Chapter Twenty-One

Things That Go Bump!

A week later, Martha was working at the end of the kitchen bench. She was using the electric mixer to make another of her excellent cakes. Concentrating on her work, she didn't notice Carolyn was using the electric can opener on a can of soup until her mixer stopped working.

"Oh, Mrs Muir!" she called over the whirring of the can opener. "Mrs Muir!" She shook her head. "I'm in the middle of making a cake. Remember, we found out yesterday that you can't use the opener at the same time."

Carolyn looked up. "Oh, I'm so sorry, Martha. But I have so much on my mind lately, I forgot." She abandoned the electric opener in favour of a hand-held opener.

"Thanks…" Martha went back to her mixing.

Then it stopped again. She looked up to see what Carolyn was doing and then toward the living room where the children were making some noise.

"Hey, kids! Turn off the television for a minute! I'm still using the mixer!"

"Aw, but Mom said we could watch," Jonathan complained.

"Mrs Muir, I'm working with a dozen egg whites," Martha appealed. "They'll go flat if I don't keep mixing."

"Well, I'm sorry, Jonathan…" Carolyn called back. "But the cake takes priority. Then you can watch the TV."

"Yes, ma'am…" Jonathan called back with a sigh in his voice.

"I'm either gonna have to send out bulletins or give up baking," Martha observed acerbically as the mixer started working again. "We've put up with all these problems for days now. Be glad your typewriter isn't electric, or we'd all be twiddling our thumbs."

"Yes, I am…" Carolyn sighed as she poured the contents of the can into a saucepan. "Every day it gets more ridiculous. You can't use the can opener when the toaster's on."

"Well, you can if the dryer's off," Martha added.

"What happens when the dryer's on?" Carolyn asked in a dismayed tone.

Martha shook her head. "Well, then, you can't use the vacuum cleaner or the washing machine or the upstairs lights. Something will blow. Just like Moby Dick!"

"Oh, for heaven's sake…" Carolyn grumbled as she turned on the sink tap to add water to her soup. "This is getting beyond ridiculous!"

"Oh, no, no, no!" Martha shouted. "Don't use the sink! We'll really have a waterspout then!"

"What happened?" Carolyn asked in bewilderment as she shut the water off.

"Well, that's a new wrinkle that only appeared yesterday while you were out," Martha explained grimly. "You can't run the water inside the house when the lawn sprinklers are on outside. If Claymore doesn't make an effort to show up soon to fix everything, we'll have an indoor swimming pool right here in the kitchen!"

Carolyn sighed brusquely. "Oh, Martha, we're slowing going down the drain."

"Comes with the house, I guess," the housekeeper replied. "But it is getting very wearing having to remember what works and what doesn't. I need to make a list just to check my list."

Suddenly, there was a bubbling noise from the sink. Bubbles and suds began to roil up out of the drain, filling the sink. Carolyn stared down at it in astonishment.

Martha joined her in staring at the new event. "Thar she blows," she declared with grim certainty. "I told you. Moby Dick is alive and well and living in the pipes under our house."

"How do we stop it before it overflows?" Carolyn demanded to know as the water kept rising.

"Well, I'll go outside and turn off the lawn sprinklers. Maybe that'll help like it did yesterday," Martha replied as she left the room.

"This is impossible," Carolyn complained as she opened the cupboard and tried to deal with the works beneath the sink. "Where on earth is that blasted Claymore?"

Behind her, the Captain appeared. "Madam," he announced. "Fear not! I am here. The Great White Whale will not win this round!"

He waved two fingers commandingly at the foaming sink. It reversed its action immediately and drained away to nothing.

Carolyn stared at it and then turned to him. "Thank you. And that does it! We've put up with all these inconveniences long enough! It now seems that all the wiring and plumbing are shot. I'm just going to be forced to bring this kitchen up to date. Claymore or no Claymore. We cannot go on living like this!"

The Captain glared at her. "You're going to tamper with my galley? Let me tell you, Madam, that I designed every foot of this room with loving care."

He took a turn around the floor. "People came from miles around to marvel at it! It was a work of art! I could have charged a penny admission fee!"

"Well, that was over a hundred years ago," Carolyn reasoned. "Things change."

"A thing of beauty is a joy forever," he reminded her in a superior tone. "I will not countenance any interference with the quality of my workmanship."

"Captain…" Carolyn remonstrated. "You just saw what happened. We cannot go on living in a house that is slowly falling apart. Claymore needs to be made to do something about it."

