Chapter 2
He said he was waiting for the weather to break, in truth he was procrastinating, again.
Leave it to New York's crazy March weather to wait until the last week of the month to
finally show signs of the spring to come. Highs in the low fifties had melted the last
residuals of snow that lay hidden in the shadows of the city. Alexis was off with Ashley
and his family in California, and now his excuses and his time were at an end.
"Mother!" He yelled to the apartment's upstairs balcony.
"Coming!" Her disembodied voice yelled back. In a moment, she appeared at the landing.
"Is that all you're taking?" She asked when she saw the backpack at his feet.
"I'm just going there for the day. I want to see the problem for myself, then I'll make
arrangements with the local exterminator and I'll be back home by tonight."
"If it was so easy then why did you put it off for so long?"
"It's the principal of the thing, mother. I do not like being threatened or forced into doing
something just because it's in some stupid rule book."
"May I remind you, how many times I've had to bail you out of jail because you didn't like
the rules in the rule book?"
He just squinted his eyes and glared at her.
"I'm just saying." She threw up her hands not wanting to start an argument.
"I gotta go." he grumbled.
"Be careful." She said.
"I will."
Picking up his backpack, he left without saying goodbye.
…..
As much as he loved his place in the Hamptons, the drive was the worst part. The traffic
always seemed to double, even triple the drive time getting there. He arrived there two
and a half hours later, tense, irritated and just a little hungry. With the break in the
weather, NYSDOT had at least forty miles of 495 under construction and most of the
drive had been stop and go.
He finally made it to East Hampton and the place looked like a ghost town. Most of the
shops were buttoned down tight, awaiting the arrival of summer residents, tourists and
beachgoers. Luckily, Miss Vernon's was open. It was an institution in the area, a cross
between a roadside diner and The Pancake House, it wasn't great food but it was filling.
He ordered the two eggs and two sides and ate quickly. He was eager to get the day
behind him.
…
His trivial 'gopher problem' greeted him as soon as he pulled into the driveway of his
vacation home.
"Damn!"
Much of the extensive landscaping he had done to the place was either dead or missing.
He didn't bother pulling into the garage. Instead, he parked in the driveway and jumped
out survey the destruction. Standing on the driveway at the lawn's edge he found himself
looking at what could no longer be described as a lawn. It looked like a war zone. There
were at least thirty or more small craters with accompanying dirt mounds where 'gopher
bombs' seemed to have gone off. He walked over to a hole and kicked one of the mounds.
"Son of a …"
"Oh, Mr. Castle! Mr. Castle!"
His cursing interrupted; he looked across his yard into the eyes of Mrs. Lovett, his elderly
and slightly eccentric (a nicer word than crazy) neighbor. He closed his eyes and silently
cursed Christy Brinkley, his previous neighbor, for moving away after her divorce. Mrs.
Lovett had been deposited in Christy's place by her absent son, some big wig investment
banker back in the city, and she had latched on to him as some sort of surrogate son from
day one. He could handle her motherly concern; he just couldn't stomach the strange pies
she was always making for him.
"Hi Mrs. Lovett, how have you been?"
"I've been so worried, have you seen your lawn? Those nasty gophers have eaten all your
beautiful plants. I was worried you weren't going to come."
A light bulb went off in his head as he walked over to the old woman.
"Mr. Lovett, did you notify the homeowners association about this."
"Why yes I did. I didn't know how to reach you. I asked my son George to tell you, but he said
it was none of our business and not to worry about it. How could I not worry about it, your
pretty plants!"
He noticed she was on the verge of tears so he reached out and took hold of her hands to
comfort her.
"It's ok, Mrs. Lovett. I'm here now and I'll get everything taken care of, don't you worry."
He looked over her shoulder at her pristine yard.
"Have you had any problems with the gophers in your yard?"
"No. When I mentioned your problem to George, he had the exterminators come out and
wire up an underground electronic gopher repellant system in the yard. You should think
about having one put in."
"Yeah, I'll do that. Thanks a lot, George," he muttered under his breath.
"Now that you're here, I'm going to have to bake you a pie. I know how much you love my
pies. I got a new recipe off that young gal's show, Rachel something?"
"Rachel Ray?" He filled in.
"Yes that's the one; it's called chicken spaghetti pie. It looks wonderful!"
"That does sound good Mrs. Lovett, why don't you get started on it. I need to go turn the
heat on in the house and run a few errands in town and you can let me know when it's ready.
How's that sound?"
"Perfect! I'll come get you when it's ready"
He watched her hurry away and gave her a quick wave as she disappeared into her house.
Letting out a huge sigh, he returned his focus to the yard, or rather what was left of his yard.
