Side street mystery

 

There was something so quaint about the little two story house; which was the main reason that Faun decided to take the apartment. Like most of the others on the block, the house had the original architecture, with the original house foundation; circa the Victorian age, which oddly obviously left its influence on the town Faun observed, ironically, much like the historical American revolutionary plaques mounted all over town and leant its mood everywhere. All the houses were similar on the street but each had their own unique exception that made them stand out on their own. One was painted a pale shade of pink with white shutters and a matching unattached garage; they had a pale yellow picket fence and a front garden bursting with hydrangeas.

Another house beside it was all subdued shades of grey. This one had a neatly manicured lawn with two ancient weeping willow trees which flanked the house and which gave it more subtle hues of twisted shades in grays. In warm weather, it owed relief from a bright contrast by the shock of pink cast from the Hamilton rose bushes that outlined the home’s front door path which decorated a canopy of arching trellises to the door 

Faun always liked to imagine what went on inside those houses, each so different from the other and walks around the block often caught her observing the residence along the street. 

The pale lilac grey house that the Bishop’s let was the most subdued on the street, even with its two apple and maple trees and the big oak that a tire swing hung and shaded the front porch and west facing house with its wide stretching branches. Perhaps the jewel in the crown of this house was the front porch. It was furnished with matching rocking chairs, the kind you would picture in Cinderella with the big circular shaped rocker legs and padded with white, hemp, crocheted macrame with long sweeping fringes.

Faun had never gone into this part of the house, her apartment had its own private entrance at the back of the house, so as she walked with Grant up to the front, she curiously let herself examine what she had never been close enough to see. 

The front garden was overgrown, she noticed in the dark as they passed to go up the steps of the porch. She glanced at the rocking chairs and the tables beside them as Grant stood at the front door to open it with a key.

“I should have put the porch light on,” he said more to himself as he searched for the lock opening with the key; but then he got it and swung open the door. He stood aside to let her in first. 

He flipped on the light switch by the door. They had stepped directly into the sitting room from the doorway and off to the left she saw was the little kitchen; she caught a glimpse of a small dining room beyond. 

In the sitting room there were three sofas; two small and a bigger one. They were the kind of couches that seemed might have been there when the house was built —even as that was impossible, but it looked like it might, with the wood frame and salmon velvet upholstery —that didn’t promise comfort but seemed to preside. The floors were hard wood with various rag rugs thrown casually everywhere; and then, the tables were oddly colonial and matched the bookcases and the framed embroidery on the walls; and as they walked in, their footsteps echoed throughout the room. 

“So—sitting room—“ and here Grant swept out his arms pointing grandly to demonstrate at the couches, “kitchen this way….” he directed like a tour guide for Faun to follow, and as they came to the door that lead in, left open he now flicked the kitchen light switch by the door

It was a simple, tidy kitchenette with plain but solid wooden cabinets that also looked original to the house, but the plain avocado colored stove/oven range was less antique, although far from state-of-the-art, like the coffee maker that sat looking rather friendless on the otherwise bare counter top with its faux marble design.

“And dining room,” Grant stepped past the partition and flicked on another light. There hung a little crystal chandelier over a modest wooden, oval shaped colonial table with four matching colonial chairs. He flicked off the light and turned back into the kitchen, “I usually just sit there,” he pointed to a small square table that had two plain mismatched chairs placed around it

The light in the kitchen made an odd hum Faun noticed, looking up at it; it made her wonder how old the electrical wiring was as she noticed the art deco style of it.

“So—coffee?” Grant asked as he leaned against the side of the sink and turned to face her.

“Um—yeah—sure….” and awkwardly Faun moved, deciding to help him prepare it, she hesitated as she reached to open a cabinet door in search of materials required.

“No, you sit,” Grant smiled at her and carefully reached to remove her hands from the cabinet by taking each hand in his, having moved behind her, and then he gently walked her to the little table and pulled out a chair, and obediently, she sat, the contact of his hands on her momentarily stunning her

as he was saying,

“I invited you for coffee so the task is up to me and I don’t mind doing it.”

As this gave her the opportunity to watch him, she didn’t mind either. And as he opened cabinets and the coffee, he showed her was the shop’s signature brand,

“have you tried it?” he asked her

“No.”

