Mind Your Manors Page 5

  Her partner chimed in, “Looks good!”

  I looked so strange to myself I didn’t know how to react. I smiled and thanked Sharon. After all, it would grow back some day, and I did get some interesting information. I paid and tipped and then headed back to my car.

  So I had new information, but also new questions. Now I learned that Richard’s friend had once lived with the Valentines before disappearing. Where was he, now?

  Chapter 8

  The sky was a stormy-gray when I walked out, like someone had pulled up a charcoal blanket over the town. The wind blew through my hair and sent shivers down my back. I still had to go over to Flamingo Realty to see what Uncle Chris wanted. As I started the car, I glanced at the box next to me. I could hardly wait to see what was in it.

  Uncle Chris’s secretary, Margo, was behind the desk, taking phone calls. She was a no-nonsense woman who liked to stare over the top of her glasses when she talked to you. She waved her hand as I came in, indicating I was free to go into Uncle Chris’s office.

  I knocked lightly.

  “Come in!” he called.

  I figured this was going to be about the skeleton, so I was a little surprised to see him standing with a four-foot tall flamingo.

  He was smiling but his face went blank as he saw me. “What did you do to your hair?”

  “What?” I touched it. It must be as bad as I thought. “Oh, just a haircut. Anyway, what was it you wanted?”

  “Well, you look nice.” His eyes winced as he said that. Then he glanced at the flamingo proudly. “Looky what I’ve got for you for tomorrow.”

  “What do you mean, tomorrow?”

  “I just got word from the police that we’re free and clear to have our open house this weekend. I insisted those cleaners come back tomorrow, and the Valentines have agreed to stay out of the way. I’ll need you to babysit the cleaners and tack this bad boy in the driveway for advertising.” He patted the flamingo with a smile.

  I stared at him, this man who used to be a former race car driver, the rebellious young man who my father used as an example of not to go down the wrong path, this man with pictures of himself with girls in bikinis all over his walls. Yet, there was no doubt he was extremely pleased with the hot pink plastic bird in his hands.

  “All these flamingos! What is it about them, anyway?” I asked, gesturing to the ones on the desk and in the windowsill.

  “What do you mean? You know it’s our logo.” He smiled.

  The flamingo had a cheesy smile on as well.

  “That’s great, Uncle Chris. But you never did tell me how a flamingo came to stand for your company.”

  “Oh, it’s a long story.”

  I raised my eyes to meet his. “I’m here for the long story.”

  He glanced up, his round face pink and shiny with a sheen of sweat.

  “All right, here it goes. We were at the speedway and it was Rock-n-Roll race night. I’d gotten drunk the night before at the Rusty Rooster—you know that place? Stay away from it. Anyway, in comes Michael Jacobs. Man, I hated that guy. He was there with his little posse, they thought they were something else, let me tell you. Some of his crew starts flipping my crew crap, and the next thing you know, it’s about to be lit.”

  “A fight, huh?”

  “Yeah. I was so drunk I was ready to take them all on. What happened instead was he called me out. Called my car a plastic mod car. Took a few insults, and the bet was on.”

  “The bet?” I asked.

  “He told me if I won I could have his car. But if he won then my motif had to be a giant flamingo. ‘You have to paint your car all pink,’ he’d said. I was such an idiot, I said yes.”

  I snorted. “I gather you lost, huh.”

  “Laugh it up, chuckles,” he said, glaring at me. Then he smiled. “Yeah, you can say I lost. But I also won.”

  “Really? How’s that?”

  “Well, I lost that race, but it wasn’t long before I was winning other races. And that pink car got me tons of notoriety. Everyone was talking about it. Pretty soon that’s what people knew me for.” He shrugged. “So when I started this business, it was a no-brainer. Do a flamingo. Go big or go home.” He balanced the bird against the desk and sat down.

  “Well, that’s kind of a cool story. You made it work for you.”

  “Yeah, I did. You know why else it fits me? Because I’m single and ready to flamingo!”

