Writers Tricks of the Trade Vol. 6 Issue 1 | Page 15
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Life Stories (Cont’d)
to make a living. We’ve got the keys, there’s a car in the garage and the people who watch the house
know we’re coming.”
After finally convincing him we’d be fine, he drove off and we hefted our cases into the jungle-like
growth. A path partially hidden beneath the dense mixture of weeds and a few sprigs of grass led to the
front door, and we finally made it to the little porch.
I pulled out the key Bob had given me and tried it in the lock. It didn’t turn. First I tried to slide it
out slightly. Then Sue pressed it in as hard as she could while pulling on the door handle. Still no luck.
I took over and jiggled it, but it made no difference. The key still refused to turn, and we tried our best
not to panic.
A little anger directed at the man who owned this ramshackle place tugged at me. “Know what? If
Bob could only see what the charming country cottage really looks like, he’d have to admit that for once
he got the short end of a deal.”
Sue let out a ragged sigh. “Do you suppose it’s the key to the back door, not the front? Think, Aud.
Did Bob say anything about which door the key was for?”
I shrugged. “Not that I remember.”
Clouds now covered most of the sun and the temperature had dropped.
Smoke curled from nearby chimneys and I smelled the familiar scent of burning wood in the cool
air. I hugged myself against the rising wind, its chill penetrating my light jacket. I’d left lovely spring
weather back in Los Angeles for this?
“Well, I guess it does make sense to try the back door. If that doesn’t work, I have the address of the
old couple who take care of the place. Bob said they’re just a few houses away, and they’ll have a key.”
We left our suitcases on the porch, plunged into the grass and weeds and headed toward the back of
the house.
I almost cheered out loud when the key slid into the lock and turned with no problem. We were in.
The pad for the security system was located on the kitchen wall to the right of the
backdoor. Sometimes I see numbers in reverse order, and I guess that’s what happened when I
checked the code Bob had given me and punched in the numbers. Instead of turning it off, deafening
shrieks filled the room. I tried again, and got it right. Then everything was silent except for the ringing
in my ears.
Considering the dilapidated condition of the exterior, we were surprised to see a bright, modern
kitchen complete with a red four-burner stove and a red refrigerator. Okay, red did seem a bit weird,
but everyone is entitled to their own taste. I figured the rest of the house would be upbeat like the
kitchen. Boy, was I wrong!
From the kitchen we ventured into the parlor, a room that gave me the feeling of a 1920s movie set
doing double-duty as the reception room for a whorehouse. Two worn red brocade sofas trimmed with
heavy gold fringe faced each other. A swirl of dusty crystals dripped from an elaborate chandelier
centered over a gold-leafed table positioned between the sofas. The garish table was embellished with
intricate carved scrolls and shell designs. Paintings of nude women, flaunting their Rubenesque curves
in extremely suggestive poses, added an air of dated sexuality to the room. The walls were swathed in
deep ruby-toned wallpaper.
WRITERS’ TRICKS OF THE TRADE
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JANUARY-FEBRUARY 2016