He waved two fingers again. "I have already shown you how easy it is to fix this trifle."

Carolyn sighed. "Unfortunately, when I waggle my two fingers, nothing happens…" She demonstrated.

They both stared at the sink as the suds returned and bubbled up defiantly.

"I turned off the waterworks. How's it working for you now, Mrs Muir?" Martha asked as she re-entered the kitchen. "Uh, oh…" She frowned at them. "I guess it's not good news."

Carolyn smirked up at the ghost. "I'm afraid your…" She pointed two fingers at the suds and clicked her tongue. "… leaves something to be desired."

"Nothing's wrong around here that tossing in a grenade or two won't fix." Martha offered helpfully. "We can always clear away the rubble and start again from the ground up. Claymore would be happy to claim on the insurance."

The Captain glared at both of them, then looked away in disgust and sighed. "Very well, Madam. Since you insist, you may have my permission to make a few small changes to my galley. You have my solemn word I will not interfere with the required updates."

"Small?" Carolyn raised her brows at him. "I think they will need to be somewhat larger than you imagine. I'll need to force Claymore to come out here for a start. But I have a bad feeling that I will be the only one paying if I want the work done this side of the next century."

"Oh, that'll get you precisely nowhere," Martha commented as she went back to her mixing. "That old moneybags would rather sell his late mother than help us out. But I guess you gotta try. We can't go on living like this for much longer. Good luck."

The Captain stared at both of them. "Very well. I have given you my word, Madam. We shall soon see what that lily-livered cheapskate is prepared to pay for…" he huffed as he disappeared.

※※※※※

Claymore was at his best, working on a new and exciting project. He was in his office, trying to make a profitable deal with his new, but obstinate, client. The fact that this client was also a woman didn't make his job any easier. But he was determined to persevere for the sake of the woman's very large bank account.

If Marcus Cornell was determined to drag out their negotiations over his development plans, then Miss Charity Rutledge would do very well in the meantime. She might have a well-deserved reputation as a prim, strait-laced woman but he was determined to handle her with extreme care and bring their meeting to a satisfactory conclusion. Her money was the same colour as everyone else's, and Claymore wanted a lot of it.

He was using a pointer on a large, easel-mounted, display board showing plans for a new shopping centre. "… and, of course, the entire property will be landscaped."

He preened proudly. "So, if you buy this prime parcel of property through me, I'll use my vast influence to help you get that shopping centre started by next fall!"

Seated on the plush velvet couch beside him, Miss Rutledge frowned up at his words. "We were looking for our investment to begin breaking ground by the spring. I already have a list of retailers impatient to move in and begin trading. They will bring new life to the town."

Claymore eased his collar. "Did I say fall? A slip of the tongue. It's spring all the way, Miss Rutledge. I'm a real estate agent for all seasons!" He chuckled expansively.

Shades of his dubious dealings with Marcus Cornell haunted him. He badly wanted this deal with the stubborn woman, and he was determined to have it at all costs.

His would-be client scoffed at him. "Oh, frankly, Mr Gregg…" She gathered her handbag and stood up. "… I don't think your firm is large enough to handle a transaction of this size. From what I have seen so far, you appear to be a one-man operation."

Claymore inhaled sharply as he managed to maintain his expansive air of importance. "Oh, don't let these modest offices deceive you, Miss Rutledge. They bespeak of a modest man! Why, I control some of the largest properties in the state! Huge industrial complexes! Massive office buildings! Big, Miss Rutledge! Big and bigger!" He beamed broadly at her as he tried to cover his growing nervousness.

The office door opened, and Carolyn walked in. "Hi, Claymore."

"Oh, hello, Mrs Muir…" Claymore waved weakly.

Carolyn took in the scene with a look of curiosity. "Oh, I'm sorry. I hope I'm not interrupting anything."

Claymore brightened as he raised a finger. "Oh, no. It is perfectly all right," he replied expansively. "Miss Charity Rutledge…" He put a hand on his client's back. "May I present, Mrs Carolyn Muir…"

He walked up to Carolyn and smiled down at her. "This dear lady is another one of the very prominent people I deal with…" He urged Carolyn forward with a hand on her arm and the two women shook hands.

"How do ya do," Miss Rutledge said bracingly.

"Hello…" Carolyn replied, waiting to see what Claymore would do or say next. She wasn't disappointed.

"This dear lady is operating one of my larger and more valuable properties. A big, big operation!" He beamed at Carolyn. "What, pray, may I do for you today, Mrs Muir?"

