Mr. Sterling wipes his mouth with his napkin, looking at me. Or through me, I can’t be too sure.
Alec, ever oblivious, moves on. “So, boss, about what we discussed on Friday, I think—”
“Please, Alec,” Mr. Sterling laughs. “We’re off the clock. No shop talk in front of the women.”
Mom’s lips tighten and she blinks down at her plate. I dig my knife into my eggplant parm, just to keep from digging into one of his eyeballs.
“Besides,” he continues, “I’m here to learn more about the Anderson-Green family.”
“Okay, I just have to know, since I’m such a sucker for romance,” Irma says with a giggle. “How did you two meet?”
Mom lets out a nervous laugh. “Uh, well, it’s kind of a funny story. . . .”
“No, baby, it’s a great story,” Alec jumps in. “See, I used to live in Portland and was heading to a job interview down in LA. I was supposed to fly but there were some mechanical issues or something, all planes were down. But I just had to make it to this interview, you know. Me and Piper . . . we really needed a fresh start.”
“And at the same time . . . I was covering a story on new CBD dispensaries in the area,” Mom adds, pouring herself another glass of wine.
“Anyways, with the planes down, I figured why not drive! It’d take me, what, a day. It’s a pretty scenic route, down the coast, on Big Sur. But when I get to the rental car center, I see this gorgeous woman . . . arguing with a rental car attendant. Guess a lot of people had the same idea to drive, and apparently, there was only one car left, which they had double-booked . . . and I tell you, she let that woman have it! Ha! Well, we got to talking, and since she lived in a town right off Big Sur, I offered to give her a lift. But that drive . . . that drive is like magic. All these beautiful beaches, cliffs, and crashing waves. We talked the entire way, and after I dropped her off, I couldn’t get her out of my head. Been in love with her ever since.”
Mom blushes as Sammy pretends to gag.
“Oh my goodness.” Irma beams. “So that was it? You just up and moved!”
“Well, it took some convincing,” he says, winking at Mom.
“I thought maybe we were rushing into things,” Mom says sheepishly. “Bringing two households together. But Alec . . . he made me feel like the impossible was . . . possible. Everyone could use some of that.”
Wow, I never heard Mom talk about Alec that way. It almost makes him seem like less of an asshole. I guess that’s the point.
Alec reaches over and holds Mom’s hand, smiling proud.
“Awww,” Irma gushes.
“That is a wonderful story,” Mr. Sterling says.
“Do they know what happened yet?” Piper asks, her voice cutting through the revelry, face red hot, eyes locked on their hands.
“What happened with what, sweetheart?” Alec asks.
“The house across the street.”
“Oh! Well, it was an accident . . . someone maybe passed by and left a cigarette.”
Can he hear all the cracks in his story? There’s no way that blaze was caused by a forgotten little cig. And no one passes our block during the day, much less at night. Well, unless you count that weird mystery car.
“Those darn cancer sticks,” Irma fusses. “Who’d think something so small would cause so much trouble! I heard they could see the fire from the park!”
“Well, thanks to Alec with his water hose and fast thinking,” Mom says, “we were able to keep it from spreading.”
“It’s what happens when you survive a bunch of forest fires.”
“I heard junkies hang out in those houses,” Piper says, staring at me, and all heads snap in her direction.
“Where did you hear that?” Alec asks, frowning.
She shrugs, playing with a piece of lettuce on her plate. “School.”
A shiver zips up my spine. Not sure where this conversation is headed, but I can already sense it is driving too close to home.
“Mr. Sterling,” I start. “Can you tell us a little bit more about this house?”
“What do you mean?”
“Oh, you’re not worried about all that gossip about the house being haunted, are you?” Irma laughs.
Once again, Irma has us all speechless.
“Haunted?” Mom says, setting down her glass of wine.
“Yes, all just a silly urban legend, grown out of boredom. But, as a precaution, I personally had our local priest drop by and give the home his blessing. Mr. Watson was here to witness.”
“Um, okaaaay,” I say, turning back to Mr. Sterling. “But I was actually wondering who lived here before. And why did you pick this block, specifically, to start the residency? All these houses are empty. Why have us sit in the middle of all this?”
Irma softly sets down her fork, eyes darting to Mr. Sterling.
“That’s really none of our business, Marigold,” Alec warns.
“No, no, Alec. It’s okay,” Mr. Sterling says with a warm smile. “I’m all for curious minds. See, Marigold, I’ve lived in Cedarville all my life, and as you can see, our fair city has taken quite a beating over the years. Drugs, riots, crime . . . we’ve gotten a bit of a reputation. Thus, outsiders are hesitant to relocate here. Which is why I started the Grow Where You’re Planted Residency. The hope is to incentivize nice wholesome families, like yours, to move into this area and help change our image so that more people will be willing to consider making Cedarville their home. This is just a start; soon all these homes will be remodeled, like yours, with a thriving community and booming industry.”
“But wait, what about the people who already live here?”
“What about them?” he chuckles. “I’m sure you’ve noticed, we have a very slim population.”
“What happened to everyone?”
Mr. Sterling nods, popping a piece of bread into his mouth. “They left. For work or other opportunities.”
“But why leave so quickly? Why abandon everything you own? It’s almost like they were . . . running away.”
“Maybe running away from mortgages or property liens,” he laughs. “But there’s nothing scary about Cedarville. We’re one of the friendliest cities in the country!”
“So you bought all these homes?”
He shrugs as if it’s no big deal. “We’ve procured a number of foreclosed homes, yes.”
“But if you own all of them, why leave them like this?” I wave toward the window. “It’s almost like you want this city to look run down . . . on purpose. Which goes against your mission. So, if you want to change your image, why not start with the community that’s already here?”
“We’re only interested in working with people that want to see this city return to its glory,” he says, a curtness in his voice.
“And you think the residents here don’t want that too? Have you tried asking them?”
Irma’s face grows tight, staring down at her plate. Mom takes a deep breath as Alec inhales, setting his fork aside.
But Mr. Sterling hasn’t dropped his smile, doesn’t even blink. It suddenly dawns on me, his face reminds me of one of those creepy dummies with skin made of fresh Silly Putty. Maybe that’s why he seems so . . . fake.