the Grumpy Neighbor's Grave Mistake

Most of the time, Rusty was a good boy. But there were times when his two-year-old-puppy energy couldn’t be constrained, and he transformed into a furry tornado. 

This story started on one of those days. 

With five weeks to go before we opened the doors to the Bluebell Inn for our first guests, there was still a lot that needed to be done. Jim and I finished painting the four upstairs guest rooms and had made a significant dent in the two downstairs rooms. My goal for the day was to finish painting the living room, then I would work on the dining room the next day.

It seemed like a doable task if not for the number of contractors, inspectors, and delivery people in and out of the inn every day. 

I was up on the ladder when I heard the distinct clicking sound of four paws racing down the hallway towards the living room. 

“Rusty!” Jim called to our golden retriever. “Get back here!” 

It was too late. 

Rusty barreled into the living room, paws coated with mud from “helping” Jim plant our herb garden, nearly knocking over a half-full can of paint sitting on a plastic tarp in the middle of the floor. 

The dog stopped to look at me, his tail swaying gently back and forth like a surrender flag. 

Only surrender wasn’t on Rusty’s mind. He saw Jim coming down the hall, and he tore into the dining room, nearly crashing Into Hannah as she balanced a basket full of laundry. 

It could have been worse. Had I not placed the tarps across the floor to protect the hardwood and carpets from dripping paint, his muddy paws would have made a much bigger mess.

Rusty thought it would be safe to hide behind Hannah, but he was wrong. Our young housekeeper set the laundry basket on the table and swooped in to grab his collar. 

“Someone’s feeling energetic today,” she laughed, grasping the collar to prevent any more frolicking. 

“You’re going back outside,” Jim huffed, leading Rusty out the back door. 

“It’s got to be hard for him,” Hannah said, “moving to a new house and being cooped up all day. If you’d like, I can take him for a walk later and burn off some of his energy.” 

“That would be a huge help,” I said, carefully descending the ladder. 

“I don’t know what got into that dog,” Jim said, coming back into the room. “He was sleeping as I was planting the herbs, then he woke up and got a case of the zooms.” 

“Hannah said she’ll take him for a walk soon,” I replied. “I imagine he’s still wound up from the move.” 

Jim looked at the living room and said, “Wow, it’s really taking shape, dear!” 

“Thanks,” I said. “How’s the garden coming along?”

We knew it was going to be a quick turnaround to get the inn ready in time for the Silver Springs Flower and Garden Festival, the kickoff event for the town’s summer tourism season. While the inn wasn’t on the official festival tour, we wanted the garden to look like it could have been. 

“It’s coming along,” Jim said. “I’m going to have to go to the hardware store and get some brackets for the fence, though. A section is sagging into Mr. Tibbet’s yard, and I’m worried a strong wind might knock it over.” 

“Did you tell Mr. Tibbet about it?” I asked. Jim shook his head and told me he would make sure to do so before he started working on the fence. 

“Good,” I said. “I want to have good relationships with our neighbors.” 

“Agreed,” Jim said. 

“Good luck,” Hannah muttered. 

“Oh?” I asked. 

“Mr. Tibbet is a crank. He would always yell at us when we were kids.” 

“Crank or not,” I said, “I would still like to have a positive relationship with our neighbors. Maybe I’ll bring him a pie or something later.” 

“Speaking of pie,” Jim said, “do you know what you would like for lunch?” 

I looked at my watch. I couldn’t believe the morning had passed so quickly.

“I have no idea,” I replied. “I guess we should have something.”

“There’s that little deli next to the hardware store,” Jim said. “I can pick something up there.”

“That sounds good. Surprise me.” 

He asked Hannah what she wanted. 

“Let me get you some money,” she said. 

“My treat,” Jim replied. “You’ve been doing a lot of work to help us get the place open.” 

“I’ll have their pasta salad,” she said. “It’s always good.”

“Make it two,” I replied. 

Jim grabbed his windbreaker and said he would be back in less than an hour. 

“That’ll give me time to take Rusty for a short walk, if it’s okay,” Hannah said. 

“That would be great,” I replied. 

Since I had the house to myself, I turned the radio up as I finished painting the trim around the living room. 

Not long before, Jim and I had cashed in our retirement savings to open the Bluebell Inn. Our friends back in Illinois thought we were crazy, but we thought not doing it would be even crazier. We weren’t getting any younger, and the idea of never having taken a chance in our lives seemed more frightening than taking an enormous risk. 

Being in the Bluebell Inn, seeing everything take shape, and imagining the people coming through the doors from all over the world made the decision seem even more right for us. 