"Fix my kitchen," she said bluntly.

"Fix your kitchen?" Claymore's voice rose an octave.

He tried to laugh it off. "They're industrial kitchens, of course," he spluttered to Miss Rutledge. "For such a huge job as that…"

He grasped Carolyn's arm and began to lead her away toward the door to his living quarters behind the office. "… we'd better take the matter up with our industrial kitchens planning staff, Mrs Muir."

He hustled her away from a confused-looking Miss Rutledge. "Right this way, if you please."

"But, Claymore…" Carolyn tried to resist.

Claymore leaned back. "Pardon us for a moment, please, Miss Rutledge. I shall be right with you as soon as my business with Mrs Muir is concluded." He smiled weakly as he hustled Carolyn into his back room and shut the door.

Carolyn rounded on him. "What was all that about a kitchen planning staff? You're a one-man band. And you still haven't come out to the house!"

"Sssshhh…" Claymore seized her arm and raised a finger to his lips. "That woman out there is very important to me!" he hissed. "I am quivering on the edge of a really huge deal!"

"And my kitchen is very important to me," Carolyn emphasised. "It's bubbling over and shorting out in every direction. It has to be fixed before someone gets hurt. You have a duty to us before any contract with that woman out there."

"Trivia! Trivia! Trivia!" Claymore scoffed. "Miss Moneybags herself is sitting out there in my office. I cannot disappoint her with trifles such as your kitchen!"

"We cannot stand to work in that kitchen for one day longer," Carolyn replied. "I have other work I must get done. So, I've come here today, prepared to compromise."

Claymore waved an imperious finger. "Mrs Muir, the rent you pay doesn't even cover the taxes. When you took Gull Cottage on, you agreed to take it, as is!"

"As is!" Carolyn chimed with him. "Yes, I remember. Therefore, I'm willing to pay for all the costs of the improvements myself. I need things to be done, and I know you won't do them out of your own pocket."

"I'm sorry, but you are —" Claymore stopped and did a double-check. "What did you just say? You really wish to pay for it all yourself?" His expression became acquisitive. "Oh, well, that puts an entirely different spin on things."

"I thought it might." Carolyn stared at him. "As I just said. I will pay for it all to be done. But it must be done right away. Is it a deal?"

"Oh, my dear Mrs Muir…" Claymore beamed as he took her arm. "I will want you to swear on the bible and sign it all off in triplicate, but we certainly do have a deal!"

He escorted her to the door and opened it. "This way, if you please. And now for Miss Rutledge. Oh, this is such an omen! Who needs Marcus Cornell and all his money? A lot more money is coming my way and I'm beginning to feel green all over!" He chortled happily as he took Carolyn back into his office.

"Today, Claymore…" Carolyn reminded him as she removed her arm from his grasp. "I will be expecting to see workmen before the end of the day. Or our deal will be off."

"Of course, of course…" Claymore waved her away expansively. "As soon as Miss Rutledge and I have concluded our very important business, I will telephone Mr Edward Peevey. He's the head of my renovations and maintenance division. If he's not too busy with other matters, you will hear from him in due course."

"I'll look forward to it," Carolyn muttered as she left the office, not at all pleased with him but she had no other choice.

"Maybe I should have sent the Captain over to see him instead…" she complained as she shut the door behind her.

※※※※※

Despite Claymore's dubious word, Ed Peevey appeared at the house late in the afternoon with his toolbox in hand. He grinned at Martha as he entered the kitchen behind Carolyn.

"How dee do…" He raised his cap to her as he sniffed the air. "Am I smelling one or two of your fine cherry pies?"

"Yes, you are," the housekeeper replied as she straightened from taking the last of them out of the oven. "But there will be no more for you unless you get this kitchen up to code and pronto. I refuse to try and cook in a work site."

"Right oh, Martha," Peevey replied bracingly. "I wouldn't wish to stop you from baking. More than my life's worth."

"Then I'll wrap one to go," Martha replied. "But only after you've taken note of everything Mrs Muir wants done around here. She already has my list."

"Will do…" Peevey licked his lips and frowned at the line of glistening pies cooling on the kitchen island. "Make that two and I'll be sure to get done in half the time."

"Deal!" Carolyn interjected. "Now, can we get on with it, please?"

"Ready to go, Mrs Muir," Peevey assured her as he put down his toolbox.

He began to move slowly around the kitchen with a carpenter's ruler and an expert eye. He tapped his way up the wall beside the dresser that held all of the Captain's good crockery. He stood back and stroked his chin. Then he moved on to another section.