Four months. The gopher had done all this destruction in four months. They were last out here
in November for the Thanksgiving holiday and everything was fine. Shaking his head while
dodging dirt mounds, he began to think up ways to kill off an investment banker in his next
novel as he made his way over to his front door. He unlocked the door and went inside. Opening
the drawer of a long foyer table that stood just inside the door he removed a remote control
device that controlled all the systems of the house. He pushed the button that turned on the lights,
nothing happened. He tried it again, nothing.
"Damn batteries!" He popped the back cover off and rolled the batteries around inside and tried
the button again, still nothing.
"A ten thousand dollar system brought to its knees by three dollars worth of batteries, how prophetic
of our times," he mumbled. He tossed the remote onto the table and he made his was across the living
room. He pulled back the heavy room darkening curtains that hung across two sets of French double
doors leading to the back patio. They let in enough light, even on this overcast day, to brighten the
whole room. He then looked out to take in the view of the ocean. He never saw the ocean.
"Shit!"
The yard around the swimming pool looked the same as the front yard. He opened a door and stepped
outside. The hedge he had put in several years ago was decimated with holes. Some sections were gone
completely. Gopher holes peppered the yard.
He never thought of himself as a violent man, towards people or animals, but this was war, and these little
bastards had to die! He pondered removing the pool cover. Maybe they would try to drink out of it, fall in and
drown! Nah, he couldn't get that lucky. It was time to head into town for professional help. Back inside, he
manually turned on the heater and then locked up before heading to town.
Gorzowski and Son's was the local exterminator that had an exclusive contract in the East Hampton Township.
He had a yearly maintenance contract with them. He respected them; they did their job professionally and didn't
try to rip people off. Pulling into their parking lot he found himself faced with a closed sign hanging in the front
window.
"Well, hell!"
He threw his car in reverse and headed back through town. He was pondering what to do next when he saw it,
a sign from god, well maybe not from god, but a sign that flashed Thompson's Hardware up ahead and to
the right. In all the years he'd been vacationing in the Hamptons, he never had the occasion to shop there.
The building was a mismatch of old and new. The flashing sign and the main building looked like it dated
from the forties. Walking inside, he thought it also smelled like the forties. Even the old man sitting behind
the counter could have been working there since then.
"I was wondering if you could help me," he asked the man.
"That's why I'm here," he replied.
"I was wondering if you knew why Gorzowski's is closed."
"Yep, it's spring break. The whole family goes to Florida every year for spring break."
"Do you now another exterminator I can call?"
"You live in East Hampton?"
"Yes."
"Then there ain't nobody else."
"What? You mean to tell me there is nobody else who can work out here?"
"That's right; the Gorzowski's have had a contract with this township going back three generations. Anybody
caught scabbing here will lose their license to work anywhere in the state of New York."
"When will they be back?"
"They just left Monday, so not for two weeks."
"I'm screwed then," he said, running his hand through his hair in frustration.
"What seems to be your problem?" The old man asked.
"I have a gopher."
The man laughed. "Is that all!"
"It's not funny. I have the damn homeowners association threatening to make me sell my home if I don't take
care of the problem this week."
"You don't need the Gorzowski's. You can get rid of the gopher yourself, it's easy."
"Oh yeah?"
"Yeah, I can fix you up with everything you need. Your gopher will be dead by tomorrow morning."
"You think so?"
"Sure! I just need to know how many holes you got."
"I have about thirty in the front yard and another twenty in the back."
"You may have more than one, though gophers don't like to share territory. They are very aggressive and will
fight each other, even to the death."
"Wow."
"Yep. You just wait there and I'll l get you everything you need."
"Thanks."
"Like I said, that's why I'm here."
He lingered at the counter while the spry old man zipped around the store. He could hear things clanging and
banging together as the man threw items into the used cardboard box he was carrying. Several minutes later
he returned and set the box down on the counter with a resounding crash.
"Alright, I got you twelve traps, a trowel and some scrap cardboard. You should be good to go."
"Traps? I don't know anything about setting traps," he replied, fingering one of the vicious looking mechanisms
piled in the box.
"Don't worry, I'll show you how to do everything before you go." The man was good to his word. He had him
trained and out the door ten minutes later.
Emboldened with his newfound knowledge, he felt like an early American hunter off to trap and kill a rogue bear
that was threatening his way of life. Maybe after he'd caught the little bastard, he'd use the fillet knife in his
fishing gear to skin it and hang its hide on the wall of his house as a deterrent to other gophers thinking of
invading his territory. He laughed at the idea. As fun as it was to fantasize, he'd probably just bury the critter,
trap and all in whatever hole he found it in.
Daydreaming, he almost passed up his last stop before heading home. He ran inside and grabbed what he
needed for the night. Back at the house, he sat in the driveway for several minutes with the car idling, dreading
what he had to do next. He had to call his mother. He hit her speed dial number and waited.
