Owls Well That Ends Well(6)

But the crowning touch was the short chicken wire fence that ran outside the main fence, leaving a small area where we’d turned loose as many dogs as we could round up on short notice. The pit bull had turned out to be a devout coward, the geriatric Doberman slept most of the time, but Spike, Michael’s mother’s dog, more than made up for their shortcomings.

I nodded with approval as Rob used a piece of doughnut to bribe Spike into detaching himself from Mr. Sprocket’s left ankle.

“Meg, I have the signs for the barn,” Dad said.

“Signs?” I echoed. “Why, what are you doing with the barn?”

“Making it off-limits,” Dad said. “So no one will disturb the owls.”

“Fine, Dad,” I said. I’d have plenty of time later to explain that the barn would be my blacksmithing workshop, not a sanctuary for his beloved endangered barn owls. If the owls couldn’t tolerate a reasonable amount of hammering, they could relocate to any of the other run-down outbuildings on the property.

“Oops; there’s the doorbell again,” I said.

I strolled toward the front door, followed by Dad, still chattering about the owls. By now, it was light enough that I could see our caller. He was peering through the glass sidelight to the left of the front door. I deduced from a half-dozen greasy triangular nose marks that he’d already exhausted the possibilities for snooping through the right side.

“Oh, great,” I said. “It’s Gordon-you-thief.”

“Who’s that?” Dad asked.

“Gordon McCoy. He runs the Antique and Junque Emporium on Main Street.”

“Why do you call him Gordon-you-thief?”

“Everyone does,” I said, opening the door. “No, Gordon, you can’t go in early; you’ll have to wait until nine like everyone else.”

Gordon straightened up and smirked at me. You couldn’t call it a smile when his beady eyes weren’t involved at all, and he had an awkward way of trying to open his mouth as little as possible to hide his front teeth, which were oversized and underbrushed. His appearance would improve enormously if you could swap his nearly nonexistent chin with his exaggerated Adam’s apple, and he’d be much more pleasant to have around if he’d stop using aftershave by the quart. I deduced from the red bandanna knotted over his head, the red sash around his waist, the painted-on handlebar mustache, and the single gold clip-on hoop earring that he’d typecast himself as a pirate.

“Shiver me timbers and call off the dogs,” he said, throwing up his hands. “I’ll come clean.”

“Very funny, Gordon,” I said, and started to close the door.

Gordon’s foot got in the way.

“I’m here for the yard sale,” he said, in an injured tone. “And you’ve got all these dogs running around loose.”

“They’re not loose,” I said. “They’re inside a fence, with a BEWARE OF THE DOGS sign.”

“Well, how am I supposed to get in with all those dogs running around?”

“We’ll be removing the dogs when the yard sale starts,” I said. “At nine.”

“But that’s two hours from now,” Gordon complained. “What am I supposed to do for two hours?”

“Go have breakfast somewhere,” I suggested.

“Aw, come on,” he said. “After all I did for you when you were getting ready for this? What’s the harm?”

“See you at nine, Gordon,” I said. I raised my foot and took deliberate aim, as if about to stomp on the foot he still had stuck in the door. He jerked his leg back and I shut the door.

Good riddance.





Chapter 4

“After all he did for you?” Dad repeated. I turned around to find that he had his back to me and was attempting to peer over his left shoulder at me.

“What are you doing?” I asked.

“Owls can rotate their heads a full 270 degrees,” he said.

“I expect their necks are built rather differently from yours,” I said. “You’ll pull something if you keep trying that.”

“Yes, they have several extra vertebrae,” Dad said, rotating his head and trying to peer over the right shoulder. “Exactly what did Gordon do for you?”

“Beats me,” I said. “He gave us estimates on some of the books and antiques, but since everyone else’s estimates were at least twice what he offered, we didn’t sell him anything.”

“That doesn’t sound helpful,” Dad said.

“What’s more, he missed every appointment he made with us,” I added over my shoulder as I headed back to the kitchen. “And then he’d show up at some maximally inconvenient time and get huffy when we refused to leave him alone in the house. I’m surprised he waited until seven to show up.”