“You’ll like it. It’s my favorite coffee,” he said as he measured it out and poured in the water. He placed two very, vintage, diner, white coffee cups with saucers on the little table where she sat with two spoons, “oh—I don’t have milk,” he said suddenly remembering 

“I don’t drink milk anyway,” she said 

“How’s fake creamer?”  he showed her the package

“Perfect,” she said

And as they waited for the coffee to finish, Grant sat down in the other chair on the other side of the small table. Then he said,

“I do need to ask you a big favor —about the shop ….”

“Ok….”

“So, I’m —that we—that you —that we can chat a bit ….” he struggled over what to say and second guessed every word.

She didn’t notice. All she heard was: a favor ….?

And now suddenly she was crestfallen ….and she found herself ….depressed over this sudden chilling mystery

was that the only reason he asked her to join him for coffee…. ?

 

Far from the maddening crowd side street

 

Faun had no idea why, but since she had been running the bookshop, she’d show up there only in skirts and dresses, no doubt the years of habit from her bookstore days. Unless it was the decor itself that drew her into its mood or her need to blend into the surroundings; in this case, the wallpaper. 

There was no way Grant could have known why she dressed the way she did, but as to her blending into the background —would not have crossed his mind. She perhaps complemented the William Morris entryway wallpaper or was it the other way around—?he was hypnotized to stare at the precise place where her longish dark green skirt with swirls of paisley stopped at mid calf to reveal astonishingly sensual long legs despite her pixy height, and at the moment had him captured. But Faun did not notice as she was still examining the screen, sat at Arthur Bishop’s office desk chair.

But just then Grant’s phone rang causing the both of them to jump with its otherworldly intrusion brought by the ringtone 

“Excuse me, I have to take this,” he politely said and stepped out the office door, shutting it behind him

Faun looked at the door he had vacated and sat for a moment knowing a moment of total bewilderment. She just looked at the door. It seemed awhile she sat there feeling dull. It was as if something had hit her on the head. She thought: what am I doing here?—should I go or….what would I be doing right now if he….

….blank 

Slowly she rose from the desk and, feeling strangely dizzy she stumbled into the edge of the desk as she lost her balance. Again she stared at the door as she leaned on the edge of the desk. She could hear his voice through the door but no words came clear, it was only the hum and tone of his voice. 

She shook her head as if to wake herself up and said aloud to the empty room,

“I should go….shouldn’t I?”

Quietly, she went to the door and opened it. He glanced up from his phone as he saw her and their eyes met; hers dark and bright and his shaded in the dimness where the shadows made his expression unclear. He stopped talking just then but she waved and quickly walked in the direction they had come toward the back entrance of the bookshop from the cellar.

Since it was creepy at night, especially this time of year with all the Halloween decorations everywhere, that sense hung about down there, so, she quickened her way back up to the shop.

She completed her evening routine for the shop—more habit from her past, and her need to tidy things up; cash drawer balanced and totals written into the ledger, and then once locked up, grabbed the cloth cash bag, then grabbed her raincoat and handbag; a small clutch, then out the door, she locked up. She hesitated. Should she set the alarm, or would he?

“Oh you’re off!” came a voice behind her from the street side. 

She spun around. 

Grant stood there looking at her from the sidewalk. 

“Yes, well—I thought ….”

“Sorry, that call was—“

“I wasn’t sure if I should wait—“

They spoke at the same time. Awkward. 

“Umm,” Faun shrugged and then held the key as she said, “I just need to lock up and set the alarm….”

“Of course,” he said and as she turned to do so, he walked over to her.

It was dark now, the sun had gone down and he wondered if she would be all right out here on the street alone. He felt compelled to ask but was not sure how without sounding patronizing.

Instead she said,

“do you need a ride?”

He had walked.

“I’m staying just a few blocks from here, but—“ he smiled

“Me too—I just drive here because I have to drop the deposit at the bank —which is far,” she waved a cloth bag at him, “that’s my car there—“ she pointed to an old 1970 faded yellow station wagon Volvo. “Care to come along? I can drop you off.”

When he opened the passenger  door it made a loud creaky sound but the interior was clean and everything looked like it worked. He slid in at the same time as she did and they shut the door at the exact same moment. This seemed to make them both look at each other. They both laughed. 

She said,

“you must be used to getting in on that side,” as she started the car. The engine revved up with muscle as she pressed the gas.

“Yes,” he said as she pulled the car onto the street.

“So the bank is that way—which way are you?” she waved to the left.

“Why don’t I come along for the drop,” he suggested and added, “I’m that way,” and he waved to the right.