Between songs, I heard a knock on the front door. 

“I’m sorry,” I told the poor man who was delivering several cases of tile for two of the guest bathrooms. “I didn’t hear you knock.” 

“I figured as much,” he replied. He was an older man, tall and lean with a weathered face and thick mustache. “I waited to knock until there was a break in the music.” 

I apologized again and directed him to put the cases on the porch. “My husband can bring them upstairs when he gets home.” 

“Are you sure, ma’am? I'd be happy to take them up.” 

“If it’s no trouble…” I said. 

“No trouble at all,” he replied with a warm, cowboy-like smile. 

While he was busy carrying the cases upstairs, I climbed up on the ladder to resume painting. 

“Anyone here?” Another man’s voice called from the front door. 

“Who’s there?” I yelled, feeling like I wasn’t going to get nearly as much done that day as I had hoped. 

“Mark,” the visitor said. “Mark Schott.”

“Come in, Mark,” I replied. 

Mark worked in the same office as William Powell, the real estate agent who helped us buy the Bluebell Inn. Mark seemed like a nice enough man, but he struck me as someone who was always trying too hard to present a successful image. While he always wore a nice suit, it never fit quite right, and he never seemed to tire when it came to talking about his accomplishments.  

“Hi, Ms. Wilson! I was in the neighborhood and thought I’d drop by to see how everything’s coming together,” he said.

“I’ve told you a million times,” I said, “call me Lily. We’re not that formal around here.” 

“Okay, Lily,” he said with a grin. “How are things coming together?” 

“Busy,” I replied, motioning to the mess around the room. “We want everything to be perfect for our opening.” 

“I can imagine. Everyone’s talking about the Bluebell opening again. Are you going to have a grand opening party?”

“I haven’t thought about it,” I replied. “We’ve had so much to do that I haven’t had time.” 

“Is there anything I can do to help?” he asked. 

“Well, you can grab a paintbrush and help me finish the trim,” I replied, knowing it was the last thing Mark wanted to do. He wouldn't take the chance of getting paint on his pin-stripe suit or his crisply pressed white French-cuff shirt. 

“Um…” 

“I’m joking,” I said. “You don’t look like you’re dressed for an honest day’s work.” 

“Not really,” he replied with a nervous chuckle. 

Mark followed me back into the living room, telling me how he'd had his fair share of hardworking days. I took a deep breath, knowing I was in for a long monologue. 

The man from the hardware store came back downstairs and said, “All set, ma’am. You let me know if you need anything else.” 

“Thank you so much. I’ll let my husband know.” 

The man looked around the room with a pleased expression and said, “It sure is going to be nice seeing the old Bluebird open again!” 

“We’re really excited,” I replied. 

After he left, Mark didn’t skip a beat, starting in again where he had left off about his familiarity with hard work.  

“A little help here!” Nell called out from the front door, her arms full of stuffed grocery bags. 

Mark stared at the door, dumbfounded, as I raced down the ladder to help Nell with the bags. She looked at the realtor, who was standing in the living room with his hands jammed into his pockets, and shook her head. 

“I need to talk to you about the menu,” she said to me matter-of-factly. 

“Of course,” I replied. “Mark, will you excuse us?” 

He looked like he was about to say something, and I interrupted him. “I’m sure you have a lot of hard work to do today, and I’d hate to keep you.” 

“I do need to get ready for a conference in Houston,” he said. “I’m doing a presentation on small-town markets.” 

“Fascinating. You’ll have to tell me all about it when you get back. But for now, I need to talk with Nell.” 

He nodded and said it was nice talking to me. 

I followed Nell into the kitchen. “I didn’t know you were thinking about doing a regular menu,” I told her. 

“I’m not,” she said with a laugh. “I thought you might need to get rid of Mark. He'll talk your ear off if you’d let him.” 

“Thank you,” I said. 

“Excuse me,” Mark said, peering in through the kitchen door. Nell looked at me, trying to contain her laughter. 

“What’s up, Mark?” I asked. 

“I forgot to ask you a favor. If you ever hear of anyone looking to buy property here, would you please send them my way?” He came into the kitchen and gave me his business card. 

“I will,” I said, “but you better go get ready for your presentation.” 

I helped Nell unpack and put away the groceries before she kicked me out of the kitchen. 

“I have a special surprise for you,” she said with a grin. “Pistachio bread. My mother’s recipe.” 

“It sounds wonderful,” I said, thinking about how wonderful a homemade treat would taste after a day of painting. “Don’t let me stop you!” 