  I groaned. “No bad jokes. Don’t make me put my foot down,” I said and winked.

  “What?” His brows rose in confusion.

  “You know…flamingos stand on one foot…? Never mind.”

  “Ah, yes. Leave the puns to the experts, Stella.” He laughed and then stretched back in the chair with his hands behind his head. “You’re enrolled in real estate fundamentals?”

  He was talking about the real estate school.

  “I just enrolled in Association of Realtors and started my thirty hours.”

  “Great! Then you take the test.”

  I nodded.

  “Terrific. Then I’m sure that the next house will be all yours.”

  “I’m kind of scared, to be honest, after this one.”

  He laughed. “Please. That house is over a hundred years old. It was to be expected to have a few skeletons in the closet.”

  I wasn’t amused.

  He stretched in his seat. “Besides, the story the old lady gave seems to be playing out. Someone broke in and died.”

  “They just broke in and died? That doesn’t even make sense?”

  He snorted. “You never know what kind of excitement this business is going to bring. I once sold a house, only to find a vault in the basement with a million dollars in it.”

  “Wow!” I raised my eyebrows, impressed.

  “It was a legal pickle, I’ll tell you that.” His smile dropped off abruptly. “But seriously, what about you? You okay after find Mr. Bones?”

  “Yeah, I’m fine.”

  He twiddled his coffee cup in a circle, and studied me for a second. I could tell his desk hadn’t been wiped in a long time from the dried trail of coffee circles on top.

  “Ah, Stella.” He sighed, and I sensed his mood changed.

  “You okay?” I asked.

  “You know, Stella, I’ve got some guilt. I always meant to check on you when you were growing up. You know, after your mom left….” His voice trailed off.

  An urge hit me to ask him if he knew why she’d left, but then I realized I couldn’t get that vulnerable. Instead, I leaned over and picked up a dead leaf from the floor and twirled it in my fingers. “I was okay,” I said.

  “It’s just your dad—the way he up and moved away. I was so angry at him for that.”

  “You were?”

  “Yeah. It was so selfish.”

  “He wanted a fresh start,” I murmured to defend him.

  “He wanted an escape. And not just from your mom, but from your grandpa as well.”

  I glanced up at him and was surprised to see his mouth turned down in pain. “How come you don’t talk with him?” I asked.

  He groaned and pushed away from the desk. “It’s been a long time. Too long.”

  “They say it’s never too late,” I encouraged. There was a part of me that wondered if the family could get back together. Who knows? Maybe I could do it.

  “That old coot wants nothing to do with me either, trust me. He’s fine the way he is. Likes being alone, always has. Probably shoot anyone who steps foot on his property.”

  I bit my lip. That old coot was one of the main reasons I’d moved back. I was trying to work up the guts to meet him. Uncle Chris was deflating that hope faster than a pin to an air mattress.

  “Well, you never know,” I said, my gumption coming out like a whisper.

  “Don’t you be bothering about him. You have enough on your plate. Like a house showing.” He nudged the flamingo toward me. “I’m assigning Kari to be with you every time you’re there. Go in pairs. There’s ju
st a little too much weirdness going on at that place for either of you to go alone. Now, don’t be finding any more skeletons, you hear?”

  I was relieved at his decision, and gave him a little salute. That was a discovery I never wanted to repeat again.

  Chapter 9

  With his warning hot in my ear, I gratefully headed home. After a day like today, I was ready for some downtime to unwind. It was still misty outside, the kind that made me use the windshield wipers every twenty seconds or so. Not quite rain, but cold enough my defrost had to remain on to keep from fogging up.

  I pulled into the driveway with a sigh of relief. Already, this little house was feeling like home.

  I dropped the box on the counter and set a kettle on the stove. A minute later found me rummaging for the cup-of-ramen that I had. I found my favorite mug, the one my dad gave me when I won our state track championship in high school. On that day we’d experienced freezing rain, and he’d filled it with cocoa packets and marshmallows. I smiled as I saw it now—#1 Champ. He’d gotten one similar, with his emblazoned #1 Dad. So corny. Yet so special.