They fell quiet as she drove to the bank, her thoughts in conflict. One part worried about what he might think of her driving as men generally don’t like women to drive them in her experience, unless it was her? She followed the speed limit. But she also started to wonder if —he just came because of —the cash bag? was he suspicious of something else —or should she be —or was he but of who? She glanced at him and noticed he was looking at the speedometer

After the drop—a secret kind of hidden drive through by the bank that required a key, he watched her walk back to the car, her long legs gliding with athletic grace and reminded him of the glimpse of leg that first caught his eye.

She got back in,

“so which way are you?”

“I’m by Elizabeth street,” he said

“Oh, me too!” she said and then pulled the car down the familiar way that she always took going home. 

It was strange having him with her. But also not strange. In that it was strange because it was not strange. Having him with her. It felt more normal. Which for her, that in itself was not normal. 

“Erm—“ he started to say something 

but at the moment he began, so had she,

“So—“

“Oh!”

“Oh!”

They both said 

Faun kept her mouth shut.

“Was just thinking —or—wondering—I mean, this town closes up early—“ he was saying but he spoke quickly and she didn’t get most of those words as he paused between, “no, I saw a Starbucks back there I remember or—which way is that? Do you know?”

She caught that word,

“Starbucks!” she repeated, “you like coffee—do you want—?”

“Well, is it out of the way, I meant if you want to join me?” he asked —just as he recognized Elizebeth street, “oh but here we are….”

“Well—we can still go….” even as she turned the car down Elizabeth and while saying so it suddenly began to rain and at the same moment that it began —with a bolt of lightning for emphasis as something flew past the windshield 

“Maybe it’s a sign,” he said as the sky had lit up, “did you see that?” he pointed 

“What was that?”

“That was a bat.”

She met his gaze as she stopped at the corner to look at him. But the chill that passed through her was not fear. Her eyes fell to his mouth for one instant and….she found herself wondering how it would feel to kiss his mouth. Perhaps prickly. As she noted the way his facial hair outlined his lips casting sensual shadows 

“You’re not afraid of them?” he asked 

It took a beat too long for her to interpret his words. She kept staring at him. She looked into his eyes. Repeating in her head the syllables. She fell inside them. 

“They’re more afraid of humans,” he was saying 

but she was still decoding and lost in the music of his voice; it was deep and rhythmic as she’d imagined Thomas Hardy would sound 

He said,

“I’m just to the right after the next corner—actually, I do have a coffee maker there, if you’d like to join me? It’s a bit rough but nobody lives in that part of the house where I’m at.”

As she turned following his direction, something suddenly dawned,

“are you at 56?” she slowed at a house and pointed 

He smiled slowly,

“I should have realized—you’re the rental! Or I should say the renter—I didn’t put it together—“

“Yes—oh—I’m their renter —that’s how I met the Bishops!” as she realized what he meant. She met the Bishops when she took the apartment they advertised for rent.

“I forgot—they’d mentioned but—the yellow Volvo should have ….” he was saying as she pulled up the driveway to the back of the small, narrow two story old Victorian style house with a front porch, “when I visit, I stay in a dormer room with an en suite, I use the community kitchen which has a coffee maker.”

She put the car in park and as they unbuckled their seat belts they both laughed 

“There’s a community kitchen? I never noticed! I’ve been thinking I had a new neighbor!”

“There’s a community dining room too and sitting room—would you like a tour?” he asked 

 

Side street story/Not an Agatha Christie In Sight

There was something very weird about the cellar, Faun had only been down there once when she was first shown where the thermostats were for adjusting the shop’s temperature which were set on an automatic timer.

“What is that strange smell?” Faun asked as they went down the stairs. There was a dampness down here too, and an odd hum, like some kind of constant motor running. 

“Oh, well this is where the old movie theatre was, the popcorn maker there?— Aunt Fiona makes gourmet popcorn for the shop—or had done…. not sure what will happen now but that’s part of what you smell —and, they roast the coffee beans that are sold in the shop and on line—did they tell you about that?—but there’s also Aunt Fiona grows a vegetable garden right out there and she’s big on her onions which grows right by that exit door,” Grant pointed 

She understood most of what he said this time as he slowed down his speech a bit as they were walking,

“this way,” he said and showed her down a narrow side isle she hadn’t known was there. 

“It seems inconveniently placed from the shop’s access,” Faun remarked 

“I believe that was intentional,” and they turned another corner, “however it is accessible from the street on the other side.”

