Free With Baited Breath by Lorraine Bartlett Page B

It looked even worse in the afternoon light than it had in the morning, but Kathy felt a thrill of excitement just looking at it. She’d looked at a lot of houses in Batavia and never had she felt such a sense of welcome as she got from this sadly abused dwelling. It was stupid. It was a ruin, but she wanted it as bad as a kid wants her first bike. She knew Tori would try to talk her out of it, which was why she was glad they’d asked Anissa to join them. Kathy had come close to putting an offer on another fixer-upper until she’d found out there were foundation issues. What idiot built a house on dirt? The beams were so far gone it was a miracle they supported the floor above them, let alone the rest of the building’s weight. What bad news would Anissa deliver when she looked over the place?
    The front yard, if that’s what it could be called, was little more than a sand lot sprouting a variety of weeds. A couple hundred thousand years earlier where they now stood was once the bottom of Lake Ontario. It would probably need a couple of tons of topsoil before a decent lawn could grow.
    “I’m going to walk around the building to see what’s up. Anybody want to join me?” Anissa asked.
    Kathy looked down at her sandaled feet and bare legs and thought about snakes and ticks that might be lurking in the thigh-high grass and weeds. “Not right now. Besides, I need to wait for the real estate agent.”
    “I’ll come,” Tori volunteered. She hadn’t changed from her jeans and sweatshirt.
    Kathy watched them walk around the corner, and then turned her gaze back to the front of the house. Most of the paint had worn off the clapboards from years of hostile weather, but the naked wood didn’t look in too bad of shape. Kathy was about to mount the steps when a black SUV pulled into what was left of a gravel driveway. Kathy’s heart started to pound as a man with thick white hair, dressed in khaki’s and a green golf shirt, got out of the car, with a clipboard in hand.
    “Kathy Grant?” he called.
    “Yes. Mr. Peterson?”
    “That’s me. Call me Jerry.”
    Kathy met him halfway and they shook hands. “Hi, Jerry. I’m glad you could fit me into your schedule.”
    “This place has been on the market so long, I didn’t want to miss a chance to show it. What kind of business were you thinking of building on the site? Restaurant? Convenience store?”
    Kathy frowned. “Nothing of the kind. If I buy this property, I’d restore the house.”
    Jerry scowled. “Are you sure that’s a good idea?”
    “Well, my contractor is wandering around in the back. She’ll be able to give me a better idea once we’ve walked through the place.”
    Jerry dug into his pants pocket and removed a key. He advanced toward the lockbox on the front door. “Let’s get to it.”
    He unlocked the door and held it open for Kathy to go inside. The air was stifling, and smelled of must, stale urine, and dry rot, but Kathy was not deterred. What had once been a large open foyer had been closed in with drywall, delineating what looked to be a couple of small apartments. The drywall to the left looked like someone had taken an ax to it, and faded pink fiberglass insulation seemed to seep from the wounds. The ceiling above sported peeling paint and lath with missing plaster, making Kathy’s heart ache to see such neglect.
    “As you can see, the place is in major disrepair,” Jerry said unnecessarily.
    The door to the left hung on unsteady hinges. Kathy pushed it open and stepped inside. The floor was black and badly water damaged.
    The filthy empty fish tank that lay on its side explained that story. A stained-and-torn mattress had been shoved against one corner of the room, and the fireplace was filled with paper, cans, bottles, and other trash. It had been boxed in. Could there be treasure—tile, stone, or a lovely old mantle—under the sheetrock? The tangled mess of what had been the framework of a suspended ceiling hung in ruins