. Again, Taylor was as much amazed by the decor as by the mess surrounding it. Having only associated her with the 50s kitsch of her rental home, this was an introduction to the vibrancy of her personality.
The kitchen table was strewn with magazines and stacks of textbooks. The four brightly painted ladder-back chairs were burdened with heaps of clothes. The sink and surrounding counter space in warm terra cotta colors were piled high with dirty pots, pans, dishes, and glasses, some growing life forms of their own. A small swarm of fruit flies and house flies buzzed up as she passed the biohazard site. Roberta grimaced and wrinkled her nose at the smell of the rotting food remnants. He could only imagine how devastated she felt.
?
Eyes turned away from the mess; she had no desire to see the maggots she knew had to be crawling there. Bile crawled up her throat, gagging her. Hand over her mouth, she exited the room, her back rigid and her hands fisted. She could not look at Taylor and see the sympathy in his eyes.
The phone call had come not much more than twenty-four hours ago. The house condition could not be blamed on a lack of water for the last day. This neglect was much longer in duration. How had she managed to leave her house in the hands of such a slovenly individual?
A scratching sound at the basement door led Roberta to open it a crack. A triangular, tiny, pink nose jutted out, and a meowing started. She swung open the door to let her cat, Bling, into the kitchen. Bling rubbed herself against her legs in tight figure-eights of affection. Scooping her up, Roberta started to nestle her to her chest until she caught a whiff of her fur. She stank. Roberta held her away from her body at arm’s length but continued to coo greetings to her. Glancing about, the cat’s food dish was empty, so she refilled it and poured the last of her bottled water into a cup for her. Bling attacked it greedily as though she hadn’t eaten in days. Fury rose in her chest at the mistreatment of her beloved cat. Erica had a lot of explaining to do whenever she managed to show up.
Taylor followed on her heels as she inspected the rest of the house. The three remaining downstairs rooms were also unkempt. Everywhere, trash cans overflowed, and clothes and shoes were strewn about. Beauty products cluttered the bathroom, and a heaping pile of moldy towels sat in a corner. Erica’s room, which had been the guest bedroom, was highly disordered, far more than any other room in the house. Roberta shut the door. Erica could wallow in her own mess.
At the stairway’s base to the second floor, Roberta sat down on the step. Burying her head in her hands as tears filled her eyes, she felt Taylor settle beside her and put his arm around her shoulder.
“Don’t worry. It can all be made right,” he reminded her, whispering into her ear.
Looking up into his eyes, Roberta blinked away her tears. “I know. I’m just so frustrated and angry. And embarrassed that you should see it this way. I thought I was here for a water problem. This is a much larger problem than that.”
“Seriously, don’t worry. We can have it straightened out in no time.” He gave her shoulder another squeeze. “Now, let’s see upstairs, shall we?”
“That should be okay. Those rooms are locked. Or were when I left.”
The two upstairs rooms were still locked. Roberta’s bedroom was serene and clean. An upholstered headboard framed the queen-sized bed, covered with plush pillows and jacquard bedding. Tucker and Goober did not sleep on the bed with her at home. A tufted footstool at the base of the bed soon held her luggage as Taylor dropped her overnight bag. Venetian glass vases, sculptures, and pictures of her with her dogs populated the cherry dresser. Pendant lights suspended over the nightstands, ready to illuminate the small pile of books left by their owner. The bed looked comfortable and inviting, but there was much to be done before she could think of relaxing.
After dropping his own overnight bag, they moved to Roberta’s office across the hall. A mahogany brown desk sat facing a double window overlooking the back lawn. Beside it, empty and forlorn-looking, sat a high-tech desk chair boasting half a dozen levers made to tilt, turn and slide various parts up and down. To the left of the desk was a file cabinet, above which were bookshelves. A printer/fax/copier sat on a small table within arm’s reach on the other side of the desk.
Taylor joined her, sitting on the edge of the desk in Roberta’s office.
“We’ll stay upstairs. Assuming the water can be fixed, of course.”
“Fine,” Taylor said while his eyes wandered the room. His gaze stopped on the bookshelves. “What are all those?”
“They’re manuscripts and a few screenplays,” she turned, moving back toward the door to head downstairs again, wishing he would follow her.
“You never told me you’d written this many.” He got up and perused the shelves up close, pulling each bound document out to read the title and the date. He slid one off the shelf and began flipping through it. “Have you tried to publish these?”
“A few—they’re for my own personal gratification,” she said, taking the binder from him and replacing it on the shelf. “Come on. Let’s check the water.” She waited at the door for Taylor to join her. At first, he didn’t. He stared at the long line of binders. “Come on,” she said again, and his feet started moving. By the time she hit the first-floor landing, Taylor stood at the top of the stairs.
She walked through the kitchen, grabbing a flashlight from on top of the refrigerator and heading toward the basement stairs. Taylor followed. “I need to check the water tank in the basement too. Perhaps the problem is there.”
Descending the stairs, the odor from Bling’s overflowing litterbox filled the air. Another thing to add to her list of grievances against her tenant. She moved deeper into the basement. A quick look and tap on the water tank didn’t provide any clue about the problem.
