Dog's Green Earth Page 13

  “Look, I’m here, aren’t I?” Joey asked. “I’m not at the hospital. I’m not over at the high school playing pickup basketball.”

  “If you’d rather be at either of those places,” Mark began.

  “Don’t start,” Joey interrupted him. “Just drive.”

  I shared a glance with Lili as we climbed into the van—Mark and Joey up front, Lili and me in the seats behind them. I hoped they weren’t going to argue all day.

  The dogs romped around the back together for a few minutes, then settled down by the time we were on the highway. “Do you know there’s a mnemonic for the towns of the Main Line?” Mark asked as he drove. I wondered if he was consciously trying to shift the conversation away from his problems with Joey.

  “You mean like Every Good Boy Does Fine for the lines of the treble clef?” I asked. “My piano teacher would be so proud I remember that, even if I can’t play a note anymore.”

  “Exactly. The mnemonic for the stations of the Main Line is Old Maids Never Wed And Have Babies, Period.”

  “Excuse me?” Lili said, laughing. “Not exactly politically correct, is it?”

  “It’s old-fashioned,” Mark said. “Overbrook, Merion, Narberth, Wynnewood, Ardmore, Haverford, Bryn Mawr, Paoli. Hopefully, lots of rich people from all along the Main Line will have donated merchandise to this fair. This year’s beneficiary is a group called Alpha Bravo Canines, which trains service dogs and donates them to disabled veterans.”

  “You’ll have to spend a lot of money then,” I said. “Sounds like a great charity.”

  “Only if I can find bargains,” Mark said.

  “Don’t worry, he’ll find something to spend money on,” Joey grumbled, but there didn’t seem to be much rancor in his tone.

  It was one of the last gorgeous days of Indian summer, sunny but cool and crisp. We arrived at the market and parked at the end of a long line of cars. There was plenty of room between the tables, most of them managed by individuals and families cleaning out their attics. A couple of churches and a synagogue had tables, too, as well as a few neighborhood groups.

  Mark had brought a sheaf of cash with him, and he dispensed it liberally. Periodically Joey and I were delegated to carry pieces of furniture back to the van as well as tote bags full of smaller items.

  “Just call us the Sherpas,” Joey said, as we hefted the sides of a round mahogany table with claw feet.

  “I get to be Tenzing Norgay,” I said. “I always thought he didn’t get enough credit for climbing Everest with Edmund Hillary.”

  “That’s fine. I don’t even know the names of any other Sherpas.”

  We walked with the table between us, excusing ourselves and dodging around elderly couples and young women with tiny dogs on long leashes.

  “You and Mark getting along all right?” I asked, when we reached the truck.

  He shrugged. “We’re both under a lot of stress because of my dad’s being sick. I’m over at the hospital or the rehab all the time, and Mark has been complaining about Brody. He is a handful, I’ll admit.”

  “Couples go through things like that all the time,” I said. “As long as you keep communicating with Mark, you’ll be fine. And any time you have the urge to argue, count to ten and really look at him. Look for whatever caused you to fall in love with him. I guarantee by the time you get to ten you won’t be so angry anymore.”

  “Are the Sherpas Buddhist?” he asked. “Because that sounds like very Buddhist advice.”

  “I’m pretty sure they’re Tibetan Buddhists,” I said. “And I think you’d have to be pretty philosophical to live in such an unforgiving climate.”

  That afternoon, Lili bought a big coffee table book of Ansel Adams photos, and I found one of the small Lenox birds my mother had collected, though in a color and a pose I didn’t have. I was sure she was smiling down from heaven that I was adding to her collection.

  Lili and I had a great time at the flea market, drinking fresh apple cider and feeding bits of funnel cake to both dogs. Mark and Joey seemed to have entered a truce, and occasionally bits of sweetness between them popped up, which was lovely to see.

  By the time we were finished the van was crowded, leaving only a small area for the dogs behind the net, and we were all exhausted. Our last stop was a farm market table where we bought a huge chicken pot pie and a bunch of side dishes. Joey, Mark and Brody joined us at our house to eat, and while the feast heated up we sprawled in the living room with the dogs around us.

