Joan Hess

It is not uncommon to encounter Joan Hess and immediately think she’s mad at somebody about something. This is a formidable-looking woman who isn’t about to take any nonsense, you bet. Of course, after a couple of seconds, it is entirely likely that she’ll have a great smile on her face, and she’s guaranteed to put one on anybody within earshot. She is, and there can be no argument about this, one of the funniest people on the planet.
The story that follows is not comic, but many of her novels are, and she has developed a large and appreciative readership. With more than twenty books to her credit in a relatively brief time, she has still managed to find the energy to join and be active in a large number of mystery organisations, including Sisters in Crime, Mystery Writers of America, American Crime Writers’ League, and the Arkansas Mystery Writers Alliance; perhaps coincidentally, she lives in Arkansas.
Hess doesn’t only write a lot of books, she writes good ones, as evidenced by her many awards, which include the American Mystery Award, an Agatha, and a McCavity.

Caveat Emptor

The first time she came walking across the street, I pegged her for a whiner. Her shoulders drooped like she thought she was carrying a goodly portion of the world’s woes in a backpack, and from her expression, I could tell right off that she didn’t think it was fair. I had news for her: nobody ever promised it would be. If it were, I’d have been playing pinochle beside a pool instead of watching soap operas while I ironed as the world turned.
She came onto the porch. “May I please use your phone?”

“Long distance?” I said cautiously.
“I need to call Mr. Wafford. He was supposed to have the utilities turned on by today, but nothing’s on.”
I took a closer look. She was at most in her late twenties, with short brown hair and a jaw about as square as I’d ever seen. Her eyes were sizzling with frustration, but her smile was friendly. Smiling back, I said, “You bought the house over there?”
“I’m Sarah Benston. I signed the papers last week, and Mr. Wafford promised to arrange for the utilities to be on when we got here. It’s after nine o’clock. My son and I have been on the road for fourteen hours, and there’s no way we get by without water and electricity. I was hoping that he could still do something.”
“You bring your son inside and let me give him a glass of juice,” I said. “You can call Wafford if you want, but you’re welcome to camp out over here. How old’s your boy?”
“Cody’s ten. I guess it’s too late to call Mr. Wafford. He won’t be able to do anything at this time of night.”
I still wasn’t sure what to make of her as she brought in a listless child, rolled out a sleeping bag for him in a corner, and kissed him good-night.
“So you bought the Sticklemann house?” I asked her as we sat down at the kitchen table.
She took a sip of coffee and nodded. “It seemed smart, even though my ex can’t remember to send his child-support payments. I never finished my degree, so I decided to move back here and take classes. I was going to rent an apartment, but then Mr. Wafford explained how I could buy a house and build up equity. After the three or four years it’ll take to graduate, I can sell the house and make a small profit. Cody’s used to having a yard.”
“How long since the divorce?” I asked.
“A year.” Sarah put down her cup. “I know this is an imposition, Mrs....?”
“James, honey, but you call me Deanna. I know what you’re going through. My daughter got divorced four years ago, and she had a real tough time before she threw up her hands and moved back in with me. Now she has a job, a good one, at an insurance office in town. She’s dating a real polite boy she knew back in high school. Her daughter Amy’s eight, so she’s in bed. It’s not a good idea having three generations of women in the same house, but we do what we got to do. You have a job, Sarah?”
“As a teacher’s aide,” she said with a shrug. “It’s minimum wage, but the house payment’s not much more than what I’d be paying in rent. Mr. Wafford is financing the sale privately, since I probably couldn’t have qualified for a loan. Even if I had, I’d have been charged closing costs of more than three thousand dollars. This way, I only had to put down five percent, which left me enough to pay for the rental truck and the utility deposits.”
“It’ll work out,” I said soothingly, although I had my doubts. My daughter had needed food stamps and welfare and everything else she could get until she’d found a job. I would have helped her out, but all I had were my monthly disability checks.
I made her a bed on the sofa, then sat and gazed out my bedroom window at the Sticklemann place, wondering just how much Jeremiah (“Call me ‘Jem’”) Wafford had told this nice young woman.
Not nearly enough, I suspected.

