Free A Pizza to Die For by Chris Cavender

I was being honest about it.
    When we arrived, I stared at Nathan’s home, trying to peer through the heavy vines that covered the front porch. It was difficult to see the bones of the basic house underneath it all. The place was in dire need of some serious landscaping, a good scrubbing, and a fresh coat of paint on the outside, and some of the columns on the front porch were showing signs of decay. But as I stared at it, erasing the clutter and disrepair in my mind, I began to see that it was an Arts and Crafts bungalow, much like my own.
    “I never realized that it was just like my house,” I said.
    Maddy looked at the house, and then stared at me. “Eleanor, are you okay? Did you hit your head in the kitchen and not tell me?”
    Her sarcasm was thick, but I wasn’t about to be dissuaded from my point of view. “Maddy, look at the frame and forget everything else and you can see it. It’s a bungalow, and I’m willing to bet the builder used the same crew that constructed mine.”
    She looked at the house again, this time longer and harder, and then finally said, “I don’t see it.”
    “That’s because you didn’t spend a year of your life refurbishing one.”
    We were about to approach the porch when a wiry old man with a shotgun threw open the front door and pointed it in our direction.
    “Get off my land, or I’ll shoot you both where you stand.”

    It was time for some fast talking, and that shotgun gave me plenty of incentive. “Mr. Sizemore, I’m Eleanor Swift, and this is my sister, Maddy. We came to talk to you about . . .” I wanted to say Italia’s, but instead, found myself finishing with “your house. I own an Arts and Crafts bungalow myself.”
    His shotgun started to lower as I said it. “You trying to tell me that you own the place on Farrar?”
    “My late husband, Joe, and I rehabbed it from top to bottom,” I admitted.
    “I wouldn’t mind seeing it,” he said, the shotgun now pointed straight down at the porch floor. “I’ve always wondered what it looked like on the inside.”
    I had a sudden inspiration. “Why don’t I show it to you right now? It’s not clean, or ready for any company, but you can see the work we did.”
    He nodded. “I never worried about a mess I made myself in my life. Maid services are for sissies.”
    Nathan started to walk off the porch when I asked him carefully, “Did you forget something?”
    “I surely did,” he said as he walked back and locked his front door soundly.
    That wasn’t what I’d meant.
    I pointed to his weapon and said, “There’s no need to go there armed.”
    Nathan shrugged. “You never know,” he said, but he got the hint and unlocked the door again so that he could stow the shotgun inside. “You never can be too careful these days,” he said. “Are you driving, or should I?”
    I’d seen the rusty old pickup he drove through town, and I didn’t want to chance getting lockjaw from sitting in it.
    I decided to volunteer my services. “I’ll be glad to drive,” I said.
    Maddy got in the back, and Nathan sat up front with me. As we drove, I wondered how I might bring up the pizzeria and what had happened to its owner. I was about to say something about it when Maddy tapped me on the shoulder. When I looked back at her in the rearview mirror, she shook her head slightly. I had to be imagining things. Was my sister actually telling me not to talk about something? I decided to hold my questions until later. She must have had her reasons, even though they weren’t obvious to me.
    We got to my house, and I led the way up front. When I got to the porch, I was surprised to see that Nathan Sizemore was still standing on the sidewalk.
    “I like it,” he said after a moment’s pause.
    “I’m glad,” I said. “Trust me. It looks even better inside.”
    I unlocked the door, and as Maddy and I waited for him to join us, she said softly, “Save our interrogation for the ride home when he’s more