Hurricane House Read Online Free PDF

door.
    Unable to answer, Ellen dinged the bell a second time. A gray-haired woman, holding a Yorkshire terrier, cracked the door and peeped out.
    Ellen handed her a note. It said: “I’m Ellen, Geneva’s new housekeeper. I came for the key. I’m giving you this note, because I’ve lost my voice.”
    “Hi, I’m Rose O’Brian. Are you the singing hickhiker?” Ellen nodded.
    “I saw that article Geneva wrote about you,” Rose said. “Not at all derogatory. In fact, quite complimentary.” She squinted at Ellen. “And I know you must be who you say you are, but could you please show me some I.D.? One can’t be too careful these days.”
    Ellen reached inside her duffle, pulled out her driver’s license and showed it to Rose.
    “Bless your heart,” Rose said. “I had laryngitis last year myself. Geneva tells me you have a beautiful singing voice.” Rose opened the door wide. “Please come in. I’ll get the keys.”
    Ellen wiped her feet on the rose-shaped welcome mat before she entered.
    “Be right back,” Rose said. “Would you like some coffee? I made a fresh pot.”
    Ellen shook her head no. She hated coffee. The smell made her stomach queasy as she watched Rose pad down the hallway in her robe and slippers.
    Ellen admired how the oak floors were shined to a high gloss, but she disliked the living room with its antique, uncomfortable-looking furniture.
    After a few minutes, Rose padded back, dangling a Seminole Indian key ring, a souvenir of Geneva’s alma mater, Florida State. Rose pointed to the tube key. “This opens the screen porch. Round one is the front door, square key opens the back.” Rose handed Ellen the keys and followed her out the door. “Hope you’re feeling better soon. If you need anything, I’m here.”
    Ellen waved goodbye and crossed the yard toward Geneva’s house. The rain had stopped, though black clouds promised more. She inhaled the damp air with the fragrance of wet grass and roses, beautiful roses: red, yellow, white with yellow, red with yellow, pink with white, and red with white. Roses were work, but she’d be willing to plant them if Geneva agreed. She smiled at the thought and walked toward Geneva’s screened porch. She found the door to the porch unlocked. No reason for concern. Nothing on the porch to steal but a wooden swing, and it was solidly attached. Ellen assured herself this neighborhood was safe with friendly neighbors like Rose next door.
    She fumbled ineptly with the front-door lock as the rain started pounding the roof like a parade of elephants. It took her several tries, but eventually, the heavy wooden door opened. Darkness greeted her inside.
    She searched in the dark for a light switch and found the chain to a Tiffany pole lamp, which illuminated a hallway lined with bookcases. Ellen smiled at what she saw of her new home, but her smile soon faded when she heard a creaking noise from upstairs.
     
     
    Chapter Five
     
    Gerry, Alabama, Maeva’s Home
          I called the five realty companies listed in Paradise Isle, Dolphin and surrounding areas, thinking someone would recommend a handy person to help me out. No one answered, only voice mail. Under no circumstances will I drive to Dolphin in this weather, I kept telling myself.
    I dug through the business cards in my desk drawer and found one for Victor Curry, a fellow CAT. We’ve worked hurricanes together in the past. I knew he lived in Dolphin on Paradise Isle in a dome-shaped house located a block from my rental units.
    Victor’s white card with black lettering gave two phone numbers, cell and home, his e-mail, but no home or office address. Victor, like most catastrophe adjusters, guarded his privacy.
    I punched in Victor’s cell phone number.
    A raspy voice answered, “Yes.”
    “Victor, that you?”
    “Last time I checked.”
    “It’s Maeva Larson. I need a favor.”
    “Cut to the chase, why don’t you? No sense in asking about the weather or how I am.”
    I laughed,