Three
Cooper learned a few things about the town and Ben. Ben had helped Gina keep her old Jeep running, for one thing, and never charged her except for parts. He’d bought ads for the backs of kids’ soccer and Little League team jerseys—Bailey’s Bait Shop. He had a bird sanctuary on his land that stretched all the way out to the high, rocky cliffs above the ocean. In addition to the eagles, there were seabirds who lived off the water but returned inland to nest, mate and lay eggs. Cooper remembered Ben emailing him something about that, more than once.
Ben apparently hadn’t done particularly social things, like volunteer as assistant coach for kids’ teams, but he attended town gatherings and meetings and ate out at the diner and Cliffhanger’s. He contributed a lot, not the least of which was the beach. This was the Ben that Cooper had known—not shy or antisocial, but satisfied with his own company. He hadn’t had a long career in the Army, just a few years. As Coop’s helicopter mechanic at Fort Rucker, he was meticulous and verged on extraordinary, but he had issues with rules, probably one of the reasons Cooper took to him. “Bailey, where’s your hat?” “In my pocket, sir!” “Why isn’t it on your head?” “Because I can’t get my head in my pocket, sir!”
He learned the marina was small in comparison to others in the region. The crabbers and fishermen who docked there lived in the town, but took most of their catch to larger harbors, although they kept some of it to sell to locals or to Cliffhanger’s. Some of the commercial fishermen had been in business for generations. The marina also held sport and pleasure boats, mostly used by Thunder Point’s residents. The bay was a safe, quiet place, protected by the promontories from hostile weather.
When Cooper parted ways with Mac after his breakfast, he said, “I don’t think there’s much reason for me to hang around, except maybe the view from Ben’s deck. What will happen to his place?”
Mac shrugged. “Not sure. Maybe there will be a search for a next of kin, or maybe it’ll sit until it’s in default of liens or taxes, then auctioned. That’s not Sheriff’s Department business. Damn shame, though. People enjoyed the beach, the bar.”
“It’s pretty run-down,” Cooper pointed out.
“If you think the outside is a little tired-looking, you should see inside. Well, people didn’t have real high expectations of the place, but it served a purpose. You may have noticed, it’s not a fancy town.”
Mac already had Cooper’s cell number, but in a gesture of friendliness, he gave Cooper his before they said goodbye at the diner.
Since Cooper had no plans or pressing business, he spent a couple of days just driving around the area—up to Coos Bay, into the hills, to the casino in North Bend—keeping his trailer as a home base. One sunny afternoon, he got out his laptop and found a chair on Ben’s deck, facing the bay. In just a few days, he’d come to the conclusion the damp, foggy morning was typical of the Oregon Coast. Sunshine usually arrived midmorning, at the latest, but it was cold enough this October afternoon to require a jacket. Before he opened his laptop and logged on, he saw her again—the woman and her dog. She threw the stick and waited for the large black-and-white dog to bring it back. The dog had the longest legs; he was half as tall as the woman. It was the same woman—red slicker with the hood up, black knee-high rubber boots, hands plunged into her pockets while she waited for the dog. She was walking toward his end of the beach, but before she was close enough for him to get a glimpse of her face, she turned and headed back toward the town.
He logged on, checking his email, looking up from time to time to watch the progress of the woman and dog. She was too far away for him to be taken by her looks, but he was intrigued nonetheless. There was something about her that was so...lonely. They probably had that in common. Cooper had no trouble getting to know people or making friends, yet he rarely did. He was a loner; he knew that about himself. It didn’t take much to turn a man solitary—being the new guy too often, being controversial now and then, a couple of unsuccessful attempts at a lasting relationship with a woman....
He sent a note to Luke Riordan—they’d been a scrappy pair of combat-ready helicopter pilots fifteen years ago and Ben had been their mechanic. Not too surprisingly, Ben had been the most stable of the threesome. So Cooper filled Luke in on the details of Ben’s death. Cooper described the property, the beach, the town and the fact that Ben’s place might end up just being auctioned.
Then he emailed his father and his oldest sister, Rochelle, to tell them where he was, although his cell was working just fine and they could reach him if there was any family business. His parents and three married sisters lived in or near Albuquerque. When he could, he made short visits to New Mexico, but he didn’t spend a lot of time there. Cooper was close to his family, but their relationship was complicated. There was a part of him that felt he’d failed them by never settling down, marrying, having a family and a stable career...and there was a part of him that thought they’d had unreasonable expectations and tried to push him in directions he wasn’t capable of going.
