Free Gina Cresse - Devonie Lace 04 - A Deadly Change of Power by Gina Cresse

said, pulling to the curb in front of two forty-three. 
    We walked to the front door and rang the bell.  An old woman answered.  I guessed her to be in her mid to late eighties.  Her white hair was pulled back in a tight bun.  She wore a brightly colored polka-dot-print dress that covered her legs to just below the knee.  A pair of knee-high support hose were rolled down to her puffy ankles.  I smiled at the blue Eeyore slippers she wore.  “Hi.  We’re looking for this address,” I said, showing her the slip of paper with Harvey Brewster’s name and address.  “We can’t seem to find it.  Do you happen to know where two forty-nine is?”
    She studied the piece of paper.  “Two forty-nine?  That’s Harvey’s address.”
    I smiled.  At least she knew him.  Finally, we were getting somewhere.
    “Yes.  Is it close?” I asked.
    “It’s next door,” she said.
    “Next door?  So he lives at two fifty-five?”
    “No.  Two forty-nine,” she insisted.
    “But there is no two forty-nine,” I said.
    “Not any more.  Burned to the ground, must be two years ago, I’d say.”
    I thought Ronnie was going to faint.  I caught her arm and held her steady.
    “Oh dear.  Is she okay?” the old woman asked.
    “She’ll be fine.  She’s just a little — surprised.  Do you know where Mr. Brewster lives now?” I asked.
    “Oh, he doesn’t.  He was in the house when it went up.  Bad gas leak or something.  Blew to smithereens in the middle of the night.  Poor man never knew what hit him.”
     
              

Chapter Six
     
     
    G ladys Dixon had lived at two forty-three Magnolia Street for the past fifty years.  She invited us into her little house and offered Ronnie a chair to sit in before she fell down.  I sat on the flower-print sofa and glanced around the tiny living room.
    “Did you know Harvey well?” I asked.
    Gladys picked a piece of lint from the arm of the over-stuffed chair she sat in.  “Oh, probably as well as anyone could ever know Harvey.  He was sort of a loner.”
    “Really?  How long were you neighbors?” I asked.
    Gladys pursed her lips and stared at the ceiling, calculating what appeared to be infinity in her head.   “Let’s see.  He moved in next door right after Shelly was born.  Shelly’s my granddaughter.  She just had her thirtieth birthday last week.”
    “Thirty years.  That’s a long time.  Was he married?” I asked.
    “Harvey?  No.  Never seemed interested in anything like that.  Just wanted to tinker with all his little inventions.  You knew he was an inventor?”
    “Yes.  Did he ever show them to you?”
    “Oh, sure.  He was as proud of those as a man would be about his own children.  He’d come over sometimes late in the evening, banging on my door.  ‘Gladys!’ he’d holler.  ‘Come see what I’ve made!’ he’d yell through the window, excited as a kid with a new toy.”
    Ronnie smiled, apparently able to identify with Harvey’s excitement.  “Do you remember him showing you an engine he designed?” Ronnie asked.
    “The steam engine?” Gladys prompted.
    “That’s the one,” Ronnie said.
    “Oh, sure.  He said it was his greatest invention so far.  It was going to change the world.”
    I noticed a collection of photos on the wall behind Gladys.  One caught my attention.  It was of a younger Gladys sitting in the passenger seat of a bright orange dune buggy with the words, Brewster’s Steamer painted on the side.  The man in the driver’s seat had a smile spread across his face so wide I could barely see his ears for his cheeks.  “Is that Harvey?” I asked, pointing toward the picture.  Gladys turned in her chair to see.
    “That’s him.  What fun we had.  He’d drive me down to the grocery store whenever I needed something.  Nice fellow, he was.  They took my driver’s license away a few years back, when I couldn’t pass the test anymore.  That’s Brewster’s Steamer we’re in,