Authors: Jacqueline Colt
C
hapter 5
“
T
his building is bloody spooky at night,” Callaghan said as the men walked down the anonymous corridor of the huge office building in Washington, D.C.
“Can’t be spooky with about a thousand people all around,” the lanky man looked at his closest team member of six years and thought that if anything in the building was spooky it was Callaghan himself.
“Just smells wrong, creeps me out,” Callahan complained as he swiped his ID badge through the door lock reader.
When the door was closed to the shared office space, they filled in the data they had retrieved since the last report.
“The dude in Mozambique almost got a visit from the Black Widow,” Clark reported, booting the computer.
“That would not have been fun for him, what did Julio do that would entice Miss Jazz from her vacation in Moscow?” Callaghan was becoming more alert with this good news.
“Little brother Antonio was supposed to ensure that shipment got to Mozambique. Otherwise, Jazz was having to indemnify the Russians out of family money,” Clark said grinning from ear to ear.
“And La Femme Harris is not going to take kindly to that, nor will Daddy."
"The shipment miraculously appeared after Harris had the Lear jet warming up in Moscow?”
“Something close to that. She should be in the air for home right now.” Callaghan said. “God, I’m sick to death of this case, I want to get out home this weekend and get the peach trees planted.”
“Hate to tell you buddy, but if you haven’t got those trees in the ground by now they probably aren’t going to grow, and worse yet, Harris will be back on home base, so we will get more of her than ever.”
“Thanks, I needed that,” Callaghan said as each of the agents worked their keyboards with their reports.
* * *
The road to the cabin was longer and rougher than Rocky remembered. The old battered red truck was bouncing all over the road. The dogs and Rocky were slamming back and forth up the steep slope to the meadow overlooking the American River where the cabin was situated. She was excited to finally see the cabin again. Happy memories of spending the summers out here with Dad and Devlin were reeling through her imagination. Pitching rocks and fishing,learning to cook on the wood stove, but mainly outdoors playing and being a kid.
This was the last portion of the road into the cabin. Rocky could see the face of the black and gray speckled granite monolith on the opposite side of the meadow. The grass in the meadow around it was already turning golden brown.
The tools that Devlin packed into the truck bed were rattling to distraction with the driveway so rough and pitted. Rocky and the dogs felt as if they have been on Mr. Toad’s Wild Ride for miles.
“Note to self, get gravel to repair the biggest potholes,” Rocky said aloud. “Further note to self, make that next year to get the gravel,” she replied to herself over the noise.
Rocky was laughing, she was happy to be home.
The old truck was loud and with the tools rattling around in back she could not hear the river roaring over the rapids east of the historic stone bridge.
This was going to be great, her own place with quiet and time to heal herself to get ready to cope with the city and a flying job with a major company.
Rocky’s mind was off daydreaming somewhere when the rattletrap truck pulled them over the rise onto the flat meadow and there sat the cabin, the garage and the shed.
It looked the same as when she was last there. The metal junk Dad collected was everywhere in the yard. The shallow, narrow, river was still sparkling and merrily gurgling fifty feet from the cabin, the willows on the riverbank were a lot taller. The cabin looked much shabbier; it was in desperate need of coat of paint.
The dogs barreled out of the truck and started the canine investigation of the place. Rocky got out of the truck and looked at her home.
The cabin was actually the size of a small house. Built from Cedar logs in the era after World War II, the logs had weathered to a pretty gray. There were three windows in the front with trim coated with peeling Forestry Service green paint.
A porch swept around from side to side of the front shading the windows from the western sun. There was another smaller porch at the back door facing the Sierra Nevada Mountains. The roof was a mansard style covered with green grit tar paper which in spots flapped in the slight breeze coming off the river. The stovepipe from the kitchen stood well anchored with guide wires. The windows cut into the mansard roof were missing glass; the window trim on that level also needed painting.
The front screen door was hanging by a memory of its former self. There was no screen to speak of in the screen door. The scraggy green painted front door was the old style with three-quarters of the door from floor up in wood and then a large square of glass. There was no privacy curtain, Dad would not want or need one. The gulch of a driveway made it very apparent that someone was arriving long before they were at the porch.
The woodpile stacked at the backside of the cabin was full of split dry wood for the cook stove.
The view was of the river, the huge rocks and rapids at the bend. A bit farther downstream it was possible to see the top of the bridge constructed in 1914.
The cabin was located in Whiskey Gap, a collection of small ranches snuggled into a wrinkle in the Sierra Nevada foothills a few miles northeast of Auburn. The population at last count topped out at thirty-five including the dogs.
Whiskey Gap squatted on the beginning of rolling foothills of the majestic Sierra Nevadas rising from the Big Valley of California.
The natural grasses were brown and dry this time of year. The willows and cottonwoods at the edge of the river were the only green to rest the eyes from the blistering Big Valley heat. She remembered a front and back lawn, of which nothing remained.
Rocky dug her notebook and pen from her tote bag, and began the list of things to do.
"The front steps ready to fall in,-replace" she wrote as she said it aloud. She boosted herself onto the porch and inspected the wood there. It looked safe to walk to the front door. Rocky fished the key out of her pocket and pushed the door open.
There were scurrying noises from every corner. Up here in the mountains, the mice and squirrels were always on the alert to overrun human homes.
The dogs would take care of the rodent eviction in short order. Everything would have to be cleaned and scrubbed anyway. Rocky did not remember her Father being such a bad housekeeper, but the entire living area was neither clean nor neat.