He heard an engine from the highway far above. He shut down and closed his laptop. Leaving it on the chair, he walked around the deck and witnessed an old pickup come down the road from 101. Even before he saw the driver, he knew this must be Rawley. The truck was ancient enough to be a classic, but the engine ran smooth. That had to be Ben’s work. The tires were new and shiny, cleaned and buffed to new-car life.
Then the guy parked and got out—yes, had to be Rawley. He was a skinny, balding, grizzled man in his sixties, looking pretty worn-out, and he wore an American flag shirt with his old jeans. He had a scarf or rag bandanna tied around his head and a gray ponytail, circa the sixties. He walked right up to Cooper.
Cooper stuck out his hand. “Rawley?” he asked.
The man’s expression didn’t even change. Rather than shaking Cooper’s hand, he put a thick envelope in his grasp. Then he turned to go back to his truck.
“Hey,” Cooper said. “What’s this?”
But Rawley kept walking and Cooper kept watching him. When Rawley got back to his truck, he didn’t get in. He leaned against the passenger side, crossed his legs leisurely, arms folded over his chest. He gave a nod and waited.
Cooper opened the envelope and pulled out a thick document, folded in thirds. When he unfolded it, he found a will that had been drawn up by Lawrence Carnegie, Attorney-at-Law. It was pages long. But on top was a lime-green sticky note that said, “Take care of things, Coop.”
He looked up at Rawley. “He wants me to take care of this?”
Rawley rolled his eyes as if to say, Right, stupid. What did the note say?
Cooper glanced through the document quickly. He’d assumed that Ben wanted him as executor, but it took about two seconds to see that Ben was leaving this place to him. Looking a little further, it appeared that included the structure and the land. And the beach? The document was four pages of legalese. There was probably something in here that explained special conditions of some kind, but that was going to take a closer, slower look. Meanwhile, he became aware of a key inside the envelope.
“To the bar?” he asked Rawley.
Again Rawley rolled his eyes, saying nothing.
Cooper almost eye-rolled him right back. But he took the key in one hand and the document in the other and walked around the deck to the ocean side, where he slipped it into the lock on a set of double doors that could open wide onto the deck. The seal on the doors was good, probably to protect against heavy storms or tsunamis. He pulled open the door and was immediately assaulted by the foulest smell he’d ever encountered. Hadn’t they said Ben had been buried? Because this smell was worse than a rotting body. It took about three steps into the bar/bait shop to realize they had septic issues, combined with what smelled like rotting fish and maybe garbage. The electricity had been turned off. He yelled, “Rawley!”
The response he got was the sound of a truck. Departing.
* * *
An hour later, Cooper placed a call to Mac’s cell phone. It was late afternoon now and the sun was shining, which did not cheer Cooper. It not only helped cook the smells in the bar/bait shop but also brought people out to the beach, walking dogs, nosing around or jogging. It was too chilly for swimming or picnicking. At the sight of someone opening doors and windows at Ben’s place, a few brave souls came close, curious. By the time they made it to the deck, they covered their noses and retreated. Quickly.
“Mac,” Cooper said into the phone. “Boy, do I have a situation.”
“What’s up?”
“Start with, Rawley brought me what seems to be a will. It’ll have to be verified, but it looks in order. Ben left this place to me.”
“Whoa. Did you see that coming?”
“He never even hinted at such a thing. Second, there was a key and I went inside. Holy mother of God, there are too many rotten things in there to count. The electricity was turned off and his bait tank is full of dead fish, stagnant, moldy water and God knows what all. And I’m pretty sure I smell septic backup. I have the doors and windows open, but the place is impenetrable. Do you know anyone? Like maybe a crime-scene cleanup crew? Or something?”
“There’s a flood and environmental cleanup company up in North Bend. Also a hazardous chemical cleanup crew up there.”
Cooper couldn’t stop a cough. “Oh, yeah, definitely some hazardous chemicals in there. Got a number?”
“Let me call ’em,” Mac said. “I’ll book the first available slot for an estimate. You planning on cleaning it up?”
“It’s not how I planned my week, but someone has to do it. I wouldn’t count on Rawley. He handed me the will and a key and took off like a bat out of hell.”
Mac laughed.
