Permanent Vacancy. Katy Lee

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       THREE

      The picture before Gretchen was ludicrous. Len Smith held a crowbar in his withered hand. The ninety-five-year-old man could barely stand up straight, never mind raise the tool above his slumped head to fight Colm, who couldn’t be older than twenty-eight.

      “Colm, put the hammer down,” she instructed the younger, very ruggedly strong man who was no match for the elderly, declining one. “This is Len. He’s like my grandfather. In fact, he’s a grandfather to everyone here on the island. I would say he would never hurt me, but lately those words have lost their weight when it comes to the islanders.”

      Len grunted, but remorse traced his droopy eyes. “I’m sad to say it, but I would have to agree. It pains me to see such upheaval in Berlin.”

      “Berlin?” Colm repeated.

      “You mean Stepping Stones, Len, don’t you?” Gretchen asked.

      “Yes, yes, of course.” Len looked at the corners of the ceiling. “All because of this house? I don’t get it. You have a fine home, Gretchen.”

      “Well, I appreciate that, Len, but it’s going to be a whole lot better when I’m done.”

      “I don’t doubt it, and I don’t doubt you. You have to believe that I am on your side.” He smiled. “I hope you don’t mind I gave myself the tour. Nobody was around when I came in. That attic is impressive, by the way. Are you going to finish it and claim it as your living quarters and let out the rooms on this floor to guests?”

      “I would have loved that, but I think I’ll make a better income booking the attic. I had hopes it might be an extended rental for the whole summer for someone. I’ll make the servants’ quarters out back my home.”

      “You’re a wise businesswoman. Always have been, though. The way you helped your mom run the restaurant, it’s no wonder Tildy is bent out of shape for losing you. You were more than a waitress and businesswoman, though. You’re also a fabulous cook. Your guests will go home ten pounds heavier when they taste your handiwork in the kitchen. I might sell my house and move in.” He cackled his oh, so comforting laugh, one that made her want to crawl up into his lap the way she had as a little girl. “Let you take care of me in my last years.”

      “You’re practically a fixture at the Underground Küchen restaurant. Mom would never allow you to leave, too,” Gretchen said.

      “True enough, especially with the holes in your floor. So many bombs. When will they end?” Len’s eyes flitted around the room and his shrunken shoulders folded in. He looked so forlorn that Gretchen reached for his arm.

      “Len, is everything okay? You seem confused.”

      “Is he touched?” Colm whispered into her ear. She shot a questioning look at him. He mouthed back, Dementia?

      “Of course not,” she replied, but the old man’s behavior said otherwise. “Len, there are no bombs. I think you’re just remembering the war. All is safe here.”

      Colm grunted. “Your floor’s been cut. You call that safe?”

      “Cut? What’s he talking about? Who cut your floor?” Len snapped back to the present day.

      “Everything’s fine, Len. Don’t worry.”

      Len eyed them. She was glad to see his keenness restored but wished it weren’t focused on her. “Glad to hear it, but you might want to make repairing that hole downstairs a high priority. Wouldn’t want you facing a lawsuit so close to your grand opening. Could put a damper on your plans.”

      “Interesting you should say that.” Colm had brought his hammer down but still held it in front of him, tapping the face of the tool into his palm. “Do you have any other tools on you besides that crowbar? A saw, perhaps? One with power, I’d imagine.” His threatening stance made Gretchen think he cared about her.

      For a split second only.

      In actuality, he probably thought the camera was still on him, because the show seemed to be the only thing he cared about.

      But he had just helped her through a breathing fit, and there hadn’t been any cameras on him then. Unless...

      Gretchen’s gaze zipped around the room, but quickly she shook her head at her overactive imagination—or a bit of Len’s paranoia rubbing off on her. Cameras in the rooms would have to be minuscule pieces of equipment. Spy-like even. That settled it. She needed to open for business fast and stop spending her nights watching too many television shows. She zeroed in on Colm’s Hollywood-handsome face. Watching too much TV was what gave her a warped sense of reality in the first place. Did she dare believe Colm McCrae’s show could really help her get on her feet?

      “No saw here,” Len responded to Colm’s inquiry. “Found this crowbar on the attic stairs.” He passed it over to Gretchen. “Thought the crew out back might need it.”

      Colm darted to the curtainless window. “My crew’s here? They’re early.”

      “Well, I don’t know anything about that, but you should have seen that ferry come in this morning all loaded up with machinery and crates and even trailers. That show of yours must be some operation, Mr. McCrae. I’ve never seen the Sunday ferry make the two-and-a-half-hour boat ride out here for anyone on a Monday.”

      “Money talks,” Colm said as he turned and rushed into the hall. The sound of his boots echoed through the empty house as they hit each step rapidly. The front door slammed.

      “Now,” Gretchen said, leaning the crowbar against the wall and taking a step closer to Len. “Tell me why you’re really here, because it’s not for a tour. You could have asked for that before I bought the home. In fact, you’ve lived on this island since after World War II, so you’ve probably walked the rooms of this house a million times before it was deserted after Hurricane Bob in ’91, and probably after that even. So tell me, Len Smith, what brings you here? More warnings from the islanders? More requests for lengthy dead-end discussions about how I’m ruining the island? How tourists are sure to upset the way of life we’ve had for generations? I’ve heard it all. I’ve listened and taken everyone’s feelings into consideration, but no one has done the same for me. Including you.”

      Len frowned. He walked to the window and leaned his bent frame forward to grip the chipped sill. “I’m old, Gretchen. I don’t have much time left.”

      “Don’t say that,” she retorted, unable to deny his remark. Especially after she thought how old he looked a moment ago.

      He turned toward her, a toothy grin on his cute, wrinkled face. “You want truth? I’m giving you truth. Now listen. You’re not too old to bend over my knee, you know.” He looked at her with grandfatherly eyes, the love in them sobering her.

      She smirked back at him and stepped up to the window. “Whether you all want to believe it or not, I’m not СКАЧАТЬ