At last at this turn she could see the convenience of being inconveniently out of the way. 

“This is a botany lab,” he told her

“I smell eucalyptus,” she sniffed the air 

“This way,” he said again

and then there it was—a glass wall with adjustable blinds revealed a wood paneled office lined with dark wood filing cabinets and furnished with a heavy dark wood desk, leather chairs and of course —bookcases loaded with vintage leather bound books

“Please, have a seat—“ and he pointed to the chair at the desk that faced a wide screen computer monitor 

“You want me to sit there?” she pointed to the desk 

“Please,” he said as he pulled one of the leather wing chairs over for himself and placed it next to the swivel desk chair in upholstered burgundy leather that matched the other

Once seated he tapped the computer and the screen lit on

“I wanted to ask your opinion—the figures —you’ve been doing the daily totals ….see, these are the online orders for the website sales and that column are those figures there….”

Faun looked at what he pointed to not knowing what he was trying to ask of her to see

But then she said,

“I didn’t realize they had such a successful online store, I mean —if that’s how much they made last month.”

“Hmm,” Grant made a sound of the affirmative 

It was impressive and accounted for how it was possible to have kept up the shop so well….but—

“I don’t understand why they bother with a shop when—“

“Exactly! But, no—here’s the thing, I set up Uncle Arthur’s website several years ago and I’ve helped him run it from over there as he was not the most tech minded person —but do you recognize any of these titles?”

Faun turned her attention to another document Grant opened now which listed titles of books along with their isbn number, store sku and their listed prices. In all her years working with books, she knew popular titles snd authors so well that she could count them instead of sheep at night in her head; classics?—she was a walking Amazon search engine and ….these titles she was looking at were ….completely out of her knowledge and page after page of the document she searched looking for at least one title or author she recognized 

“What are these?” she felt herself get curious as she read the titles, “‘Hit Man Bash’ ‘Chronic Youth’ —Dom Demenico ….wait—do you have Google on your phone—can you look up this author?”

And as he reached for his phone there was suddenly a kind of bond between them; it was a subtle shift but it felt as if some kind of unspoken level of a kind of intimacy had been formed between them as their shared intrigue drew their attention

“Nothing!” Grant said and showed her what came up. It only showed a spelling correction and then instead of an existing author, a suggestion with the origin of the Latin name 

When she looked up from his phone to look up at him she was aware of how close he was leaning as he showed her the screen of his phone and —she found that instead of pulling away from his nearness, she liked his presence there 

the Sidewalk street story cont.

 Once the play-dough girl and Jess were ushered out, Faun watched him lock the door

“I’m sorry, what did you say your name was?” she asked looking up at him

“I hadn’t, actually —I’m sorry, that was rude of me,” he said now and reached to shake her hand, 

“I’m Grant Stephenson,” and shook her hand noticing how delicate and small it was with slender long fingers. Her nails were clean and neat but not manicured, he noticed, but then, her hands did not require embellishments as they’d only detract their elegance, he thought. 

“I’m Faun,” she said redundantly and felt quite foolish after saying as he had established before that he knew who she was…. she stepped back carefully 

“So….well —just let me clean up, the coffee grinds need ….to be dumped….” she began to walk in the direction of the little coffee shop, which was just an alcove in the wall with a surround counter and a tall long marble table in the center with surrounding dark green upholstered tall bar stools. The barstool’s dark green matched the walls interiors exactly, as well as the velvet draperies that adorned all the tall windows. The wall paper, with the dark green background had a Victorian floral fine print with dark shades of deep burgundy, teal and navy blue and the print matched all the Victorian lamp shades in the shop; it was like walking into a pre-Raphaelite painting, Faun had thought, the first time she went into the shop.

Grant watched her as Faun systematically washed the coffee shop items; two small espresso shot cups and saucers, lemon peels, two small saucers and little spoons. She laid each item out to dry on the coffee cup rack. Then she wiped down all the tables and counters and put away the cleaning supplies. 

“I’ve been locking up the till,” Faun headed toward the purchasing desk where there was an antique burgundy and gilt painted cash register that had been refurbished and worked with on POS computer which also ran the credit card; another interesting detail for a modest shop. Without waiting for a reaction from him, she ran the close outs of both machines and opened the register to remove the cash drawer. Without looking at him she took the paper receipts with the closing reports and with the drawer headed to the bookshop’s office. 