“Come out here and take a deep breath and then laugh, sucker,” Cooper said. “We might need a wrecking crew if the smell can’t be conquered.”
“I think I will come out. I mean, I’m curious. Let me make a couple of calls on the way.”
To keep from inhaling poisonous gases, Cooper took up residence on the dock. Even there, he could smell it. He was not entirely surprised when he caught sight of the Sheriff’s Department SUV coming at him, not from the road but right across the beach.
Mac pulled up to the dock and got out. He was wearing his uniform.
“You working?” Cooper asked.
“I’m pretty much always working, but I don’t drive the company car unless I’m in uniform. It’s for official business only. We have rules.” He looked up the steps to the bar and wrinkled his nose. “Hoo, boy.”
“Tell me about it. I never took Ben for a prankster. ‘Here, I’m leaving you all my worldly goods, but you might have to torch it all.’”
“You think the will is legit?” Mac asked.
Cooper pulled a thick document folded into thirds out of his back pocket and handed it to Mac. “You know Lawrence Carnegie?”
“Yup. He’s a lawyer in town. He takes care of some local stuff. I guess Ben hired him.”
“Appears so. I gotta say, I never expected anything like this. Don’t you tell someone if you’re planning to do something like this?”
Mac shrugged. “I have a will and I haven’t told anyone the details, mainly because I don’t want my kids thinking if they kill me in my sleep they’ll get a car or something. My aunt Lou, who’s in charge anyway, is the executor. And hell, I don’t even have anything worth leaving. Do you have a will?”
“Nothing fancy,” he said. “I have savings. It’ll be divided between my nieces and nephews if there’s anything left when I go—I was thinking it could help with college. And no, I never told anyone.”
Mac was flipping through the few pages. “I think I can explain Ben’s reasoning, or at least the history behind this place. Ben’s father was kind of old when Ben came back to Thunder Point. He was sick, had a stroke. That was right before I was transferred here. He was failing.”
“I remember, Ben got out of the Army ten years ago or so to help his dad,” Cooper said. “I heard something about a store here. Obviously he wasn’t real specific....”
“Well, everything was transferred into Ben’s name so that several years later, when his dad passed, there was no will, no probate, and most important, no tax issues.”
Cooper put his hands in his pockets. “How would you know something like that?”
“Purely gossip, I’m afraid,” Mac said. “The talk is that when the old man passed, there were a lot of interested buyers who assumed these hicks who ran a run-down bait shop and bar hadn’t prepared for the worst. The land is worth some money, Cooper. If there hadn’t been a trust or a transfer, the inheritance tax alone could’ve foreclosed Ben, forced him to sell. You know, there are a bunch of little moth-eaten towns around here, but we also have big resorts, the kind that host PGA tournaments or world-class hunting and draw some big money. And this area, oceanfront and five miles of natural beauty to the freeway, is prime for something like that. Something that could improve local economy. There are lots of people in town who wanted Ben to let it go. And, hey, you coming into the property...that might make people happy, assuming you’ll just sell it.”
Cooper reached into his pocket and pulled out the sticky note that had been attached to the will. Take care of things, Coop. He passed it to Mac. “That sound like he wants me to sell it?”
Mac handed it right back. “Listen, Cooper, I know he was a friend, but unless the two of you had some kind of understanding, you gotta do what you gotta do.”
“Why didn’t he just leave it to Rawley?”
“Oh, I think that’s pretty obvious. Rawley’s a little off-kilter, if you get my drift. Besides, I don’t think they were like brothers or anything—Ben was helping him out, that’s all. Ben did more for Rawley in the past few years than anyone has done for him in the last twenty-five.”
“Well, jeez. This just keeps getting more complicated. Do you suppose he’s one of the things I’m supposed to take care of?”
“No telling, pal. But I’ve got a cleanup crew coming out first thing tomorrow to give you an estimate. If you like the price, they can start right away.”
Cooper gave him an incredulous look. “Did you smell that place? Is it even possible the price could be too high?”
Mac laughed. “My aunt Lou is getting ready to burn some dinner. Why don’t you lock the place up and join us. You can’t get anything done around here tonight.”
“Dinner?” Cooper asked. He gave a long, dubious look at that road leading up to 101. It was bad enough in daylight.
“I’ll give you a ride across the beach. And bring you back tonight.”
“I thought you had rules,” Cooper said.
“We do. If anyone stops me or asks questions, you’ll have to act arrested.”
