House of Strangers. Carolyn McSparren

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СКАЧАТЬ in advance. But because the house is in Rossiter, you may be able to convince him to do the job for you.”

      Buddy’s preliminary estimates on doing the job had taken Paul’s breath away until he found out what his New York friends were paying to renovate their brownstones.

      Paul wanted the job done right. Now that he had committed to this crazy charade, this crazy crusade, being able to resell the house for a profit would make his victory even sweeter.

      “Hey, Mr. Bouvet,” Buddy Jenkins said as he came forward and stuck out his hand. In uniform the man looked even larger. His starched shirt was perfectly pressed and tailored to his barrel chest and broad shoulders. His boots were spit-shined. What little hair he had left was cut in a gray fringe that barely showed against his tanned skin.

      Jenkins probably carried 250 pounds or more on his six-three frame. God help the drunk driver who gave this man any lip. At six feet even and 175 pounds, Paul felt almost small by comparison.

      “Ready for the bad news?” Jenkins said happily.

      “Not really, but there’s no sense in putting it off.”

      “First the good news. In three months or so this old place can look better than it’s looked since the day the Delaneys first moved in.”

      “Three months?”

      “Maybe five.”

      “And the bad news?”

      “Come on, I’ll walk you through.” Buddy reached into his pocket and drew out a key.

      “If you don’t mind, Buddy, I’d like to use my key.”

      “Sure.” Buddy grinned. “First time you’ve used it?”

      “Since I had the new locks installed.” The front door was original, complete with an etched-glass oval in the center. Although the original brass lock remained, the shiny new Yale lock was the one that worked. Paul thought he’d feel a surge of triumph when he stepped into the house again. He felt nothing.

      “Let’s start in the basement,” Buddy said. “We’ve got a temporary permit for the electricity, so we can see while we replace the wiring.”

      “All of it?”

      “Every whipstitch,” Buddy said. “Phone lines, too.” The old oak floors echoed their footsteps. “Watch your head.”

      Over the next hour Paul listened to Buddy’s litany of disaster. Maybe the house hadn’t been such a bargain, after all.

      “Need to jack up at least one corner of the house to replace sills,” Buddy said. “Termites.”

      “The house has stood this long with termite damage. Why disturb it?”

      “Because it may decide some night in a storm that it has stood plenty long enough and fall down around your ears. Besides, you won’t get any inspector to sign off on the renovations unless we do.”

      Paul nodded.

      “I’ll show you when we get to the attic. Needs a new roof and decking, of course.”

      Another hour of crawling through attics, poking into bathrooms, peering up fireplaces, left Paul even more dispirited.

      When at last they moved into the kitchen, Buddy said, “You need new appliances and stuff. I got a kitchen designer working on a plan for a whole new kitchen.” Buddy looked at him. “How you holding up?”

      “I’ll survive. At least I think I will.”

      “Now we get to the restoration part. Come with me.”

      Buddy shoved the pocket doors aside and ushered Paul into the back parlor. Buddy pointed at the Steinway grand piano in the bay window.

      “It’s not quite a concert grand,” Buddy said, “although Miss Addy used to tell her students it was.”

      “It’s a beauty.”

      “It’s yours.”

      “I know, but I don’t understand why it was built into the house that way.”

      “The Delaney who built the house in 1890 thought any daughter of his ought to be able to play the piano. He bought this one and literally had the music room—that’s what this is officially—built around it.”

      “But I was under the impression that the man who built this house had only one son.” Paul could have bitten off his tongue. At this stage, he wasn’t supposed to know anything about the Delaneys except their name.

      “Had a daughter died of the yellow fever when she was no more than four or five, so I’ve heard.” Buddy looked at Paul curiously. “How come you know about the son?”

      “I, uh…after I bought the house I did a bit of checking with the historical society about it. Just curiosity, you know.”

      “Uh-huh.” The chief seemed satisfied, but Paul knew he’d have to be more careful in the future.

      Buddy walked over to the piano and plinked middle C with his index finger. “Needs tuning. Ann thinks she can restore the strings and pads and the ivory on the keys.”

      “Ann?”

      “Ann’s the restoration part of Renovation and Restoration. She’s the one who’s going to strip all that paint off your fireplaces and re-create the old crown molding that’s missing. And a bunch of other stuff.”

      “I see.”

      “Mostly she redoes the cosmetic stuff. Like that mural in the dining room. It’s a fine Chinese rice paper old Mr. Delaney imported. You weren’t thinking of stripping it and throwing it away, were you?”

      “Not if it can be restored.”

      “If it’s possible, Ann’ll do it. It’s amazing what she can do. She worked as an art restorer in Washington and New York for a while.”

      “Then Ann it is.” Paul turned to look out the dirty bay window. “What’s that old building down there behind the house?”

      “Summer kitchen. It may be too far gone to save, but we might be able to salvage enough old wood to rebuild the gazebo so you could use it for a pool house, maybe, if you ever put one in.”

      “No pool, thank you. Maybe eventually a fountain.”

      “When you going back to New Jersey?”

      “I’m not. I’ve sublet my apartment.”

      “You’re not expecting to live in the house, are you?” Buddy looked horrified. “Not until it’s finished, I mean.”

      “Actually, I am. I’m used to camping out. If the plumbing works, I can make do with a cot in the back bedroom.”

      “Son, it still gets very cold at night. The old water heater may hold up until we replace it or it may not. СКАЧАТЬ