Future Planning, Past Research
He didn’t hear from Elsie at dinner, so he accepted the Ruby Tuesday offer by Chip Flowers, whom he had steered away from a lemon and into a cream puff this afternoon. They weren’t too far from the same age and both had grown up around the area. Looking into the past with a long time acquaintance, if not friend, was still something to settle the disorientation of the morning. By the time Chip had hammer locked Sam into letting him pay the whole bill, which both knew didn’t get Chip off the hook on Sam’s ‘favor yet to be returned’ list, it was dusk.
Sam pulled into his drive, and noticed Elsie’s lights were on. But she requested alone time and that’s what Sam would give. He took a few steps to his home and then stopped. No one was there waiting for him, only memories. That was living in the past while being dissatisfied with the present. What kind of life was that?
Henrietta was right in that the house was a real opportunity. He could swing it by himself. His credit rating had no blemishes that he knew of. Between his savings and checking account and the equity in his house, surely he could swing the deal, unless the bank was going to pull some kind of shenanigan regarding him not paying nearly fair market value. Was that a legal problem? No clue…cars were his thing, not real estate.
Sam sat on the porch, not feeling like going inside just yet, and pulled out his cell. This was just some feelers put out to see what the options were, not giving up on Elsie, he told himself.
“Hi, troublemaker.”
“Hi, Sam. Did I muddy up the waters for you and Elsie? Oh, don’t worry, Frank’s out on a beer errand. Your secret’s safe with me.”
“Some secret. Anyway, I don’t know how things are going to pan out, but I’m interested in the house just on principles. You made some good points today, as usual. Run some numbers on what it would take to swing the deal using my place by itself as equity back-up. Also, do it using both our houses. Then see if you can do a market analysis for selling one or both our houses as part of a linked deal.”
“Sam, you said I was going to have a turn to rest on a Sunday.”
“Henrietta, did I ever say which Sunday?”
“Frank was right. Never trust car salespeople’s words to be what they seem. Already played around with a few ideas, but you’re doing it smarter with the different options. I’ll call you tomorrow. That’s tomorrow, as in not today, as in leave me alone with my husband tonight. No calling. No. Stay, heel.”
“Ok, I get the picture. Thanks, Henrietta. Tomorrow, then.”
It was an action step which, on top of the auto work earlier, plus the house visit that morning, combined to have him feeling like he had a pretty good day. With a kiss on the cheek after years of only receiving the rare grandchild smooch? Sam was back in the saddle again. He went into his house, threw on the History Channel, had a pleasant glass of wine, laid back, and was soon snoring away.
Elsie was torn. Sam was irreplaceable as her best friend. He was also starting to look good as something more, which of course entailed risk. So what? Even getting out of bed entailed risk. Her house was her home, but so what? What did the house have but whispers and echoes that reassured her that she had a wonderful past and a safe, warm, protected tomb for the present?
The new place would be an adventure, an investment, and exciting other feelings that reminded Elsie that she was still alive. The loss of her business had left a hole in her karma that needed filling.
But murder times two? “Jesus!”
Wait a minute…side track. Wasn’t Sam Jewish? She was Christian. Had it ever mattered? Not a gnat’s worth. OK, drop that as a non-issue. Back to the murders.
“Jesus!” She had never been afraid of ghosts, but to sleep in a room where vicious mayhem had occurred…or was it in that room? Maybe the killer chased them around the house, cackling and screaming while flailing a bloody knife…or maybe he came in with a Thompson Machine Gun…
That did it. The more she imagined, the worse she felt. Time to find out the truth of the matter. Elsie wasn’t going to call on the nice lady agent despite what she said about being open to it. Tomorrow, maybe.
For now, why not just do some research of her own? Maybe Sam would like to help, she thought, but a look outside showed his car was gone. Probably on one of his errands of auto/favor bartering again. It would be just her, then.
Elsie clicked on the desktop, waiting for it to do all the formal screen dances until it gave her permission to use the internet. A minute later, she brought up Google, and typed in the house’s address along with ‘double murder’.
The search gave her over eleven thousand hits, but only the first dozen had anything to do with what she was looking for. One of the unrelated references caught her eye. “Hmmm, twin personalities in a high-school boy being tried for murder, both confess one of them did it but refuse to say which, hung jury.” Perfect. Her own murder interests now being compounded with ones she’d never heard of before. Well, maybe she’d just count that one as a warm up for the one at the house.
CNN had a reference on their regional news archives. ‘AP – Double murder in Madison County. January 27th, 2009. Police responded to neighbor complaints of what sounded like gunfire at the home of Mr. and Mrs. Strom Thurgeson, at 205 Trail View Drive, Madison, WI. The couple were found last night shot to death in the living room of their home. Mr. Thurgeson was an employee of Miller’s Tool and Dye Manufacturing in Riley, WI. Mrs. Thurgeson was confined to her home due to being treated for a medical condition. The couple is survived by a single male child, age 16. Police state they are continuing to investigate the case and have two ‘persons of interest’ they are seeking for questioning. Anyone with information is requested to call…’
So, now she knew where the owners died, and to some degree how they died. Did they ever apprehend the killer? Must have, from what Henrietta had said. Hmmm. She had her own network, didn’t she?
Elsie picked up her phone and scanned her stored numbers. When the right one popped up, she hesitated for a moment. It was Sunday. It was evening. She had the heebie jeebies, so damn the torpedoes.
“Hello, Francis? Elsie. Yes, I’m fine.
“Yes, I do miss being there, but don’t you go wandering away to someone else now. I still go there myself. Anyway, your hunk, Carl. He’s been on the County Force for what, fifteen years now? Would you mind if I ask him a question? I’m so sorry to interrupt…what? A game is on? Then by all means, interrupt the damned thing. Too many football widows out there, you don’t have to be one of them.”
A minute later, “Elsie? Carl here. You ok?”
“I’m fine, Carl. So sorry to interrupt you. Look, I have a friend looking at a house out on Trail View, and it turns out it was the scene of a couple being killed six years ago. I got some info on it for him, but I’d appreciate it if you could fill in some of the blanks. He wants to know the whole story before buying the place.”
“Wow. I know the case. I was one of the officers who first arrived, but didn’t investigate it. Pretty sad scene, never forgot it. Wait. I know someone who was on the detective team. Give me a few minutes, I’ll call you right back if they’re available, tomorrow at the latest otherwise. So what’s your interest in it?”
“None of your business, young man.”
“Elsie…”
“Sorry, senility just kicked in. Forgot why I’m involved. But don’t let that stop you from getting back to me.”
“Elsie, what I was going to ask was whether women get more crafty and difficult to understand as they matured. You already answered it. Talk to you later.”
Elsie looked out the window. “Still gone?” Well, she hadn’t told him otherwise on the alone time.
So now what? Maybe something was good on the History Channel. Beating Sam to the punch by a good hour, Elsie was snoozing well before the text from Carl came that he’d talk to her tomorrow.