X-Ray Vision Ch. 10: Partnership

Call potential customers? But that would leave the line busy if a customer did call. Maybe they needed another phone line? Too soon for that, they had to make money to spend money.

Her jaw was tight; her shoulders felt sore. Relax! Stand up, stretch, hands clasped and arms overhead, lean right and left, wander out to the porch, deliberately ignoring the phone sitting there mute, accusing her.

The day was bright and clear, like all the days here so far. A little chilly, and gonna get colder according to Greg. Nothing like Idaho winter so she'd deal.

Plop down on the love seat, pushed back against the wall where Greg liked it. Could only see the sky over the porch half-wall, the screens making it look all banded.

Scooch up, raise her head - now she could see a sliver of ocean. Ocean! Never gonna get used to that. Endless infinite water to the horizon and beyond. And not just wide; it was deep! Down, down, miles of water. She wasn't sure she was really comfortable with the ocean yet.

Pull her feet up under her, crouch on the seat, on her knees so she could see the beach. A sliver of sand, just the surf rolling in, two little kids laughing and running, their mom walking after, relaxed and contented, letting them work out their energy.

Ring! Ring!

She leaped up, her feet tangling on the cushion, tumbling off the couch, nearly going down, staggering to keep her balance.

Ring! Ring!

Jesus Christ in a handbasket, get ahold of yourself woman! Heart pounding in her chest she bolted into the condo, grabbed the handset.

"He..hello!" She was tongue-tied, blanked. Try again.

"Uh, Billie's Recovery! Your, uh, Finding your treasure is our pleasure!"

"Hi Billie! I'm Wanda Sparrow, a friend of Mrs. Gage. I hear you can find things!"

Her wits returning, she grabbed a pad and pencil.

"Yes ma'am! We'd be glad to help! Tell me what you need."

Wanda proceeded to ramble around the topic, speaking of things she'd lost in the past, of things her friends had lost. Not getting to the point.

Billie interrupted. "Sorry ma'am but could you tell me how exactly I can help today? Something you've lost recently, perhaps in your home?"

"Oh, I have a dozen things I can't find! If my head wasn't fastened on! Could you just stop by, see what you can round up? Frank is always on me about it..."

She was off again. After another minute of monologue Billie managed to get a word in, arrange a time later in the morning. A few more digressions and she said her goodbyes, hung up.

That was a case! Maybe. If the lady could actually remember what she was after, and if it was actually findable. Greg would probably have to weigh in on this one.

It went better after that, the phone ringing three more times before Greg came back. He arrived soundlessly; knew of course she was on the phone before he even opened the door. Occupied himself with a bathroom stop, a visit to the fridge until Billie finished the last call, made her notes.

"We're in business? That's wonderful! What do you have so far?"

Billie beamed, glad to give him the rundown, glad to have something on the agenda at all.

"Lost medals, two old brothers, veterans, not seen them for ages but went to look and they're gone. Middle aged guy, his fella up and disappeared, not a word, worried something happened to him. Older lady, money misplaced around the house, ready to blame the housekeeper, the paper boy, the meter reader but probably just forgot where she put it. And the first one, a Mrs. Wanda Sparrow, didn't seem to know what she lost, vague about that, just wants us to visit. Maybe just lonely? I guess we'll learn more when we see her."

"You mind if I come along? I'd like to see how this works up close, see you in action! I won't get in the way, I'll wait for you to need my skill, I promise!"

Billie grinned. "I'd like to see you in action too! Let's make this a getting-to-know-you day, partner up this morning."

That resolved, they snacked on the leftovers from last night, the last of the hummus and pita (Billie let him know pita was the bread, hummus the garlic paste), picked over the chicken carcass saved by Jillian's decree, for soup however that worked.

A couple cans of bubbly, washed up, answering machine activated and they hit the street.

Billie read out the addresses, let Greg choose the route. She'd learn the town layout by tracking down customers. The closest was behind the strip, near Eastwoods in fact. They started out.

It was not far, a couple blocks behind the boardwalk. Not the best part of town, the first residential neighborhood after the beachfront. Normally that would go for a fortune, proximity to the water. But these were tiny houses, old, built in each other's backyard, tiny lawns, no garages.

They found the place pretty easily, an older two-story from the original development.

"This lady says some money is missing. She has all the usual suspects, pretty much anybody she ever met."

