Lock, Stock, and Over a Barrel Page 3

  That was the second time he’d mentioned this Karen person, and something about the way he said her name made Daphne curious. Still, she didn’t want to be too nosy. Not yet anyway.

  “There’s a pool and a game room and some other amenities. Plus the country club is less than half a mile away. Some of the condo people own golf carts and take a little trail over there to play golf or tennis or just have lunch.”

  “That sounds like fun.”

  He nodded. “Yeah, it sure does. And the old neighborhood has changed so much over the years, Daphne. You’d hardly know it anymore. None of the old neighbors live there now. Young families have moved in, and they’ve all remodeled or built additions onto their houses. It kind of makes our old house look like it’s stuck in a time warp. But Karen thinks that’s a good thing. You never want to have the nicest house in the neighborhood.”

  There he was talking about this Karen again. “Well, it sounds like you’ve given it plenty of thought, Dad.”

  “I sure have. I just had no idea I’d accumulated so much junk over the years. And now that you’re here, you might want to go through some things too. I started a pile for you.” He stopped for a traffic light, then turned to look at her. “Sorry to break it on you like this, honey. I was going to talk it over with you first, but I know how you’re so busy with your big New York City life. Working for The New York Times.” He grinned. “It’s always fun telling my friends about my daughter the famous journalist. Anyway, I didn’t think you’d care too much one way or another about our little old house.”

  She didn’t bother to correct his perception of her illustrious career—why burst his bubble? “Well, it sounds like a smart move for you.” But even as she said this, she felt incredibly sad. First losing Aunt Dee . . . and then hearing Dad was selling the house she’d grown up in. It all felt so final, like she was being neatly dissected from her childhood and past. And what did she really have to replace it with? As Dad pulled through the intersection, the lump in her throat grew hard as a rock and she dug around her purse for a tissue, quietly wiping the tears slipping down again.

  At the next stoplight, Dad looked over at her. “Oh, Daphne, are you missing Aunt Dee too?”

  She sniffed and blew her nose. Although that was only one part of her sadness, she had no intention of going into all that right now. “Yes . . . I wish I could’ve spent more time with her. Sometimes it seems like things change so quickly.”

  “Well, if it makes you feel any better, Aunt Dee was very proud of you. Do you know she actually got The New York Times on the Internet? I think she read almost everything you wrote.”

  “Seriously?” She tucked the used tissue back into her purse. Her aunt must’ve been awfully bored.

  “She said you were doing a fine job.”

  Daphne shrugged. “I only write wedding announcements. It’s no big deal.”

  Of course, this only invited her father to sing her praises. She let him go on for a bit before she changed the subject. “Will you miss working at the bank, Dad?”

  He laughed. “Just like you’d miss a bad headache after it went away.”

  “Really? You used to love running the bank.”

  “Banking has gotten more and more challenging, Daphne. Certainly, the sluggish economy hasn’t helped. But honestly, it seems like every time I turn around, we’re being inspected or audited or scrutinized. It’s like no one trusts banks anymore.” He let out a long sigh. “Take it from me, no one will be happier than me when I hit seventy-two and call it quits for good.”

  “Will you be in your condo by then?”

  “I hope to close the deal within a month. I’ve got some financing lined up in case the house doesn’t sell right out of the gate. And Karen says it’ll be easier to show the house if I’m not living in it. She has this friend with a business—where they bring fancy new furnishings and lamps and paintings to make the house look like a model home. I think she called it ‘staging.’ You ever heard of that?”

  “Yes, I know exactly what staging is and it really does work to sell houses.”

  Daphne had never admitted to all the hours she’d spent watching home improvement shows on HGTV. Sometimes she’d spent whole weekends vegetating in front of the little TV in her bedroom. She secretly rationalized it was her way to “vicariously nest” while stuck in the Brooklyn apartment. Especially since she’d learned long ago that Greta wanted everything to remain the same. Besides her ten-by-ten bedroom, Daphne had no control over the depressing decor of the shabby flat, nor did she particularly care to.