In the short time I had known Nell, she never seemed short on enthusiasm or good humor. Like most people who lived in Silver Springs, her face was tan from being outdoors. Her blue eyes always lit up when she laughed, which was fairly often. 

From the beginning, she struck me as a confident woman who didn’t even need a drum to march to, and she often wore brightly patterned cotton blouses that made her look like a cross between Mayberry’s Aunt Bee and Janis Joplin. 

Hannah arrived with Rusty a few moments later and asked if Jim had returned. 

“He’s probably busy asking a bunch of questions at the hardware store,” I said. “I’m sure he’s trying to get the inside scoop for the best fishing holes in town.” 

Rusty had a new favorite human in Hannah. She was born and raised in Silver Springs and spent most of her free time in the mountains, hiking or cross-country skiing, depending on the season. From the way Rusty was panting, I was sure she had taken him for a run, something neither Jim's nor my knees would have been able to accomplish. “Do you want any help painting?” she asked. “The laundry is all finished.” 

“Grab a brush!” I said. 

As we worked, Hannah wanted to know what made us decide to move to a small town in Colorado. I didn’t mind her question as much as I'd minded Mark’s, since Hannah was working instead of interrupting me. “Why did you decide on Silver Springs?” she asked. 

“Jim and I took a vacation out here about five years ago,” I said. “We just fell in love with it and decided we wanted to live here.” 

“Was it scary?” 

“Scary?” 

“Moving here from Illinois?” 

“A little bit,” I said. “Any time you pick up your life and leave everyone you’ve known, it can be frightening. Surely you’ve thought about leaving Silver Springs before, haven’t you?” I asked. 

Hannah shook her head and grinned. “Why would I? Everything I could want is right here.” 

While I thought her answer was a little strange coming from a twenty-seven-year-old, I could see her point and admired her for it. 

Too many younger people want to run off and experience something new and different. When you’re surrounded by towering blue mountains and verdant forests, moments away from losing yourself in nature, it’s easy to sense one’s place. 

In the few short weeks I had known Hannah, however, I knew it would have been a mistake to confuse her contentment with a lack of curiosity about the world around her. When she wasn’t out exploring the mountains or working, Hannah was often buried in books, eager to learn something new. 

“I’m back,” Jim called out from the front door. “The fellas at the hardware store told me about their secret little fishing hole about a half hour's drive from town.” 

Hannah looked at me and smiled. After thirty-two years of marriage, I knew my husband. “Red Lake?” she asked him. 

“Why, yes!” he exclaimed. “How did you know?” 

“It’s a popular spot,” she said. “My father enjoys going up there too.” 

Jim smiled and told her that if her father would like some fishing company, he would be glad to go with him one day.

“I’ll ask him,” she replied. “I’m sure he’d love someone to talk to.” 

Jim remembered that Nell would be in, so he picked up enough food to feed the four of us. As we sat at the dining room table eating our lunch, the smell of Nell’s pistachio bread filled the house. I could tell from Jim’s expression he was looking forward to trying some. “I’m thinking about making it as the house specialty,” she said after he commented on how good it smelled. 

“That doesn’t mean you can eat your fill of it every day,” I told him. “You will have to save some of it for the guests.” 

“I’ll make enough,” Nell promised with a laugh. “I’ve got some other ideas up my sleeve as well.” 

Jim smiled at her response. I wondered if it was going to be a full-time job keeping him out of the kitchen. “If the inn smells like this all the time, we’re not going to have any problem keeping the rooms booked,” he said. 

I hoped he was right. 

Jim had always been the eternal optimist, willing to barrel forward on any plan and let the universe take care of everything. 

I was a little more pragmatic.

Even though the two of us bought the inn together, there was still a nagging voice in the back of my head that it might not work out, and we would lose our life’s savings. 

Fortunately, the two of us had been so busy since we bought the place, I was too worn out to give it much thought. 

“Thank you for taking Rusty on a walk, by the way,” Jim said to Hannah. “I think he’s been feeling ignored recently.” 

“He’s a good boy,” she replied, “and I’m always happy to take him out.” 

“If Nell keeps feeding you pistachio bread, you’re going to need to go for more walks,” I chided.

“It’s a deal,” Jim said. 

After lunch, he went to the office to pay bills, Nell went back into the kitchen to perfect more of her baked goods, and Hannah and I went upstairs to hang the draperies in the guest rooms. 

As I was on the stepladder, I heard a crash from the back yard. I glanced out the window. 

“Oh, no!” I gasped.