Twilight was beginning to settle over Saint Paul as Jane parked her SUV a block away from the home of Britt’s aunts, Eleanor Skarsvold Devine and Lena Skarsvold. She’d surveyed the area to get the general lay of the land, but wanted a closer look at the house before she drove back to her restaurant to begin some online research.
As she made her way down the cracked sidewalk, a chilly wind scattered dry leaves across her path. The closer she got to the end of the block, the more obvious it became that the Skarsvold property was terribly rundown. The house sat farther back from the street than the other houses along Cumberland Avenue. It had elements of the Arts and Crafts style, with tall gables and a broad porch flanked by large, square posts. Once upon a time it had likely been sided with wood, though somewhere along the line someone had covered it with stucco, now cracked and badly discolored. Much of the paint on the dark green window trim had pealed off long ago, revealing whole sections of rotted wood. Many of the screens were rusted. A few were missing. Around the perimeter was a tangle of vines and dead shrubs partially covering a crumbling fieldstone foundation. In a neighborhood where the rest of the homes were smaller but well tended, the Skarsvold place stood out.
Jane paused for a few seconds, gazing up at the once stately home, hands in her pockets, wondering what it had looked like when it was new. Was it poverty, neglect, or something else that had caused such a decline? Whatever the case, the house, with its low, curled roofline over an unscreened porch, seemed dark and brooding, as if the people inside were hiding from the world. And that was why the FOR RENT sign stuck into the grass on the boulevard seemed so incongruous.
ROOMS AVAILABLE
WEEKLY MONTHLY
INQUIRE WITHIN
Jane glanced up as a pickup truck rolled around the corner and pulled to a stop across the street. A workman in white painter pants, white cap, and a dark hoodie hopped out. A second later a light came on over the door of one of the houses and a woman stepped out onto the concrete stoop, calling, “We need at least three more gallons.”
“Aw, crap. I only got two.”
The woman in the doorway shrugged, disappearing back inside.
Seeing Jane, the man waved. He slammed the cab door and then trotted across the street. “You looking for a place to rent? The bedrooms are nice, not real big, but clean. I’ve seen ’em.”
“You live around here?” asked Jane. The guy was skinny, middle-aged, with a bushy mustache.
“Rich Novak,” he said, extending his hand. “I’m the block captain. I live in that colonial revival back there.” He turned and pointed. When he saw Jane look at the house where the woman had just emerged, he said, “The wife and I are rehabbing that one. It’s a Foursquare. Got it for a super price.”
“You flip houses?”
“Well, yes and no. I’m a mechanic. But yeah, in my spare time, I like to stay busy with side jobs to make a little extra. This is our first try at rehabbing.”
“Good luck,” said Jane.
“It’s a nice neighborhood, in case you’re wondering. Two old ladies own that place.” He nodded toward the house. “They rent out rooms to make extra money.”
“You know them?”
“Oh, yeah, for sure. They’re quiet. Keep mostly to themselves. Someone’s always home, so if you want to look, I’m sure it wouldn’t be a problem.” He hesitated. “You from around here?”
“No,” said Jane.
“Just traveling through?”
“You could say that.” She wondered if he gave everyone the same kind of interrogation.
“Hey, come on, Richard,” called his wife, sticking her head out the front door. “If I’m gonna keep goin’, I need that paint.”
“When the ball and chain calls, I gotta obey.” He grinned. “Maybe I’ll see you around.”
Jane tried not to cringe. She loathed that sort of reference to a wife or girlfriend. She waited as he ran back across the street, reached into the bed of his truck, and retrieved the paint. As he went inside, she made a quick decision. The lawn sign gave her a way into the house to meet Britt’s aunts. It seemed like such a stroke of luck that she couldn’t ignore it.
A sign under the front doorbell said, NOT WORKING. PLEASE KNOCK. Jane rapped on the wood next to a lace-covered oval of glass. A few seconds later, a single, bony finger hooked back the lace. The door opened, revealing a plump elderly woman with a halo of white hair. “Can I help you?”
“I’m interested in renting one of your bedrooms.”
The woman peered at her through a pair of rimless glasses before saying, “Please. Come in.”
The interior of the house smelled like coffee and cinnamon rolls, and appeared to be in better shape than the exterior. The living room was warm and inviting, with a muted mustard-colored paint on the walls, a fireplace flanked by built-in bookcases and a mantel filled with photographs. The furniture wasn’t antique, although it was old. If Jane had to guess, she would have said it was all circa 1970s. Lots of oranges, avocado greens, and golds, a color scheme so dated that it was coming back into style. The wood floor was covered by a threadbare oriental. Directly to her right were half-open pocket doors revealing a den with a TV. Jane assumed it was there that Britt had discovered the drawings. An upright piano sat against the stairway.