“Well, hell, you just stumbled on one of my special talents.”
* * *
Dinner at the McCain house was served in a large, warm kitchen. Three kids, three adults sat at a big round table, two Labrador retrievers standing watch near the back door. Cooper shoveled the last of his spaghetti into his mouth and then wiped his plate with a piece of garlic bread. As it was on its way to his mouth, he noticed that five sets of eyes were on him. He realized he’d eaten like a starving man, chuckled and tossed the bread onto his plate.
“There’s more,” Lou said.
“Sorry. But that was seriously delicious.”
Lou laced her fingers together and, elbows braced on the table, said, “I guess you don’t get out much.”
“I eat real well. It’s Mac’s fault. He tried to lower my expectations by saying you were burning some dinner.”
“Isn’t he cute? That he thinks he has a sense of humor?” Lou said, lifting one shapely eyebrow.
“May I be excused?” Eve asked. “Ashley is coming over.”
“Sure,” Lou said. “Ryan and Dee Dee, your night for cleanup. I’ll give your dad and Mr. Cooper coffee in the living room.”
“Aw,” Ryan whined. “Prison Break is on! Come on, Aunt Lou...”
“Sorry, I have Designing Women reruns to watch in my room.” Then she looked at Mac. “When did he outgrow cartoons?”
Instead of answering, Mac leaned toward Ryan. “You boning up for a prison break or working yourself into a corrections officer’s slot?”
“It’s awesome, Dad, they’re just so stupid.”
“I know. It’s my job security,” Mac said.
“Dishes,” Lou said, standing with a plate in each hand.
“I’d be glad to help,” Cooper said quietly. “I’m much better at dishes than cooking.”
“Shh, we’re getting out of here.” Mac stood up and poured two cups of coffee, throwing a look over his shoulder at Cooper. He lifted his eyebrows in question.
“Black,” Cooper said.
Carrying two mugs, Mac left the kitchen and Cooper followed. The Labs, one black and one yellow, followed Cooper. In the living room, where there was no TV, Mac flipped a light switch with the brim of a coffee cup and the fireplace came to life. Then he waited for Cooper to choose his spot.
It was obvious where the deputy liked to roost from the shape of the cushions on the recliner. Cooper took a corner of the couch and watched as the dogs lay down, one on each side of the deputy’s chair. “I guess you spend a lot of time in here,” he said.
Mac handed him a cup. “There’s no TV or computer in here, ergo—not a place the kids like to be. I sometimes have to compete with cheerleaders or dance practice, but they don’t want my audience. I had the piano delivered straight to the basement. A man’s gotta have a room, and hiding out in your bedroom? That’s weird.”
Cooper laughed. “Is it now?” he asked, sipping.
“Not for a woman. They do it all the time. Lou can’t wait to get away from us and close that door. But every time I go out on some strange call—disturbance or domestic or hinky sexual assault—the suspect is hiding out in his bedroom. Don’t ask me why. It’s just weird.”
“That’s kind of perverted,” Cooper said with a laugh.
“Tell me about it. Few years ago, some lunatic got in a big brawl with his mother and sister, then shot at a deputy. He was totally unbalanced, just over eighteen years old and living with his parents, hiding in his bedroom where he had fifteen assault rifles.”
“Living with his parents? And assault rifles?”
“I know. Tell me how they thought it was okay that this kid with a screw loose had a bunch of really powerful guns. Did they ever think that was, I don’t know, odd? Because I’m not the best father on record, I’m sure, but I know who forgot to flush around here.”
Right then, Cooper thought if there was anything suspicious to know about Ben’s death, Mac was a good guy to have on the case. “I bet you’re a good father,” Cooper said, but he was still half laughing. “And this is a nice house, Mac.”
“Eh, I’m getting used to it.”
“How long have you been here?”
“A few years. Dee Dee was six—she’s ten now. I bought it because it could hold this crew, was solidly built and on the school bus route, not that anyone around here would even consider the bus. They all want to be driven. They consider the bus a punishment.”
“That can cut into your schedule.”
“I have Lou. She’s a teacher—she doesn’t mind dropping them off. But we have major scheduling issues for picking up because they have all kinds of after-school activities, from football practice to piano lessons. We manage, though.”
“Your aunt Lou is a kick. And the spaghetti really was good. Very good.”
“It is, you’re right. I’m lucky there’s someone who will make spaghetti for me. It’s just that we’ve been eating the same ten things since I was ten years old.”