  I didn’t have cocoa but I did have some chamomile tea. I opened the bag just as the tea kettle started to spit. I filled both the mug and the styrofoam noodle cup, and then turned my attention to the box while they steeped.

  I needed scissors to cut it open. On my way to the drawer, I caught a glimpse of my hair in my reflection in the kitchen window. Startled, I touched it. If this is how Sharon did, I can only imagine what Marcy’s cut would have looked like.

  I tried to pull it back into a ponytail, but it was a no go. Rolling my eyes, I tucked it behind my ears. It’s a good thing I looked cute in hats.

  Returning with the scissors, I turned the box and sliced it open.

  I wasn’t sure what to expect. Maybe food? Hopefully money. I’d be grateful for either at this point, although I didn’t want him to know that.

  Inside was an envelope with my name printed in neat block. I recognized my dad’s handwriting. Always crisp. Always precise. I took the letter, a fork and my soup, and sat down to read.

  It was only one page, which surprised me. Twirling up some noodles, I began to read.

  Stella,

  Miss you, kiddo. You being in Pennsylvania has brought memories that I’d thought I’d long forgotten. There is a part of me that hates that you moved. Yet another part sees an adventurous heritage. It’s in your bloodline.

  We never talked a lot about family, and that’s my fault. I guess maybe that’s why you’re back there, looking for your roots. Well, here’s one I wanted to share with you. Your great great grandmother Wiktoria, escaped from Hitler during World War II. She came over on the ship, Wojtek, and requested asylum through Ellis Island.

  She had to leave her mother behind. Through the years, Wiktoria wrote her letters. She didn’t see her mother again until a month before her mom passed, when she flew back to Poland. She brought these letters home.

  When I left my father’s house, I took these letters with me. He was a family destroyer, and I didn’t think he deserved anything of value.

  But now, I’m passing them down to you. I know life is hard. There has been so much you’ve missed with your mother leaving, and your grandfather being the way he is. I want you to know where you came from. I want you to remember that through your veins pumps the same blood as a woman who ran from Hitler. You are strong. You are brave. I love you.

  I’ve made many mistakes. I’ve given into my own emotions, despite how it may have affected you. Sometimes the flesh is weak, but the spirit is willing.

  In the end, please know I’ve always loved you, and I’ve always been honored to be your father.

  And because I know you well, I will end with the fact that no, I’m not sick. Be good and keep making me proud.

  Dad

  Ho boy. My bottom lip felt rubbery and my eyes stung like I was cutting a thousand onions. What was he doing to me? When did he get so soft? I reread the last paragraph and breathed out in relief. Yeah, he did know me. The first thing I would think of was that he’d gotten bad news from the doctor. Still, this was so out of his character I wasn’t a hundred percent sure he wasn’t lying.

  I refolded the letter and searched through my childhood memories for signs of this sentimental man. My eye landed on my mug. I guess he was always there. I just hadn’t seen him that way before, instead seeing him as a perfectionist. Maybe I’d spent so much time trying not to let him down, I’d missed his softness.

  I thought about what he said about my grandfather and wondered if he hadn’t looked at his father through the same lens, missing the good stuff about him. Uncle Chris couldn’t come up with a good reason on why he didn’t see his dad, other than too much time had passed. Both my dad and Uncle Chris were good men. It made me more hopeful about my grandfather.

  I spooled up some more noodles and then began my search into the box.

  There was food in there, which made me laugh. He was treating me like I’d gone off to college. But, since I was still waiting for a paycheck, it was a welcome sight. He sent cookies, soup, mac-and-cheese, and boxed hamburger casseroles. He even sent tuna fish. There was another envelope with a check in it, two hundred dollars, along with note that said crisply, “Had some spare cash. Get yourself some groceries, or shoes or something.”

  At the bottom were the letters that dad had mentioned. They were bundled in a stack and tied with string.

