“I get it,” Glenn said. “It seems that’s okay. It’s part of the circle of life.”
“Good to know,” I said. “Sure you can borrow Elvis. When do you want to do this?”
“Now, if you have the time. I’m sorry for the rush, but Beth’s only here for another week and there’s still a lot she wants to do. Plus we’re trying to strike while Clayton is agreeable.”
“Got it,” I said. He wasn’t the first person to say something like that about an older relative. The funny thing was, just as often it was the younger people in a family who didn’t want to let things go. “Where does your uncle live?” I asked.
Glenn had loaned me his van when we moved Rose into my place. He’d let the Angels set up a sting in the sandwich shop. I was actually glad to be able to do something for him for a change.
Glenn named a street at the far end of town along the coast, hugging the shoreline where it curved down toward Rockport and Camden.
“Elvis and I could meet you there in about half an hour if you can make that work.”
“I can,” he said. “I owe you.”
“Don’t worry about it,” I said.
I put everything back in the garage, then went back inside to find Mac. He was at the workbench. I explained where I was going.
“The house is piled,” he warned. “I don’t mean like a hoarder. It’s just that the old man has a lot of stuff.”
I leaned against the workbench. Elvis was sitting near Mac, watching both of us.
“Do you think Glenn and his cousin would be offended if I see anything that would work here in the shop and offer to buy it or bring it here on consignment?”
Mac set down the screwdriver he’d been holding. “Just the opposite. I think they’d both be happy to get some things out of there. I can’t vouch for Clayton, though.”
“C’mon,” I said to Elvis. “Rodent patrol.”
The cat licked his whiskers, jumped down from the workbench and headed for the back door.
Glenn’s truck was parked on the street in front of his uncle’s house when I got there. He was leaning against the front fender, arms folded over his chest. He was tall, with wide shoulders, and he still wore his blond hair in the same brush cut he’d had as a college football player.
I pulled in behind the truck, picked up Elvis and got out.
Glenn smiled at me. “Thanks for doing this, Sarah,” he said. He looked at the cat. “You, too, Elvis.”
Elvis made a low meow of acknowledgment.
We walked up the driveway to the back door of the story-and-a-half house. It was set back from the street on what looked to be a large lot. “This is a really beautiful spot,” I said, looking around.
“It is,” Glenn agreed. “Clayton and his father—my grandfather—built this house. Beth lives in Portland—the other Portland, out west. She’s not interested in it, so I’m hoping that Clayton will eventually sell it to me.”
“I can see why you’d want to live here,” I said. I could hear the ocean in the distance. The soothing sound of the waves hitting the shore seemed to pull the tension out of my body.
Glenn opened the aluminum screen door and knocked on the inside wooden door. Then he opened it and stuck his head inside. “Clayton, are you here?” he called.
“No, I’m here,” a raspy voice behind us said. A large, barrel-chested man came around the side of the house. He was easily as tall as Glenn, with the same broad shoulders and strong arms. But Clayton McNamara must have had fifty pounds on his nephew. He smiled at me and held out his hand. “You’re Isabel’s granddaughter,” he said.
I smiled. His hands were massive and his handshake was strong but not crushing. “I am,” I said. “It’s nice to meet you, Mr. McNamara.”
“Call me Clayton, child,” he said. “‘Mister’ makes me feel old. Now, I am old, but I don’t like to be reminded about it.”
“You know my grandmother?” I said.
He pulled off his Patriots cap and smoothed a hand over his bald head. “Yes, I do. She broke my heart.”
I raised an eyebrow. “I think there’s a story here I’ve never heard.”
“Me neither,” Glenn said.
“It was a long time ago,” Clayton said. “Isabel was my first love. But first love is a fickle thing. I caught her kissing another man.”
It seemed as though Gram had a past I knew nothing about.
Clayton fitted his hat back on his head. “Though to be fair the other man did have two peanut butter cookies in his lunchbox.” He grinned at us. “And we were six.”
I laughed. “You went to school together.”
He nodded. “First through twelfth grade. How is Isabel? I hear she’s been on her honeymoon for most of the last year.”
“She has,” I said. “I just talked to her a couple of days ago. She’ll be home in about a month.”
“Next time you talk to her, please give her my best.”
“I will,” I said.
He looked at Elvis and held out a hand. It was bigger than my head. “Hello, puss,” he said. Elvis sniffed his fingers and then looked up at the big man and murped hello.
“How did he get the scar on his nose?” Clayton asked.
“I don’t know,” I said, stroking the top of the cat’s head. “He had it when I got him. There are a couple of more scars that are covered by his fur. The vet said the other guy probably looks worse.”
“He’s a good mouser.” It wasn’t really a question.
I nodded. “He is. He lived down along the harbor front for several weeks before he came to live with me. He wasn’t exactly scrawny.”
Elvis turned and looked at the little house. And then, to everyone’s amusement, he licked his whiskers.
Clayton stroked his long, shaggy beard. He may have had no hair on the top of his head, but he more than made up for it with the beard. “I’m thinking it may be a squirrel that’s in that back bedroom. I did have the window open one day without the screen, but it doesn’t make a lick of difference to Beth. She’s scared witless of anything like that.” He pointed at the house diagonally across the street. “That was the Williams house when Beth was a kid. Dillon Williams had a pet rat.”
Beside me Glenn was nodding wordlessly.
“Beth was five. It bit her.” Clayton held up the little finger on his right hand. “Took the tip right off the end of her finger.”
“Whatever’s in there, Elvis can get it,” I said.
“Let’s get to it, then,” the old man said. He led the way into the house. Mac was right. The place was piled, but it was clean. It was just that there wasn’t a bare surface anywhere. I followed the two men up to the second floor.
There were two bedrooms up there, one tucked under the peak of the roof on each side of the house. Clayton opened the bedroom door on the right. Like the rest of the house, it was piled with furniture. A double bed, a tall chest of drawers, a mirrored dresser, an armoire with double doors, a full-size rocking chair and heaps of women’s clothing filled the room.
I set Elvis down on the floor just inside the door. He immediately began to sniff the air. “Go for it,” I said. He started picking his way across the floor. “We should keep this door closed,” I told Glenn.
“Okay,” he said. “But how are we going to know if he catches anything?”
“We’ll know. Trust me,” I said.
The cat was already heading for the small closet in the far corner like a feline with a purpose. I closed the door.
“Would you like a cup of coffee?” Clayton asked.
“I should stay close by,” I said, gesturing at the door.
“Not a problem,” he said. “I’m perfectly capable of carrying a mug of coffee up these stairs.”
“Then, yes, thank you,” I said.
“How do you take it?”
“Cream and sugar, please.”
He turned to Glenn. “You, too?”
Glenn nodded. “Do you need any help?”
“I’ll ask if I do,” Clayton said. “Stay here and keep Sarah company.” He made his way back down the stairs, turning left at the bottom.