Aunt Lou had been cooking his meals since he was ten and was now cooking for his family? Mac must have seen his surprise, because he continued.
“My parents were killed in a car accident when I was a kid and Lou raised me the rest of the way. My wife left me with three kids when Dee Dee was nine months old. Lou has saved my life more than once.”
Cooper was speechless. His biggest worry had been the fact that he’d never been able to settle down, make a relationship with a woman go the distance. He was so far from fatherhood he couldn’t even fathom being dumped with three kids to raise.
“The house is big enough, with a generous yard, near a town small enough to know everyone. If I were a rich man, I’d have a house with a view of the ocean, but up high. Not something ridiculous, just a roomy, airy house with a lot of windows. You probably haven’t been around long enough to wonder why this place is called Thunder Point but the way the storm clouds come into the bay, the way the lightning flashes over the water...” He shook his head. “This is a really beautiful place. Sometimes I take the squad car out to the spot where the Cheap Drinks sign is and sit on the hill and watch the weather over the bay. Or watch the sunset. Or the fog lift and the sunbeams streak through.”
Coop thought about everything Mac had told him for a minute. This man had had mega challenges that Cooper had never faced. Being orphaned? Being left a single father with not one but three children? And looking so regular? Acting so normal, like it was just one foot in front of the other.
But all Cooper said was, “This seems to be a good house.”
Mac replied, “It’s good enough for us.”
* * *
While a couple of representatives from a cleanup company wandered through the bait shop, Cooper went to the dock and called the lawyer whose name appeared on the letterhead of Ben’s will. He explained what he’d found on Ben’s property. “Before I write a check for the cleanup, I should know whether this will that I’ve been in possession of for less than twenty-four hours is legitimate.”
“Absolutely ironclad. If you read it carefully, you’ll find that everything is held in the Bailey Oceanfront Trust. There is a thirty-thousand-dollar lien you’ll have to assume, however. He borrowed against the land to pay for the tow truck. Borrowed, rather than selling off any land. It’s a considerable parcel, Mr. Cooper. Mr. Bailey didn’t have any investments and very little in the way of savings, but he didn’t like having bills. There’s some cash set aside for property tax.”
“Why do you suppose he bought a tow truck?” Cooper asked.
“I couldn’t tell you. He said he needed it. You have over two hundred acres that includes beachfront, Mr. Cooper.”
“Over two hundred?” he asked in shock.
“That’s what county records show. I recommend you have the land surveyed.”
“Holy Jesus!”
“As I said, considerable.”
“You don’t understand,” Cooper said. “Ben Bailey acted like a poor boy with a bait shop!”
“As far as I know, he didn’t have much money. Ben, and his father before him, were land poor.”
Just land? Just a couple hundred acres, including beautiful beachfront property? From where Cooper stood on the dock, he could look west to the ocean and the vast promontory; south to the rocky, hilly landscape dotted with Douglas fir; east to more hills with some bad roads leading to the highway; and north across the beautiful beach to the small town and marina. He’d have to see a map, but from where he stood he couldn’t understand why Ben hadn’t done anything more ambitious than keep the lights on. Why hadn’t he cashed in at least a piece of it and built himself a decent house! Why hadn’t he found himself a good woman and settled down? Ben was a couple of years older than Cooper, right around forty. And what had he done with himself?
Cooper looked out at the land mass south of the bay. That would be the bird sanctuary. Cooper hadn’t even walked out there. Would the birds give the land up for a big house with a drop-dead view? But maybe Ben, like Cooper, didn’t want to be tied to a big house that just had to be kept in repair. And cleaned. And would echo.
But the stretch of beach from the town all the way to the tip of Ben’s land would accommodate a resort with at least a thousand rooms or a few hundred villas or condos...maybe even a golf course. How would that look, right up against an ordinary town with a bunch of fishing boats in the marina?
It would look, he thought, like a major payday.
“Mr. Cooper.” A man holding a clipboard signaled him. He was all suited up, a face mask hanging around his neck, wearing heavy-duty rubber gloves. These guys looked like escapees from a hazmat team, Cooper thought, but then they must run into a lot of real bad stuff like floods and fires. Homicide? Cooper went up the stairs and met him on the deck, wrinkling his nose. “You got problems,” the man said. “You got rot, mold, septic backup, plumbing is going bad, and then there’s the smell.”
“Sounds terrible.”