“Are you interested in renting by the week or the month?” asked Eleanor.
“The week,” said Jane. She wasn’t sure how much information she’d need to give, which could be a problem.
“We don’t ask you to sign a lease. But we don’t accept checks or credit. Just cash.”
“That’s fine.” Jane wondered if she was really going to rent one of the bedrooms.
Eleanor introduced herself, explaining the various rules. “We don’t allow you to use the kitchen, but there are microwaves in two of the rooms. We mostly get students because we’re so close to the U of M agricultural campus.” She smiled, smoothing her apron. “If you’ll follow me?”
Halfway up the stairway was a landing. One side of the stairway led up from the living room, the other down into the kitchen. Making a left, they continued on up a longer flight of stairs to a second floor landing. Eleanor opened up three doors, turned on the overhead lights in each room, and allowed Jane to look around. “As you can see, two of the rooms are the same size. One has a single bed, a large dresser, and comfortable reading chair and floor lamp. The other has a double bed with a smaller dresser and a desk.”
Jane was drawn to the room with the double bed. The furniture was old but sturdy, the wallpaper a light green damask pattern. The block captain had been right when he said the rooms were clean. There was something almost Little House on the Prairie–esque about them. Perhaps it was the lack of clutter. “Do you have Wi-Fi?”
Eleanor laughed. “We’d never be able to rent to students if we didn’t provide that. My sister, Lena, she’s on the … the Facebook all the time. I was never much of a computer person. I guess that makes me a dinosaur.”
“This room would work for me.”
Eleanor seemed pleased. “Oh, I should mention. We have a garage for rent. It would be an extra fee. This has been an unusually warm fall, but we’re going to get snow. If you have a car—”
“I do.”
“Would you like to see it?”
“Sure.”
Eleanor led the way back downstairs into the kitchen. She removed a flashlight from one of the drawers, and then, lifting her coat off a hook by the back door, she said. “Our backyard light is burned out. I keep meaning to ask my son to replace it.”
“I could do that for you,” said Jane. “If you have a ladder.”
Eleanor turned to her. “That’s so kind of you. But Frank’s staying here for a few days, so let me see if I can get him to take care of it.”
The backyard was unfenced, the grass dry and patchy. Eleanor buttoned up her coat as she carefully negotiated what was left of the narrow sidewalk. “I used to love gardening,” she said. “All I can manage these days is making sure the house is clean, and even then, I need help from a lady in my church.” As she approached the double garage doors, she removed a set of keys from her pocket. “We use a padlock,” she said, slipping a key into the lock and tugging it apart. “It’s a little larger than your usual one stall. My father used it as a workshop back in the day. My great-grandfather built the home in 1881. It’s been our family’s home ever since.”
Jane’s cell phone rumbled inside her pocket. She removed it and checked to see who was calling.
“Do you need to take that?” asked Eleanor, turning her flashlight on the interior, revealing an uneven floor covered with a thin layer of crumbling concrete. “We used to have electricity out here, but it doesn’t work anymore. I haven’t wanted to spend the money to get it repaired.”
Jane walked in, using a flashlight app on her cell phone to illuminate the long, battered workbench, the open shelves. Everything was covered in a thick layer of dust.
“My son painted that,” said Eleanor, nodding to the mural on the rear wall.
“Wow,” said Jane, walking closer. It was wonderfully colorful, filled with strange, unearthly birds and animals. “He’s talented. Do you mind if I get a picture?”
“Of course not.”
Jane held up her phone and took several.
“So,” said Eleanor, bending down to pick up a discarded Styrofoam cup, “would this work for you? I hear we may get snow in the next few days.”
“Sleet tomorrow night.” Jane hated this in-between kind of weather, when the temperature hovered around freezing. It wasn’t warm enough for rain, but not cold enough for snow. If she really was going to stay for a few days, renting the garage was probably a smart idea. “Yes, I’d like to rent it.”
“Wonderful,” said Eleanor. “Why don’t we go back in the house? I’ll get you a key for the padlock, one for the front door, and then we can settle your bill.”
As they trudged back through the dark, Jane wondered if she was making the right decision. For good or ill, it seemed she was about to become a temporary member of the Skarsvold household.