Final Rights (28 page)

“Absolutely. Just let me
know when.” As Tate pulled away, she glanced at the house through the rearview
mirror.
I’ll
bring her back. I promise.
A sudden chill ran down Tate’s spine and she had a strange
sensation that the house understood.

A short drive brought them to the Princess
Hotel. “I’ll call you soon, Tate. Okay?”

“Okay, Cally. Whenever you’re ready, we’ll
look at that house, and if you want, I’ll show you my place, too. Ellie and
Leland’s old place.”

“I’ll
really
need to rest up then.
All this is . . . it’s wearing me out.”

“Take your time. I’ll be
here when you’re ready.”

Cally looked at Tate a long time before
speaking again. “You’re probably the best friend I’ve ever had, do you know
that?”

These words instantly sank roots deep into
Tate’s heart. “That’s probably the nicest thing you could have said to me, do
you know that?”

They smiled at each other. Tate noticed a
feeling of deep satisfaction suffusing her body as she drove home.
I’m happy. I’m really happy!
She couldn’t remember the last time she had
felt this way.

FORTY-FIVE

2004

Tate reached down and gave the wheel a good spin. Her
flipper landed on $450. “I’ll take a ‘T.’”

“Yes, there’s one ‘T.’” Pat Sajak smiled at
her, and Vanna White touched the square on the puzzle board, illuminating the
‘T.’

Tate spun again, this time landing on $1,500.
Oh, this is good.
“I’ll have an ‘H.’”

“There are two ‘Hs,’” crooned Pat Sajak.

Tate had already racked
up $3,450. Her palms left faint wet handprints on the counter in front of her
as she made her next move. “I’d like to buy an ‘E.’”

“There are
five
‘Es,’”
Pat said as Vanna White quickly touched the squares and clapped her hands.

Tate spun again, landing on the $500 space.
The lights on the wheel flashed brightly. Tate felt odd as if suspended in this
place and happy to be here, finally, but not at all sure how it had happened.
Don’t freak out. Just keep playing.
“I’ll take an ‘R,’ please.”

“Yes, there are two ‘Rs.’” Pat Sajak smiled.
“You’re doing just fine.” Tate’s nerves made her freeze for a moment. “Spin or
solve,” coached Pat Sajak.

“I’ll have to spin.” Worry crept into Tate’s
voice.
I feel really wonky.
Gotta stay focused.
She
took a deep breath to steady herself. She stood on the platform behind the
player’s desk, yet she also felt like a spectator suspended above and off to
the side of the scene. She reached down and spun the wheel again.

Pat Sajak and the audience oohed as the
flipper caught on the $600 side of the peg and held, narrowly avoiding slipping
over to the “Bankrupt” side.

Tate strained to make sense of the puzzle.
It read:

_ h e r e’ _
 
t h e
 
_ _ r e _ _ _ _ e?

Where’s the
. . . Tate tried frantically to fill in the
blank spaces.

Tate intended to call an ‘S,’ so she was
horrified when she opened her mouth and said: “I’ll take an ‘L.’”
 

Pat Sajak paused, then pronounced: “Yes . .
. there’s one ‘L.’”

As Vanna White illuminated the letter, Pat
Sajak bought her some time by saying: “It’s a phrase. Spin or solve or buy a
vowel.”

Tate hesitated. “I’ll buy an . . . ‘A.’” She
couldn’t shake the nauseating sensation of floating just above the floor.

“Yes, there’s an ‘A.’”
Pat Sajak seemed amused as Vanna White made another square spring to life.
Stumped, Tate could not figure out the last word in the phrase.

Spin or solve, just don’t panic
. Tate hesitated. “I’d like to buy a vowel,
Pat.”
‘I’or ‘O’?
Tate struggled to decide. “I’ll take an
‘I.’”

Again Pat Sajak—and
Spirit—smiled upon her. “Yes, there is an ‘I.’ That’s the last of the vowels.
Spin or solve.”

Suddenly the puzzle sorted itself out and
the missing letters popped into place in Tate’s mind. “Pat! I’d like to solve
the puzzle.”

