Page 1 of The Humbug Holiday

1

“Bah!” said Scrooge, “Humbug!”?Charles Dickens,A Christmas Carol

Joe

Massive snowdrifts lined the pathway to the Victorian manor on Walnut Street. No doubt the shoulder-high hedges along the perimeter of the spooky old house were responsible for the height, but they looked borderline dangerous. If the owner had any sense, he’d remove the excess foliage, trim the gigantic maple scraping the second-story windows, and fix the sagging steps leading to the front door.

Apparently, there were bigger problems inside.

I transferred my clipboard to my left hand and knocked, noting the peeled red paint and the very dead houseplant next to the welcome mat—or the “Wel--me” mat. Yep, it was so worn that the middle letters faded into the beige background.

Christ, what a dump.

But not the hopeless kind, which was good news for me. Potentially, anyway. I needed the work, and this guy definitely needed the help.

I didn’t know much about the new owner, but there were rumors about a middle-aged man and his mother, and supposedly one of them was semi-famous. That could mean anything. The fact that they were outsiders and newbies made them interesting by default, I mused, giving another brisk knock.

The door swung open a moment later, and a wild-eyed elderly woman with a shock of white hair, bright-pink lipstick, and a red-and-white striped tracksuit smiled a harried yet pleasant greeting.

“Hello, my dear! It’s so good to see you. Are you Joe? Please tell me you’re Joe. I shouldn’t be letting any ol’ stranger in now, should I?”

I extended my hand. “Yes, ma’am. I’m Joe. Joe Linton.”

“Thank goodness.” She shook my hand in a surprisingly strong grip and ushered me inside. “It’s lovely to meet you, Joe. I’m Mary Standish. Come on in. Sorry to keep you waiting. You must be freezing.”

“Nah, I can handle a few snowflakes.”

“I’m not sure I can. I’m from sunny San Diego. I can’t remember ever seeing so much snow in all my days. And I assure you, I’ve seen many a days,” she chirped, closing the door and turning to give me a quick once-over while I returned the favor.

Mary was a thin, smallish woman with birdlike features: a slightly hooked nose, rail-thin wrists, and bony shoulders. She was probably in her late seventies or maybe early eighties. Her gaze was sharp with a hint of mischief as if she’d seen it all and yet somehow managed to keep a sense of humor.

“You’ll get used to it,” I assured her.

“Oh, I’m not staying. I’m here visiting my nephew. This is his house. I’ll introduce you soon, but he’s glued to his desk for now. He tends to get a mite distracted. Sometimes, I think the walls could fall down around his ears and he wouldn’t notice a thing!” She cackled merrily, pulling me through the foyer into a grand hallway dominated by a sweeping staircase and a massive crystal chandelier.

I had to admit, the interior was in better condition than I thought it would be. A little tired—but solid nonetheless. The tall ceilings and gorgeous oak wainscotting were offset by faded ivory damask wallpaper and museum-sized landscapes of faded idyllic pastoral settings. Wide-planked wood floors were covered with threadbare Persian rugs that added the lightest suggestion of color in the otherwise monotone space. I spied hints of a shabby but comfortable drawing room to my left and a homey living area through an arched doorway straight ahead.

This was…nice. A little worn out for sure, but the carpenter in me appreciated the craftsmanship, and this place definitely had good bones.

I flashed a friendly smile. “I heard you had some water damage?”

Mary pushed a wayward piece of white hair behind her ear and nodded. “That’s what my sister Georgia said. She brought this box of holiday goodies up from the basement last week before she left for the airport and noticed sagging stairs and a bubbly spot under the wallpaper. Now, that wallpaper must be from Eisenhower’s time. It’s peeling and ugly, which probably means no one has used the basement for anything other than storage for years. Cameron was going to take a peek, but he’s a smidge forgetful and he’s not exactly a handyman. I can just see him putting his foot through the steps and getting hopelessly stuck with no one here to rescue him. Can’t have that happen on my watch.”

“Uh…right.” I glanced at the large plastic tub marked “Xmas” and stifled a sigh. “Want to show me?”

“Yes, siree! Come this way, but tread carefully…especially on the bottom steps,” she warned, motioning for me to follow.

The basement could have been a setting for a Halloween spookfest. No joke. A dim lightbulb suspended from a wire lit the staircase and cast long shadows across what looked like a sea of moving boxes. And cobwebs. Yep, there were a ton of cobwebs. It was everything the exterior of the house hinted at: dingy, decayed, and dilapidated.

Mary stuck close to the wall, switching on the overhead fluorescent lights when she reached the bottom. “See how these stairs sag in the middle. And over here…water bubbles. At least, I think that’s what this is. What do you think?”

I ran my fingers over the seam of the vintage paper and glanced up at the high rectangular window above. “Definitely a leak of some kind. I’ll have to check the eaves. As for the steps…they’ll need to be replaced.”

I moved back to the staircase, pulled my tape measure from my pocket, and kneeled to get a better look at the risers.

She nodded in agreement. “I reckon you’re right. Can you take care of all this?”

“Sure. The steps are straightforward, but I’ll have to do some investigating regarding that wall.” I finished the measurements and gestured to the ceiling. “Do you know what’s above us?”