  Before long, they were in Appleton and Dad was turning onto Huckleberry Lane, entering the neighborhood where Aunt Dee had resided for as long as Daphne could remember. “I always loved this part of town.” She admired the maple trees lining the street. “All these old houses are so unique and beautiful.” She pointed at a recently painted Victorian. “Look at how they fixed that one up. The plum-colored gingerbread is so perfect against the olive and sage greens. How fun.”

  “It must’ve been a bear to paint.” Dad shook his head. “Makes my little ranch house look pretty low maintenance.”

  He pulled up in front of Aunt Dee’s Queen Anne Victorian now. “Here we are.”

  “Oh, it’s exactly the same as I remember.” She smiled up at the gracious white house with its front bay window and rounded turret on the second floor. Pink roses were already climbing prettily over the arbor that linked the kitchen to the carriage house that served as a single-car garage. Daphne gazed fondly at the overflowing flower beds. “And her yard looks gorgeous. How did she manage that at her age?”

  “She hired a yard man about ten years ago. Although she still kept her finger in it—I should say her green thumb. But the yard man did the heavy work. And Dee had been planning to have the house painted again this summer. She’d even been considering using a color besides white this time, if you can imagine.”

  “I cannot imagine. It’s always been white . . . and white just seems right.”

  He turned off the car’s engine and sighed. “I still can’t believe she’s gone.”

  “I know.” Daphne got out of the car, and as she caught a whiff of the blooming jasmine and lilacs growing along the sides of the house, she was immediately transported to another era . . . a happier time. As much as she loved her dad and the house she’d grown up in on the other side of town, it always felt like coming home when she arrived at Aunt Dee’s.

  “You sure you don’t mind staying here on your own, because I can still carve a place for you at home if you want. Your room’s piled high right now, but the guest room isn’t really too bad, if you don’t mind making a trail through the boxes.”

  “No, Dad. It’s okay, I want be here. It’s perfect, really. And it’ll allow me to remember Aunt Dee . . . and to say good-bye.” She felt the lump again.

  He wheeled her bag up the walk and onto the porch, then unlocked the door. “I cleaned things a little,” he said as he opened the massive door. “Not that it needed much. Despite her age, your aunt was a good housekeeper. But there were some dirty dishes in the sink . . . some laundry in the hamper . . . that sort of thing. And Mrs. Terwilliger has been seeing to the cats.”

  “Dee still has Ethel and Lucy?”

  “Yes. But they must be getting up in years.”

  As she looked around for the cats, Daphne remembered when she’d gone with Aunt Dee to get the pair of kittens at the animal shelter. Her aunt had claimed that she was getting them to take Daphne’s place since she was going away to college.

  “They must be about sixteen years old,” she told her dad. And just then an orange cat, followed by a stripy gray cat came around the corner from the kitchen.

  “Hello, girls.” Daphne knelt down, waiting as Lucy, the orange cat, cautiously approached her. “I’m sorry for your loss,” she said as she scratched Lucy’
s head. “I know you will miss her.” Now Ethel joined her, rubbing against her legs and insisting on being petted too. “What will become of these sweet kitties?” she asked Dad as she stood.

  He shrugged. “I don’t know. But Green Trees doesn’t allow pets.” He chuckled. “Which is just one more thing I like about the place. My neighbor’s terrier thinks my front yard is his personal restroom. It gets old after a while.”

  “I suppose I could take the cats back to New York with me. But I doubt they’d like being cooped up in the apartment all day. Plus Greta has a mean old cat that would probably make these sweet girls miserable.” She walked through the front room, pausing to open the drapes as well as a window. “Everything looks clean, but I think the house could use some air.”

  “Good idea.” He went to the other side of the room and opened another window to create a breezeway. “We’ve had good weather this spring—everything is in bloom.”

  She glanced over to the closed bedroom door, suddenly feeling like an interloper, as if Aunt Dee might suddenly appear and be surprised by this unexpected intrusion. “You say she died in her sleep?”

