Adventures in House Sitting
by John Andes
We are delighted to welcome John Andes to Omnimystery News today.
John's new novel of suspense is Adventures in House Sitting (iUniverse; January 2014 trade paperback and ebook formats) and we are pleased to introduce you to it with an excerpt, the first chapter.
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WHERE AM I? SOMEWHERE ON THE space time continuum known as life. I am somewhere between then and then. Between back then and until then. I am somewhere between when and when. When I was a young man and when I am older. I am between the womb and worm food.
Where am I? I am somewhere between self-absorbency and altruism. I am between me and us. I am between "it's none on my concern" and "why did this happen." I am between standing still and getting actively involved. I am between holding on to all I know and running into the unknown.
Where am I? I am somewhere between burgers with fries and Smoked Scottish Salmon on a bed of wild rice. I am between draft local beer and twenty-five year old Single Malt. I am between bars of homogenized chocolate and handmade white chocolate truffles. I am between AC/DC and Vivaldi. I am between being a heavy drinker and a stoner.
Where am I? I am between the corporate world with its trappings of fashion that cover its inner insecurities and the freedom of the casually dressed to be honest. I am between the hidden agendas of mediocre over-bearing leaders and the unthreatened workers who speak their minds. I am between the yes men and the no thanks people. I am between a six-figure income and a decent living. I am between the elitist towers of an Ivy League education and the rudimentary near-rural fields of learning. I am between intelligence and wisdom. I am between "I know it all" and "I have no idea." I am between jaded and naïve. I am between having done it all and just beginning to do anything.
Where am I? I am in Belleair a very tony town within Clearwater, a very tony city on Florida's west coast. Belleair is a huge nugget within a gold mine. There is also Belleair Bluffs south of Belleair on a hill overlooking the Intercoastal Waterway … ergo the Bluffs. But, that's another place and story. Belleair has no downtown. It is a bedroom community. From the $5 million+ beach homes to the $10 million+ homes overlooking the golf course. These homes are similar to the homes in every expensive community from Florida to Maine … mainland to island. They look similar. They are similarly large. There are no trailer parks in Belleair. There are no bungalow or "cracker shacks" in Belleair. The big homes and their residents are protected by Police, large walls, and electric gates. The Police know who belongs in which house, who is a guest, and who simply does not belong.
Where am I? I am a few miles from my home sitting by a pool at the home of another. The pool is huge for a private, backyard pleasure pond. It is fifteen yards long and eight yards wide. At one end is a twelve square-yard patio with a large table beneath a larger yellow and white striped square tent with roll-up sides like the ones seen in movies about the desert. Four yellow and white pillowed chairs fit at the sides of the table, and four pillow covered chaise lounges in yellow and white striped fabric are outside the tent. A big and quite expensive matching set. At the other end of the pool is a cascading waterfall. The water is re-circulated through the pool after being heated in the winter and cooled in the summer. Always a perfect 74 degrees. In addition to the swimming pool, the residents enjoy a tennis Court and four car garage. If you got it, enjoy it. And they got it.
Augustus Hirwud founded a storage system; large boxes stacked on a concrete slab. Now people can store all manner of items that they want out of their homes, but not out of their lives. These items can be retrieved as needed or moved within the storage container across country to a new home. He works twelve hours a day five days a week despite being very successful and fifty-nine. He is trim and handsome. His wife, Jenni, travels to New York, Milan, and London to shop, see, and live. She is thirty-one and quite beautiful. His work life pays for her lifestyle. She is his second wife; a living trophy. They appear to be happy despite their age and lifestyle differences.
He has two adult children from his first marriage; Veronika, who is twenty-six and lives in Atlanta. She is Publisher of a weekly newspaper called Hotlanta Nights. There are rumors that when she was a teen she was sent away to an expensive, very private rehab institution out West. Then there is Augustus Hirwud Jr., who is twenty-three and owns three topless bars in Tampa. His late night activities have earned him several visits from the local Vice and Narco squads. He has expressed no interest in working with or for his father. The boy is known to his parents only as Junior. The two offspring enjoy what their father's money can buy them, but choose to keep the old man at arm's length.
Every weekend when Jenni is home, the Hirwuds take their yacht, AJ out for a two-or three- day sail. They give the housekeeper the weekend off and I live inside their house. Inside the house is a very varied collection of glass and marble statues, vases that always hold flowers and bric-a-brac that have no outward meaning except imported and expensive. During the week the housekeeper sees to the flowers and the general tidiness of the house. A bonded cleaning company comes weekly to ensure cleanliness. There is no art on the walls and no oriental rugs on the floors. The house is devoid of intellectual culture.
