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Breathing through my mouth, I step further into the room, leaving the door standing open behind me. Careful steps between scattered trash and debris lead me to a window. It’s a struggle to lift but it finally screeches open, letting in the chilly air.
The flashlight on my phone doesn’t give me a great view of everything, but I use it to light my way down the hall to a bedroom where I open another window. There’s no carpet in here, which seems to be a main source of the stench in other rooms. Sleeping in here may be an option with a little cleaning.
The window in the second bedroom won’t budge. I’m determined to get all the windows open to air things out as much as possible. A hard yank forces it upward a few inches, accompanied by a loud screech of aluminum on wood before it sticks again. When I slide my hands under it, a cracking sound fills the air before I can try again. A second later, the entire thing falls out of the frame, crashing to the ground outside.
An uproarious cheer followed by laughter pours through the hole in the wall. Guess the neighborhood is still watching.
Are all the mobile homes this far gone? Because a preliminary walkthrough of this place makes me doubtful that it’s salvageable at all. It should’ve been condemned long ago. I’m glad I brought my camping equipment.
Until an electrician has a look around, I don’t dare turn on any power. I’ll risk having the water turned on and hopefully that will at least give me a functioning toilet. Without hot water, showering is going to be limited to Dylan’s hotel room or maybe a gym. I’ll make do.
My mind races with a million things I still need to do. I’ve gotten a decent start, with multiple tradesmen scheduled to inspect things in the next few days. Soon, I’ll have a better idea of where to begin. The first thing will be a meeting tomorrow with all the tenants to determine what’s most pressing.
“Cooper?” Dylan calls, and I step into the hall to see him peeking in the front door. “You in here?”
“Yeah, come on in.”
“I wasn’t sure whether to get out of my truck. That crowd looks a few torches and pitchforks short of dragging out a guillotine.” He glances around the room. “Can’t say I blame them if their places are as bad as this.”
“It’s worse than I expected. By far. Did you get the flyers printed?”
Dylan nods, still looking around and holds up the folder in his hand.
The expression on his face makes me bite back a smile. He had no idea what he got himself into offering to help me. “It’s not too late to back out.”
He shakes his head. “Nah, I’m in. Have you considered the option of lighting a match and running away?”
“Some of us love a challenge.”
“Well, some of us prefer not to get scabies, but okay. Where do you want to start?”
I run my hand through my hair. “I need to get a look around the place. Locate the office and community room to prepare for the tenant meeting tomorrow. You’re welcome to stay with me like I said before but if you’d rather find an extended stay hotel or short term rental, I’ll cover it.”
“Yeah, hard pass on bedbug manor. I’ll find something.”
A sharp knock makes us both turn to look at the front door. It’s still sitting open but now two women stand in the doorway. I’m not thrilled to see miss confrontational delivery girl is one of them. Especially with the glare she’s wearing.
“You’re the owner?” the other woman asks. She’s older, in her early fifties if I had to guess, and her question is posed with a smile, devoid of the animosity seething off her friend.
“I am. Cooper Addington. You can call me Cooper.”
She takes my offered hand and shakes it, shifting the large plastic basket hanging on her arm. “Freda Whitt. And you can call me when you’re ready to fix my floor and kitchen sink.”
Fair enough. “I have an electrician and plumber scheduled to begin assessing for repairs tomorrow. Let me know your lot number, and I can have the plumber start with you.”
“Number nine. I’ll be waiting for him. This is for you. Just a little basket of goodies to welcome you to the Ha-Ha.”
“The Ha-Ha?” Dylan blurts.
“Happy Haven. That’s what everybody calls it. And who are you?”
“Dylan. I’m nobody. I have no ownership or responsibility and there are people who will look for me if I go missing.”
Freda blinks at him, then bursts out laughing. “Noted.” She sets the basket down between the four of us and starts pulling out items. The first thing she hands me is a large, rusty flathead screwdriver.
“You’ll need that to jam under the coin slot to get the washer to work in the laundry room. The one in the middle. The lefthand washer you have to shake and slap the side.” She pulls out a length of white braided rope. “Neither of them spin out, and the dryers don’t work so I included some clothesline to hang your fancy duds out.”
Her gaze sweeps over my fancy duds—jeans and a jacket. “I expected an old man in a suit. Why are you here again?”