  Joey looked around, surveying the high ceiling in the living room, the layout of the furniture, the sliding glass doors that led out to the patio. “You’ve got a nice house here,” he said. “Since My dad has been sick, he’s been talking a lot about wanting to see me and Mark settled, in a house of our own.”

  “Don’t you own the building where the antique store is, Mark?”

  “I do. But I got a great deal on some Christmas stuff a few months ago, and that took over the second bedroom. Joey and I are feeling pretty crammed, and despite his small stature, Brody takes up a lot of space.”

  “He does not,” Joey protested halfheartedly. He reached down to pet Brody’s snowy-white head. “He hardly takes up any space at all.”

  “Except when he takes over the bed,” Mark said. He spread his arms and legs out wide, in a mimicry of doggie behavior I knew very well.

  Joey ignored him. “My dad knows that we’re cooped up in the rooms above the store, and he’s offered to give me and Mark a down payment on a house with more room, and a yard for Brody,” Joey said.

  I looked at Mark, whose face was dark. Was he happy enough above the store, and didn’t want to move? Was he resentful that Joe Senior was pushing forward an idea that should have grown up organically between himself and Joey?

  There were many reasons and I was sure I didn’t know all of them. Maybe he wanted to keep himself financially untangled from Joey, for instance. It was possible that one of them had more debt than the other, or that Mark didn’t want to be indebted to Joey’s family.

  Lili and I were committed to each other, but we had chosen not to marry, or change the deed on the townhouse, because we knew how complicated things could get if our emotions changed.

  I considered myself very fortunate that my father had owned his townhouse and left it to me in his will. Otherwise I’d never be able to own a house myself. “That’s pretty generous of Joe Senior,” I said.

  “It is,” Mark admitted. “And I don’t want to sound ungrateful, but there are a lot of moving parts to consider if we’re going to buy a place.”

  He leaned forward across the table, and I noticed that brought him closer to Joey. “I don’t want to move too far away from the store, because I’ve spent a long time building my clientele and I don’t want to set myself up for a big commute,” he continued. “Stewart’s Crossing is a pricey town, and the only way we can afford something is to get a fixer-upper.” His body language relaxed then. “Fortunately, Joey is the handiest guy I know.”

  “You’re sweet,” Joey said, and I loved the look that passed between them.

  “What would you think about River Bend?” I asked. “I met a guy recently who needs to sell his mother’s house, and apparently it needs a lot of work.”

  Joey and Mark shared a glance. “You think we can look at it?” Joey said.

  I didn’t have Drew Greenbaum’s phone number, but I knew the address. “Why don’t we walk over there after dinner? You can see the outside, at least, and if he’s not home we’ll leave him a note.”

  After we ate, and fed the dogs, the four of us went out with Brody and Rochester and walked up toward Drew Greenbaum’s house on Trieste Way. Brody pulled forward eagerly on his leash, and Rochester tugged to stay up with him. Then Brody would stop to dawdle beside a bush, and Rochester would push forward in search of a special smell. I could only imagine how difficult it would be for one person to walk both of them.

  Lights were on in inside Sylvia Greenbaum’s house and
an aged Lexus sat in the driveway, so I hoped that meant Drew was home. “Why don’t I take the dogs back to our house so you guys can look,” Lili said.

  “Can you manage both of them?” Mark looked worried. “Brody pulls.”

  “I have crawled on my belly through war zones to get the right shot,” Lili said. “I think I can handle two big dogs.”

  “Be careful, sweetheart,” I said. When she started to speak again, I held up my hands. “I know, belly, war zones.”

  She laughed, took the leashes and started away. Brody stalled, looking back at his dads, but she tugged on him, and he followed. I walked up to the front door and rang the bell.

  Sylvia Greenbaum’s house was a single-family, unlike my townhouse, though it was also on a zero lot line. It was a two-story property with a two-car garage and narrow yard on each side.