I watched her from the porch the next day. I would have liked to help her haul in suitcases and furniture, but my back wasn’t up to it. Her boy did what he could, trying to be the man of the family; finally, Perniski from up the road took pity on her and carried boxes, mattresses, bed frames, and mismatched chairs inside the house. All the same, she did most of the work, and I could see she had spirit.

Cody proved to be a mannersome child, and he ended up most weekday afternoons with Amy, watching movies on the television. Sarah tried to pay me for looking after him. I refused, saying that he was no trouble. He wasn’t.
A month after she moved in, she came knocking on my front door. I could tell right off that she was upset, but I pretended not to notice and said, “You have time for coffee?”
“What’s the deal with the water lines?” she said, close to sputtering with outrage. “The toilet backed up and flooded the bathroom. The plumber says that all the houses out here have substandard pipes from the nineteen fifties, and there’s nothing he can do short of replacing everything from the house to the main sewer line. Where am I going to find a thousand dollars?”
I sat her down on the porch swing. “There are some things Wafford didn’t tell you, honey. After he bought the house, he slapped fresh paint on it and put down new linoleum-but it’s still an old house. Don’t be surprised if the roof leaks when it rains. Mrs. Sticklemann had to put pots and pans in every room.”
Sarah stared at me. “What can I do? I called Mr. Wafford, but he reminded me that he recommended I pay for an inspection. It would have cost three hundred dollars. All I could hear him talking about were the possibilities for flower beds and a vegetable garden, and how Cody could play in the creek.”
“Don’t let him do that,” I said. “Clover Creek may sound charming, but it’s downstream from a poultry plant. Some government men were out here last spring, trying to figure out why all the fish bellied up.”
“Anything else I should know?” she asked grimly.
I hoped she wasn’t the sort to blame the messenger. “There’s been some trouble with the folks in the house up at the corner. A couple of months ago the cops raided it and arrested them for selling drugs. One’s doing time in the state prison, but two of them are back. That’s why I walk up to where the school bus lets the children off in the afternoons. I’ve warned Cody about them too.”
“Thanks, Deanna. I’d better go check the mailbox. Maybe this is the year I win a million-dollar sweepstakes.”

We didn’t talk for a long while after this, but only because she was busy with her job and her late-afternoon classes. Cody always kept a watch for her out the window, and as soon as her car pulled into the driveway, he’d say good-bye and dart across the road to help her carry in groceries. She and my daughter were friendly enough, but they didn’t really hit it off. Amy, on the other hand, was crazy about Cody; he returned her affection with the lofty sophistication of an older man.
Sarah continued having trouble with the house. When I asked Cody about an exterminator’s van, he said the carpet in his bedroom had fleas and showed me welts on his legs. On another day, he told me that his mother had called Mr. Wafford and then banged down the receiver and apologised for using “naughty” words.
She had spirit all right, I thought. Too bad she hadn’t had common sense as well when she signed the papers in Wafford’s office. It wasn’t hard to imagine how he’d conned her, though. He was a slick one behind his hearty laugh and grandfatherly face. He’d owned half the houses along the road at one time or another. Most of the folks who’d fallen for his “equity” pitch had discovered a whole new side to him when they fell behind on their payments. There was a reason why he drove a flashy Cadillac.

