A Basic Renovation Read online

  ‘Try to look beyond that, will you? Once I cut the trees in the front there’ll be views to Sangre de Cristo Mountains and Santa Fe. When these trees back here are gone you’ll see the aspens growing on the Jemez. This house will be amazing!’ Grinning, she used the broom to keep vegetation from tickling her knees as she headed towards the windows. ‘I could make a mil—’

  The view of the house suddenly vanished. Lesley found herself sprawled in the high grass, one foot sunk deeply into a mound of earth, the grainy taste of soil on her tongue.

  ‘Lesley!’ Toby shouted. The weeds made a slapping sound against his big pants as he rushed towards her.

  Level with the ground, it was easy to see the yard was dotted by a series of mole tunnels and holes. Lesley wiggled her cowboy boot free and sat up. She spat out dirt, chamisa, and what she hoped to God wasn’t mole poop.

  ‘I think you’re safe.’

  ‘Safe from what,’ she said and wiped her mouth, ‘vengeful, killer moles?’

  ‘No. I’m pretty sure the hanta virus can’t be contracted from mole dung. It’s mouse droppings you have to worry about, but let’s go inside and rinse out your mouth, just to be safe.’ He reached out and hauled her up. A nub of broom handle was still in her hand. The straw part peeked out of the grass.

  Laughing, Lesley dropped the broken broomstick, picked up the bristly end and returned to the front of the house, spitting more grit from her mouth. Toby was behind her when she opened the grimy front door for the second time that morning. ‘You might want to hold your nose,’ she said.

  ‘Hold my no—Oh my God.’ Toby tucked his chin into the neck of his shirt and pulled it up, buttoning the collar closed over the bridge of his nose.

  Lesley would have done the same thing, but her top was a sleeveless camisole. Cat pee and musty carpet assaulted her nostrils. She tried to breathe through her mouth. ‘You got here before I had the chance to open any windows. Will you please get the ones upstairs?’

  ‘Uh-huh,’ Toby nodded and the front of his shirt outlined his lips moving under the fabric. ‘OK if I use the facilities while I’m up there?’

  ‘Sure, but don’t come back and tell me the toilet’s overflowed.’

  The electricity had been switched on. A dim light glowed above her head and the rust-coloured Kelvinator refrigerator in the kitchen ran with a noisy hum. For a moment, Lesley stood in the small foyer space, acclimating to the unpleasant mix of odours.

  Then she tossed the broom onto the kitchen tiles and opened the two windows above a cracked enamelled sink. After she rinsed out her mouth, she hurried into the living room, swishing aside oppressive walnut-coloured curtains that ran across the back of the house. The exposed glass was clouded by hard water stains, but the cat hair-coated screens were still intact. The windows whined as she cranked them open. Cool air breezed through the house.

  The Witteveens had favoured deep earth tones and the colour scheme made Lesley feel as if she were inside one of the backyard mole holes. It was hard to tell dirt from decor. While the exterior was mission brown, the open-plan dining-living area was a drab shade of buckskin. The crunchy shag pile beneath her feet – the source of the unrelenting feline odour – looked like old chocolate. Kitchen cupboards, faux pecan wood grain, were offset by bright, jack-o-lantern orange countertops. Another splash of colour came from wallpaper patterned by still-life clusters of grapes and tiny American flags. The orange and pecan motif continued into the laundry. All that was missing were Alice and Mrs. Brady.

  ‘It’s not too bad up here,’ Toby called out from the landing at the top of the staircase, ‘but down there looks like 1973.’

  ‘It feels like it too, only darker.’ Lesley tried several wall switches, testing what knob operated which lights. A single forty-watt bulb cast a dull shadow in the living room. The hanging light fixtures above her head had two working bulbs and four burnt out ones, all shaped like tiny flames. Clusters of frosted glass starbursts dangled from a cobwebby chain thick with heavy grey dust. When she tried another switch, a low-wattage glow came from the dining room starburst. Then the bulb blew out with a cloudy little puff.

  Lesley waved away the fog of dirt particles and glanced up at her cousin as he came downstairs. His green high-tops crunched across the rug as he walked into the dining room. He pulled back the rest of the drapes. ‘Think that stuff will come off?’ he asked, bathed in a glow of sepia window tinting.