“Please do.”

“Where’s the fireplace?”

Tate struggled up out of
the dream just as she was about to be congratulated in person by Pat Sajak.
Vanna White’s figure faded away, still happily applauding Tate’s success, and
Tate forced her eyes open. The clock read 8:45 a.m. and she felt hungry. She
started laughing softly to herself.
Well, at least I finally made it to Wheel of Fortune!
Wonder how much
money I won?
As her feet touched the floor, a new thought flashed into her awareness.
“Where’s the fireplace,” she said aloud. “Yeah! Just exactly where
is
the fireplace?”

The excitement of her
dream quickly gave way to a thrilling idea. The fireplace may not be in the
house next door, but it had to be somewhere—she believed without question that
no one could possibly have destroyed a work by Leland Howard—and she set
herself the challenge of finding it.
 

Less
than two hours later, Tate and Carla walked through the stacks at the library,
searching for
Cabins &
Castles
, a book containing
a historical overview and records of individual properties in Asheville and
Buncombe County, mostly ones constructed prior to 1930. Carla had pointed them
in that direction when Tate showed up asking for help in finding information about
the house she owned.

“It’s a great resource,” Carla told Tate.
“It may have something in it about your place.” She pulled the book off the
shelf and they sat down at the nearest table. Carla leafed through the book
then turned it toward Tate, who sat across the desk. “Here. This is your place
on Maplewood, right?”

Tate looked at the old black-and-white
photograph of a fancy house with no resemblance whatsoever to the one she
owned. She read the address printed in the caption—her address. “It’s the right
address, but it’s not the same house.” Tate read parts of the description in a
hushed voice.

. . . a story-and-half
weatherboarded house on a high frame basement . . . intersecting gable roof . .
. vertical boards in the gables, set inside a flat frieze frame, end in a
sawtooth pattern.

“I don’t know what much of this means since
I don’t speak Architecture. But this is definitely not my house.” Tate slid the
book back to Carla, who tapped the picture of the house that once occupied the
lot on Maplewood.
 

“I wonder what happened.”

“Oh! Of course—it couldn’t be the same
house, because mine was moved there!”

“Well, that clears things up.”

“Sometimes I can be dense. I knew the house
had been moved, but this book was published before that happened.”

“Obviously it was published before the
original house was torn down,” Carla added.

“Okay, I know what to do
next. I think I know who can help me.”

“Who’s that?”

 
J
im Kitching. I bought the place from him, and my bet is he
knows its history. Thanks again Carla. You’ve been very helpful, as usual.”

“Anytime you need anything, let me know. I’m
always happy to see you.”

“I’m sure I’ll be back. In any case, I’ll
let you know what I find out, if you’re interested.”

“You know I’m interested, Tate.” Carla’s
comment hung expectantly in the air, but Tate chose not to address it in the
personal way it had been offered.

“Okay. You’ll hear from me again, then.”

Tate made two phone calls as soon as she
left the library. Cally did not answer, so Tate left a message. Jim Kitching answered
on the first ring.

“Hey, Tate. Haven’t heard from you in ages.”

“You said if I ever
needed anything to call, so I’m calling. I have a kazillion questions about the
duplex on Maplewood—the one next door to me.
”

“What do you want to know?”

“Well, I know you moved it. It used to be
over on Cumberland Street, right? What do you know about the house, Jim? I mean
before you relocated it. Like who owned it or anything?”

“Yeah. The short story is they were going to
tear it down when they decided to put the Interstate through the middle of
town. I bought it really cheap. Well, me and my partners. The old place on that
lot had burned down a long time before that and . . . you know, Tate, this
isn’t going to be a short story after all. How about I meet you over there and
we walk the property and I’ll tell you what I know.”

“Great! How about today? I’m renovating the
place, and I have lots of questions, like I said.”
 

“Well, sure, I guess I can come over today.
Sounds like you’re in a big hurry! What’s up?”

“I’ll tell you when you get here.”

“Okay, then. I’m out picking up some
supplies and I could stop by in about an hour.”