“You’re not going to believe this,” Sarah said one evening while we watched Amy and Cody play on a tire swing in the yard. “There are bats in the attic. I saw them streaming out from under an eave last night.”
“You have mice in the garage, don’t you? Bats are nothing more than mice with wings.”
She shuddered. “I called Wafford, and he said the same thing, then gave me a lecture about how they eat insects. From the way he carried on, I thought I was expected to thank him for providing mosquito control. What if one gets downstairs?”
“Mrs. Sticklemann kept a tennis racket in the hall. I don’t think she ever had to use it, though.”
“That’s comforting,” she said dryly. “I was waiting for you to say she died of rabies.”
“Nothing like that,” I said, then stood up and raised my voice. “Amy, you need to get busy on your spelling words for the test on Friday. Go on in the house and get out your book.”
Sarah gave me a look like she knew darn well I was tiptoeing around something, but she called to Cody and they left. I felt bad not telling her, but she had more than enough problems. Sometimes when you buy a lemon, you can squeeze it till your face turns blue, but you still can’t make lemonade.
Later that evening when the telephone rang, I answered it without enthusiasm, expecting my daughter to give me some cockamamie story about how she had to work late.
“Deanna,” Sarah said abruptly, “go into your living room. Don’t turn on the light. There’s a man out on the road, staring at my house. He’s been there for at least half an hour. Should I call the police?”
“Hold on.” I put down the receiver and did as she’d asked, then came back and picked it up. “I see him, honey. You say he’s been there half an hour?”
“That’s when I first noticed him. Could he be confused and think I’m our neighbourhood drug dealer?”
“No,” I said, “that’s not his problem. You call the police if you want, Sarah, but I don’t think it’ll do much good.”
“Do you know who he is?”
“Yes, I do. You come over tomorrow after you get home from work and I’ll tell you about him. In the meantime, just ignore him. He’ll go away before too long.”
“Who is he?” she demanded. “How do you know he’ll go away? What if he breaks into the house?”
“He won’t come any closer than he already is,” I said. “You and Cody are perfectly safe. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
I hung up and went back to the window. The figure was still there, all slouched over with his hands in his pockets, looking like a marble statue in the glow from the streetlight. I felt bad about making Sarah wait, but it was going to take a lot of time to explain it all in such a way that she wouldn’t get too panicky.
“Damn that Jem Wafford,” I said under my breath.
“Who is he?” Sarah demanded as soon as Cody and Amy ran around ‘the corner of the house.
“Gerald Sticklemann,” I said. “It’s a long story. Are you sure you don’t want coffee or a glass of iced tea?”
“Just tell me-okay?”
“Well, Gerald never was what you’d call normal. I knew the first time I laid eyes on him that there was something wrong. That was thirty years ago, when Hank and I bought this house. Gerald was close to the same age as my boys, but he never rode a bicycle or came over to play baseball in the summers. A little yellow bus came every day to take him to a special school for children that couldn’t learn like they were supposed to. I made sure none of my children ever teased him, but there were some teenage boys up, the road who used to call him ugly names and throw rocks at him when they rode their bicycles past the house.”
“That doesn’t explain why he was here last night.”
“I’m getting to it,” I said. “Mr. Sticklemann died not more than two years after we moved in, leaving his wife with a small income from a life insurance policy. She cleaned houses and made enough for her and Gerald to get by. There wasn’t any question of him getting a proper job after he finished with that school. The only times I saw him were when he went walking down that path that leads down to the creek.”
“This is all very touching, Deanna, but I need to fix dinner and get Cody started on his homework.”
I held up my hands. “I’m just trying to make you understand about him. Over the years, families came and went, but the Sticklemanns stayed the same, like a soap opera without a plot. Eventually, she got too old to work and spent a lot of time with her vegetable garden. Wafford tried on occasion to convince her to sell him the house. I’d see him on the porch, his hat in his hands, grinning like a mule with a mouthful of briars, but I don’t think he ever made it into the living room.”
Sarah looked at her watch. “Will you please get to the point?”
“Mrs. Sticklemann died five years ago. Nobody knows exactly when because Gerald never said a word to anybody and kept doing what he always did, day in and day out. It was at least six weeks before one of her old friends came out to find out what was going on. I was in my yard when the woman came stumbling back outside, as bug-eyed and green as a bullfrog. I brought her over here so she could use my telephone, and while we waited for the police, she told me that Gerald had left his mother’s body in her bed. It was in the late summer, and the flies and the stench were something awful.”
“Did she die of natural causes?” Sarah asked in a tremulous voice.
“Oh, yes, there was never any question about that. The real question was what to do about Gerald. The only crime he’d committed was not notifying anybody when his mother died. He ended up in some sort of sheltered home with others of his kind. A distant cousin who was managing Gerald’s affairs sold the house to Wafford. The problem is that Gerald slips out every now and then and comes back here, looking for his mother. He doesn’t mean any harm.”
Sarah stared at the house, her mouth so tight her lips were invisible. After a long moment, she said, “This is too much. Wafford not only forgot to tell me about the faulty plumbing, the fleas and bats, the rotten floorboards under the linoleum, the drug dealers up the street, the contaminated water in the-“ She broke off and rubbed her face as though she could erase the sight of the house across the street. “I can’t believe he didn’t warn me about any of this! I don’t have enough money to move to an apartment and put up two months’ rent and a security deposit. It’s all well and good for you to say this middle-aged child won’t try to come into the house some night when we’re asleep, but you can’t be sure.”
“As long as you lock your doors and windows before you go to bed, you and Cody will be all right,” I said with more confidence than I felt.
Sarah swung around to look at me. “Wafford knew all about Gerald, didn’t he? Doesn’t his failure to tell me constitute fraud?”
“You’ll have to ask a lawyer, but I wouldn’t count on it. Wafford first sold the house to a nice young couple with a baby. They weren’t any happier than you when they discovered all the problems, including Gerald. Wafford and the husband had such a heated argument in the driveway one afternoon that I almost called the police. Not long after that the couple packed up and left. The next day Wafford put a ‘For Sale’ sign in the yard. He was whistling.”
Cody and Amy came running into the front yard with a bird’s egg they’d found and we changed the subject.