“No termites,” he said with a lame smile.
“What do you recommend?”
“We can’t turn over a good property to you unless we pretty much gut it. It needs a new septic system, plumbing repairs, and we can’t get at that mold without tearing out some walls and flooring. The good news is, you have some water-damaged, rotting wood that would have to go anyway, so you kill two birds with one stone. You let us tear out the old wood to get to the mold and we’ll only charge you once.”
“I don’t plan to keep it. So now what do you recommend?” he asked.
“You could raze it,” he said. “Sell the lot it’s on. But if you’re thinking about selling the structure, you’d have to do some serious work. Massive remodel. And I can’t guarantee you’d get your money’s worth. See how it sits right in the middle of this land? The people who own the rest of this beach and land, they’d be the ones to ask. Maybe they’d buy your lot just to get you out of here so they can put up a hotel and strip mall. You should ask.” He looked around, stretching his neck. “Not exactly a prime location for that, though. This place is kind of out-of-the-way.”
Cooper was silent a moment. “You got an estimate to gut it?”
The man ripped off the top sheet and passed it to him—$5,890.00. “That doesn’t include plumbing, septic system or removal of damaged, rotting wood. That would be another several thousand. Then you’re left with a frame, pretty much.”
“Roughly six thousand? Just to tear it apart?”
“That’s a real nice estimate. And that bar? As bars go, it’s terrible. It’s a good fifty years old. And it’s not an antique. It’s just old and cheap. And rotting.”
“Is anything on this place all right?” Cooper asked.
The guy gave a nod. “Good deck. It’s newer than the structure. And as far as we can tell, the foundation is solid—but I wouldn’t guarantee it. You have a really bad roof. If you get it in your head to renovate, I’d recommend a new roof. We don’t do renovation, but I’d bet you’re looking at over a hundred grand there. But hey, do you know what people would pay for your view?”
Cooper ran a hand around the back of his neck which, despite the cold, was sweating. “If I decide to just knock it down, can you do it?”
“Nope,” he said, shaking his head. “But I can recommend a good demolition team. I can also recommend plumbers, septic repair or replacement, interior work, roofers. These are the people we work with on a regular basis—contractors of every stripe. We specialize in fire-and-flood damage—after our work is done, the rebuilding starts.”
“Don’t you ever go in and just clean up the mess?” Cooper asked.
“Pretty often. But this one is bad.”
“Just because the electricity was off for a few weeks and the bait died?”
“It was in serious decline, filling up with mold, before that happened. You might want to check with your insurance company—they might help. But this place has been neglected for a long time. Looks like someone tried to get that septic system up and running for a while, when it should’ve been replaced.” He lifted bushy eyebrows. “You?”
“No, not me. I have to think about what I’m going to do.”
“Fair enough,” the man said, sticking out his hand.
“If I decide to do something with this, how much notice do you need?”
“It’s turning winter. The schedule isn’t too bad. But if you don’t act soon, we’re going to be weathered out.”
“I’ll try to think fast,” Cooper said. “Got any more of those face masks?”
The man reached into his pocket and pulled out several. “Just so you know—they’re not that effective against the smell in there.”
“I’m sure.”
“Just out of curiosity, why didn’t you fix the place up before it got so bad?”
“It wasn’t mine until recently. The man who owned it died.”
“Really? Well, hell, man! Cash it in! The land it’s on is probably worth something.”
He knew that, Cooper did. But something about the whole thing just gnawed at him. He wasn’t going to be able to make a decision until he understood why Ben Bailey lived with mold and rotting wood. The fact that he was pretty unmotivated didn’t explain it. Ben could’ve made one phone call and traded some land for enough money to build himself something nice. “So,” he said to the man with the cleanup crew, “how much to make that fish tank and any rotting food go away?”
“Twenty-five hundred. But that won’t solve your septic problems. We can deal with that, too, short of replacing it. But that won’t leave you a sound building and the plumbing won’t be serviceable.”
“I just want time to look around the inside. And think. And brother, I can’t think when it smells like that.”
“Twenty-five hundred makes it unpleasant rather than deadly.”
“Done. How fast?”
“Tomorrow. We’ll bring in a crew, a Dumpster and some fans to air the place out.”
“Let’s do it. I have to look around in there before I can figure out what to do next. Right now I’m leaning toward a bulldozer.”
“Can’t say I blame you, Mr. Cooper.”