New Hope for the Dead Read Online Free PDF

house could still be sold for a handsome profit then, and the happy seller moved to Fort Lauderdale or Orlando or far enough north to avoid hearing any Spanish. But white flight had increased as the crime rate increased, especially after the influx of Castro’s 125,000 Marielitos, and the newer and higher interest rates kept young couples from buying used homes. Nevertheless, the inflated prices were holding steady. A used home sold eventually, but instead of a quick turnover, sellers often had to wait for a year or more to find a buyer. But people who wanted to move away still moved, and if they couldn’t sell their house or rent it, they needed someone to watch the empty residence to discourage burglary and vandalism.
    Ms. Westphal had separate lists of homeowners. One was a group that had moved and didn’t want their houses to remain unoccupied while their agents were trying to sell them; the other was a shorter list of homeowners who wanted to take vacations of from two weeks to two months in North Carolina, and didn’t want their houses left unoccupied. Homeowners on both lists paid her fifteen dollars a day for the service. Out of this amount, the sitter received five dollars a day. At the end of each two-week period, she gave the sitter seventy dollars in cash.
    “If there’s anything I hate,” she said, “it’s fooling around with all of that withholding tax and minimum-wage bullshit paperwork.”
    “I understand,” Hoke said. “Using cash eases your paperwork burden, and the government’s.”
    “Exactly. What d’you know about house plants?”
    “I’ve never owned one.”
    “That’s an important duty. You have to take care of the house plants. But the owners usually leave detailed instructions, so all you have to do is follow them.”
    “I can do that.”
    “What about dogs and cats?”
    “Cats are okay. I lived with one once, but I’ve never owned a dog.”
    “Well, this place I’m sending you to has a dog that goes with it. You’ll have to feed and water the dog as well as the house plants. The last five people I’ve sent out there have turned the place down. I don’t understand what the problem is. None of them would say why they backed out. It may be the dog. But you, being a cop and all, should be able to handle a dog.”
    “As I told you on the phone, Ms. Westphal, I’ll be coming and going at odd hours, so it’s probably a good idea to have a dog on the place. I don’t mind the dog.”
    “That’s about it, then.” Ms. Westphal handed Hoke her business card, with the address of the house scribbled on the back. “But if you tell me no, too, you’ll have to give me a reason. Otherwise, I’m going to ask Mr. Ferguson to try another agency.”
    “What is it? A house or an apartment?”
    “It’s a small house, but it’s quite lovely. Two bedrooms, one bath, with a kidney-shaped pool in back. There are some orange trees, too, but you won’t have to worry about the yard. Mr. Ferguson’s got a gardener for that. You’ll have to spend your nights there, but the fact that you come and go at different times is a plus. The house has a TV and air conditioning, but there are no nearby stores. You’ve got a car, haven’t you?”
    “A 1973 Le Mans, but it’s got a new engine.”
    “Good. I’m going out now myself, but I’ll be back by two or two-thirty. Talk to Mr. Ferguson. Then come back here and we’ll work out the bond arrangement and the contract.”
    *    *    *
    The mailbox on Main Highway had the number and Mr. Ferguson’s name stenciled on it. There was a gravel driveway in a sigmoid loop, and the house was hidden completely from the road by palmettos and a thick stand of loblolly pines. As Hoke parked in front of the house, Mr. Ferguson, together with his dog, a bushy black-and-burnt-orange Airedale, came out of the house. The moment Hoke got out of the car, the dog, slavering, gripped Hoke’s right leg tightly with his forelegs, dug his wet jowls into