  Drew answered, looking haggard in a faded T-shirt and ragged shorts. Lilibet the corgi hovered behind Drew’s legs, yipping nervously.

  “Hey, Steve,” Drew said. “What’s up?”

  I introduced Joey and Mark. “They’re looking for a house, and willing to take on a fixer-upper,” I said. “If you haven’t sold already I thought maybe you could show them.”

  “Sure, come on in.” He leaned down and scooped up Lilibet.

  Joey put his hand out for Lilibet to sniff, and she licked it. “She’s a sweetheart,” Joey said.

  “When she wants to be,” Drew said, as he led us into the foyer. “Off to the right, that’s the half bath. Not usable right now because there’s something wrong with the toilet.”

  He frowned. “I’m afraid that’s going to be the theme here. Every time something went wrong, my mom just ignored it, and I’ve got two left thumbs, and I don’t have the ready cash to hire somebody to fix things up.”

  The great room was ahead of us, with a two-story vaulted ceiling. Looking up, I saw a water stain on an area of the popcorn ceiling. “Is there a leak?” I asked.

  “There was, a few years ago. My mom was swift enough back then to get the roof tile replaced, but she never had the popcorn fixed.”

  The house was tastefully furnished, with a couple of faded sofas, a walnut china cabinet and a big dining room table with eight chairs. “We could have the whole Capodilupo family over for holiday dinners,” Mark said.

  “If you can convince my mom not to be the hostess all the time,” Joey said.

  Drew clearly recognized that Mark and Joey were a couple but didn’t seem to care. He showed them the kitchen, where the dishwasher was broken, and the study beyond it that could be an additional bedroom.

  We climbed the stairs to see the master bedroom, where a hole gaped in the wall beside the queen-sized bed. “Another plumbing problem,” Drew said. “That’s the master bath on the other side. Plumber had to rip out part of the wall to get access, and of course my mother never had the wall fixed.”

  We toured the other two bedrooms and the full bath on that floor. The carpet was worn and stained in parts, and the whole house needed to be painted. Most of what was wrong looked like Joey could manage fixing it himself, with a contractor called in if necessary.

  Drew led us back downstairs. “What do you think?” he asked.

  Mark and Joey looked at each other. “It’s a great house,” Mark said. “Are you selling it furnished?”

  “I don’t need these big pieces,” Drew said. “I can make you a deal if you’re interested.”

  “What are you looking for in terms of price?” Joey asked.

  “I had a Realtor out yesterday. She said the market in River Bend is depressed, and properties are selling for significantly lower than comparables in other neighborhoods. And with all the problems, she said I ought to start at four hundred thousand. If I’m going to sell to you direct, without a Realtor, we could split the commission I’d have to pay.”

  I thought it sounded like a great deal, but I wasn’t the one putting out the money. “How soon do you need a decision?” Joey asked.

  “I have another offer, but significantly lower than I want,” he said.

  I figured that was from Earl Garner but didn’t say anything. But that did remind me that the association had placed a lien on the property, and I asked about that.

  “I spoke to a guy at Pennsylvania Properties who’s looking into that,” Drew said. “I might be able to get the amount reduced significantly. Right now it’s at forty thousand, and he thinks I can get that cut in half.” He blew out a deep breath. “My cousin is an attorney, and he says he’ll represent me, if I need it. And he said that I don’t actually have to pay off the lien before I sell—that it can be paid off at closing.”

  “That’s good news,” I said. “So you can sell to anyone.”

  We thanked him and walked out. “What did you think?” I asked as we headed back to my townhouse. The twilight air seemed magical, hiding all the landscaping problems and leaving the homes sheathed a glow of streetlamps and those tiny solar-powered lights along driveways.

  “I can fix almost all that stuff myself,” Joey said. “The only thing I’m worried about is that roof leak. We’d have to get an inspection to make sure it’s been repaired properly. And that ceiling is too high to work from a ladder—I’d need to build a scaffold, and for that I’d need someone else to help.”

  He turned to Mark. “What about you, sweetheart?”