“A policeman came to our house last night,” Cody confided in me as he, Amy, and I walked back from the bus stop a week later.
“He did?” I murmured.
“He went into the kitchen with my mother. They talked for a long time, but I couldn’t hear what they said.”
“Did he arrest her?” asked Amy.
Cody made a face at her. “No, nitwit. They just talked, and then he left. My mother was mad, but she wouldn’t tell me why.”
I knew why, having seen Gerald at the edge of the road when I went into the front room to find my reading glasses. I’d considered calling Sarah to remind her to check the locks, but then I’d seen her in an upstairs window. Her face had been as pale as Gerald’s.
I didn’t say anything, and by the time we reached my house, Cody had forgotten about the policeman and was telling Amy about pirate ships. Sarah called an hour later and asked if I could give Cody supper.
“Glad to,” I said. “You going to the library to study?”
“I have an appointment with Wafford. He wasn’t happy about it, but I told him that if he wouldn’t see me at his office at six o’clock, I’d go to his house and stand in the street until his neighbours started calling the police.”
I let Amy and Cody eat in front of the TV set while they watched an old swashbuckler movie from the forties. It may have been considered gory in its time, but it wasn’t nearly as violent as the Saturday-morning cartoons Amy watched religiously.
Sarah knocked on the door just as the movie ended. I sent the children to Amy’s room, then set a cup of coffee on the table in front of her.
She ignored it. “I’m so mad that I can visualise myself buying a gun and shooting that man right between his beady eyes. Better yet, I could tar and feather him, then tie him to the back bumper and drag him through town. I don’t suppose you have any tar out in the carport?”
“Sorry,” I said, a little taken aback at the venomous edge in her voice.
“I wanted to slap the smirk right off his face. He kept calling me ‘little lady’ and ‘sweetheart,’ all the while assuring me that the house was a real bargain and he’d done me a favour by selling it to me at less than fair market value. I offered to let him buy it back at the same price, but he gave me a bunch of bull about his cash-flow problems. Well, I’ve got a cash-flow problem too-all my cash keeps flowing into that black hole across the street. There’s a leak under the kitchen sink, and the door to the hall closet is so warped I can’t get it open. Cody found a dead bat in the bathroom last weekend. On top of everything else, I’ve got to worry that Gerald may bust into the house in the middle of the night.”
I patted her hand. “He never hurt anyone.”
“There’s always a first time, isn’t there? The police won’t do anything because Gerald isn’t breaking the law. I talked to the county prosecutor this morning about a restraining order. He can’t take action until Gerald makes explicit threats or starts waving a weapon. Or murders us in our beds. He’d be in big trouble then. Isn’t that comforting?”
“Now, Sarah,” I said, “Gerald’s not going to do something like that. He’s just confused and lonely.”
“And I’m the proud owner of a house with rats in the basement and bats in the belfry.” Her cheeks flushed, but she managed to get herself under control and added, “I’m not going to take it, Deanna. I’ve been pushed around all my life, first by my parents and then by an abusive jerk who used to hit me when his car wouldn’t start on cold mornings.”
“Maybe you and Cody could stay here until you can afford an apartment,” I said. “I can sleep in Amy’s room on a cot. It’ll be crowded in the morning when we have to share the one bathroom, but-“
“No, thanks. This is my problem and I’m going to solve it. I’ll think of something.”
She gathered up Cody’s coat and books, then called him. He appeared with a construction-paper eye-patch, a moustache drawn with a felt-tipped pen, and a piece of paper covered with pencil markings.
“I’m Long John Silver,” he announced, “and I know where the buried treasure lies.”
Something strange flashed across her face. “In the basement?” she said softly.
“No, down by the creek under a big tree. Tomorrow I’m going to dig it up and give you a chest filled with gold doubloons.”
“Sounds good to me,” she said, helping him on with his coat.
After they left, I settled Amy at the kitchen table with her geography workbook and a gnawed pencil. Most of the time I sat with her to make sure she didn’t start doodling, but that evening I was too distracted to stay put.
When my daughter finally came home, I went into my bedroom and lay down, wondering just what Sarah might have in mind.
Jem Wafford should have been doing the same.

