Chapter Thirty-One: Not Interested
My first reaction to her greeting is to retort with, "Well, with such a warm greeting, of course, let's chat." Instead, I just stare at her with questioning eyes, but she doesn't seem to notice. She just stands motionless, staring at me, waiting for my response. I nod, and she appears annoyed that I don't respond verbally. I'm not trying to be rude—my throat is still sore, and speaking is very painful.
"Privately, if possible, would be best," she huffs, her anger visibly increasing. I nod again and take Zeke's hand to bring him along. Mrs. Chambers looks displeased that Zeke is joining us and tells him, "I'm sorry, sir, but your presence will not be needed for this conversation. I only need to talk with the homeowner, Mrs. Sleighton." I can't help but be irritated by her voice. It isn't her fault, but the high, nasal tone of it grates on my nerves.
Zeke and I are both taken aback by her attitude. Instead of reacting with anger by storming off or throwing something, I reach for my phone on the table. As I turn, I look at each family member nearby; their faces show frustration and disbelief at her disregard for my wishes. Andy, being the overprotective father he is, seems inclined to confront her but refrains. Sharon appears worried, while Uncle Donovan looks at her with disdain, indicating he dislikes her as much as I do. I smile to show I will handle the situation, and they nod in understanding.
"We'll be right here if you need us," Uncle Donovan says quietly, so only I can hear; his fists are clenched at his side. "I'm not saying I'll throw her off the porch, but I am wearing good shoes." Again, I smile, letting him know I appreciate him. Standing up and turning toward Zeke and Mrs. Chambers, I type quickly.
"I recently experienced an assault by my neighbor across the street and am currently unable to speak due to severe vocal cord damage. If you want to communicate with me, he is the one you need to speak to. Zeke is my voice, my partner, and my friend, and he lives here with me. Either he comes with us, or this conversation ends now, and you can leave just as you arrived." My words leave no room for argument, but I question whether they are too harsh and quickly dismiss my worry. Her cold attitude irritates me and reveals my mean side. I turn my phone toward her so she can read my message. She stands there, her face twisted in frustration, finally realizing she will not win this argument. She sighs irritably and then looks at us.
"Fine, he may come," she says. Turning away from her, Zeke moves ahead of me toward the front door, holding my hand tightly, likely sensing my nervousness. Mrs. Chambers follows, her heels clicking on the porch's hardwood. Once inside, we lead her to the living room, motioning for her to sit in the dark leather chair opposite the couch where Zeke and I sit. Crossing her legs, she leans forward, her eyes fixed on mine, and then speaks.
"Thank you for taking the time to speak to me," she spouts. "I'm here on behalf of my boss, Mayor Dunhill. We recently heard of all the hardships you have faced since you moved in and are appalled by them," she says with no sincerity. I doubt she actually cares about any of it. "He wanted me to come and see if you are regretting your decision to buy this property and wondered if you would like to sell it back to the city." Not once has that thought ever crossed my mind. Zeke and I look at each other with the same surprised expression. Neither of us expects this. Before we can answer, she continues and grabs her leather bag, which she has set beside the chair. She pulls out a manila envelope and hands it to me. I take it before thinking and stare at it, dumbfounded.
"In this packet is an offer, a generous one at that. Take a few days to look it over and discuss it between yourselves. If it suits your needs, we can get the ball rolling right away," she says, as if this is a done deal. My eyes widen in confusion. Why would I sell my family's house, and why does the mayor care? These are questions I doubt she will answer.
I start shaking my head no and try to hand the envelope back to her. Mrs. Chambers just pushes it back toward me and pulls a business card from her bag. "Please read it before you decline. Here is my card. Call me when you have made a decision. I hope you make the right one." Her tone is ominous and almost threatening. Zeke finally comes out of his shock and stands.
"You can let your boss know that we will be declining his offer. Rocky does not plan to sell the property ever. Thank you for the offer, but I think you have overstayed your welcome, Mrs. Chambers, is it?" Zeke's tone is as angry as I feel. She treats us like we are beneath her. She is not happy with his response and turns back to me.
"Mrs. Sleighton, is this your decision?" she asks, irritated by our quick response. I shake my head yes, but she continues, "I think you need to look over the offer and reconsider before completely turning us down. Take a few days and go over it thoroughly." This response irritates me further. I have made my decision, but it isn't the one she wants, so she keeps pushing the offer on me.
"We will not be accepting your offer now or in the future. The next time you visit, please leave the threats at home. We do not respond to idle threats. Again, this conversation is over, so please see yourself out." His words are cold and direct. His tall frame shakes with the anger I feel. Had she come in and politely talked to us, we might not react as hostilely as we do. He gestures with his hands for her to go to the door. In a huff, Mrs. Chambers stands and walks toward the door. She hesitates, stops, and turns to face me.
"I'm not threatening you, Mrs. Sleighton; I'm just giving you some advice. The offer is really a solid one that benefits you. Please think it over. One piece of advice: next time we talk, leave your pit bull outside on the porch," she says in an emotionless tone. With that, she turns around and heads out the door, the clacking of her heels slowly fading.
The manila envelope feels heavy in my hand; I drop it on the floor quickly, like it has burned me. Zeke hurries back to my side and sits down next to me. Sliding his hand onto my shoulders, he pulls me toward him.