I am a house sitter. I sit in peoples' houses when they don't want strangers to know they are not present in the house; I am there. This service does not preclude the use of alarms, but it does provide the extra benefit of faux habitation. I have the alarm codes to ten homes in this high-end neighborhood, and I am on a first name basis with several different security providers. Lights, both interior and exterior are manually randomly turned on and off to avoid the perception of a programmed pattern. A human form is visible walking outside the house. A body is seen walking by a window. A car is moved in the driveway. Mail is taken in. Pets are cared for; walked, fed, and played with. The net result is that the house is not empty and thus not viable for break in. I am trusted partially because of my age; I am over sixty and thus will not have wild raucous bacchanals in the owner's absence. I am trusted partially because pets like me. This latter is just as important as having a child like the baby sitter. Maybe more important.
I charge $75.00 a day for my services. Cash money. No checks. My clients can afford the tabs they pay. I buy and consume my own food, but drink the wine or hard liquor that is in the house. Fortunately, my clients are financially comfortable and like only good alcohol; imported wines, single malt Scotches and the best small batch bourbons. My client list is comprised of ten regulars who sometimes refer potential clients to me. I sit once for a potential client who wants to join my roster before I decide to include anyone to my list of regulars. Sort of like a test market. I have rejected several referrals just because they don't have the right adult beverages or they try to micro-manage me. I average between twelve and fifteen nights a month house sitting. To fill in my days, I work part time in the hardware Department of a large home improvement store. I receive social security and a pension from one of my former corporate lives. All-in-all my monthly cash influx is greater than the national median income for a white family of four.
Where am I? Watching the lights play in pool's water. The water splashing from the waterfall creates a constant yet dissimilar rippling motion in the pool. The lights reflected off the water and the blue background of the pool sides and bottom produce an effect that is somewhere between the fluorescent illumination of a deep sea creature and a thread of white fireworks. The bouncing, twisting light scene is hypnotic, enhanced by the single malt over one ice cube and the hand rolled smoke. I am a child of the sixties.
The summer breeze and the chirping of the crickets calm the night. As I drift in and out of the moment, the female Dalmatian, Karma, interrupts my reverie. She nuzzles my hand and stares as if to say; "It's time for my late night walk. So get off your lazy ass, get the leash and poop bag, and take me to the park." Like a good male, I obey the female.
The street-lit Simmons Dog Park is six blocks from the house. It is approximately two blocks in size. It is split in half by a main thoroughfare. On the way to the park, Karma meanders toward her ultimate destination. She stops at every large plant and tree to sniff and pee. She tells every dog after her that this spot is hers. Soon she is void of urine, yet she continues to go through the motion of marking. I keep the leash short, no more than six feet, to ensure that she does not run into the road or onto a neighbor's porch. Her desire to mark her territory at various and diverse locations on the path to the park causes me to move the leash from one hand to the other so as to not become entangled in her process.
When we reach the park, I look to see if there are any other dogs roaming the grass. There are none, so I let her off the leash. This is a no-no for dog walkers, but at this hour and with this dog, I am willing to risk any criticism. She knows not to leave the area without me. And I can see her beneath the street lamps. After turning in small circles, she stops, curls her body, and deposits some thing for me to pickup. When she is done, she bounds around the grass and joyfully runs beneath the bushes as if she has shed a great burden. Shortly she returns to my side to be hooked up to the leash so that she may return home. On the way back she again stops at every large plant and tree to be sure no other dog has over-marked her territory. This is the bulk of our late night ritual.
Once home she runs to the back yard hose. The last part of our ritual is a spritz. This cools her and cleans her of any dirt, leaves, and small twigs she may have acquired. I notice that she has two yellow gummy bracelets hanging from her mouth. They appear to be caught on a lower incisor. As I remove them, I see that they are partially covered with a brown coating. Washing away the coating, I realize that it is not dirt it is blood. I check Karma's mouth. She is not cut. The blood must have come from the bracelets' owner. I check out the items. They both are inscribed with the words "Semper Fi", the Marine Corps motto … Always Faithful. The inside of one bracelet is clean, while the inside of the second bracelet bears a series of apparent random numbers and letters. What is this nonsense? I place the bracelets in my pocket. With that I head back to the park, flashlight and cell phone in my hands. Karma remains at home.
I scour the lawn and peer into the bushes. Deep beneath a massive growth, I spy a hand. As I part the branches, I see the hand is attached to an arm, which is attached to a partially clothed female body. Now I panic. My heart is racing. I must call the Police, who will most likely notice that I have had more than one adult beverage and I have indulged in cannabis. The smell is on my clothes. If they ask, I'll simply say I am fighting the onset of glaucoma. I must call the Police. I have no choice.