  ‘Probably.’ Lesley scraped her short fingernails at the corner of the glass to see if the film peeled away. A long, wide section came off in a strip that promptly disintegrated to little flakes all over the crispy carpeting. As Toby worked off a few more broad ribbons, Lesley changed her mind about the task. ‘Hang on, Toby. Before we take off any more of this stuff, before I move anything inside, like the bed, the carpet is coming out. I have to get rid of this smell.’

  ‘Good idea.’

  She tested the strength of the revolting floor covering, grasping a clump beneath the window frame. It only took a few light tugs to lift. ‘This won’t take us more than an hour.’

  ‘Wait. We? Us? You want me to help you with this too?’

  ‘Please?’

  Toby rolled his eyes and exhaled. ‘You got a scuba tank in your trailer?’

  Laughing, speckled with carpet filth and window tint, Lesley hopped over the counter that separated the dining room and kitchen and headed for the front door. She flicked dust and sepia-toned fragments from her hands. Her boots squeaked over tiles that were, of course, another shade of brown. Then a different sort of squeaking registered in her ears. Pausing, she cocked her head, listening to soft scuttling sounds that she tracked in the direction of the oven.

  Rust-coloured like the Kelvinator, the gas stove and oven combo sat wedged between two sets of grease-spattered brown drawers. Lesley made a face and grabbed the broken broom from where it lay on the floor.

  ‘I knew it,’ Toby said, ‘you’ve got roaches. You’ve bought the Roach-Carlton.’

  Lesley shrugged. She wasn’t a big fan of bugs, fleas were especially disgusting, but in renovating for profit she’d dealt with a fair number of insects. She didn’t get all freaked out by them like Kelly did; she was too practical for that. She reached forward and opened the oven door. It creaked on its disused, dust-caked hinges and something bug-sized fell out. It tumbled to the tiles below with a metallic clink and rolled across the floor, coming to rest in front of the dishwasher. It was a penny, a shiny copper penny that gleamed brightly against the cracked, dull, brown tile.

  Toby exhaled. ‘Money’s good. Maybe there’ll be an envelope full of it in there.’

  ‘Cross your fingers.’ She picked up the coin, set it on the orange countertop, and turned back to the oven, peering inside. A small bulb at the rear lit the cavity. There was enough light to see a filthy quilted potholder stuffed into the back along with a dryer fabric-softener sheet and a large, fluffy ball of lint.

  As she reached in and tugged at the softener slip, the big ball of lint separated into smaller balls of lint that spilled out of the oven and scrambled over her feet.

  Instinct took over. With Toby shrieking, she smacked the broken broom against a linty orb as it scurried for the cover under the dishwasher. Moles, roaches, overkill brown décor, a Brady Bunch kitchen, and the smell of cat pee Lesley could handle.

  Pack rats were a different story.

  Parts of Los Alamos were stuck in a time warp. The town had a Starbucks and a bagel shop, but some things remained as they’d always been. The Fuller Lodge, a boys’ Ranch School until the government took it over for the Manhattan Project in the 40s, still looked like a giant log cabin in the woods. The Post Office still maintained its officious grey stucco. Trujillo’s Timber & Hardware still occupied the corner of Central and Fifteenth Avenue.

  Inside Trujillo’s was blessedly cool, but a strange fragrance, a mixture of WD40, weed killer and popcorn scented the air. It made Lesley’s empty stomach growl almost as loud as her motorcycle.
She paused near the service counter and looked at her watch, trying to remember what time it had been when she had eaten breakfast.

  A pretty Latina salesgirl, half hidden by a movie-style popcorn machine on the service counter, smiled. ‘Hello,’ she said, adjusting her green apron. Her nametag was upside down.

  Lesley was pretty good reading upside down and backwards. The girl’s name was Daphne.

  ‘Can I help you with anything?’ Daphne smiled.

  Lesley nodded, ‘Does the store still rent out equipment?’

  ‘We sure do.’

  ‘Great. What do you have to cut through a rocky jungle?’

  ‘We got a Bush Hog. Is that what you’re after?’

  In Chicago, the places she’d grown accustomed to renovating or restoring didn’t have yards. Lesley was quite adept at using hammer drills, nail guns, planers, but when it came to lawn care machinery she was lost. ‘Know anyone who can run it?’