"Richard darling, are you done already?"
"No mother, that's why I'm calling, I'm going to have to spend the night."
"What happened?"
"Nothing happened, mother. It's just that the exterminators are out of town so I have to take care of this
gopher problem myself, I have to set a few traps and then I'll be home tomorrow."
"Traps! Richard you don't know anything about trapping animals. You could lose a finger with those things!'
"Thanks for the concern, and the stumpy nub imagery that's now stuck in my head, but you don't have any
need to worry. These things are simple to use, I'm going to set them up tonight and this gopher should be
dead by morning."
"Alright then sweetheart, can you call me in the morning before you head home?"
"I'll call you, I promise. Goodnight."
"Goodnight, and be careful." She hung up before he could admonish her concern.
He unloaded the box from the hardware store onto the driveway and the bags from the convenience store
wound up on the kitchen counter. He headed down the hall to check the temperature reading on the thermostat.
"Damn!" He just remembered; he'd forgotten to get batteries for the remote while he was at the hardware store.
The temperature in the house was reading sixty two degrees. At least he wouldn't freeze to death tonight.
He headed back outside to start on the traps. He had to locate the feeder holes and then dig them out with
the trowel to fit a pair of traps, front to back, into the opening of the hole. Once the traps were set he then
had to cover them with the cardboard scraps to make them as dark as the rest of the hole. He was barley
halfway through with his work when he heard Mrs. Lovett calling him.
"Mr. Castle, your dinner is ready!"
He set his trowel down where he was working and walked over to her front porch.
"Thank you Mrs. Lovett. I was wondering if I could get a to-go plate. I still have a lot of traps to set and I
need to get it done before the sun goes down in a couple of hours."
" I understand, that'll be fine. Let me get it for you and you can take it home and put it in you refrigerator
for later," she disappeared inside and returned a minute later carrying a glass pie plate with a pair of crocheted
potholders.
She handed the plate to him.
"Take the potholders. It's just out of the oven and you don't want to burn yourself."
Holding the pie plate in his hands he now had a good look at the dish.
"Wow, it's so, white," he commented.
"I had to make some substitutions to Rachel's recipe. I didn't have any chicken so I used tofu and then
I was out of spaghetti noodles so I used egg noodles and then I thought, you can't use spaghetti sauce
with egg noodles that's just wrong, so I used a creamy country gravy mix. Her recipe called for mozzarella
cheese, and I didn't have any of that so I used cottage cheese and then I topped the whole thing off with
crumbled saltine crackers. The crackers were my idea. I think they add a little something extra, don't you?"
"Yes ma'am, they do add something," he just wasn't quite sure what.
"Well I'll let you get back to work, you can bring the pie plate and the potholders back to me tomorrow.
Enjoy!" She turned and headed back inside her house.
"Thanks." He replied. She was either senile or out to kill him he still didn't know which. The pumpkin/candy-corn
pie she had made him eat at Thanksgiving had almost sent him into a diabetic coma.
Returning to his house, he set the concoction down on his kitchen counter to cool before he could dispose
of it properly. An hour and a half later, the traps were all set and he washed up for dinner. Dinner consisted
of a couple of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and a quart of milk, and a package of Twinkies for dessert.
Ah, the lifeblood of his college days revisited out of necessity and not because he had a fondness for them.
He had suspected the "Rachel Ray" dish would be too good to be true so he had hedged the bet and picked
up a few things, just in case. He checked on her dish after he'd cleaned up and found it was cool enough to
put into the freezer.
It was only five thirty, but he was full and bored. He hadn't brought his laptop. He didn't think he'd be gone
overnight and he didn't much feel like writing without it, so he lay down on the couch to take a nap.
He was startle awake about an hour later. What was that noise? Was it a trap going off? He was eager to find
out. He zipped through the kitchen past the laundry room and out into the garage in search of a flashlight.
He was excited when he found one and was even more excited when the batteries worked. He returned to the
living room and stood there a moment, uncertain if the noise had come from the front or back yard. He'd just
have to do a systematic search. Heading out the front door he found himself being pelted in the face by a light
rain that had started coming down while he slept.
"Crap."
He went back inside in search of a raincoat. All he managed to find was a pink and white flowered rain poncho
that Alexis has worn about three years ago. He felt the plastic stretch as he squeezed his man sized melon into
the girl sized hood. Looking down he saw that the hem of the poncho ended at his belt buckle. Better than
nothing, he thought. At least it was dark outside and no one would see. He picked up the trowel he had left
on the front porch and headed out into the night.
He was on his hands and knees checking the fourth trap in the front yard when he heard the crunching of
tires on the road in front of his house. He looked up in time to be blinded by a spotlight being beamed onto
his face. He put his hand holding the trowel to his face to block the light when a voice boomed out into the night.