What she did a few nights later was so peculiar I almost went across the street to make sure she wasn’t drunk. I was in the front room when I noticed Gerald was back. He was getting to be a familiar figure in his overcoat, his hands in his pockets, his bald head reminding me of a full moon. I glanced at the upstairs windows to see if Sarah was there, but the shades were drawn.
I stayed where I was, my fingers crossed in hopes she hadn’t gone out and bought a gun. Gerald may have frightened her, but she’d have a hard time convincing a jury she’d shot him in self-defence.
I was beginning to feel relieved when her front porch light went on and she came outside. Her hands were blessedly empty, and she was dressed only in jeans and a thin T-shirt. I expected her to start cursing at Gerald, but she went down the steps and across the yard to join him. He retreated, but she kept smiling and talking like he was a neighbour from down the street. Pretty soon he stopped edging away from her and began to bobble his head. I couldn’t see if he was saying anything in response-I’d have been surprised if he had-but Sarah didn’t seem to notice. After a moment, she put her hand on his arm and led him toward her house. He moved reluctantly, but she kept her grip on him. Before long, they were inside and the front door was closed.
My heart was pounding so hard that I sat down in the rocking chair and forced myself to take a couple of slow breaths. I’d been the one swearing that Gerald wouldn’t hurt anyone, but I had no way of knowing how his mother’s death might have affected him deep down inside. Staring at the house was one thing; actually being inside it might set off all kinds of raw emotions.
I waited twenty minutes, then broke down and dialled Sarah’s telephone number. I didn’t know what I was going to do if she didn’t answer, but she picked up the receiver.
“Is everything okay?” I asked, trying to keep the urgency out of my voice so Amy wouldn’t get alarmed.
“Everything’s fine, Deanna. Gerald and I are having a nice talk about when he and his mother lived here.”
“I just thought I’d better...”
“I know,” she said. “I’d do the same thing if the situation was reversed. I need to get back to my guest now. Don’t worry about us.”
All the same, I stayed by the window until I saw Gerald leave, and I made sure I got a good look at Sarah standing in the doorway. Rather than scared, she had a funny smile on her face. Smug.