Two Belleair Police cars, a Pinellas County Sheriff car, and an EMS wagon arrive in five minutes. It seems like five hours given my self-centered worry. The visual cacophony of high beam head lights as well as blue and red flashing lights from their vehicles illuminates the neighbor hood and brings residents to their front porches or balconies. The Police examine the location and string yellow "Crime Scene" tape around that section of the park. They want to be sure that no one spoils the crime scene. And, just as important, they want all the neighbors know the Police are working diligently to earn their pay. Belleair Police Officer Ray Rutt approaches me.
"Were you the gentleman who called the Police?"
"Yes."
"And what is your name?"
"Thomas Jenkins."
"Where do you live, Mr. Jenkins?"
"I live in Clearwater at 3301 Highland, unit 345. I am here in Belleair because I am a house sitter. I do not live in Belleair."
"Why were you in the park late at night?"
"I house sit for the Hirwuds when they are away. They are sailing this weekend. They moor their yacht in the Fort Myers harbor. I was walking Karma, their dog."
"When did you first notice the victim?"
I relate the episode from Karma's walk to the spritz to my return to the park for investigation. He seems satisfied with my recitation of the facts.
"Where is the bracelet?"
I relinquish only one bracelet. I keep the bracelet that bears a series of data in my pocket.
"May I leave?"
"Yes, we have your contact information. Before you go, please provide a telephone number where we can contact Mr. Hirwud to confirm why you are here. Don't leave town without notifying us. Thanks for your public service, Mr. Jenkins. "
I know and suspect that Officer Rutt knows that he will be unable to reach the Hirwuds directly since they will be out on the Gulf. So, if he really wants to reach them this weekend, he will have to call the harbor and have them patch him through the Ship-to-Shore system. My bet is that he will wait until Monday.
Back at the house, I dive into the pool to wash off the sweat of anxiety. If Officer Rutt detected my indiscretion, he did not reveal his reaction. Paddling casually I feel my swim suit pocket. The second bracelet; the one with the random letters and numbers. Without my glasses and in the dim light of the pool, I can't read a damned thing. I'll examine it tomorrow. Towel dry. Pour two ounces of Balvenie 14 Caribbean. Drop one ice cube into the glass. Fire up the roach. Hit it deep. Result? A pronounced dive into the abyss of nod.
The morning sun awakens me. I am on a chaise lounge. Karma has slept at my feet. Now she wants her morning walk in the park. Back we go. This time we can't enter. Too much crime scene tape and warnings to possible walkers. So we take a stroll around the neighborhood. All before I've had my coffee. Back home I feed Karma, while I brew the morning elixir of awareness. Glasses on and sitting in the brightness of daylight, I review the nonsense on the inside of the bracelet; 767332535263TMGJWZDHZS. Is this a code? Where does the sequence begin? End? In a circle is there a beginning or an end? What does it mean? No time to ponder this enigma. I am exhausted from the flurry of activity last night. I toss the bracelet in my overnight bag.
I am off to my shift at the home improvement store. Four hours of dealing with people who don't know what they want, but who expect guys like me to tell them. The first day of training, employees are told that customers come to the store to buy something. The job of the sales staff is to help customers spend more than they had anticipated. To convince them that they need all the extras that are collateral items essential to the simple project at home. Employees receive bonuses for surpassing dollar sales targets both individually and for the Department. Never sales quotas or sales goals. Employees are given targets. Today is Saturday. The day of the DIY hoard. The day of the big dollar volume.
"Excuse, can you help me?"
"Yes ma'am how can I help you?"
"I want to replace the medicine cabinet and below sink cabinet in my second bathroom. I guess I'll need the cabinets and the hardware to make them look special. It is a guest bath room. I took a picture so you could see what is in there now."
"Let me show you our value line of cabinets. These come stained and painted and are made of particle board. Very solid. But, because of the particle board composition, the doors can warp. If any moisture seeps beyond the outer surface, the particles will absorb the moisture and expand, thus warping the panel and ultimately splintering it. Is there a shower or bath in the second bathroom?"
"Yes. A shower."
"Well, you would not want the panels to warp and splinter so severely that they have to be replaced in three to five years?"
"Oh, my, No. I want to redecorate once."
"Then I suggest the solid wood cabinets. Either painted or stained."
"I like the stained look."
"We have oak, maple, and pine. Which fits with the wall and tile colors?"
"Oak."
"Nice choice."
"Would you like that in a dark, medium or light stain?"
"Light."
"OK, great. We will put a waterproof coating over the stain to keep moisture out for years."
"Thank you."
"Now for the hardware.