  He rubbed his chin as he studied the tall paneled door. “Yes. Mrs. Terwilliger found her on Tuesday morning. She said she was worried when Dee didn’t put her trash out for pick up. She called to remind her it was garbage day, and when Dee didn’t answer the phone or the door, Mrs. Terwilliger got worried. She used the key under the flowerpot and let herself in and found Dee in bed. She said Dee looked so peaceful that she thought she was asleep and almost left. But then she realized something wasn’t right . . . and that’s when she called me.”

  Daphne pressed her lips together. “I’m glad she died peacefully.”

  Dad put an arm around her. “Yeah . . . me too.”

  Daphne got her things settled in the front bedroom upstairs, the one with the turret and the place she’d always claimed as her own as a child. To her relief not much had changed up there either. She ran her hand along the smooth cherry banister as she came down the stairs. How many times had she slid down that?

  They took a little tour of the backyard that, like the front, looked better than ever. And then Dad insisted on taking her to dinner. “Anywhere you want to go,” he told her as they went around to the front. As they stood by the car, he listed all the restaurant options and many were places she’d never even heard of before.

  “Sounds like the town has grown.”

  “Oh, yeah. We had that building boom shortly after you moved to New York.” He unlocked the car. “But it’s been a lot quieter these past few years.”

  “You know what I’d like to do?”

  “What?” He opened the car door for her.

  “I’d like to walk downtown and eat at Midge’s Diner. Just like I used to do with Aunt Dee sometimes.”

  He grinned as he closed the car door. “Sounds good to me. Let’s do it.”

  Before they left, Mrs. Terwilliger hurried out, expressing her sympathy to Daphne and asking Dad about the upcoming memorial service.

  “I’ve scheduled the church for Monday morning at ten,” Dad told her.

  “And will you need help with a meal afterward?” she asked hopefully.

  “Maybe so. We’ll let you know as soon as we get all the details figured out.” He tipped his head to Daphne. “She’s going to help me get organized.”

  “And I’ll be staying here at Aunt Dee’s,” Daphne assured her. “So I’ll take care of the cats.”

  Mrs. Terwilliger nodded. “Oh, good. I know they’ve been lonely. And maybe you can come over for coffee or tea tomorrow.” She made a sad smile. “I’m sure going to miss Dee. She was my favorite neighbor.”

  Daphne reached over and grasped Mrs. Terwilliger’s hand. “I’m sorry for your loss too. I know you were a good friend to Aunt Dee.”

  “And she was a good friend to me . . .” She sniffed, retrieving a hanky from her pocket. “Sometimes I forget . . . we’re all getting older . . .”

  As Daphne and her dad walked toward town, she admired the old houses along the side street, commenting on how their homeowners were keeping them up. “It looks even nicer than it did when I was a kid. It’s like people have realized the value of these sweet, old houses and decided to invest in them.”

  Downtown looked pretty much the same, although there were a number of new businesses. Midge’s Diner had big flower boxes by the door as well as some outdoor seating. But they went inside and Daphne was surprised to see it wasn’t very busy, but then it was just a bit past five and a little early for dinner. To her relief everything looked exactly the same inside—only better. From the gleaming black-and-white floor tiles to the chrome-trimmed tables and bar stools to the shiny fire-engine red upholstery—it still looked straight out of the fifties and just as Daphne remembered it. The only thing missing was Midge. But then she’d retired when Daphne was a teen.

  “Who owns this place now?” she asked her dad after a waitress seated them in a booth by the front window.

  “Ricardo Martoni. Didn’t you go to school with him?”

  “Sure. I remember Ricardo.” Daphne didn’t admit that she used to have a huge crush on the handsome boy. Naturally, he probably didn’t even know she existed. Why would he? Back then she thought he resembled Charlie Sheen. What did he look like now?

  “Speak of the devil.” Dad pointed to a dark-haired man coming into the restaurant. “Hello, Ricardo.”

