Nora Roberts - Sacred Sins

“Yeah, but I was only- Buying?” To cover his tracks, Ben pushed some excess paper into his trash basket on top of the empty can of A amp; W “What kind of dump can you afford on a detective’s pay?”

“Some of us know how to save. I’m using my capital.”

“Capital?” Ben rolled his eyes before folding the map. He wasn’t getting anywhere. “The man has capital,” he said to the station at large. “Next thing you know, you’ll be telling me you play the market.”

“I’ve made a few small, conservative investments. Utilities mostly.”

“Utilities. The only utilities you know about is the gas bill.” But he studied Ed with an uncertain eye. “Where is this place?”

“Got a few minutes?”

“I’ve got some personal time coming.”

Ed pulled his report out of the typewriter, cast a wary glance over it, then set it aside. “Let’s take a drive.”

It didn’t take long. The neighborhood was on the outer and rougher edges of Georgetown. The row houses looked more tired than distinguished. The fall flowers had simply given up for lack of interest, and stood faded among tangles of unraked leaves. Someone had chained a bike to a post. It had been stripped down of everything portable. Ed pulled up to the curb. 1 here it is.

Cautious, Ben turned his head. To his credit, he didn’t groan.

The house was three stories high, and narrow, with its front door hardly five paces from the sidewalk. Two of the windows had been boarded up, and the shutters that hadn’t fallen off tilted drunkenly. The brick was old and softly faded, except for where someone had spray painted an obscenity. Ben got out of the car, leaned on the hood, and tried not to believe what he was seeing.

“Something, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, something. Ed, there aren’t any gutters.”

“I know.”

“Half the windows are broken.”

“I thought I might replace a couple of them with stained glass.”

“I don’t think the roof’s been reshingled since the Depression. The real one.”

“I’m looking into skylights.”

“While you’re at it you ought to try a crystal ball.” Ben stuck his hands in the pockets of his jacket. “Let’s have a look inside.”

“I don’t have a key yet.”

“Jesus.” With a mutter, Ben walked up three broken concrete steps, pulled out his wallet, and found a credit card. The pitiful lock gave without complaint. “I feel like I should carry you over the threshold.”

“Get your own house.”

The hall was full of cobwebs and droppings from assorted rodents. The wallpaper had faded to gray. A fat, hard-backed beetle crawled lazily across it. “When does Vincent Price come down the steps?”

Ed glanced around and saw a castle in the rough. “It just needs a good cleaning.”

“And an exterminator. Are there rats?”

“In the basement, I imagine,” Ed said carelessly, and walked into what had once been a charming parlor.

It was narrow and high ceilinged, with the openings of what would be two five-foot windows boarded up. The stone of the fireplace was intact, but someone had ripped out the mantel. The floors, under a coating of dust and grime, might very well have been oak.

“Ed, this place-”

“Terrific potential. The kitchen has a brick oven built into the wall. You know what bread tastes like out of a brick oven?”

“You don’t buy a house to bake bread.” Ben walked back into the hall, watching the floor for any signs of life. “Christ, there’s a hole in the ceiling back here. It’s fucking four feet wide.”

“That’s first on my list,” Ed commented as he came to join him. They stood for a moment in silence, looking up at the hole.

“You’re not talking about a list. You’re talking about a lifetime commitment.” As they watched, a spider the size of a man’s thumb dropped down and landed at their feet with a noticeable plop. More than a little disgusted, Ben kicked it aside. “You can’t be serious about this place.”

“Sure I am. A man gets to a point he wants to settle down.”

“You didn’t take me seriously about getting married too?”

“A place of his own,” Ed continued placidly. “A workroom, maybe a little garden. There’s a good spot for herbs in the back. A place like this would give me a goal. I figure on fixing up one room at a time.”

“It’ll take you fifty years.”

“I got nothing better to do. Want to see upstairs?”

Ben took another look at the hole. “No, I want to live. How much?” he asked flatly.

“Seventy-five.”

“Seventy-five? Seventy-five thousand ? Dollars?”

“Real estates at a premium in Georgetown.”

“Georgetown? Christ on a raft, this isn’t Georgetown.” Something bigger than the spider skuddled in the corner. He reached for his weapon. “The first rat I see is going to eat this.”

“Just a field mouse.” Ed put a soothing hand on Ben’s shoulder. “Rats stick to the basement or the attic.”

“What, do they have a lease?” But he left his weapon secured. “Listen, Ed, the realtors and developers push back the borders so they can call this Georgetown and take idiots like you for seventy-five-thousand dollars.”

“I only offered seventy.”

“Oh, that’s different. You only offered seventy.” He started to pace but ran into a magnificent cobweb. Swearing, he fought himself free. “Ed, it’s those sunflower seeds. You need red meat.”

“You feel responsible.” Ed smiled, terrifically pleased before he strolled into the kitchen.

“No, I don’t.” Ben jammed his hands into his pockets. “Yes, dammit, I do.”

“That’s the yard. My yard.” Ed pointed out when Ben trailed after him. “I figure I can grow basil, some rosemary, maybe some lavender in that little spot right outside the window.”

Ben saw a patch of knee-high grass nearly wide enough for two swipes of a lawn mower. “You’ve been working too hard. This case is making us all loony. Ed, listen carefully to these words, see if they ring a bell. Dry rot. Termites. Vermin.”

“I’m going to be thirty-six.”

“So?”

“I’ve never owned a house.”

“Hell, everybody’s going to be thirty-six once, but not everybody has to own a house.”

“Shit, I never even lived in one. We always had apartments.”

The kitchen smelled of decades of grease, but this time Ben said nothing.

“There’s an attic. The kind you see in shows where there’re trunks and old furniture and funny hats. I like that. I’m going to do the kitchen first.”

Ben stared out at the pitiful clump of grass. “Steam,” he said. “That’s the best way to strip this old wallpaper.”

“Steam?”

“Yeah.” Ben pulled out a cigarette and grinned. “You’re going to need plenty of it. I dated this woman who worked at a paint store. Marli… yeah, I think her name was Marli. She’d probably still give me a discount.”

“Date anyone who works at a lumberyard?”

“I’ll check. Come on, I have to make a call.”

They stopped at a phone booth a few miles away. Ben found a quarter and dialed Tess’s office number while Ed went into the 7-Eleven.

“Dr. Court’s office.”

“Detective Paris.”

“Yes, Detective, just a moment.”

There was a click, then silence, then another click. “Ben?”

“How are you, Doc?”

“I’m fine.” As she spoke she was clearing her desk. “Just on my way out to the clinic.”

“What time do you finish there?”

“Usually five-thirty, maybe six.”

He glanced at his watch and shifted the rest of his schedule. “Fine. I’ll pick you up.”

“But you don’t need-”

“Yes, I do. Who’s on you today?”