She went in first and put the till down on the desk. He watched her open the safe. It was an odd safe, an antique, like the cash register, was also painted burgundy and gilt. It was custom made and opened with a skeleton key and face-recognition, which, if tricked wrong set off an alarm and called the local police. 

Once Faun completed closing up the safe with the till she stood aside and motioned Grant to the chair behind the huge antique wooden desk that served all the store’s office needs. 

But Grant did not sit down,

“oh, I think we had best go to Uncle Arthur’s office—the papers and ….the shop and other matters are all back in there….”

“Is it in the building?” she asked, not having realized Mr. Bishop had an office 

“Yes, it’s in the cellar….”

a side walk street side story

 

“But why would someone smell like play-dough —like—all the time???” she implored her friend 

they stood by their espressos perched upon the high gloss dark wood counter at the local bookshop. They came after school, as they did nearly every day, on their way home after classes; pretending to be more than sixteen 

Their voices traveled upstairs to the second story of the local bookshop, the second floor of two more—plus the attic and the weird cellar downstairs 

The interiors of the shop were reminiscent of bygone years. Faun de Roet had to wonder how it was possible to maintain such quality furnishings considering the decline of bookstore shoppers. But this had been a question she had been meaning to ask Mr. Bishop ….not expecting his sudden death. She had only just met the Bishops at the beginning of the summer and ….well, after their short but wonderful acquaintance Mr. Bishop took ill.

It seemed only natural to step in and run the shop considering all her years as a bookstore manager 

Faun stood puzzled a moment still hearing the girls chatter 

“Maybe he works at a toy store after school,” the other girl suggested 

“But like—all the time? I mean, come on Jess, that’s just weird in that gross and icky way.”

“You don’t have to kiss him—“

“Omg—shut up, I’m gonna gag, you just made me spill coffee on me!”

Faun heard someone behind her and turned around fast. She had an armload of books she was working on putting away but her sudden move caused her to drop most of them right on the feet of her intruder.

When she looked up she saw him bending down to help her as he said,

“here, let me help you.”

By just a few words she realized he was English. And as she studied his face she searched it, assuming he must be a son or relative of the Bishops 

“Thank you,” she said accepting his help as he handed her the books from the floor

“No, I should be thanking you,” he said

“Why?”

“For stepping in and running things during —all this—I mean, you must have your own life to see to?” he spoke so softly. Some of his words she had trouble with understanding; his accent, it was so ….lilting, like poetry, every word he spoke fell like drops of pearls but —she had trouble understanding. 

“Oh….” was all she could think to reply but then suddenly without knowing she would she said, “are you the son—or you’re—no the solicitor….?”

“Neither—I’m —not really exactly related, well more like the step nephew but, yes, I am here to manage the properties and his legal matters as he has left for Aunt Fiona,” he explained. There was an odd sheepish expression on his face just then. But quick as a wink it disappeared. 

She liked his face. There was something open about his expression and he had a gentle demeanor. He was warm colored; eyes and hair like a walk in a forest

 and yet to him having learned of her name before seeing her thought she had eyes much like a doe caught by surprise and the sense of autumn leaves 

“So—what will happen to the shop?” Faun asked in a hushed tone and quickly glanced around to be sure her voice had not carried 

“Ahh…that is a complicated question ….” the sheepish expression returned —there!—an instant! then was gone, “that is—actually—what I erm—meant to—had—hoped to tell—ask—talk to you about.”

But his accent rendered most of that incomprehensible to her. She only got the part he said “to you about”

She felt oddly self conscious 

“You came to talk to me?” 

She had a moment to take him in fully. Dressed somewhat conservatively in a shirt and cardigan, with the predictable khaki trousers and such —yet, not; he wore unusual shoes and she picked up on a scent he wore; some earthy spice (cologne or hair product or body wash?) ...age? not too young, not too old, a bit wise and still wondering 

“You’re busy,” he said it like a question and also like a stated fact 

“Well, the sign says we close at six and—“

He pulled out his phone,

“ah—time to usher out the riffraff,” he glanced back up at her as he slipped his phone back where it had been in his pocket before saying, “shall I lend a hand? You see, there’s some sticky things which needs being seen to and I don’t know who else to ask. Aunt Fiona is —understandably still beside herself.”

“Oh—if I can help….? Of course!”

“I was hoping you’d say that.”

slepptu ekki. Vinsamlegast komdu til mín. Það ert þú sem ég þarfnast