Greg looked the house over. The tidy rose trees framing the front door; the trimmed grass with neat edging around the walk.

"Do you think it likely somebody took it?" Greg was asking in order to find out.

She shook her head No! "Hey maybe I'm naïve, coming from Podunk Idaho. But most times things are lost, they are just lost. You don't have to go looking for sneak thieves. Just look behind the couch."

Sounded good. "I might find it quick, if that's the way we want to run this. Give the house a once over. See what's laying around."

"So how does this work? You go into a trance, burn some sage, what?"

Greg started to smile, thought better of it. Treat her seriously.

"It's not something I have to do. It's... always on. I just look someplace, and added to what I see is what I know. I know for instance that her attic had squirrels - chewed thru the attic vent in the rear but that's been repaired."

He was craning his neck, examining the roof line, seeing it and 'seeing' it. He turned his attention to the ground, the foundation.

"Her water service is old-style, small diameter. Her pressure is probably low.

"The drains go to the city sewer but the pipe, where it comes out of the house? It's not flexible, not to code today, under stress from the ground freezing and thawing, cracked. In another winter or two she's gonna have a soft spot under that window..."

He pointed to the foundation on one side of the front door, probably a living room window.

Billie was impressed and a little excited. Not afraid; this was Greg. He'd never been anything but kind. Just thrilled to be learning all about this stuff.

Nobody back in Idaho would even imagine.

"So what's in there? Any place to lose things like money?"

Greg glanced around. "A thousand places. Furniture everywhere, hardly room to move around. Bookcases, maybe a dozen, filled with cookbooks, mystery novels, travel guides. Oh! There's money in the books, some of them. A ten or a twenty just stuck in the pages, seems like at random."

Billie nodded. "She could have just squirreled it away..." here she grinned, "Forgot that she'd done it?"

Greg considered. "From the content of the kitchen cabinets, I'd say she does quite a bit of that." He didn't elaborate, but the cabinets were pretty scrambled. Most of the dry goods in a pantry cupboard but also the sugar canister misfiled in the China cabinet. Saltshaker in one drawer; pepper shaker under the counter, in with the dish soap. Silverware spread in every drawer at random.

"She losing the plot? Getting a little dotty?" Billie didn't want to be mean about it, but she'd met quite a few oldsters when delivering hot meals back in Ketchum. Sometimes they'd lose their train of thought, or even have to be introduced each time she delivered, like it was the first time. Sweet old things, she missed them.

Greg nodded. "We'll have to tread lightly. She may have forgotten about the lost money, may not even be expecting us."

They went in the gate, the four steps to the front door and Billie knocked.

Looking sideways at Greg while they waited, "You need a better shtick, maybe some patter! What you do is magic; may as well play it up."

Greg just raised an eyebrow, didn't comment.

They heard scraping inside, like something dragging across the floor. The knob rattled for a bit; the bolt lock was released. The door opened a crack.

"Yes?" in an old, frail voice.

Just an eye showed through, still Billie could tell her expression was dubious. Play it by ear!

"Good morning, Ma'am! I'm Billie from Billie's Recovery Service! I hear you may have something that needs finding. That's what I do! Can we come in and talk about it?"

All friendly, not assuming anything had come before, keep it simple, no confusing details.

"Who... who's your friend?" The dubious eyeball on Greg now.

"This is my business partner, doing a ride-along today to see how I pull off my magic. If you wouldn't mind, he'd like to observe, learn about this end of the business."

Billie glanced at Greg, to see how he took that. He was fine with it, making an innocent face, nodding.

The lady took a moment, then opened the door more widely.

"Come in! Pardon the mess. I'm just tidying up."

Turns out 'the mess' was everywhere. Piles of newspapers, books spilling out of bookcases. Unread mail in bundles. Every horizontal surface had something. Clearly no tidying up had happened for ages.

An end-table covered in precious pottery figurines was shoved behind the door making it hard to open fully. Apparently, this had been in front of the door. Moving it had made that scraping noise.

In any case they had to huddle between an armchair and a bookcase while the homeowner shut the door and moved the end-table back. This cleared a route into the house proper.

"Come into the kitchen! I've just put on tea. Would you like some tea? It's ginger, for my digestion, but still very refreshing!"

Billie made polite noises as they followed, Greg continuing to survey the room's contents. He could see it all, but not understand it easily without concentrating on one part at a time. It was all just too much.