  ‘We got a part-time kid who does that sort of thing. He’s always looking for extra work. I can set it up for you. He’s trying to buy a car, so I’m sure he’ll fit you in whenever he has the time.’

  She borrowed Daphne’s pen, took a business card from a pocket and scribbled on it. ‘Let’s try and make it tomorrow then. Here’s my address on Isleta. That’s my cell number on the bottom.’

  Daphne looked at the card Lesley handed over. ‘Conversions? Are you a nun or something?’

  ‘No. That’s my business name. I renovate properties. So I pay for the Bush Hog rental now, and then pay the kid for the work later?’

  ‘Yep.’

  ‘What’s the going rate for a single yard job?’

  ‘Thirty-five bucks sound OK?’

  ‘Sounds fine. Maybe I’d better start an account. Can I do that?’

  ‘Yeah. You gotta fill out an application. We can do it electronically.’

  ‘You’ll need to check my credit details, won’t you?’ Lesley fished her wallet out of the back pocket of her shorts, laying her driver’s license on the counter. ‘What do you have for moles and pack rats?’

  ‘Eee, rats,’ Daphne said, punching Lesley’s particulars into a computer, ‘I hate those things!’

  ‘Any idea what I can use?’

  ‘Hand grenades.’

  ‘How about for moles?’

  ‘Traps, you know, like for mice. My dad swears Juicy Fruit gum works if you drop it in their holes, but there’s those cone-shaped poison-filled things you put in the ground, or you can get those little cages from the county.’

  Lesley’s stomach growled noisily. ‘I’ll look into that. Can I have some other items delivered along with the Bush Hog?’

  ‘No problem.’

  ‘Good. We can just put it all on the account.’

  Daphne unhooked a clipboard from behind the counter. It had a pen and a credit application attached. She handed it over. ‘Here you go. You need to fill in a few details yourself and sign. Even with the computer, we still keep a paper copy of accounts, just in case.’

  ‘If it’s OK, I’ll use my business details.’

  ‘Sure. I’ll get your order started on the computer.’

  ‘For now, just put down six gallons of white sealer-primer, KILZ if you’ve got it, four gallons of Perma-White Mold- and Mildew-Proof Paint, and a broom.’

  ‘The old-fashioned kind or a short bristle one that you push?’

  ‘I’ll look at what you have.’ Lesley nodded and set to work scribbling on the form.

  Daphne started keying in the order. ‘Hey, DB,’ she said, giving someone a nod.

  ‘Hiya, Daph,’ a man replied, ‘is the popcorn fresh?’

  ‘Uh-huh, just made it.’

  From the corner of her eye, Lesley saw fingers reach across the counter to take a small bag of popcorn from Daphne. ‘’Scuse me,’ the hand’s owner said.

  Lesley scooted over slightly.

  ‘You both back from lunch now?’ the sales girl asked.

  The man crunched a mouthful of popcorn, ‘Yeah, the kid’s ’round the back.’

  ‘I’ve got another run for him today and one for tomorrow, too. He’ll have that car by the end of summer.’

  ‘Thanks, Daph. It may be his dream, but a teenage son with a car is a parent’s worst nightmare.’

  ‘Eeee, I thought it was getting a girl pregnant.’

  ‘Let’s not even think about that scenario. For my peace of mind, I’m trying to maintain a little control over his advancement from two wheels to four. Fabian call?’

  ‘About twenty minutes ago. He said you’d need three.’

  ‘Well, if he said three, I guess I better get five,’ the man set the bag of popcorn on the counter and moved off in another direction.

  While she hadn’t looked at him, the guy had an enthralling scent, like cypress and cedar mixed with soap and the slight tang of masculine perspiration. Lesley’s hormone radar took notice and things fluttered appropriately, but what really got her going was the buttery aroma beside her elbow. The man may have smelled delightful, but the popcorn made her mouth water.

  Her empty stomach let out another rumble and her hand moved for the discarded bag, but instead of chowing down someone’s unwanted snack food, she decided to stop at Sonic on the way home. She’d have a good grease-feast with their onion rings.