Carolyn watched his every move as she consulted her list of urgent repairs. She directed Peevey this way and that. The handyman pulled more than one dubious face, but he continued to listen to her requirements without comment as he worked. But the longer they went on, the more morose his expression became.

"Uh, oh…" Martha commented as she looked out the kitchen window an hour later. "Mr Moneybags himself has just arrived. Now we're for it. We'll be slashed back to one light socket and some quick soldering on the lead pipes. He'll put the rest down to wear and tear."

"Not if I'm paying for everything we need done," Carolyn stated grimly. "He's not going to weasel out of this one. I want it all done right for once."

"He's the boss, Mrs Muir," Peevey said regretfully. "He sets the prices, and I do as I'm told. Else I don't see a single brass nickel of anyone's money."

"I can make that no cherry pies to go," Martha stated baldly. "Your choice, Ed Peevey. In the meantime, I've got a load of washing to fold and bring in." She left the kitchen by the back door to the service room.

"I'll do my best to keep the costs down…" Peevey pulled at the brim of his cap. "I can't do any more than that."

"Afternoon, all…" Claymore entered the kitchen and looked all around. "Mmmm, it all looks fine to me, so far." He was carrying a clipboard and pen.

"You've barely set foot in the room," Carolyn accused, frowning at him.

"Yes, well…" Claymore huffed. "If you will just sign here, here and there, Mrs Muir…" He held out his clipboard and pen to her. "Our contract for the work is binding and non-refundable."

He cleared his throat. "I'll also be expecting a twenty per cent deposit, upfront, by the end of the day. In case of any… ah - shall we say – unexpected delays…"

"Claymore, you're all heart…" Carolyn accused as she did as he asked and signed the forms.

"I'm a man of business," he replied loftily. "And this is business."

He turned to Peevey. "Let's get on with it, shall we? Time is of the essence, and I don't have any to waste." He gave Carolyn a look of annoyance as he pulled his workman aside to consult with him in terse whispers.

"I'll take a walk down the road and collect the mail…" Carolyn sighed. "I get the feeling I'm going to need all the money from my next article to pay for this and then some."

"We'll have the estimate ready for you in a jiffy, Mrs Muir…" Peevey pulled at the brim of his cap again while keeping one anxious eye on the cooling cherry pies.

"I'm not making any promises…" Claymore added as he turned the page on his clipboard.

"I don't expect any," Carolyn replied as she left the house.

The two men went on consulting as they slowly made their way around the room. As they talked, Claymore's expression became happier and happier with each new addition. He wrote everything down.

Now that he was over his fit of pique at being dragged out to the house, he could see the dollar signs and they made him happy that Carolyn had signed the contract and would pay for all the work she wanted done.

"Mmmm…" Ed Peevey mused. "We'll need to rewire all the wall fixtures…"

Claymore followed him, writing furiously. "Rewire all wall fixtures…"

Peevey peered up the chimney above the cooking range. "And replace the exhaust fan above the stove. This one looks like it came out of the ark and then some." He shook his head. "It's barely hanging on."

"Oh, ho…" Claymore wrote that down. "Replace exhaust fan over stove…" he gloated. "Tell me more…"

He hadn't expected Carolyn's list to be so extensive. It was starting to add up to almost a total redo of the kitchen and it wasn't going to cost him a single red cent. He began to whistle tunelessly.

Peevey stood back to look around the room. "Can't see much else that needs fixin'." He scratched his chin. "Mind you, I ain't looked behind the walls yet."

"I'm sure you'd find more than one dead rat." Claymore waved one hand. "So, that's all, Mr Peevey?" He tried not to look too disappointed. "Is that everything Mrs Muir told you she wants to fix?" He looked hopeful.

"Ah, yeah…" Peevey nodded. "And Martha too. Except for new circuit breakers."

"New circuit breakers…" Claymore chortled as he wrote it down. "You know, Mr Peevey, she's a very fine tenant and she deserves the very best. So, just for her, I am going to add…"

He consulted his clipboard and totalled some figures. "… all new light switches…" He wrote them down as he spoke. "New sockets, new base plugs, and the finest copper wire throughout…"

"That's very nice of you, Claymore," Peevey marvelled. "What's gotten into you today? You're not usually this generous."

Claymore preened. "And I'll only charge her ten per cent above cost!"
Peevey rolled his eyes at him. "Geez, you're all heart, Claymore. Remind me never to get on your bad side."