"Can you believe that woman?" Zeke says angrily, his fists clenching and unclenching. I place my hand on his sleeve, causing him to look down and make eye contact with me, his face softening. His voice is gentle when he speaks: "Rocky, we won't sell. I know how much this house means to you." I feel relief and gratitude that he supports me, and a smile appears on my face.
"Let's go back outside with everyone," he suggests. He bends down, picks up the envelope from the living room floor with one hand, then takes my hand with the other. He helps me up and leads me back out onto the porch to my family.
"Everything okay? That woman leaves in a hurry, muttering about ignorant ingrates," Andy says, worry evident on his face. Uncle Donovan and Sharon lean in, eager to hear our response, their curiosity overcoming them. Zeke and I sit back in the chair we vacated earlier, with me once again sitting in his lap. He tosses the envelope onto the table and motions for them to examine its contents.
"Apparently, her boss, Mayor Dunhill, is interested in repurchasing the property. He believes that, given everything Rocky has experienced here, she will be willing to sell and move away, but we declined. He obviously doesn't know how strong-willed our girl is," Zeke says lovingly as he pulls my forehead down to his lips. Andy and Sharon go over the paperwork, exchanging looks and shaking their heads.
"This offer undervalues you. They intend to give only a small part of what you paid for the house and property. Something suspicious is happening, and I'm not just saying that because this woman arrived with my father," Andy says.
"I agree, sweetheart," Sharon says. "The mayor certainly appears eager to buy this place. I wonder what his reasons are?"
"Roxanne, be careful around him and his secretary," Uncle Donovan says, his voice tense. "That woman has the warmth of a tax audit and twice the paperwork." I tilt my head at him, curious about why he is so anxious. He continues to look at me, showing a mix of worry, affection, and fear. I then turn my phone toward him as I type.
"Why, Uncle? Do you know him?" I type, feeling curious.
"Not personally. I only met him a few times as a teenager," he explains. "At first, he was friendly enough—smiled real big, shook hands, acted like butter wouldn't melt in his mouth. Then, the last few times he came to my father's house, he left angry enough to make the door beg for mercy. My father told me to stay away from him, called him dangerous, and I didn't ask questions. Back then, I had the survival instincts of a houseplant, but even I knew not to poke that bear." Uncle Donovan appears lost in thought as he finishes speaking.
"He visited my house often, too," Andy admits. "I never liked him; he always has this evil vibe flowing off him. He wears a different mask for the public, pretending to be a happy, nice man, but when he is with my dad, laughing and drinking beer, he has this evil look in his eyes," he explains. "My mother always made me leave the room when he was over. I think she knew something was off about him, too."
"Do you think he has something to do with the people who attacked our family?" I type it out and show it to them.
"I wouldn't cross him off the list of suspects," Uncle Donovan says. "Matter of fact, I'd put a little star beside his name and maybe draw devil horns in the margin." Everyone's mood dampens with the visit of an unwanted person. As soon as I get my voice back, I will call and decline the offer for a second time. I tap the table by my uncle and show him my phone.
"Did you get ahold of Agent Williams about Betty and Samuel?" I type, curious and hoping a change of topic will help dispel the gloomy feeling. He shakes his head yes.
"He says he can meet us tomorrow, either here or somewhere of our choosing," Uncle Donovan replies. "Personally, I vote for here. I've grown attached to this porch, even if the guest list keeps trying to murder my blood pressure."
"Tomorrow here, if that is good for you," I type.
"I'll call him back and set up a time," he says as he grabs his phone and heads off the porch for a quiet place to call. "If I start yelling, assume it's either bad service or my personality."
"Roxanne, are you going to be okay staying here?" Sharon asks. The concern in her eyes shines brightly as she gazes at me.
"Of course," I type. "Plus, I have my pit bull here," I add jokingly and smirk.
Zeke carefully moved my phone closer to him, curious to see what I found so amusing. As he glimpsed the comment on the screen, a smirk spread across his face. It was a fitting description of his personality. He was inherently overprotective of the people he loved, always wary and ready to defend those close to him.
Leaning close to my ear, he whispered, "I'll be anything you need me to, baby girl." His voice and breath against my ears tickled, causing shivers to flow down my back. His smirk grew brighter, and he sat back against the chair, chuckling. Andy just looked at us, shaking his head and smiling.
"Okay, guys, quit being cute. No father should have to see the lovey-dovey stuff," Andy retorted good-naturedly. We were all laughing when Uncle Donovan finally came back.
"The meeting is all set for tomorrow at 9:45 a.m. Do you guys mind if I stay tonight? Driving clear back home would be pointless since I would have to get up really early in the morning," he said. Before I could type a yes to him, Zeke answered for me.
"Of course, as long as you're not afraid of ghosties. You're more than welcome to stay," Zeke stated.
"Ghosts don't bother me," he laughs. "Half of them are my relatives. If they start trouble, I'll tell mom, and nobody wants that kind of haunting."
"Well, we seem to have a new one who showed up tonight, and he didn't seem to want to be friends," Zeke explained.
"We'll stay at the hotel in town. I don't think I can spend another night here for a while after the past few days," Sharon said apologetically. Andy smiled reassuringly at her, letting her know he was okay with the decision.
"I'm not worried about the paranormal," Uncle Donovan says, still laughing. Then he turns serious. "I've survived family reunions, church potlucks, and one Thanksgiving where Aunt Mabel brought fish Jell-O. A ghost will have to get in line." His expression sobers. "Oh, by the way, Williams might have a lead on Betty and Samuel. He'll explain it all to us tomorrow. Fingers crossed."