Author: Robyn Carr
“Tell me about it. Few years ago, some lunatic got in a big brawl with his mother and sister, then shot at a deputy. He was totally unbalanced, just over eighteen years old and living with his parents, hiding in his bedroom where he had fifteen assault rifles.”
“Living with his parents? And assault rifles?”
“I know. Tell me how they thought it was okay that this kid with a screw loose had a bunch of really powerful guns. Did they ever think that was, I don’t know, odd? Because I’m not the best father on record, I’m sure, but I know who forgot to flush around here.”
Right then, Cooper thought if there was anything suspicious to know about Ben’s death, Mac was a good guy to have on the case. “I bet you’re a good father,” Cooper said, but he was still half laughing. “And this is a nice house, Mac.”
“Eh, I’m getting used to it.”
“How long have you been here?”
“A few years. Dee Dee was six—she’s ten now. I bought it because it could hold this crew, was solidly built and on the school bus route, not that anyone around here would even consider the bus. They all want to be driven. They consider the bus a punishment.”
“That can cut into your schedule.”
“I have Lou. She’s a teacher—she doesn’t mind dropping them off. But we have major scheduling issues for picking up because they have all kinds of after-school activities, from football practice to piano lessons. We manage, though.”
“Your aunt Lou is a kick. And the spaghetti really was good. Very good.”
“It is, you’re right. I’m lucky there’s someone who will make spaghetti for me. It’s just that we’ve been eating the same ten things since I was ten years old.”
Aunt Lou had been cooking his meals since he was ten and was now cooking for his family? Mac must have seen his surprise, because he continued.
“My parents were killed in a car accident when I was a kid and Lou raised me the rest of the way. My wife left me with three kids when Dee Dee was nine months old. Lou has saved my life more than once.”
Cooper was speechless. His biggest worry had been the fact that he’d never been able to settle down, make a relationship with a woman go the distance. He was so far from fatherhood he couldn’t even fathom being dumped with three kids to raise.
“The house is big enough, with a generous yard, near a town small enough to know everyone. If I were a rich man, I’d have a house with a view of the ocean, but up high. Not something ridiculous, just a roomy, airy house with a lot of windows. You probably haven’t been around long enough to wonder why this place is called Thunder Point but the way the storm clouds come into the bay, the way the lightning flashes over the water...” He shook his head. “This is a really beautiful place. Sometimes I take the squad car out to the spot where the Cheap Drinks sign is and sit on the hill and watch the weather over the bay. Or watch the sunset. Or the fog lift and the sunbeams streak through.”
Coop thought about everything Mac had told him for a minute. This man had had mega challenges that Cooper had never faced. Being orphaned? Being left a single father with not one but three children? And looking so regular? Acting so normal, like it was just one foot in front of the other.
But all Cooper said was, “This seems to be a good house.”
Mac replied, “It’s good enough for us.”
While a couple of representatives from a cleanup company wandered through the bait shop, Cooper went to the dock and called the lawyer whose name appeared on the letterhead of Ben’s will. He explained what he’d found on Ben’s property. “Before I write a check for the cleanup, I should know whether this will that I’ve been in possession of for less than twenty-four hours is legitimate.”
“Absolutely ironclad. If you read it carefully, you’ll find that everything is held in the Bailey Oceanfront Trust. There is a thirty-thousand-dollar lien you’ll have to assume, however. He borrowed against the land to pay for the tow truck. Borrowed, rather than selling off any land. It’s a considerable parcel, Mr. Cooper. Mr. Bailey didn’t have any investments and very little in the way of savings, but he didn’t like having bills. There’s some cash set aside for property tax.”
“Why do you suppose he bought a tow truck?” Cooper asked.
“I couldn’t tell you. He said he needed it. You have over two hundred acres that includes beachfront, Mr. Cooper.”
“Over two hundred?” he asked in shock.
“That’s what county records show. I recommend you have the land surveyed.”
“Holy Jesus!”
“As I said, considerable.”
“You don’t understand,” Cooper said. “Ben Bailey acted like a poor boy with a bait shop!”
“As far as I know, he didn’t have much money. Ben, and his father before him, were land poor.”
Just land? Just a couple hundred acres, including beautiful beachfront property? From where Cooper stood on the dock, he could look west to the ocean and the vast promontory; south to the rocky, hilly landscape dotted with Douglas fir; east to more hills with some bad roads leading to the highway; and north across the beautiful beach to the small town and marina. He’d have to see a map, but from where he stood he couldn’t understand why Ben hadn’t done anything more ambitious than keep the lights on. Why hadn’t he cashed in at least a piece of it and built himself a decent house! Why hadn’t he found himself a good woman and settled down? Ben was a couple of years older than Cooper, right around forty. And what had he done with himself?
Cooper looked out at the land mass south of the bay. That would be the bird sanctuary. Cooper hadn’t even walked out there. Would the birds give the land up for a big house with a drop-dead view? But maybe Ben, like Cooper, didn’t want to be tied to a big house that just had to be kept in repair. And cleaned. And would echo.
