Part 2.1 – The House
The expansive beach house in Carmel was located at the far southeast corner of Santa Fe Road and East Carmelo Avenue. It sat back about a hundred feet behind a white stone sea wall and was surrounded by lush flowering bushes native to California, thus ensuring not only protection from the sometimes stormy winter weather, but privacy as well. To get to the house one had to turn onto East Carmelo Avenue and drive down the narrow, winding asphalt road, which is what Perry Mason had done approximately seven months prior after having made a wrong turn on the way to a deposition at the summer home of an incapacitated witness in a case, and suddenly there it was. A house he had never seen before, yet strikingly familiar.
The style was definitely seashore, too large to be called a cottage yet far too small to qualify for mansion status, roomy enough for a family but not too large for a couple. The foundation was brick painted white, unusual for a beach home and different from the redbrickof the Jersey shore home described by Della, but everything else appeared to be identical. Weathered blue New England clapboard siding, a stunning wraparound porch with a grand wooden staircase, and a sun room jutting out from one side, but it was the second-story covered terrace that caused Perry to slam on his brakes and back the car up to take another look. And then he noticed the for sale sign.
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They made three stops after leaving Perry's apartment. One at a department store to pick up a supply of lingerie for Della (along with a couple of items purchased by special request for Perry's enjoyment), the second for a lunch of hamburger sandwiches at Ray's, and a third at Wagman's for enough supplies to last them what seemed like a month. Della was at Perry's heels with constant questions about where they were headed, to which he responded with an infuriatingly smirky smile. She tried poutiness, coquettishness, and even a bit of bold seduction, but he refused to give her any information whatsoever aside from wherever it was exactly, it was in Carmel.
At two twenty-seven, Perry turned the Cadillac onto East Carmelo drive and nudged his elbow into Della's side. "Look at all these beautiful houses, Della. I think this is the nicest part of Carmel, don't you?"
Still a bit pouty from being kept in the dark about their destination, Della crossed her arms over her chest and stuck out her lower lip slightly. "I wouldn't know. I've never been to Carmel before."
He could barely contain himself as the road wound along the shoreline, bringing them closer and closer to his surprise. At the very spot he had first noticed the house seven months before, she reached out and grabbed his arm in a vice-like grip. "Perry!" she cried. "Look at that house!"
"What house?" It took every bit of his energy not to grin with happiness.
"That house!" She pointed through the windshield at the faded blue house coming up at the next winding turn. "It looks just like the Martin's house at the shore in Jersey. Slow down, honey, I want to see it."
Perry slowed the car to a halt in front of the house and Della slid across the seat toward the passenger door. "Oh, the wall blocks it. I can't see it very well." She sounded so dejected Perry almost broke down and confessed.
He put the car back in gear and let it creep forward. At the gated driveway, he spun the wheel and piloted the Cadillac through the gap in the wall. He grinned at her. "Let's just take a peek, shall we?"
"Honey, we can't drive onto someone's private property! This is trespassing."
"I think if we explain to the owners how their house reminds you of a favorite childhood memory, they'll understand."
"Ohhhh, Perry, it's beautiful. If I didn't know any better, I'd say this was the Martin's house in New Jersey." She sat forward on the seat, staring with awe at the house as they slowly approached it. "Look!" she exclaimed excitedly, "they have the same kind of furniture the Martin's had on the porch – even the same color cushions!"
On the porch two large white wicker fan chairs with matching hassocks, a love seat, and an oblong glass cocktail table had been arranged. The chair cushions were a light blue and yellow floral pattern while the love seat cushions were striped and slightly brighter in color than the chair cushions.
Perry brought the car to a stop in front of the grand stairway leading to the porch and turned to Della. "I haven't seen you this excited in a long time," he said quietly, almost afraid to think about her reaction when she learned the truth. "Let's knock on the door and see if anyone's home. Maybe the owners are sentimental and will let us inside."
"Have you lost your mind? We can't just walk up to a stranger's house and ask for a tour." But deep down, she wanted to so badly. It was uncanny how much the house resembled the Martin's house. The sun porch, the bay window, the sun bleached siding, the white wicker furniture. And the upper terrace! It was there. Everything she remembered about the Martin house was right in front of her.
Perry pulled her across the seat and opened the driver's door. Holding her hand tightly in his, he walked them up the stairs and pressed the doorbell button. Della heard it echo inside the house as she nervously shifted her eyes around the porch, looking for any signs of life. Perry pushed the button one more time, and after a few seconds reached for the knob and twisted. The door was unlocked. Della placed her hand over his.
"What are you doing?" she hissed urgently. "This is someone's home. You can't just walk in." She was perplexed by his behavior. He knew better than to open the door of a private residence, no matter how excited she was to see it.
"We can be in and out in a few minutes and no one will be the wiser," he whispered back, not trusting his full voice. His stomach was tied in knots, and he hoped his palm wasn't sweating in hers. He pushed the door open and took two steps across the threshold.
Della tugged at his arm in protest. "Perry!"
The look he gave her was strangely pleading and tender. "Come on, baby. You have to see this."
She continued to tug at his arm, trying to get him back out onto the porch, but he refused to budge. "I'm not going in there. It's against the law, you know that!"
"It may very well be, but you have to see this. Trust me, Della. You have to come in."
There was something about his voice that made her set aside trepidation and she allowed him to lead her into the house. He closed the door behind her and she stood in the entryway, unable to breathe. She let go of his hand and advanced several paces into the house, her eyes huge and disbelieving. He remained standing by the door, looking after her with an expression of pure joy on his face.
Della was at the far wall now, in front of the white brick fireplace with its glossy white wood mantle. She knelt and ran her hand over one of a pair of brass andirons placed on either side of the hearth. Suddenly she stood, flew across the space between them and flung herself into his arms. "You wonderful, wonderful man," she whispered fiercely, tears beginning to well up in her eyes.