Drawers contained small change, receipts, coupons, rubber bands, paper clips, stray poker chips, even a pair of silk stockings. One China cabinet contained jewelry, mostly costume by the look but maybe one or two good pieces, randomly laid over the display shelves.

Through a dining room with a fine walnut table, scratched and water-stained, piled with crockery of every description. No place to sit here.

The kitchen was relatively clear, with a small breakfast table against one wall and two chairs. The lady offered one to Billie and the other to Greg; he deferred, leaving it for the ladies to sit and discuss.

"So Mrs., uh," Billie consulted her notepad. "Mrs. Starr, is there something I can do to help you today?"

Mrs. Starr gave her a blank look, settling into her chair and fooling with the sugar bowl.

"What's that, dear? You want to do something for me? My visiting nurse will be along shortly, she takes care of most of my errands. No, I can't think of anything."

The tea kettle began to whistle, but Mrs. Starr was either too distracted or hard of hearing to notice. Billie gave it a moment, then got up and went to the stove.

Taking the kettle in hand and turning off the burner, she found the pot ready, lifting the lid to find a tea ball already filled inside. Pouring the pot full she sat the kettle back, clomped the lid back on and brought the porcelain pot carefully to the table.

"Set it right here dear!" A crocheted potholder, much stained by previous teapots, sat ready.

One cup was already on the table; Billie gave Greg a raised-eyebrow look. He got the message, scanned the cupboards, pointed surreptitiously at the second cupboard from the left. Billie fetched two more identical cups from there, rinsed the dust off in the sink, brought them over.

Mrs. Starr was happily rearranging the pot, sugar bowl, a once-gilded cream pitcher attractively on the table. She seemed oblivious to Billie's activities.

"I only ask, Mrs. Starr, because we're starting a new service. We find things that folks have lost or mislaid! You may have heard of us? Billie's Recovery Service?"

She perked up at the name. "Oh! Yes! I heard something at the dog groomers. You are the clever girl that found that dog! Birdie, is it?"

"Yes! Billie, ma'am. That's us. Now, I don't think you have lost a dog, have you?" There had clearly been no pets in the house, else the clutter would have been disastrously scattered. The relative tidiness of piled belongings and delicately balanced items proved that.

"Oh, my no, not since my Dusty passed, oh, last June?" It may have been in June, but probably more than a decade ago. Why she still visited the groomer was anybody's guess.

"Sorry to hear that, it's hard when a dear pet passes on. Leaves a big hole in your heart?" Billie knew all the polite forms and responses, presumably from years of church-lady small talk.

"Mmm Hm." Mrs. Starr nodded absently, poking at the teapot, looking inside, impatient for it to brew.

Billie gently took the pot from her, got a bemused smile in return. Checked the pot; began pouring.

The first cup she set in front of Mrs. Starr, who began happily scooping sugar into it.

The second she handed to Greg, who took it politely, returned Mrs. Starr's smile, sipped.

Not bad! Ginger, fresh, bright. Not normally a tea person but this could grow on you.

Billie poured one for herself, took the offered sugar bowl, took a healthy scoop. Sipped, made a wry face.

"Oh, I know dear, it takes some getting used to. But my digestion isn't what it used to be! My dear Alfred used to make me the most wonderful Earl Gray, every morning for breakfast. Now I can't tolerate it."

"Was Alfred your husband?"

"Yes, yes. For forty years! Then the cancer got him. That was, I don't know, 30 years ago? He was a stockbroker at that big firm in the City."

That would make Mrs. Starr late 80's or even in her 90's. She looked pretty spry for all that. Still living alone. Still moving furniture!

"He was a collector! Porcelain, jewelry. Coins! Oh, he would spend hours at that desk, cataloguing his collections. Taking items out one by one, looking at them, smiling his gentle smile! I called it 'petting his children'. He was amused by that. He loved his precious things! Especially the coins."

"It must have been a relief to you, all those precious things to remember him by." Billie was fishing for some reason we were here.

But she disappointed. "Oh well, most of that had to go when he died. Some investments that didn't work, something at the firm that had to be cleared up. But our solicitor made sure I kept the house! And a little money. It's been enough."

"Surely a coin collection must have been valuable?" Still looking for something we could do for her.

