F. Paul Wilson - Gateways

Jack felt his eyebrows jump. “He gave you a key?”

She waved a hand at him and laughed. “Nothing like that, kiddo. We traded keys as a precaution. In case of, you know, an emergency.”

Jack couldn’t resist. He winked at her. “You’re sure that’s all?”

“What? Thomas with an old skinny-assed crone like me when he has all those other women chasing him? Don’t be silly.”

Jack held up a hand. “Whoa. Rewind that. My father’s got women chasing him?”

“Like vultures, they circle. Let me tell you, Thomas could have his pick of scores—scores.”

Jack had to laugh. “I don’t believe this. My father, the stud.”

“It’s not that. It’s just that there’s four widows for every widower down here. Thomas is an able-bodied man with a good mind and a nice personality. And best of all, he can drive himself. Such a catch, you wouldn’t believe.”

She reminded him a little of Abe. “Speaking of catches, Anya, if you ever decide to move back north, have I got a guy for you.”

She waved her cigarette at him. “Forget about it. My balling days are over.”

Jack shook his head. “My father, the catch. Wow.” He smiled at her. “So if you’re not one of the circling vultures you mentioned, can I ask how you two spend your time together?”

“It’s none of your beeswax, hon, but I’ll tell you anyway: Mostly we play mahjongg.”

Another shock. “My father plays mahjongg?”

“See? I told you there were things you didn’t know about him. I’m teaching him and he’s getting very good.” She tapped her temple. “That accountant’s mind, you know.”

“My father, the mahjongg maven. I think I need a drink.”

“So do I. Come over after you’ve settled in. We’ll knock back a few and I’ll give you your first mahjongg lesson.”

“I don’t know…”

“You have to give it a try. And once you learn, it’ll give you and your father something to do together.”

When there’s frost on hell’s pumpkins, Jack thought.

“Anyway,” Anya said, pointing to the house on the right, “this one’s your father’s. Look around. I’ll be back in a minute.”

She headed toward the house on the left with Oyv trotting behind. Her place was painted…what would they call that color? He’d never heard of white zinfandel pink as a paint shade, but if there were such a thing, that would be the color of Anya’s house. Dad’s was a more masculine sky blue.

Jack realized he was facing the rear of the house. He tried the door to the jalousied back porch but it was locked. It would have taken all of twenty seconds for him to open it but why bother if Anya had a key.

He strolled the slate walk between the houses. The grass around the stones was as dead and brown as the rest of Gateways South; the foundation plantings along the base of the smooth stucco exterior of his father’s place looked thirsty but not as wilted as what he’d seen along the way. Jack suspected him of sneaking them a little water during the night.

Then again, maybe not. His father was such a stickler for rules that he just might watch all his plants die before breaking one.

Jack tried to peek through the windows but the shades were drawn. As he backed away from a window he glanced over at Anya’s and stopped dead in his tracks.

Her place looked like a rain forest. Lush greens and reds and yellows of every imaginable tropical plant concealed most of the side of her house, not merely surviving, but thriving. A grapefruit tree, heavy with fruit, stood at a corner. And her grass…a rich, thick, pool-table green.

A little surreptitious sprinkling was one thing, but Anya seemed to be thumbing her nose at the water restrictions.

He noticed a small forest of ornaments dotting her lawn: the usual elves and pink flamingos and pinwheels of various models, but in among them were strange little things that looked homemade, like painted tin cans and bits of cloth on slim tree branches that had been stuck into the ground.

He spotted a name plaque on the side of the house. He stepped closer until he could read it.MUNDY.

He walked on to the front of his father’s place. The front yards of the two bungalows sloped down to a pond, roughly round, maybe fifty feet in diameter. As he approached for a look he heard a number of splashes as frogs leaped off the bank for the safety of the water. A black bird stood on the far bank, its chevroned wings spread and held toward the sun as if storing up solar power. The pond stood full and clear, its perimeter rimmed with healthy looking grass and reeds. Beyond it lay a grassy marsh that seemed to stretch forever north and south, but ended at a stand of tall cypresses about a mile due west. Jack knew it was west because the sun was dipping behind the treetops.

He turned and checked out the front of his dad’s place. A front porch, covered but open, held a small round table and a pair of chairs, all white. Some sort of flowering vine was trying to crawl up the supporting columns. The floor of the front porch was bluestone slate. A picture window dominated the wall to the left of the door, but vertical blinds hid the interior. He pulled open the screen and tried the front door. Locked, just like the rear.

“Here’s the key,” Anya said.

Jack turned to find her bustling from her green lawn across his father’s brown one, a key held up in her left hand, a cigarette in her right. Oyv paced her.

“Your last name’s Mundy?” Jack said. “Any relation to Talbot?”

“The author? Possibly.”

“King of the Khyber Rifleswas one of my favorite books as a kid.”

“Never read it. Here’s the key.” She pressed it into his palm.

He waved his arm at the vista. “Looks like you two landed prime locations.”

“Yes, quite a view. Of course, I was one of the earliest residents so I had my pick. I’m such a part of the scenery they hire me for temp work when they need help. Mostly it’s just stuffing envelopes or applying address stickers to advertising brochures. At minimum wage, I won’t get rich, but it gets me out of the house. It lets me pull a few strings, too. I helped Tom get this place when it went up for sale.”

“Really?” He wanted to ask her why she’d do that for a stranger but didn’t know quite how to put it. “I guess he owes you for that.”

“He owes me more than he knows.” She pointed to the jeweled watch on her wrist. “Don’t forget, hon: drinks at my place in an hour.”

“I’ll have to take a rain check on that,” Jack said.

“So, you don’t want to drink with an old lady? I understand.”

“Hey, come on. That’s not it at all. I just want to check with the police on my dad’s accident. You know, find out how it happened, if it was his fault, that sort of thing.”

She frowned. “Why?”

“Because I want to know.”

“Go tomorrow.”

He shook his head. “I want to know now.”

“Why?”

“Because that’s the way I am.”

She shrugged and began to turn away. “Suit yourself.”

“Can I ask you a question?” Jack said. “Two questions, actually.”

“Ask away, hon. Doesn’t mean I’ll answer.”

“Okay. First thing is, how come that pond’s full and all the rest are empty?”

“That one’s fed by an underground channel from the Everglades.”

“The Everglades?”

She gestured to the grassy marsh and the distant cypresses. “There it is. Thomas’s place and mine are just about as close as you can legally build to the Everglades. Next question? I don’t mean to hurry you, hon, but there’s a bottle of wine chilling on my kitchen counter and it’s calling my name.”

“Sorry. I just want to know how you keep your grass so green in this drought.”