up with the real estate market --- all I know is that the prices are obscene --- I gave it my best guess. "Oh, maybe two hundred thousand. Maybe more."
She gently nudged my ribs with her elbow. "Not hardly. Lewis, this wonderful and unique piece of Tyler history is for sale for the magnificent sum of one dollar."
"A dollar?"
"One hundred pennies. And this is when you're supposed to ask me, 'What's the catch?'"
"Must be a pretty damn big catch," I said.
"Yeah. A catch the size of a blue whale. The purchaser has to agree to move the house off the property. Which means that the aspiring buyer needs to come up with a moving company, not to mention a piece of land to drop the house on once it gets picked up. I mean, most of these storage areas you see up and down Route 1 don't really have a locker big enough to hold a house."
"You really going through with this?"
"Like you said, I have a plan." She turned and smiled at me, her ears poking again through her long blond hair. "I love this house, Lewis, I love it to death. And I'm meeting with the Tyler Cooperative this afternoon, try to set up the financing. I'm tired of apartment living, of dealing with landlords and neighbors next door with loud stereos and neighbors upstairs with overflowing tubs. This is my one chance, and I'm going to grab it."
I clasped her hand, let it go. "Good for you."
She moved a bit on the hood of her car. "Here I am, blathering to you the moment you showed up. You did good at Jon's funeral on Saturday."
"Thanks."
"Story will be out this afternoon," she said. "Anything going on I should know about?"
Silently, I thanked her for that little phrase, 'I should know about.' Aloud I said, "I'm going to try to meet up with Diane Woods this afternoon, see if I can get an update, but I'm not holding my breath."
"From Diane the detective, I can see why. Need anything from me?”
"How about a picture of you in your favorite bathing suit?"
A nice smile and another nudge in the ribs. "No, not today, I'm afraid."
"Okay," I said. "Guess I don't need the town counsel checking on my property tax status. Look, I'm thinking of doing something about Jon and what he did in the town for the magazine. Do you know who the past curator of the Tyler Town Museum was, before Jon?"
"That I do," she said. "Brian Mulligan. Practically set the place up himself, back in the seventies."
"Still alive, I hope?"
"That he is, but he doesn't live in Tyler anymore. There was some political feud a couple of years before you showed up, and he moved up north, to Conway. Guess he developed a hate for the ocean and wanted to be up in the mountains. Why do you want to talk to him?"
"Jon had mentioned that he had talked to Brian about... well, about something Jon was looking for."
"The mysterious Vikings, am I right?" she asked.
So much for Jon's deep dark secret. "I didn't realize you knew." She crossed her legs, a maple leaf stuck to the sole of her boot.
"Oh, I've known for a while. You see, every now and then, Jon would come in and go through the bound back issues of the Chronicle. We really prefer people go to the library to do research work like that, but for Jon, we made an exception. A sweet older guy with an obsession, and you know what? God bless him. Better he was out looking for Vikings than writing letters to the newspapers about conspiracies and UN black helicopters and the Zionists. The thing is, I can't believe what happened to him. Apparently murdered the same day he found the artifacts." She shook her head. "One of these days I want to write a novel, and something like that makes me feel like the day I get a book contract, a tree will fall on my head."
"Did he say anything about what he was looking for, or where he might be going?"
"Well, can I give you a name?"
"Another name? Sure."
"Olivia Hendricks."
"Nice name," I said. “What about her?"
"About a month ago, Jon was in my office, trooping around, carrying these big binders of old newspapers, and he
She gently nudged my ribs with her elbow. "Not hardly. Lewis, this wonderful and unique piece of Tyler history is for sale for the magnificent sum of one dollar."
"A dollar?"
"One hundred pennies. And this is when you're supposed to ask me, 'What's the catch?'"
"Must be a pretty damn big catch," I said.
"Yeah. A catch the size of a blue whale. The purchaser has to agree to move the house off the property. Which means that the aspiring buyer needs to come up with a moving company, not to mention a piece of land to drop the house on once it gets picked up. I mean, most of these storage areas you see up and down Route 1 don't really have a locker big enough to hold a house."
"You really going through with this?"
"Like you said, I have a plan." She turned and smiled at me, her ears poking again through her long blond hair. "I love this house, Lewis, I love it to death. And I'm meeting with the Tyler Cooperative this afternoon, try to set up the financing. I'm tired of apartment living, of dealing with landlords and neighbors next door with loud stereos and neighbors upstairs with overflowing tubs. This is my one chance, and I'm going to grab it."
I clasped her hand, let it go. "Good for you."
She moved a bit on the hood of her car. "Here I am, blathering to you the moment you showed up. You did good at Jon's funeral on Saturday."
"Thanks."
"Story will be out this afternoon," she said. "Anything going on I should know about?"
Silently, I thanked her for that little phrase, 'I should know about.' Aloud I said, "I'm going to try to meet up with Diane Woods this afternoon, see if I can get an update, but I'm not holding my breath."
"From Diane the detective, I can see why. Need anything from me?”
"How about a picture of you in your favorite bathing suit?"
A nice smile and another nudge in the ribs. "No, not today, I'm afraid."
"Okay," I said. "Guess I don't need the town counsel checking on my property tax status. Look, I'm thinking of doing something about Jon and what he did in the town for the magazine. Do you know who the past curator of the Tyler Town Museum was, before Jon?"
"That I do," she said. "Brian Mulligan. Practically set the place up himself, back in the seventies."
"Still alive, I hope?"
"That he is, but he doesn't live in Tyler anymore. There was some political feud a couple of years before you showed up, and he moved up north, to Conway. Guess he developed a hate for the ocean and wanted to be up in the mountains. Why do you want to talk to him?"
"Jon had mentioned that he had talked to Brian about... well, about something Jon was looking for."
"The mysterious Vikings, am I right?" she asked.
So much for Jon's deep dark secret. "I didn't realize you knew." She crossed her legs, a maple leaf stuck to the sole of her boot.
"Oh, I've known for a while. You see, every now and then, Jon would come in and go through the bound back issues of the Chronicle. We really prefer people go to the library to do research work like that, but for Jon, we made an exception. A sweet older guy with an obsession, and you know what? God bless him. Better he was out looking for Vikings than writing letters to the newspapers about conspiracies and UN black helicopters and the Zionists. The thing is, I can't believe what happened to him. Apparently murdered the same day he found the artifacts." She shook her head. "One of these days I want to write a novel, and something like that makes me feel like the day I get a book contract, a tree will fall on my head."
"Did he say anything about what he was looking for, or where he might be going?"
"Well, can I give you a name?"
"Another name? Sure."
"Olivia Hendricks."
"Nice name," I said. “What about her?"
"About a month ago, Jon was in my office, trooping around, carrying these big binders of old newspapers, and he
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