"Well, I have to leave room for contingencies," Claymore stated. "Oh, ho, that reminds me, contingencies…"

He began to write on his clipboard again. "Thirty dollars…" He glanced furtively at his workman. "You never know when something's gonna jump out at you from nowhere around here."

A reluctant-looking Carolyn walked slowly back into the kitchen. "So, what's the bad news, Claymore? What's it all going to cost me?"

Claymore raised his hat to her and bowed his head. "Mrs Muir…"

Peevey scowled at him. "Mrs Muir…" He lifted his gaze to the ceiling and withdrew from the discussion.

"I'll just have to recheck these figures…" Claymore said. "And I'll be right with you…"

"Does it seem like an expensive job, Mr Peevey?" Carolyn asked in a worried tone. "I mean, do you think it all needs doing?"

"Well, that all depends, Mrs Muir…" Peevey wouldn't be drawn.

He sighed. "On contingencies…" He stared at the line of cooling pies.

"Peevey!" Claymore snapped, giving him a dirty look. "Go to your truck! I'll see you outside!"

"Mrs Muir…" Peevey nodded as he left the room without his cherry pies.

"Please, just one more moment, Mrs Muir…" Claymore prevaricated as he recalculated his figures.

He ripped off the page and handed it to her. "There you are, Mrs Muir. Your complete estimate. Now that includes the tax and a very modest profit for me as your general contractor."

He watched Carolyn read the estimate. "That's quite reasonable, yes?"

"Quite reasonable, no!" Carolyn retorted. "This looks like a really high price to me!"

"Well, there is a very reasonable explanation, Mrs Muir," Claymore reassured her tersely.

"Yes, you're gouging!" Carolyn replied hotly. "Just like you always do!"

"Yes, I…" Claymore nodded and then jumped. "No! It's just… 'Him!' Mrs Muir, he's always around." He looked all around the kitchen. "He never sleeps. He's always on watch."

"Captain Gregg?" Carolyn asked.

"Ssshhhh…" Claymore waved an agitated hand. "You know how frightened workmen get about coming around here. Naturally that raises the prices I have to charge. Ah, hum, you're paying a terror tax!"

A thunderclap sounded overhead, and the dishes rattled. A single bolt of lightning streaked across the sky outside the windows. The Captain appeared right next to Claymore, startling him badly.

"Oh, no…" he quailed. "Now see what you've done. You've gone and conjured him up!"

The Captain glared at him. "Why, you larcenous sea slug! You pilfering pirate! You have dared to come aboard my ship without my permission!"

"You see what he does, Mrs Muir," Claymore complained to Carolyn as he cringed back. "Is it no wonder that no workmen will come here?"

"You money-grubbing grouch!" The Captain roared. "Out! Out!" He swept one arm toward the front door.

Carolyn hid a smile as her frightened landlord made good his escape and fled the house. She shook her head. "Now what? We need to get this place fixed."

"A terror tax, indeed," the Captain complained. "I will not have it!"

Carolyn spread her hands. "Well, in all fairness, local workmen don't exactly flock here to watch you walk through walls or make water flow backwards down the drain."

He nodded. "Fair enough, Madam. Your point is made. But that's no excuse for Claymore to fatten his pockets at your expense. I am sorry you are being forced to pay for all the updates."

Carolyn looked around the room. "If it gets the work done and on time then I must." She sighed. "I do hope you won't try and frighten them once they get started. I want everything done properly for once."

The Captain frowned at her. "Would you mind defining your interpretation of the word, 'properly'? I don't want the beauty and charm of my galley destroyed."

"Neither do I. I agreed to move in because of the beauty and charm. I just want the inner workings to do their inner work. Agreed?"

"Agreed…" The Captain looked at her with warmth in his eyes. "I have already given you my word, my dear."

"Yes, well…" Carolyn read the estimate again. "It is high. If you don't haunt the workmen then next time, maybe I could avoid the terror tax."

The Captain shook his head. "I have promised not to interfere with the men when they arrive to work. I shall confine myself to quarters until they have finished and departed."

"Thank you, Captain…" Carolyn nodded. "I truly appreciate that."

"Do not mention it, my dear," he responded softly.

※※※※※

The following afternoon, Ed Peevey drove up and parked his cluttered truck outside the front gate of Gull Cottage. He cut the engine and stepped down from behind the wheel. His work companion did not move.

Peevey had spent a great deal of time and patience persuading Harvey to come with him to help with the work. He sighed as he circled the back and walked up to take his toolbox from the tray. He stopped and stared at his workmate who was staring up at the house.

