Cornwall and Redfern Mysteries 2-Book Bundle. Gloria Ferris
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were as cold as I had ever seen them, and I suppressed a shiver.
Taking my time, I opened my purse and took out a pen and small notepad. I wrote briefly on it, then stood up. “You think about our discussion, Mike. If you want this little piece of your past to go away, then here is what it will cost you.” I saw this scene in a movie once.
I handed him the slip of paper and walked off, leaving Mike to stare at the paper in his hand.
A cool breeze had sprung up while I was in the coffee shop. I pulled my leather jacket out of the saddlebag and zipped it up to my chin, trying not to think of the fashion faux pas I was committing. Driving past the town centre, where the skunk still reposed in fragrant death, I turned onto River Road and headed for my real estate appointment.
After my marriage broke up, I had had high hopes of making a decent living by selling real estate. I knew a lot of people and was sure my friends would support me by signing on as my clients. I should have saved the money I spent on the real estate course and the board exam.
Elaine Simms owned the only real estate business in Lockport and she finally confessed, after several client-free months, that the affluent citizens wanted their real estate needs met by Elaine herself, broker extraordinaire. The rest of her customer base was handled by her sister, Rachel. She saw my disappointment and tossed me the listing for the old Barrister house, a property that had been languishing on the market for years.
The property sat on a scraggy seven acres at the junction of River Road and County Road 10, south of Lockport. Once a grand estate, the Georgian-style house now appeared forlorn and neglected, with boarded-up windows and lawns overgrown with weeds. Inside, new plumbing and wiring were needed before the house could be deemed habitable. I had shown the property three times, but each prospective buyer had shied away before even entering the front door. I didn’t expect this time to be any different.
Since I didn’t have a vehicle to pick up the clients, Elaine had arranged for them to meet me at the house. A silver late-model Volkswagen convertible with red leather seats burrowed into the calf-high weeds. I fluffed up my hair and prepared to dazzle Ivy and Chesley Belcourt from St. Catharines.
Two black-clad figures rounded the corner of the house and moved toward me.
Ivy was tall and fleshy with short grey hair. Her high-necked dress hugged a formidable bosom, skimmed the rest of her body, and ended just above the top of heavy ankles that overflowed sturdy leather flats. A sleeveless vest reached mid-thigh and flapped in the brisk breeze, giving Ivy the air of a huge crow trying to lift off. She relied on a cane to help her manoeuvre the uneven ground and, as they came closer, I noticed the slash of bright red lipstick and the translucent blue eyes. I put her in her mid-sixties.
Chesley was much younger and, assuming he was Ivy’s son, he took after his dad. He was a couple of inches shorter than Ivy, and bony. His wide, thick lips opened and closed like a beached bass and, in the absence of words, I surmised he was mouth-breathing. His large round eyes were an unusual shade, and one glance at them turned me off green grapes for life. Medium brown hair, straight and cut to chin level all around, was pushed back behind his ears. A belt and red suspenders secured his pants, and white Nikes peeped out from under the wide hems.
I approached them, trying not to trip on the rough ground, and we stopped a polite four feet apart.
I could see Ivy glance at my silk suit, but couldn’t read her expression to tell if she approved of the classic style, or recognized my outfit for what it was — three years out of date on a slightly smaller body than it was meant for. At least it was black, their favourite colour.
“How do you do? Mr. and Mrs. Belcourt? I hope I haven’t kept you waiting.”
“You must be Ms. Cornwall.” Chesley reached out with his thin hand and shook two of my fingers. “We’re pleased to meet you, aren’t we, Mum?”
“Yes, of course. Now, Ms. Cornwall, Chesley and I arrived somewhat early, so we took a walk around the grounds. We have the specifications supplied by Miss Simms, so we are aware of the property boundaries and don’t wish to waste your time, or ours, on exploring any further out here.”
“Oh, I understand, Mrs. Belcourt. This property needs a lot of work and not everyone wants to take on a project like this. I’ll just give you my card in case you want to look at something else in the area.” I stopped when I saw the raised eyebrows on Chesley, and Ivy’s pursed lips.
The mother and son looked at each other, and then Chesley said, “We would like to see inside the house now. That is why we came, after all.”
“You did bring the key, did you not, Ms. Cornwall?” Ivy’s hooded eyes dared me to admit I hadn’t.
“Certainly. I have it right here.” I threw my shoulders back and led the way through the vegetation sprouting through cracks in the flagstone path.
I inserted the key into the lock box attached to the weathered oak door. This was the second time I had been inside the house. Elaine had shown me around before turning the listing over to me, and I was not hopeful the Belcourts would be any more impressed than I had been.
Entering the hall, I flicked on the lights. The gloom from the boarded-up windows could not be dispelled by electricity. I pulled three small flashlights out of my purse and handed two over to the mother and son.
“Here you go. I don’t think there are any holes in the floor, but watch where you step just in case.” The place was as sinister as a horror movie set, and I had to shake off a feeling that I would round a corner and find a stack of corpses with an axe murderer standing proudly over his work. Heavy burgundy drapes hung in tatters over the sitting room windows, while the area rugs virtually moved with whatever insect life was living in them. Furniture squatted ominously in the murky shadows, and curls of dark, flocked paper rolled down the walls.
“Good place for a murder mystery dinner,” I said, just to break the ice. Neither Belcourt had uttered a sound since we entered the house, unless you counted Ivy’s heavy breathing as she stumped along in my wake. I couldn’t hear Chesley. He was a quiet mouth-breather.
“I assume this is the kitchen?” Ivy asked, as we opened a door off the main hall.
I flicked another switch and said, “Looks like. I don’t suppose you want to see upstairs?”
“We certainly do,” came Chesley’s precise tones from somewhere behind me.
“Okay, then.” I led them back into the hall and headed toward what I hoped was the front door. I was feeling my way, and hoping not to touch anything too gross … or dead. The air wrapped us in an odour of decay. There were probably dead rats in the walls.
I wasn’t keen on taking Ivy upstairs. Considering her bulk, if she didn’t put a foot through the treads, she was apt to take a tumble, and I knew whose fault that would turn out to be.
Step by careful step, we ascended what must have once been a beautiful staircase, but was now reduced to a rotting death trap. I turned on all the lights I could find as the three of us stood in a long hallway leading to four empty bedrooms.
Stepping into the bathroom, I said with the total lack of sarcasm I learned in realtor’s school, “As you can see, the bathroom needs some updating.”
“That’s an understatement. The plumbing is archaic and the electrical service is a fire waiting to happen, I’m sure,” Ivy noted, her lips thinning as she looked around the dismal room.
No shit, Ivy.
“Well, you can take that into consideration if you want to make an offer,” I told her. They would have to be total idiots to even consider buying the dump.
We made our way slowly down the stairs, me in the lead to break the fall of my prospective client, again by the book. Soon we were blinking at one another in the sunlight, like a trio of bears after a long winter’s nap. They handed back the flashlights.
“I believe this property is close to Lake Huron, Miss Cornwall?” Ivy thwacked at some nearby weeds with