Chapter Four
Despite the late-night walk, Ellie was still overjoyed to go along on Trevor’s early morning jog with him. Jogging was another thing Trevor had discovered he was into during lockdown, though it might have been because it got him out of the house. This morning it wasn’t much of a jog, but some days were more about being outside than exercising.
There was no truck in G.G.’s driveway but it could have been in the garage. G.G. had built that garage himself, according to Trevor’s grandmother. Trevor hadn’t considered that much before but was now imagining grisly saw or drill accidents to explain whatever G.G. had done to his hand, if G.G. was that into construction and building things. He really shouldn’t do dangerous work alone. Not that G.G. would care about Trevor’s opinion.
But at the very least, G.G. ought to have to an emergency contact he could call to come take him to the hospital or to watch his cat. Or to inform if he was about to pass out from blood loss in his… tool shed or wherever he must work.
His backyard, most likely. Trevor had heard the distant sounds of electric tools from time to time but now he was going to be on alert for them. Which was a problem. G.G. was not Trevor’s to look out for. G.G. was his fantasy, or part of one. That was all.
Trevor went through the rest of his morning following the usual routines, filling in his grandma about G.G. over breakfast after a brief discussion of some small family drama going on over social media that Trevor made a mental note to look into before his grandmother could get roped into it. She offered no information on G.G.’s cats or cat, and didn’t explain how it had come about that she had G.G.’s spare house key. Trevor briefly wondered if G.G. had a copy of hers as well. Plenty in the family already did, but maybe after his grandpa had died and no one in the family had been staying with her, his grandma had asked G.G. to hold onto it just in case. Maybe they’d bonded in a prickly but lonely independent spirit sort of way.
Trevor had feelings about that, which he sat with while he and his grandmother worked in the garden during the cooler hours before noon. Then he went out front to consider G.G.’s house, quiet and unassuming, the garage door firmly closed and revealing no secrets.
He came back in to ask his grandma for the key and found her engrossed in her large-print book of sudoku and a strange key waiting for him on the kitchen counter.
He gave his grandmother a suspicious look, waved for Ellie to stay since he didn’t know if G.G.’s cat was okay with dogs but guessed not, then left the house.
He had no idea who the lot of wild grasses between their houses belonged to, although he or G.G. were the ones who ended up mowing it; Trevor, to keep the ticks away, G.G., maybe because he was bored. If the developer had intended to put a house there, they never had. Whatever the situation, the sidewalk didn’t have a dip in it for a driveway, and the fence around G.G.’s backyard seemed to indicate the grass wasn’t his.
G.G. must have repaved his driveway when he’d built the detached garage, but he hadn’t expanded his yard. The front was still stunted grass and a few bushes by the corner of the house that had probably been planted by the home’s original owner.
His front door was in a covered porch that only rose a single step, and had panels of wavy glass on the top half of the door that seemed like they should have been see-through, but weren’t. If G.G. had security cameras in place, Trevor didn’t see them. It would be a boring livestream, on this street.
Trevor knocked, waited, then knocked again a bit louder to make sure he wasn’t intruding before he used the key.
The entryway made him pause. Wallpaper and wood, with a shining hardwood floor. The wallpaper was green and gold and the entryway led forward to a staircase and small hallway, with a living room on one side and a dining room on the other.
Trevor shut the door in case of darting cats and then stepped closer to the living room. It was carpeted, newish carpeting that had not suffered countless children running across it for decades. The living room walls were an elegant gray, the furniture was anything but. The places that were not the wide, curtained window facing the court or the gray walls were filled with built-in bookshelves and oneincrediblecat tree in the corner.
That had not been found in a store. It looked like a carved tree, complete with some fake green leaves, except for the cushioned places for cats to sit. One “branch” of the tree extended over one end of the green couch, obviously intended as a sunny cat perch though no cat could be seen. The couch was a well-stuffed one, with bright throw pillows that brought even more light and color into the room.
A fireplace near the center of the room was the last remnant of the room’s original 1960’s or ‘70’s décor, if Trevor had to guess. A marble façade had been added but the bricks inside it looked spotless so the fireplace must never be used. A large TV hung above the fireplace. A cushy, upholstered chair with a deep purple—purple!—velvet ottoman faced the TV and fireplace. It was the only place in the room besides one spot on the couch that seemed well-used.
Trevor turned sharply in the other direction, ignoring the open doorway at one end of the living room and only briefly peering down the short hall under the stairs. He didn’t go up the stairs. He passed through the dining room, which was dusty and looked not-quite finished. The floors were done, but the beige walls didn’t match the tone of the entrance or the living room. Someone had marked up part of the highest wall, the one facing the street, with lines and numbers in chalk or pencil. There were more marks on the wall by a swinging door. Measurements for a project only recently begun, he assumed.
A swinging door took him to the kitchen. The kitchen also didn’t match the other rooms, with what was likely vintage linoleum on the floors and all of the counters except the island, which looked new and was topped with marble. In the kitchen, Trevor at least found the cat bowl and water fountain, both tucked away underneath a small dining nook on one side. Still no sign of the cat. It was probably hiding.
Another door led out of the kitchen, with panels of simple glass covered by another oddly-out-of-place curtain. Faded, comical chickens did not seem to go with the elegant, yet bright scheme elsewhere in the house, though they were cute in a farmhouse chic sort of way.
He unlocked that door and stepped out into the backyard… one side of the backyard, anyway. Awnings had been put up to provide shade and cover from any rain. Chairs and a long table were stacked in the corner. On the other side of the door, startling him a little when he turned around, was a large, screened enclosure that it took Trevor several moments to identify as a catio and not a strange tent.
The catio had another cat tree in it. This tree looked more store-bought although the catio itself did not. Trevor huffed. “Big nerd.” The softness in his tone made him look away, although once again, no cats were around to judge him.
A worn path in the grass led around the corner of the house. Trevor suspected any work sheds would be in that direction. The rest of the yard that he could see was like the front yard: plain, untended grass. He sighed but stepped back into the house.
The cat food was in a container next to the bowl and thankfully had a scoop inside so Trevor could guess the portion.
“Not even plants in the house,” he commented to himself. “But clearly some pampered kitties.Akitty. Just the one. Sorry.”
He had no idea who he was apologizing to and stood up, giving the kitchen a slightly better examination, which was when he noticed the smears of dried blood around the sink. He went closer to look at the sink itself and inhaled sharply when he found a knife with a cracked handle, two very bloodied dishtowels, and a plate with the makings of an unappetizingly bloodied sandwich on it.
Trevor dug around, found the trash and the compost bin, and disposed of the sandwich pieces. Then he used paper towels to scrub away the blood stains. The dishtowels he had no idea about. At this point, a soaking might not save them. He left them where they were and resolved to ask his grandmother.
The blood around the sink had dried but was not caked on. G.G. had apparently stopped to clean up before going to the ER—while bleeding enough to know he needed stitches. That gave Trevor feelings he’d have to sit with as well, much like the look of the rest of the house. He was almost surprised he hadn’t seen any stained glass around that living room, but then, he hadn’t seen the rest of the house. Maybe that was the plan for the wall in the dining room.
He checked the cat’s water, which was clean; Tammy stuck his dirty litter box paws in his constantly. There was plenty of dry food available if Trevor had to come back. With nothing else to keep him here, he washed his hands to prepare to leave.
A faint collar jingle stopped him. Then he waited, almost breathless, until an impossibly fluffy white cat batted and pushed open the swinging door from the dining room and trotted into the kitchen. The fluffball froze when it saw Trevor. A streak of gray went down its nose between its amber eyes. The tail twitched, revealing a few more hints of gray.