  First things first. I sent Dad a text that said simply—Thank you soo much! You are and have always been the best dad. I love you.

  Smiling, I pressed send. After studying the precious packet, I carefully untied the string.

  My great, great grandmother. Wow. I smoothed the paper and then realized it wasn’t going to be easy to read. Her handwriting was cramped. It was also written in Polish.

  Oh, boy.

  I took a sip of tea and thought about this. Then I went and got my laptop. I bet a translate app would help. Obviously, it was going to take a long time. Maybe it wouldn’t even work. But my dad sent these to me somehow expecting that I’d be able to read them, so I wasn’t going to let him down.

  The computer screen blasted its homepage glare. I found the app and clicked on the original language box and switched it to Polish. Carefully, I tried to discern the letters of the first sentence and hen-pecked the keys one by one. I chose English for the translation.

  I held my breath as I pushed enter.

  My dearest Mother,

  I punched the air in victory. Yes! I could do this!

  My phone dinged. I picked it up, expecting a text answer from my dad.

  It was from the moving company. A long apology on how there was a fire and the moving company would be delayed another few days.

  I groaned and glanced down at my clothes. I needed to do something about this. Tomorrow, for sure, I’d stop at the store.

  But for tonight, it was time to hit the washing machine again.

  Chapter 10

  The storm had settled by morning, and the sun was a soft white light hidden behind the mists of fog that had settled in the valley. I poured a mug of coffee and then pulled on my long cardigan. I checked on my socks that I’d left to dry over the back of a chair and, hopping on one foot, yanked them on.

  Buttoning my sweater, I padded out to the front porch and curled up in the swing. After arranging the sweater so it covered my bare legs, I settled against the wooden back. The swing gently moved. I breathed in deep, taking in the subtle sweetness the lingering blackberries gave off.

  A flock of birds flew over head. I craned my neck to watch as they disappeared over the trees.

  Drat. Speaking of birds, I had to go put that giant flamingo up at the Valentine house. Kari had called that morning, all panicked, to tell me that she couldn’t meet me after all. “Stella! I’m so sorry! Christina has 103 temperature and the stomach flu!”

  Of course, I’d told her to stay at home. She needed to be with her little girl. But on
the flip side, it meant I had to go to the Valentines by myself. I was just a tad apprehensive.

  After I left the house, I took a little detour on my way to the manor, to a road just outside of town. It was called Baker Street, and there were only two driveways off of it. There was a house hidden down behind the trees to the left. I’d never seen it, but I knew it was there. I’d been by this place many times before.

  It was my grandfather, Oscar’s home.

  One of these times I was going to go right down there and knock on the door. I really was. I just needed to work up the guts first.

  I idled past it and stared down the driveway. But, just like every other time, I couldn’t see anything. Finally I gunned it and headed out of town.

  I was nervous, and those nerves continued to build on my drive to the Valentine house. I pulled into their driveway and actually had to take a few deep breaths to calm myself. My chest had a tight feeling in a way I definitely didn’t like. I sat there and breathed, and stared at their front yard.

  The landscaper had gotten it under control for the first time since I’d been there. Weeds were pulled in the walkway and the bushes trimmed from covering the windows.

  Not bad. Not bad at all.

  If you liked looming houses with giant black windows and hidden skeletons in the attic.

  I got out of the car and yanked open the back door. First, I pulled out the open-house this weekend sign from where it had been crammed behind my seat. I found the post that Uncle Chris had told me about and hung it up. Then I went back for the enormous flamingo. The thing was over half my height. I felt like we were in an awkward dance together as I struggled to get it out of the car and then sashayed with it down to the end of the driveway. Grunting, I jammed its metal feet into the ground next to the sign.

  Finished. The flamingo stared drunkenly up at the sky. I shimmied it a bit to straighten it out.

  A huge crow cawed overhead. I glanced down the street, realizing how isolated I was, even though I knew there was another house just beyond the corner. It was hidden behind the tall hedges that edged the property line. They closed everything in.