"Drop your weapon and let me see your hands! Do it now!"
Working with the NYPD for three years had taught him one thing; you do what they say unless you want to
get shot. He dropped the trowel and shot his hand high above his head. The light remained in his eyes,
effectively blinding him as to what was happening. The next thing he knew he was tasting mud and felt
someone's knee in his back. He just a quickly found himself handcuffed and flipped over onto his back.
"Who are you and what are you doing here?" The policeman demanded.
I'm Richard Castle, I live here!" Fear caused the pitch of his voice to rise higher than expected.
"We received a call that a man carrying a weapon was trying to break into homes around here. Where's the weapon?"
"I don't have a weapon!" He squeaked.
"You had something in your hand, I saw it drop! Where is it?"
"It was a gardening trowel!" He nodded to the trowel that lay on the ground.
"A what?"
"A gardening trowel. I'm out here checking on my gopher traps, that's all!"
The officer shined his flashlight in the direction of his nod and lit up the trowel lying on the ground next to
the gopher traps he had exposed.
"Geez. Cut the light Tom!" He yelled to the patrol car.
The light went out and it took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the darkness.
"Get your feet under you, I'm gonna stand you up, ok?"
He felt the officer grab his arm and pull him up while he pushed with his legs. Once he was standing he
felt the handcuffs being removed.
"Sorry, this place has been empty for months so when I saw you creeping around, I just assumed."
"Not a problem officer, you're just doing you job."
"I told you not to jump to conclusions Bob." A second officer from the patrol car now joined them.
"Especially when we found out old lady Lovett was the one who'd called it in."
"Mrs. Lovett called you?"
"Yeah," Officer Tom replied. "She's done this before. Bob here took down Mr. Dyson, your neighbor
across the street, last week. He had been stargazing with his telescope on the beach one evening,
and Mrs. Lovett called him in as a peeping tom. I don't know if she is a frightened old woman or a
nut job trying to get someone killed." He nodded towards her house. "Look, you can see her now
peeking out her curtains."
The all looked her way and watched as the curtains quickly closed.
"The Captains gonna have to call her son and get her moved to some kind of facility. She's becoming
a danger to herself and more so to others."
"It couldn't be too soon for me," Rick said wiping the mud from his face.
"Sorry again, Can I ask you stay inside for the evening. I'd rather not have you give her another
reason to call."
"Fine by me. I'm too cold and wet to stay out here. You guys mind if I head on in?"
"Not if you answer one more question." Officer Tom smirked at him.
"Which is…?"
"Where'd you get that lovely poncho, I think my partner here would like one for his birthday."
Rick's hands flew to his head.
"Aww, shit! I forgot I was wearing this stupid thing! I wasn't planning on having to stay here to
set gopher traps, and it was the only raincoat I could find in the house."
They both laughed and shook hands with him before heading off.
Wet and cold, but still determined, Rick finished checking on the gopher trap before heading inside
for the night. The damn trap was sprung, but there wasn't a gopher in sight. He reset the trap and
went in for the night.
He started to head to the bathroom but stopped when he noticed the muddy trail he was leaving
on the white tiled floor. He stopped and stripped where he stood, leaving his clothes in a muddy pile
in the foyer and headed off into the kitchen in search of a garbage bag. Returning with a bag, he piled
his clothes inside and carried them to the laundry room. He didn't have a change of clothes. The only
things he had brought in his backpack were some snacks, a bottled water, a book and his iPod. He
empties his pockets and threw the clothes in the machine. Opening the overhead cabinet he reached
up and grabbed an empty bottle of laundry soap.
"Son of a bitch!"
He stood there with the bottle upended over the machine till the tiniest dribble of soap piddled out
onto the clothes below. Better than nothing. He set it for a small load and turned it on. Naked and
becoming colder by the minute he headed to his bathroom for a hot shower.
Emerging from the shower all warm and pink, he proceeded to search his room for clothing. He found
nothing. He went to the hall closet and removed a spare blanket from the shelf and wrapped it around
himself like a Sari. It would do till his clothes were dry.
Back in the kitchen, he pulled out the coffeepot and opened the small tin of coffee grounds he had picked
up at the convenience store. When the coffee was brewed he poured himself a cup, grabbed another
packet of Twinkies from the counter and settled into the couch to pass the time reading Patterson's latest
"masterpiece". A half hour later, he swore he heard another trap go off. Ten minutes after that, another one.
The sound of traps snapping shut continued off and on into the night until around one thirty in the morning
he heard the twelfth and final one trigger. As he finally stumbled off to bed for some much needed sleep,
he wondered what he would find waiting for him in the morning.