The Wanderer

“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.”

Four