"I suppose. It was his father's set, what got Alfred going in the collecting line. Such pretty things! So shiny, they would dazzle your eyes! Such pretty symbols! The beautiful lady, the majestic eagle! He would never part with any of them."

"I suppose the solicitor had to sell it for him, after he passed."

Here she looked sly. "No, they never found them! Alfred could sense he was going; told me they were not to be taken by the City men! Put them away where no one would find them! Kept them from those lawyers and those greedy men from the bank. They took the porcelain, the jewelry. But not the coins!"

"Might we see them? They sound wonderful, and I've never seen a real coin collection before."

She gave a sad look. "I'm afraid not! You see, Alfred never told me where they are. So I couldn't tell the lawyers, he said! I should have them, against a rainy day he said."

Aha! Here was something they could get their teeth into. A long-lost coin collection!

Greg spoke for the first time.

"Mrs. Starr? Perhaps Mr. Starr kept them in a bank box, or a storage locker? Would you have found them in that case? Did he leave a key, or a combination, or an address perhaps?"

She tsk'd at that. "Oh my no. He kept his collections here in the house. Never trust the banks he said! He lived through the crash you know, his father lost everything but the coins. Jumped from a ledge! Alfred had only the coin collection from his father, that and his memories."

Billie gave Greg a meaningful look, which meant Get to Work!

While Billie continued to talk of inconsequential things, the tea, the porcelain, the neighborhood and how it had gone downhill, Greg started searching.

Starting from the attic he quickly dispatched the trunks, boxes and bags. Nothing but old, old clothes and photographs. A bundle of love notes! Tied in a very faded pink ribbon.

A tabletop Victrola! Not valuable, just a few dollars at a thrift store. The mainspring seized, the needle rusted by time and humidity.

The upstairs bedroom gave him little trouble. No clutter: that was restricted to the bottom floor. Just a closet with old suits, dresses. A dresser full of unmentionables, a silver tie pin, a pewter keepsake from a trip abroad. Too many shoes in the closet, some faded forlorn hats.

The mattress - nothing, not even bedbugs. The springs long compressed, a permanent depression for Mrs. Starr, a lesser one for the dear departed Alfred.

He was going to turn to the downstairs, begin a methodical scan of every piece of furniture, every stack of paper, every bag of hangars, candlesticks, dowels and clothes pins. To delay that prospect, which would certainly give him a headache, he tarried in the upstairs hall.

The old construction was lath and plaster, no insulation, just hollow walls. Nothing but a few ancient mouse nests wedged between the studs. A penciled note on a baseboard from a workman all those years ago - 'If you are reading this, something is quite wrong.' Cute.

The bathroom - a claw tub, rust loosening the chipped enamel to flake off in spots. A toilet with a half-waterlogged float, quietly seeping. A cabinet with mostly expired pots and potions, many of a kind no longer sold.

A sink, fancy plated faucets, hot and cold with the shine mostly worn away, the pot metal showing through. Desiccated cracked drain plug set to one side on a short chain. An earring in the trap, corroded and stuck in the sludge.

Old copper pipes in the walls, mostly green, mostly plugged with mats of old corrosion, barely any room in them for the low water pressure to deliver any water. It must take an age to fill the tub!

A copper flour canister, wedged between the hot and cold, plastered in behind the sink, the ancient, patched plaster beginning to crack around the hole where it'd been inserted.

And inside that, gold.

He gave Billie a small smile, tilted his head to indicate Up there! She smiled broadly back, looked fondly at Greg. He knew that look - it meant Good Boy! He'd seen it from Jillian more times than he could count. Still it made his heart feel good.

"Mrs. Starr? I believe we can find your coin collection, if you'd like?"

She looked puzzled. "Dear, nobody has been able to trace that for years. If you can find it now, I will eat my hat."

"Is there somebody we could call, who could help you value it, and keep it secure? Once we do find it."

"You'd have to ask Mrs. Jones about that. Fecundity Jones, can you imagine? Such a name! She's my visiting nurse. Married to Sorrowful Jones! Fine, fine people, but names to make you marvel."

The kitchen screen door squealed on rusty hinges; a key was fitted to the lock. As if on cue, a generously sized woman who could only be the well-named Fecundity entered carrying a small bag of groceries. Noticed them sitting, extracted her key and secured the door while giving them an appraising look.

"Can I help you? Mrs. Starr doesn't usually receive visitors." The unspoken words 'without my being here' were clear.