"That is the same couch. The mice have been nesting in that, it's going to the dump immediately."
“Gosh, the place stinks,” she called out to the dogs.
The carpets were gone, Rocky wondered where they went. The old wood floors look in good condition though needing a through scrubbing. The floors were a plus. She wandered to the window looking out at the river, the once white curtains were hanging in shreds.
The whole living area looked like a storyboard for a scary movie.
“Cheer up old girl,” Rocky thought aloud. “The kitchen is probably worst.”
It was. She could hear a bird scratching in the stovepipe. At minimum, when Dad went into the hospital, Margie washed the dishes and cleaned out the propane-powered refrigerator. There was plenty remaining to be done.
The kitchen floor was spongy and sticky, the floor tiles lifting on every corner.
"The roof must be leaking big time." Rocky wrote that down as well.
There were neat stacks of canned goods and sealed containers of staples in the pantry. Rocky laughed as she remembered her Father and his insistence on a full pantry, his pantry closet lined floor to ceiling with shelves. The shelves held canned fruit, tin upon tin of Irish tea, evaporated milk, corned beef hash, canned chili, soups of all kinds, a row of Margie’s homemade Blackberry jelly and every possible herb from all over the world.
Rocky ran her finger over the biggest containers Tupperware ever made; three of them filled with Bisquick, her Father’s favorite cooking tool. All the items were lined up in alphabetical order. The screen on the tiny window was in perfect condition. The pantry itself was clean and neat, in such contrast to the mess in the other rooms.
The repair to do list was getting longer and Rocky was not even further than the kitchen. She walked back through the living room and down the hall to her old bedroom. If she was lucky that would be habitable.
Her room looked exactly as she left it, but covered in dirt, dust and glass that had been shot out of the windows. None of this would take long to fix. The ceiling seemed to be solid over this room. The two windows faced the river and with no glass panes in them the river sound in the hot morning was soothing.
Margie had suggested that Rocky should begin a journal to record how and what she did to fix the cabin and get the claim producing again. Margie believed that the journal would be of interest to the local historical society.
"Margie, I'm not a journal kind of person. I wouldn't know what to say." protested Rocky."This property is not historical; right now it is hysterical. Nobody would want to know about it.
"Smart Alex, just do it." Margie ordered.
Rocky would attempt to journal.
After repairing and dredging all day, Rocky doubted she would be staying awake long enough to journal. Her career as Samuel Pepys looked to be short lived.
The rest of the afternoon Rocky cleared the glass out of her bed and pulled the mattress out onto the porch where the sunshine could get to it.
After searching in every room and closet, she found an old broom and dust pan. She added a new broom to the shopping list. The vacuum cleaner had disappeared. Rocky knew that her Dad owned one. There was no shop vacuum in the garage where her Father kept it, either.
Hours later her bedroom was almost habitable; it needed window glass and definitely a new mattress. The bed linens were all in the garbage bags to go to the dump, Rocky could not save them. The sleeping bag from the plane and Dev’s tent will be fine for the interim and probably fun.
The first evening in the new home, Rocky boiled water on the wood stove. She made macaroni and cheese from a box that was in the pantry. The dogs were thrilled to get a tablespoon of Mac and cheese mixed into their kibble and canned food.
After dinner, the dogs went for a swim in the river to cool off. Tomorrow, the kitchen would be squared away and they would have a real meal. Rocky had not forgotten how to cook on the wood stove.
She and the exhausted dogs spent the night in the tent in the front yard, they watched the moon rise and listened to the river and the owls.
* * *
Journal
Today I started at the top of the cabin with a better broom I finally found this morning and dust rags. The attic is pretty much home for a colony of wood rats. I boosted Phoebe up into the attic and the dog began a through search for mouse quarry.
I added to what will probably is an enormous shopping list with rat and mouse traps. There are two broken windows, another entirely missing and one cracked. Not bad, I muse, as there are only four windows in the attic anyway.
She continued her journal writing: Repairing windows can’t be that hard, and instead of windows, maybe I want a roof vent. I added window screening to the list.
I didn’t find what I was looking for in the attic. The tools have remained hidden and I can really use them right now.
I swept up four cardboard cartons of pine needles and wood rat debris and hauled it down the stairs and through the house, before it occurred to me to tie a rope to it and lower it through the broken window. I’m too smart, too late as I shove the boxes into the back of the pickup.
End of Journaling as I am falling asleep writing this.
* * *
The pickup truck was loaded for a dump run, with the ruined contents of her bedroom and the boxes of pine needles with mouse debris, and the living room curtains.
“Getting a ticket for not having a tarp on this load will probably be in my horoscope for today,” Rocky told Lovie and Phoebe riding shotgun..
“Add a tarp to the shopping list. I don’t need a fortuneteller to predict that I will be going to the dump a lot this week,” she laughed as they turned left onto the county road to go to the land fill.
After the dump run, they drove by Margie’s, but her car was not there. She must be working the early shift at the hospital this week.
Pulling into the building supplies yard, Rocky snagged a parking space that was close to the load out door, put the dogs on guard status with the windows rolled down.
After checking her bank balance, Rocky shoved the shopping list and checkbook into her jeans pocket. She was ready for window fixings and new front steps.
That shopping made her hungry, it was already past lunchtime. The truck was loaded and her checkbook was very slender, but they were ready to get started.
With a quick stop at the grocery for bread and juice and dog food, they rattled toward the cabin.
“Damn Tony, I miss my camera,” she thought. "Taking phone pictures isn't the same."