  Smiling, Ricardo came over to their table and shook Dad’s hand. “Good to see you, Mr. Ballinger.” He was dressed casually in neat-looking jeans and a blue plaid shirt. And although he didn’t look as much like Charlie Sheen as she remembered, he was definitely attractive in that dark Italian way.

  “Remember I told you to call me Don.” Dad nodded to Daphne. “And you remember my daughter, Daphne, don’t you?”

  “Oh, he probably doesn’t. I was a couple years younger and—”

  “Sure I remember you.” Ricardo smiled and reached over to shake her hand. “Daphne Ballinger. Your aunt lived a couple houses down from us and you used to spend a lot of time there. In fact, did I just hear she passed away?” His smile faded.

  They filled him in and he expressed his sympathy and then, to change to a happier subject, Daphne complimented him on the fine condition of his restaurant. “It looks like you’ve made a lot of nice improvements. And yet you’ve kept things the same too.”

  “Oh yeah, you can’t mess with a classic. Even though I’ve renovated, I’ve tried to stay true to its history. I loved this place when I was growing up.”

  “Well, it’s very nice. It feels like coming home.”

  “And the food’s better than ever,” Dad told her. “And healthier too.”

  “We try to offer a heart-healthy menu.” Ricardo released a sheepish smile. “Although we still have to offer the old burgers, shakes, and fries.” He lowered his voice. “But we try to use healthier ingredients.”

  The restaurant was getting busier now and Ricardo excused himself, going over to play host by the front door. Everyone seemed to know everyone by first name here. And as they came in and were seated, the restaurant felt more like a private home having a social gathering than a place of business. It felt comforting.

  “That Ricardo is a good businessman,” Dad said quietly. “He came in for a loan and I was very impressed. Good head on his shoulders.”

  “He always seemed smart in school.” Daphne opened her menu.

  “And he’s still single.”

  She glanced up. The way Dad said the words still single was obviously some kind of insinuation. But not wanting to go there, she turned her attention back to the menu. “How’s the meatloaf?”

  “It’s delicious. Ricardo makes it himself.”

  Dad was grinning, like he was enjoying a private joke.

  �
��Maybe I’ll try it.” She closed the menu.

  “The meatloaf or Ricardo?” Dad chuckled like this was hilarious.

  “Dad.” She scolded him, shaking her head.

  He made an innocent look. “Hey, you can’t blame an old guy for trying. After all, Ricardo’s a respectable, hard-working young man. I’m surprised some smart young lady hasn’t snatched him up by now.” He shrugged. “Besides, you could do worse.”

  She gave him a tolerant smile. “I guess I should be thankful we don’t live in the same town, or I’d probably have to put up with this all the time.”

  His lower lip protruded as if her words had cut him deeply, although she knew better. She and her dad had always enjoyed a little good-natured teasing—especially when it came to her marital status. “Somebody’s got to look out for your interests,” he said. “You heard Mrs. Terwilliger’s insinuation. None of us are getting any younger. And just so you know, some of us are hoping to get some grandchildren before he’s too old to enjoy them or remember their names.”

  Daphne suppressed the childish urge to smack her father over the head with her menu. But she didn’t want to create a spectacle or disrupt their fellow diners. Sometimes, just sometimes, she was tempted to enroll her father in a sensitivity training seminar—the remedial class!

  Chapter 4

  It was a lot to take on, but Daphne insisted on hosting a luncheon in the house following the funeral service. So many friends and neighbors and family members had offered to bring food, and it just seemed fitting to celebrate Aunt Dee’s life in the home she had loved. Of course, Daphne hadn’t realized what a chore it would be to get everything organized and ready for so many guests.

  “That was a lovely service,” Aunt Louisa said to Daphne as they strolled through the backyard, admiring the flower beds together. “And a very nice luncheon too.” Louisa Ballinger, in her late eighties, was Aunt Dee’s sister-in-law. She’d been residing in an assisted-living facility since her husband, Uncle Dennis, had passed away several years ago.