Tate
and Jim stood just inside the door of the apartment. Dave had made a lot of
progress. The trim around the new windows in the kitchen area had been
replaced. Oak cabinets and sparkling countertops now filled two walls. The
dishwasher had been installed along with an up-to-date gas range, large
refrigerator, a deep double sink and new lighting.

Jim looked around. “Jeez. This looks great!
You’ve put a lot of work and money into this place.”

“Whadda ya think? Am I doing it justice?”

“More than justice. Wish
I could of done this when I moved the place here. But we had to make it livable
on the cheap. We were working with a loan that required we create affordable
housing, so I cut a lot of corners to meet the budget. If it wasn’t essential,
I didn’t do it.”

“Well, that explains a lot, then. When we
pulled up the old carpet and vinyl we found these beautiful floors underneath.
They’re heart pine.”

“Yeah, I remember that now. But they had
been cut up so bad in some places, we just covered it up.”

“I can understand why, after seeing what was
under the stuff we pulled up. I’m putting carpet back down in the hallway and
bedrooms, but I’ve decided to salvage the floor in this room.”

“That’ll be nice. I hated to put down that
vinyl and carpet, but it cost half what it would have to resurrect the wood.”

“I think it’ll look beautiful when this area
is refinished. That’ll happen next week, I hope. Depends on how long it takes
to get everything else done so we can begin the finishing up. I hope to have a
new tenant in here next month.”

“What happened to Kristin? Why’d she move?”

“She was a real trip, Jim. She couldn’t
stand me. In fact, most of the neighbors are ticked off because I started
moving the old tenants out and fixing these places up. That surprised me,
actually. I would’ve thought they’d be happy to be rid of the boozers and
brawlers from downstairs.”

“People don’t like change, even if it’s for the
better.”

“Mazie said basically the same thing.”

“You’ve met her then?”

“Sure have. She came over offering sweet tea
not long after I moved in, and now we’re buddies.”

“I’ll have to stop by and say hello. Used to
see her all the time when I was here taking care of the place. She’s a sweet
thing, isn’t she?”

“Really sweet. I can only hope I’m as feisty
and functional as she is when I reach that age.”

“So what did happen to Kristin? I’m
surprised she left. She grew up in this place and then when her mother
remarried, she stayed here with her baby.”

“Well, I finally asked her to leave. I don’t
know how she was with you, but she was really difficult to deal with.
Demanding, complaining constantly about one thing or another. She wanted the
place fixed up like I’d done with the other units, but she didn’t want to pay
more rent. She finally left, but not without leaving a mess behind.”

“What kind of mess?”

“Personal stuff, a refrigerator full of
moldy food, things like that.”

“Sorry she caused you problems. She was a
pretty good tenant for me, though.”

Tate trailed along as Jim walked through the
apartment, commenting on the work he had done to save the house from
demolition, all the planning and preparation, building the new foundation which
now housed the downstairs apartment, and the major production of loading the
house onto a huge truck and hauling it from Cumberland to Maplewood.

“Sounds like a lot of work, Jim, but it also
sounds like you had a passion for it.”

“I sure did. I’ve lived here in Ashevull my
whole life, except when I went away to college. I hated seeing the old places
torn down so they could put that highway right through the middle a town. They
did a lot of destruction in the name of modernization.”

“Well that brings us right to the point of
my asking you to come over here today. You know that old place over in Montford
they want to tear down? Big house, up on a hill on Chestnut Street?”

“Yeah, I’ve been seeing that on the news
lately. What’s your connection?”

“Well, this house is actually the connection,
though I’ve only recently figured that out.”

“This place? How so?”

“This house was built by
Leland Howard. He was a master woodworker back in the ‘30s and up until he
dropped out of sight after his wife was killed. He’s also the man who owns the derelict
place over in Montford. I’m not going into the whole story—it’s way too long
and convoluted. If you want to hear it, maybe we could do that over a drink or
lunch sometime. What I’m wondering about right now is what changes have been
made to this place.” They had finished the tour of the apartment and returned
to the open living room and kitchen area. ”What can you tell me about that?”