Lie of the Needle(32)
Inside, it was frigid and the living room carpet was badly stained and needed a good vacuuming. It looked as though someone had punched a huge hole in the drywall in a fit of rage.
Patsy flipped a light switch, but nothing happened.
“The electricity was shut off. By the electric company,” said the agent apologetically. “The couple who owned the house are getting divorced and I guess they didn’t pay the bill.”
The tour didn’t improve as we continued. In the kitchen, white countertops made of laminate to look like Corian were marred by cigarette burns and red wineglass stains that no one had bothered to try to remove.
I swallowed against the acrid odor of bleach overlaying mold. The owners must not have emptied the fridge when they left, and when the electricity was turned off, everything had rotted. Now the door was propped ajar from a recent cleanout. I wondered if the real estate agent had done it.
“Guess we’d need a new icebox.” Patsy shrugged her shoulders as she inspected the upper kitchen cabinets.
Feeling my stomach lurch, I blew out a breath and hurried out of the kitchen with Claire right behind me.
“I don’t like this place, Daisy,” she whispered. “It feels bad.” Claire was normally a sweet-natured child, but she was obviously violently opposed to the two-year-old building with holes in the walls. She’d once shown me a painting of her dream house for herself and her mom that won first prize at a country fair. This was definitely not it.
I had to agree with her. Houses had personalities just like people, and there was something very angry and bitter about this one.
By the time we made it down to the basement with its broken window and piles of black garbage bags holding who knows what, Claire had had enough.
“Mom! I don’t want to live here. It’s a horrible house.”
“Yo, don’t be a brat. Lose the addi-tood.” Patsy ruffled her hair. “Just use your imagination. Picture this place with some fresh paint and cleaned up a bit.” She glanced around. “Okay, maybe a lot.”
I could tell that the ever-practical Patsy liked the low price and the idea of getting a real bargain. Some might call her tough, and she could be brash at times, but she was also good-hearted and devoted to her daughter. Despite a hard start in life, she was making her own way.
“I’m glad you could come, Daisy,” she said to me. “You know about all the things that could possibly go wrong in a house.”
I chuckled ruefully. “Sad, but true.” Our Greek Revival had been a never-ending repair story. Even now, some thirty years later, we still weren’t finished working on it. Speaking of money pits, Joe and I knew we’d taken on a big challenge when we bought it. But it didn’t matter—we’d fallen madly in love and had overlooked the leaking roof, ancient electrical fuses, and drafty windows. Angus had been a big help with fixing up the house as well as remodeling my store.
I thought it would behoove the bank to pay a few bucks to get this place properly cleaned if they wanted to see it sold. Most buyers were distracted by details like carpets that needed vacuuming and wouldn’t be able to see the potential.
The smell of mold was strong in the basement, too, which was surprising for a young house built using modern drainage systems. I couldn’t see any water on the floor, but it could be a potential issue down the road.
We headed upstairs where the same sad feeling pervaded. The bathroom tiles were grungy, a broken venetian blind hung down in one of the bedrooms, and the closet doors were off the track. There was another hole smashed in the drywall.
Angus was inspecting the master bedroom. He had worked in construction for years before he opened his auction business. “Well, I don’t need a split level to see that the walls aren’t true. Even when this place was brand-new, it wasn’t up to snuff. In my opinion you’d be better off with an older home with solid construction and good bones. Something with only some cosmetic touches needed. I can help you with that.”