“I saw you and your mother had company last night,” I said to Cody the following afternoon after I’d softened him up with ice cream and cookies.
“Yeah,” he said without enthusiasm. “She made me turn off the television and go upstairs, even though I already did my homework.”
“So you didn’t hear what they were saying?”
“No. May I please have some more ice cream?”
Amy snickered. “Pirates don’t eat ice cream unless it’s got blood and bones mixed in it.”
“Says who?” he retorted, baring his teeth.
She obligingly squealed and ran out the back door, with Cody on her heels. My attempt to play private detective had flopped like a bad movie, I thought, as I set their bowls in the sink and turned on the water.
And I had a feeling I wouldn’t do much better with Sarah.

Gerald appeared several times over the next few weeks, and each time Sarah went outside and escorted him into the house. Cody let drop one afternoon that Gerald had eaten supper with them the previous night and, for some reason that he wouldn’t explain, solemnly swore that Gerald was descended from real pirates. Sarah smiled and waved when I saw her in her driveway, but she stopped coming over to have coffee before she fetched Cody. Some days I wanted to go across the street, grab her shoulders, and shake the truth out of her. I didn’t do anything, though, except weasel what I could out of Cody while we walked home from the bus stop.

One afternoon while I was waiting for them, Jem Wafford’s Cadillac swung around the corner and sped down the street. Years ago he’d given up trying to persuade me to sell, so he didn’t bother to nod at me. As soon as Cody and Amy climbed off the bus, I hustled them to the house. Wafford was sitting in his car in Sarah’s driveway. I told the children to make themselves peanut butter sandwiches, then crossed the street and waited until he climbed out.
“Mrs. James,” he said, pretending he hadn’t left me in a cloud of dust minutes earlier, “how are you doing? Your back any better these days?”
“My back is none of your business,” I said. “Are you looking for Sarah? She usually doesn’t get home till six o’clock.”
He took out a handkerchief and wiped his neck. “I dropped by on the chance I’d catch her on her day off.”
“She doesn’t have a day off. She’s a full-time student and puts in thirty hours a week at a preschool. Weekends, she studies and does housework.”
“You’ve got to admire that kind of determination,” he said, beaming at me like he and I were the proud parents of a prodigy. “A single woman with a child, struggling to put herself through school so she can-“
“What do you want, Wafford?” I said bluntly.
“Is she still having trouble with Gerald?”
“You’ll have to ask her yourself.”
Wafford leaned his bulk against the Cadillac and gazed up at the second-story windows. “What about you, Mrs. James? Have you talked to Gerald recently?”
My curiosity got the better of me, so instead of stomping off, I said, “Not that I recall. Why?”
“At his request, I stopped by the group home where he lives. We had a real interesting talk. I’m just wondering”-he tapped his temple-“how reliable he is.”
“I couldn’t say.”
“He’s been out here quite a bit, hasn’t he?”
“What if he has?” I shot back.
“He told me that his mother was a miser, that she squirreled away a good deal of cash before she died.” Wafford looked at me, his mouth curled in a smile but his eyes slitted like a snake’s. “You ever get the idea she was putting away cash for a rainy day?”
Something was going on. I didn’t know what, and if somebody’d offered me a million dollars, I couldn’t have come up with the right answer.
“Maybe,” I said cautiously. “She stayed to herself.”
“Gerald seems to think she did,” he said, “but he’s not the most reliable witness, considering.”
“Considering,” I echoed. To this day I can’t explain why I added, “But he’s not the kind who tells tales. His imagination was never a strong point.”
“No, it wouldn’t be,” Wafford said with a snicker. “Mr. Sticklemann’s family owned all the land out this way once upon a time. They sold it off part and parcel over the years, most likely for cash. Folks like that didn’t trust real-estate brokers and bankers.”
“I don’t suppose so,” I said, still feeling like I had a role in a play. I could almost hear Sarah coaching me from the wings, but my script was too blurry to read. “Mrs. Sticklemann wasn’t the kind to deal with bankers. She was real independent.”
“That’s what I was thinking.” Wafford took another swipe at his neck, then stuffed his handkerchief in his pocket.
“She sure didn’t squander any of it. She had that ancient Pontiac when she died, and heaven knows she never took a vacation or had repairs done to the house.”
Just then Sarah drove up. I was waiting for her to snarl at him, so I was a little bewildered when she asked me to watch Cody for a while longer and invited Wafford to go inside for iced tea.
Wafford’s car was still in the driveway long after Cody’d gone home and Amy had eaten supper. I was reluctant to do any more than watch from behind the curtain in the front-room window, and that’s what I was doing when Sarah came walking across the street for what turned out to be the last time.
I opened the front door as she came onto the porch. “Everything all right?” I demanded.
“Wafford has offered to buy back the house for what I have in it and more. We agreed that I’d move out tonight and collect my furniture later. I want to thank you for everything you’ve done, Deanna. I’ll write once Cody, Gerald, and I have a new address.”
“Gerald?”
“I’ve agreed to take him with us to be my resident baby-sitter and handyman. He did me a favour and I owe him big. I’ll swing by the home and pick him up on my way out of town.”
I was afraid to go into it any further. “What about your classes?”
“I’m not sure I want to be a teacher,” she said with a wry grin. “I may decide to go into real estate. I’ve learned quite a bit over the last few months.”
“What about Wafford?”
“He’s inspecting the property to make sure it’s in the same condition as it was when I bought it. He’ll leave before too long.”
She hugged me, then turned around and went home. Over the next hour, she and Cody loaded the car with suitcases and boxes. Wafford’s Cadillac was in the shadows at the far end of the driveway, but he never emerged with an armload of anything. Not that he was the kind to help anybody.
Amy finally started nagging me to help her with her homework, so I abandoned my vigil and went into the kitchen. After she’d finished and gone to bed, I went back to the front room. Sarah’s car was gone. Wafford’s car was still there, and a light was on in the back of the house. I couldn’t imagine what he was doing. It was none of my business, so I made myself some popcorn and turned on a movie.

