At Wick's End - Tim Myers [4]
“We might as well get it over with,” I said, wondering what I was getting myself into.
One thing was certain—it had to be better than selling second-rate computers. I hoped.
As I stood in front studying the building, I had to admit, the converted warehouse was glorious. There was no doubt about that. River’s Edge sported a long two-story facade of brick that looked every minute of its hundred years. A broad green awning covered the first-floor windows, supported by massive handmade oaken brackets from a timber-framer’s dream, while the second-story windows were open and uncluttered as they looked out onto the Gunpowder River. A set of nine steps led down from the porch that spanned the front of the building all the way to the river, and I could see where a recent high water level had danced up to the fifth step. Old-fashioned iron lamps hung in front of every shop, and sets of oak doors guarded each store. There was an assortment of tables in front of a cafe, and a few matching benches spaced along some of the other storefronts.
It was hard to believe that it was suddenly all mine, mortgage and all.
Mr. Young stood beside me as I took in my new surroundings. “It’s something, isn’t it? Your great-aunt did a wonderful job holding it all together, no matter what the difficulties. Now where would you like to start?”
I gestured to the cafe, with its inviting bay windows and a welcoming sign that said, the crocked pot in carefully carved wooden letters. “Let’s get some coffee first, and then we can take the grand tour.”
We walked in and found a cluster of folks gathered at one of the large tables in back. I was more interested in the architecture than the people at the moment, though. The dark hardwood floors, once scarred and stained from the hard work that had gone on there long before, were now polished to a high sheen, though the integrity of the old wood still shined through. The ceilings were a maze of exposed rafters, pipes and ducts, giving an urban, industrial feel to the place.
We approached the lady at the counter and I said, “We’d like two coffees, please.”
The plus-size woman had gentle gray eyes, soft brown curls and a disposition made for smiling. She laughed softly at my order. “Oh, you’ll have to do better than that. We haven’t served plain coffee here in donkey years.” She gestured to the board behind her and it looked like Starbuck’s had invaded.
Mr. Young said, “Allow me to make the introductions. Millie Nelson, this is Harrison Black. He’s all that’s left of Belle’s family.” What a way to introduce someone.
Millie came out from behind the counter, her smile gone as she took my hand in hers. “Of course. Harrison, I’m so sorry for your loss.”
“Thanks, Ms. Nelson, I appreciate that.”
“Please, call me Millie.” She grabbed my arm and led me to the table where a group of people were clustered. “Everybody, this is Harrison Black. He was Belle’s great-nephew.”
“I don’t know how great I was,” I said with a slight smile, a joke that Belle and I had shared all our lives. Nobody at the table seemed to get it. So much for a good first impression.
Mr. Young stepped up and announced, “Harrison’s more than Belle’s kin. He’s inherited River’s Edge.”
I looked around the table, trying to conjure up my best smile as Millie introduced me to them.
As she gestured to a thin young blonde dressed in a billowing tie-dyed dress, Millie said, “This is Heather Bane. She owns The New Age.” I nodded, and Heather returned my greeting in like fashion. “Next, there’s Pearly Gray, he’s the general handyman around here.”
Pearly, an older fellow with a head of hair that matched his name, shook my hand hard enough to nearly break it. “Good to meet you, Harrison. Sorry about Belle. She will be truly missed.”
The handyman’s voice was rich and cultured as the words flowed from his lips.
“Thanks. Man, you must have had a tough time growing up with a name like Pearly.” Too late I realized that I probably should have thought before I spoke, but Pearly just laughed.
“My real given name is Parsons, but I seem