House of Ghosts Read Online Free PDF Page B

decades. The windows had been removed and replaced with bricks. Black-green mold crept up the cement walls in the stagnant air.
    Joe cleared a patch of cobwebs hanging from the exposed beams with the club, making his way to the center of the room where sheets of paper and an assortment of manila envelopes were piled. A badly stained and crumpled map caught his eye. It wasn’t from the AAA. It was a U.S. Army Air Force map from WWII.
    Joe poked the paper scrum with the five-iron, exposing a rectangular cordovan leather wallet. With Preston’s miserly reputation, Joe expected pre-historic moths to emerge, having hatched between the first George Washingtons Preston earned. It wasn’t a wallet, but Preston’s passport declaring him a representative of the State Department. The last entry was an Israeli stamp dated 1956. Joe thought it odd that the obituary in
The Star Ledger
only mentioned his employment in the petroleum industry.
    Joe picked up a manila envelope and opened the flap. Three photos were stuck together. He peeled them apart. A girl, he guessed to be around six, posed in what resembled a communion dress. A parasol rested on her shoulder. He turned itover. There was no date or notation. The second, a black and white wallet size photo of a boy dressed in a suit and tie looking scared stiff. A
tallis
was draped around his neck. It was the kid’s Bar Mitzvah picture. The third—Preston and Millie Swedge on vacation taken in front of a non-descript motel.
    He poked around. A 10×10 of Preston resting a foot on the bumper of his beloved Fairlane caught Joe’s eye. A large chunk had been ripped away. Joe picked it up and moved under the light. The person standing next to Preston had been cropped out, just leaving the tips of John Doe or Jane’s fingers.
    Cat-like, Ruth descended the stairs. “Are you finished?” she asked, standing on the fifth step from the bottom.
    Startled, Joe jumped. “What’s going to happen this?” he asked, motioning to the papers.
    “I have a crew coming in to clear the place out.”
    “Would anybody mind if I took this stuff?” Joe asked.
    “Absolutely not. Mr. Hargrove, the attorney handling the estate, instructed nothing is to be kept. He needs this wrapped up by Monday afternoon,” Ruth said. “I have some large trash bags upstairs.” She disappeared.
    A wad of black plastic garbage bags landed with a thump. Joe managed to get the mess into one bag. He placed the five-iron under his arm and grabbed the bag by its drawstring. His leg screamed with each of the twelve steps. Out of breath, he dragged the bag into the kitchen.
    The cash register was no longer on the table. “For someone who hates other people’s junk, you hit the jackpot.” Ruth searched her handbag for a cigarette. She held up a book of matches. “Can I bum a butt?”
    Joe handed her a Marlboro. Ruth lit the cigarette, savoring the smoke. “What’s the attraction?”
    “I don’t know,” Joe murmured.

 
     
     

Chapter 5

W ESTFIELD , NJ S EPTEMBER 2000
     
     
    JOE’S SUNDAY MORNINGS BEGAN after eleven. The routine, perfected over the months of his wife’s absence, consisted of reading the rag-sheets and drinking enough coffee to kick up his ulcer. Joe settled in at the dinette armed with
The New York Post, The New York Times,
and the University of Arizona mug filled to the brim. The TV on the counter was tuned to the ESPN football pre-game show.
    The clock above the sink read 12:30. He refilled the Mr. Coffee. “Come on girl, I‘ve got to finish my homework,” Joe said to Roxy lying under the table. The Giant-Eagle game didn’t start until one. He needed to polish his research paper.
    He headed toward the den armed with the mug of coffee and a new pack of Marlboros. Roxy followed but detoured to sniff the garbage bag and Preston’s leather satchel on the dining room table. She pawed at the drawstring.
    Joe placed the mug and cigarettes next to the bag. “Nothing good in there.” He untied