Scary Creek Read Free Page A

it’s
falling apart,” I said.
    “It has a double-planked mini-ballroom on the second floor,
four baths, a living room, dining room, study, library and six bedrooms. There
are also several fireplaces, Italian marble mantles, tile floors in the
bathrooms, cut-glass chandeliers, copper plumbing and a basement like Cheop’s
tomb.”
    Not being able to tender an offer was disheartening,
but I suspect it would have cost a fortune. Until I settled my account with
Myra, everything I acquired would be for her a takeover target.
    “How much did it sell for?” I asked.
    His upper lip curled in a cynical smile. He shook his
head and sarcasm crept into his voice.
    “It sold cheap,” he said, “only one bid, and it was a
silent auction from out of state.”
    “What does that mean?” I asked, sensing legal impropriety.
    “It means sellers can pick the buyer, or take any
offer.”
    “Who were the sellers?” I asked.
    “It was a tax sale; the county and a local bank.”
    “Too bad;” I replied.  “That house and I could have
had a future.”
    “We can talk to the new owner, or find something as
desirable; Mister…what is your name?”
    “Charlie Case,” I replied. I had not heard it spoken
or credited to a photo in so long it stumbled over my tongue.
    Virgil waved a finger in my face. “Mr. Case, I should
have known. I’ve been wondering when you’d get in touch.”
    “You have?” I asked, confused.
    “Yes, I’ve been waiting for your call.”
    “Why?” I asked, “Would you be waiting for my call?”
    He shrugged patiently. “To tell you the good news, and
let you know I received your draft.”
    “You received … money from me?” I asked in disbelief.
    There was a smile on his face and it would not go
away.  “Is this another joke, Mr. Case?”
    “No,” I said, anxiously. “I’m not in the habit of
joking about money, especially mine.”
    “You are Charles Case from Washington D.C., aren’t
you?”
    “Yeah, but I don’t remember sending you a check.” I
said. “How much was it?”
    The expression on his face turned serious, and the
line of his protruding jaw hardened.  “I received a bank draft for five thousand
dollars and a letter of credit from your bank 90 days ago. I must tell you, Mr.
Case, if you have second thoughts about the purchase, there is nothing we can
do now. The offer is in and you were the high bidder. In fact, you were the
only bidder.”
    A rush of adrenaline hit me with such force that it
made me dizzy. For seconds I was unable to think clearly. I began to suspect
that I was the victim of an elaborate ruse, or that Myra had somehow accessed
my hidden account and was doing her best to impoverish me. I thought about my
hasty departure from DC, and the man with Myra; I might have been wrong about
their motives.
    I pulled a checkbook from my pocket and examined the
balance. It was much the same as it had been for the past few months, with few
withdrawals greater than two hundred dollars.
    “Do you remember the bank’s name the check was drawn
on?” I asked.
    “First National of Washington,” he said. “How could I
forget? It isn’t often I get that kind of money telling me what to bid on.”
    I did have a checking and savings account at the same
bank, since it administered my inherited trust, but I was also a scrupulous
bookkeeper. I would have remembered authorizing a check, unless someone was
acting on my behalf and without my permission.
    “So what did I bid on?” I asked.
    “The Ryder mansion: the house on Scary Creek.”
    I was confused, having trouble concentrating, or he
was mumbling. In any event, his words were not clear. I was having second and
third thoughts about Myra and her accomplice, or maybe he was not who or what I
thought.  A conspiracy was going on inside my head, or I had too many thoughts racing
through my mind.
    “I tried to phone,” Virgil said, “but your line is
always busy.”
    “Yes,” I replied, “I keep it off the hook.”
    He