  “It’s a lot of space. A yard out back for Brody. Eventually I could make that first floor bedroom into my office, and we can remodel the store to get more selling space.”

  “I agree, it’s a great house. We’ll have to see how much my dad can come up with towards the down payment.”

  Mark took Joey’s hand in his. “If he can give us ten percent—forty thousand – then I can take a small mortgage out on the store.” Then Mark turned to me. “My grandmother left the building to me free and clear, and I’m sure I can get a loan on it. And we could rent out the apartment we’re living in, which would pay the mortgage.”

  “Sounds like you guys need to check your numbers and then make an offer,” I said. “It would be great to have you as neighbors. And I love the idea of you having a yard where I can bring Rochester for play dates.”

  “Why do you think the properties here are going for so much less than others nearby?” Mark asked, as we turned the corner onto Sarajevo Way. With a sudden blare, rap music blasted from the house I’d identified as one of the rental properties.

  The music didn’t seem to bother either Mark or Joey, who waited for my answer.

  “Right now we’ve got a lot of small maintenance and landscaping issues. Maybe that’s all it is, and once we get those taken care of the values will pop back up again. So this might be a terrific time to buy. And I know Drew wants to get rid of that house.”

  I hoped that everything would work out—for their relationship, their purchase, and the value of my townhouse, too.

  21: At Risk

  Monday morning dawned gray and cold. It was clear that Indian summer was over, and we were heading toward a gloomy fall and an even gloomier winter. As I drove up the winding road to Friar Lake, I followed a roofer’s truck. A couple of tiles had come loose on the roof of the chapel and I was glad Joey was having them repaired.

  I spent the first part of the morning on Friar Lake business—following up on emails, filling out forms and so on. Midway through the morning I got an email back from Oscar Panaccio. He was interested in seeing my townhouse – was I free that evening? I responded that I was and made plans for him to come over at seven.

  Around noon Joey stopped by my office, looking very cheerful. He wore a cream colored fisherman’s sweater over a pair of jeans, with his regular Eastern ball cap on his head, though this time turned forward.

  “I took your advice.” He leaned down and petted Rochester, then sat across from me. “Mark and I had a long talk last night, and we worked through a bunch of things that have been bothering us. We both felt so much better that we plunged right into crunching numbers to
see what kind of house we can buy.”

  “That’s great,” I said. Rochester thought so, too; he stood up and nuzzled Joey’s knee in congratulations.

  “I talked to my parents and they can give me fifty thousand bucks – out of my eventual inheritance, of course. We decided that we want to put down twenty percent, to avoid having to pay for private mortgage insurance. Mark applied online for a home equity line of credit for his half, and we’ll use the rest of my money, and whatever we need to draw down on the loan to fund the renovations.”

  In the background I heard the roofers working, the sound of hammers and men calling requests back and forth.

  Joey smiled. “We called Drew this morning and made him an offer, contingent on an inspection, and he accepted.”

  I reached across the desk and shook Joey’s hand. “Congratulations.”

  He stood up. “Now I’d better get back to watching the roofers on the chapel. I hope the repairs Drew’s mom had done were good—otherwise I may end up on the roof of that house with tiles myself.”

  After Joey left, I turned my attention back to the file I had downloaded from the HOA website, and the references to LLCs that my analysis program had found. I started reviewing each of those forms. In each case, the committee member in charge of the interview had registered who he or she was meeting with.

  At first I got confused, because Earl Garner’s name kept popping up. Was he the person doing the interviewing? Then I realized no, he was the person behind twelve of those LLCs. Kimberly Eccles, also a member of the design committee, owned six of them. Three on her own and another three in joint tenancy with her husband. Oscar Panaccio owned five, which was a pretty nice clutch of properties for a guy living on a college professor’s salary.

  None of the other members of the board, or the design committee, owned multiple properties. However it was possible that they were still involved in the scheme somehow, perhaps by investing money with Garner, Eccles or Panaccio.

  It wasn’t illegal to buy properties, but there was definitely a moral gray area if members of the board of directors were deliberately driving down prices so that they could buy those homes at budget prices.