The next morning I noticed Wafford’s car was gone too. I fixed pancakes, then listened to my daughter gripe about her boss before she gulped down a cup of coffee and shooed Amy out the door to drive her to school.
The ritual was familiar, but not comforting. Once I had the house to myself, I tidied up and started a load of laundry, but the window in the front room was a magnet. Why had Sarah befriended Gerald, of all people? Even odder, why had Wafford agreed to buy back the house? He’d always circled like a vulture, waiting to foreclose on hapless widows and families whose breadwinners had been fired or become disabled.
I hadn’t received any great insights by three o’clock, when it was time to walk to the bus stop. I was almost there when Mr. Perniski came outside, dressed in his customary cardigan sweater and khaki pants.
“What’s going on at the end of the road?” he said. “That young woman was acting mighty peculiar last night.”
“Sarah?”
“You betcha. She pulled into the driveway over there”-he pointed at our neighbourhood drug dealer’s establishment-“and gave that one with the beard what looked like a key. Long about midnight, he went sneaking down the road toward her house. The last thing we need out here is another criminal. My grandson found a hypodermic needle in the ditch last summer. We have to-“
“Sarah and Cody moved out last night,” I said, cutting him off. “Are you sure she gave him a key?”
“Hell, I ain’t sure about nothing,” Perniski muttered, then wandered away.
I thought about all this while I waited for the school bus, and I hadn’t made much progress by the time Amy was occupied with a bag of cookies and old sitcoms on television. I finally slipped out and went across the street to what had been Sarah’s house. The doors were locked, so all I could do was peer through windows at unoccupied rooms.

The police did not arrive for more than two days, and my instinctive response was to tell them nothing. After a moment, though, churchgoing woman that I am, I murmured something about the basement door, its shiny new bolt, and the possibility that Wafford’s Cadillac was in a chop shop in the next county. As for Sarah Benston, I’ve never heard from her. I’m not real worried; as she said, she learned a lot about real estate during her brief stay across the street.
She can take care of herself.