"Come on, Harv… Get out, Harv," Peevey encouraged. "Work ain't gonna do itself. I've told you a dozen times already, the sooner we get done, the sooner we get paid. And the sooner I get my hands on some of Martha's cherry pies."

Harvey fidgeted with the door handle. "Ed, I don't know about going in there. Closer I get to Gull Cottage, the more I remember them stories and rumours about the ghost. I remember why I didn't want to come out here."

Peevey sighed. "Ain't nothin' but a lot of Halloween hogwash, Harv. Now you took this job for the money, right? So, let's go. We've wasted enough time on your overworked imagination."

Harvey didn't budge. "Well, I'd like to go but my legs aren't convinced…" He pointed down to his quaking knees.

Peevey lost patience. He wrenched the door of the truck open and pulled his reluctant workman out. "Now, listen to me, Harv. I have been out here lots of time and nothin' real peculiar's ever happened to me!"

He thrust him toward the gate. "Now git goin'!"

Harvey walked through the open gate very reluctantly. "Are you really sure, Ed? I mean, real sure? All them stories about the g-g-g-g, about the –"

Suddenly, a kite floated down out of the sky and settled on Harvey's head, covering his face. "The ghost! He's got me!" he shouted, running in a tight circle as he fought the kite away from him.

He fell on the front lawn, still fighting to live. He rolled around, much to Ed's frowning disgust.

Jonathan, Candy and Scruffy came running in through the open gate. "Please be careful of our kite, Mr Burrows!" the boy gasped.

"Yeah, don't break it," Candy added as Harvey struggled out from under the kite.

"Can we have it back, please?" Jonathan asked.

"Sure, Jonathan," Peevey remarked. "As soon as Harv's finished playing with it. Give them the kite, Harv."

Still sitting on the ground, Harvey looked sheepish as he handed the craft over. He got slowly to his feet.

"Come on, Harv…" Peevey sighed as he turned and walked away toward the house.

Harvey got to his feet and started to follow. Then he had a thought. He turned back to the children and bent down to them. "Hey, kids. Have you noticed anything strange around here lately?"

"Like moaning from the attic?" Candy asked innocently.

Harvey swallowed and nodded. "Yeah…"

"And chains clanking down the hallway?" Jonathan added gleefully.

"Yeah, that too…" Harvey's face paled.

Candy bent closer. "You mean like footsteps creaking on the stairs at night?"

"Yeah, yeah…" Harvey looked sick.

"No!" the kids chorused together.

Harvey nodded and then looked confused. "I… what?"

"Bye!" the kids said together as they turned and ran off with their kite followed by their dog.

"Bye…" Harvey straightened up and waved weakly.

He turned back to stare up at the house. "Okay, legs…" He sighed. "You wanna get paid you gotta put in the miles…"

He eased his way up the front steps and in through the open front door. "First chance I get, I'm gonna ask for some extra fright payment…"

He tiptoed across the foyer and into the kitchen where Ed was already hard at work on the extractor fan above the stove. He was being supervised by an attentive Martha, who was watching him like a hawk as she leaned on her broom.

"How long are we gonna be dining on frozen enchiladas and pizzas 'til this kitchen's done, Mr Peevey?" she demanded to know. "Take-out food gets mighty old, mighty fast."

"Oh, three, maybe four days, Martha," Peevey informed her. "I'm sure we won't be longer than that. The promise of a couple of your cherry pies will keep us going."

"I don't like it, Ed," Harvey worried. "Somethin' terrible's gonna happen. I can just feel it. I got the shivers the moment I stepped inside."

"Will you relax," Peevey replied. "Martha, tell him. Have you ever seen anything strange or peculiar around here?"

Martha did her best to look innocent. "Around here? Not to speak of," she prevaricated. "But I expect I will be after four days of eating frozen enchiladas and pizzas."

She sighed. "I guess I'll go off now into the back garden and spend some time picking a basketful of the salad greens. At least, I don't have to cook them." She pulled a face as she picked up her broom and left the room.

Harvey was still worried. "I'm sayin' somethin's gonna happen, Ed. I'm never wrong."

Peevey finally lost his patience. "Somethin's gonna happen around here, all right."

Harvey blinked at him. "Yeah? What, Ed, what?"

"You ain't gonna get paid, that's what!" Peevey shouted. "Now get on with the work I told you to do! Pronto!" He rolled his eyes to the ceiling as his nervous workman scurried away to fetch a ladder from the truck.

※※※※※