  Sonic’s onion rings were sweet and crunchy. While some women craved chocolate, Lesley craved Sonic’s onion rings, something not available in Chicago, despite it being a city open 24/7. For just a moment, she thought buying a house to flip in Los Alamos might have been the result of an onion ring craving brought on by hormonal fluctuations due to impending peri- or full-blown menopause rather than greed. Whatever the reason, it was definitely something she could ponder better over onion rings; large onion rings and a 44 ounce root beer. Quickly, she finished the application and handed it over to Daphne, ‘Where would I find brooms?’

  Daphne swept her long black hair over one shoulder and pointed, ‘Aisle three, on the left side. The rat traps we have are around the corner, over by the bug spray. Would you like some popcorn? It’s free.’

  ‘No, thank you, but it sure smells good.’ After a polite nod Lesley proceeded to aisle three, singing under her breath, ‘I’m gonna sweep those rats right outta my house…’ She rounded the corner of a display rack hung with flower seeds, ‘I’m gonna sweep those rats right outta my—’ and stopped dead in her tracks.

  He might have been crouched down in front of dustpans, but his profile was unmistakable, as distinctive as the aquiline nose on his tanned face.

  She smiled, ready to say hello, but the hair on the back of her neck prickled suddenly. Her brain sent out signals of danger. Primitive instinct made Lesley take an involuntary step backwards.

  Then she took a whole bunch of hurried steps backwards and ducked around into the next aisle. And, just to be safe, she moved to the rear of the store, all the way to the back, where paint cans were stacked in a pyramid display, and waited until the hazard had passed.

  Beyond nail guns and hammers, the smell of milled timber, caulking and tile grout, there was something earthy, primal about manual labour that made sweating under a coating of cement dust appealing to Dominic. Getting his hands dirty was something he always loved and, brother, had he been thinking about how he could get his hands dirty with the strawberry-blonde examining the rainbow rack of paint sample cards. She’d looked attractive bent over the front counter, but the way she stood now showed off exactly what was wrapped in the pretty package.

  Dominic felt his blood flow change direction.

  He moved up the aisle to the back of the store, walking towards her. The closer he got, the better she looked, the more ideas he started to have. Cobwebs and crunchy brown pine needles stuck to the back of her sleeveless blue blouse. Most of her sun-kissed ponytail had come undone, but what was secure bounced when she reached out for a booklet of Laura Ashley colour samples. Worn, red cowboy boots accentuated the delectable back curve of her knees. H
er olive green cargo shorts were too big for her and sat low over her hips. He got a nice glimpse of creamy, pinkish-white waist when she stretched up on tiptoe for the booklet. She tugged hard at the tightly-packed paper display, jerking so forcefully the entire contents of the rack dislodged and spilled over her in a shower of flapping cardstock.

  He heard her swear under her breath as she crouched to pick up the mess she’d made. Another zesty rush of desire hit him low. Glory days, she looked soft, just like a woman ought to. He hated females with sculpted, hard bodies of sinew and bone. God intended women to have curvy bodies and, as far as he was concerned, this woman had everything exactly as nature designed. Lord, he would love to have pulled the band from that messy hair and started something else nature designed.

  Mouth twitching over a wolfish smile, he pulled on his sheep’s skin and paused in the aisle behind her. ‘Can I give you a hand with that?’ he asked, all sweet and nice.

  She turned slightly, head down, eyes on the Laura Ashley booklets in her hand, hair in her face, just the tip of her nose poking out.

  Something about her perfume was familiar. It was light, subtly floral, and tickled his memory in a far off, hazy manner. In the scant millisecond it took his brain to process the scent, to go through a catalogue of females he’d known: Willa, old girlfriends, aunts, ladies he’d worked with at the Sandia Lab in Albuquerque, the woman lifted her chin and turned to look at him. His rakish thoughts deflated.

  So did his dick.

  Dominic couldn’t believe he’d just had a hard-on for his youngest brother’s ex-whatever one called the female party from an annulled marriage. Were there words for former spouses of an invalidated union? ‘Lesley,’ he said, when his tongue started working again.

  ‘Hello, Dominic.’ She gave him a small, wavering smile. ‘It’s been a while.’

  He looked her up and down, hands on his hips. ‘It’s been what, thirteen years?’

  ‘More like sixteen,’ she said.

  ‘Thirteen, sixteen, not much difference there.’ Dominic’s fingertips smoothed over an eyebrow. He was still coming to terms with finding her attractive. He stared at her, trying to figure out why his body had responded so exuberantly.