"Brushed silver or rich brass would look very elegant. Here let me hold one handle of each up to this light oak panel. So you can make an educated choice."
"I like the brass it looks almost like gold."
"Great. Now for the surface around the sink. I suggest a synthetic marble colored to work with the cabinets. Let me show you over here."
"That's lovely. The specs of brass tie everything together."
"One more question. Are you keeping the commode lid and seat in white or would you like to have them match your new cabinets?"
"Can you do that?"
"Yes ma'am. Look over here. A perfect match."
"I'll take them."
"One last question. How about the towel rack? White or matching?"
"Matching."
"I would like to recommend that you select a brass curtain rod and rings to match the cabinet hardware."
"Perfect. Let me ask you a question. Can you recommend a carpenter or handy man, who can remove my old items and replace them with these items?"
"Ma'am we do not recommend a specific carpenter. Our company policy prohibits it due to the possibility of favoritism. But I can give you a list of carpenters who do such work. All of these carpenters have worked for our customers recently. I suggest you contact three of them to get references and estimates of costs and timing. Then you can select the one that you wish. We will even hold your purchased items here at the store for two weeks while you go through the selection process. There is no charge for this service."
"Thank you. You have been very helpful."
"Ma'am, thank you for shopping with us. Let me get a cart and walk with you to the cashier. Then I'll take your purchase back to the loading dock for pickup later. Please be sure to give your selected carpenter a copy of your receipt so we know we are giving your merchandise to the right individual."
We walk through the cashier line. Without knowing her budget, my guess is that the $1,450 she spent went well beyond it. And it exceeded my weekly dollar target. Hot damn I'm good.
Karma misses me. She jumps for joy at my arrival. It is time for a long walk; a thirty-minute series of sniffs and squats. The sun gets to her and her panting tells me it's time to go home. Time, also, for me to swim, sip, and read the newspaper.
Woman Murdered in Belleair Park: Friday night Belleair Police discovered the body of former Marine Lieutenant, Marjory Martin dead in Simmons Park. Ms. Martin had been stabbed numerous times and her body was left in the bushes of the park. Because the investigation into her murder is on-going, the Belleair PD spokesperson would not release any further details.
Non-reporting on a distasteful story. No one in Belleair wants a mess like this to stink up their pristine homes and lives. Sadly, Marjory's death will disappear from the paper and from the residents' awareness in a week or two. Her death will become a footnote in this year's Belleair's year in review. Very sad.
Oh, well what can a house sitter do, but luxuriate in the manses of others. Damn. I can dig. I can ask questions. I can be a pain in the asses of the local Police officials. To start I will send an inquisitive e-mail to the editor. To my laptop.
Editor of the Clearwater Clarion
Who was Marine Lieutenant, Marjory Martin found dead in Simmons Park? Why was she murdered? Why was she murdered here? Who murdered her? Was she a resident of Belleair? Was the murderer a resident of Belleair? Will this happen to other residents? Are we safe in our homes? On the streets? These questions need to be addressed and answered by the Police as soon as humanly possible. But, as yet there is nothing from the Police Department, but protocol silence. What are you doing to relieve the anxiety of the community? We want answers.
That should stir-up the comfortable paper that covers the comfortable neighborhood.
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John Andes was born and raised in Central Pennsylvania, and received a degree in philosophy from Brown University. His business career started in New York and was focused on advertising and marketing. He has two adult sons, is retired and lives on the Gulf Coast where he coaches little league football, teaches creative writing, and mentors small business owners.
For more information about the author, please visit his website at CrimeNovelsOnline.com.
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Adventures in House Sitting
John Andes
A Novel of Suspense
Thomas Jenkins is a house sitter in Belleair, a tony town within the tony city of Clearwater on Florida's West Coast. He sits in homes of the rich and powerful when they want to go away for extended weekends or vacations. Thomas Jenkins is a man who embraces the present only if he can maintain a tight grasp on the joys of the past. He is a child of the sixties.
One night, while walking the dog of a client, he discovers the mutilated body of a woman. A few days later, Tom discovers a hit and run victim, Donnielle Weaver, whom he helps recover from the incident … not an accident. She is a reporter for the Clearwater Clarion with a connection to the murdered woman. Thus, begins his journey into the dark world of multiple murders, corruption, exploitation, and drug trafficking.
Disinterested at first, he becomes more involved in Donnielle's search for the truth; truth about two powerful members of Belleair society and illegal immigrants. As the search expands, the interconnected intrigue intensifies. The investigation reveals a force that will go to any measure to protect itself. Random and unconnected violence is not random and unconnected. All during the journey, Thomas's house sitting provides new perspectives into the world of the privileged.
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