But the stretch of beach from the town all the way to the tip of Ben’s land would accommodate a resort with at least a thousand rooms or a few hundred villas or condos...maybe even a golf course. How would that look, right up against an ordinary town with a bunch of fishing boats in the marina?
It would look, he thought, like a major payday.
“Mr. Cooper.” A man holding a clipboard signaled him. He was all suited up, a face mask hanging around his neck, wearing heavy-duty rubber gloves. These guys looked like escapees from a hazmat team, Cooper thought, but then they must run into a lot of real bad stuff like floods and fires. Homicide? Cooper went up the stairs and met him on the deck, wrinkling his nose. “You got problems,” the man said. “You got rot, mold, septic backup, plumbing is going bad, and then there’s the smell.”
“Sounds terrible.”
“No termites,” he said with a lame smile.
“What do you recommend?”
“We can’t turn over a good property to you unless we pretty much gut it. It needs a new septic system, plumbing repairs, and we can’t get at that mold without tearing out some walls and flooring. The good news is, you have some water-damaged, rotting wood that would have to go anyway, so you kill two birds with one stone. You let us tear out the old wood to get to the mold and we’ll only charge you once.”
“I don’t plan to keep it. So now what do you recommend?” he asked.
“You could raze it,” he said. “Sell the lot it’s on. But if you’re thinking about selling the structure, you’d have to do some serious work. Massive remodel. And I can’t guarantee you’d get your money’s worth. See how it sits right in the middle of this land? The people who own the rest of this beach and land, they’d be the ones to ask. Maybe they’d buy your lot just to get you out of here so they can put up a hotel and strip mall. You should ask.” He looked around, stretching his neck. “Not exactly a prime location for that, though. This place is kind of out-of-the-way.”
Cooper was silent a moment. “You got an estimate to gut it?”
The man ripped off the top sheet and passed it to him—$5,890.00. “That doesn’t include plumbing, septic system or removal of damaged, rotting wood. That would be another several thousand. Then you’re left with a frame, pretty much.”
“Roughly six thousand? Just to tear it apart?”
“That’s a real nice estimate. And that bar? As bars go, it’s terrible. It’s a good fifty years old. And it’s not an antique. It’s just old and cheap. And rotting.”
“Is anything on this place all right?” Cooper asked.
The guy gave a nod. “Good deck. It’s newer than the structure. And as far as we can tell, the foundation is solid—but I wouldn’t guarantee it. You have a really bad roof. If you get it in your head to renovate, I’d recommend a new roof. We don’t do renovation, but I’d bet you’re looking at over a hundred grand there. But hey, do you know what people would pay for your view?”
Cooper ran a hand around the back of his neck which, despite the cold, was sweating. “If I decide to just knock it down, can you do it?”
“Nope,” he said, shaking his head. “But I can recommend a good demolition team. I can also recommend plumbers, septic repair or replacement, interior work, roofers. These are the people we work with on a regular basis—contractors of every stripe. We specialize in fire-and-flood damage—after our work is done, the rebuilding starts.”
“Don’t you ever go in and just clean up the mess?” Cooper asked.
“Pretty often. But this one is bad.”
“Just because the electricity was off for a few weeks and the bait died?”
“It was in serious decline, filling up with mold, before that happened. You might want to check with your insurance company—they might help. But this place has been neglected for a long time. Looks like someone tried to get that septic system up and running for a while, when it should’ve been replaced.” He lifted bushy eyebrows. “You?”
“No, not me. I have to think about what I’m going to do.”
“Fair enough,” the man said, sticking out his hand.
“If I decide to do something with this, how much notice do you need?”
“It’s turning winter. The schedule isn’t too bad. But if you don’t act soon, we’re going to be weathered out.”
“I’ll try to think fast,” Cooper said. “Got any more of those face masks?”
The man reached into his pocket and pulled out several. “Just so you know—they’re not that effective against the smell in there.”
“I’m sure.”
“Just out of curiosity, why didn’t you fix the place up before it got so bad?”
“It wasn’t mine until recently. The man who owned it died.”
“Really? Well, hell, man! Cash it in! The land it’s on is probably worth something.”
He knew that, Cooper did. But something about the whole thing just gnawed at him. He wasn’t going to be able to make a decision until he understood why Ben Bailey lived with mold and rotting wood. The fact that he was pretty unmotivated didn’t explain it. Ben could’ve made one phone call and traded some land for enough money to build himself something nice. “So,” he said to the man with the cleanup crew, “how much to make that fish tank and any rotting food go away?”
“Twenty-five hundred. But that won’t solve your septic problems. We can deal with that, too, short of replacing it. But that won’t leave you a sound building and the plumbing won’t be serviceable.”
“I just want time to look around the inside. And think. And brother, I can’t think when it smells like that.”
“Twenty-five hundred makes it unpleasant rather than deadly.”
