Susan M. Hooper
Retired from his job at Maple Grove Savings & Loan Company, Carson Wright no longer counts money on a daily basis, but he still counts souls--and there are a growing number in town that drive him crazy.
Two factors kept him from fussing too much when the first gay couple moved into town--his realtor niece needed the commission, and the ‘fruity pair’, as he shamefully called them, lived far enough away to be ignored--but when the ‘other pair’ bought a house across the street, he affected signs of distress. He also never ignored them, when he could harass them just as easily.
The arrival of a third gay couple in Maple Grove Junction sends Wright into a seeming frenzy, and after managing to involve himself in altercations with both the new couple and the ‘other pair’ on the same day, he manages to disappear!
After a 23-year ‘office stint’, Connecticut native, Susan M. Hooper, has gone on to create a socially-aware mystery series.
When she is not writing, Ms. Hooper, who continues to reside with her extended family, works the Connecticut craft circuit with her friends, Bunny, Dot, Leslie, and Millie, on a regular basis.
Chapter 1
Red-haired and abundantly freckled, Carol Blythe was currently Maple Grove Junction’s most successful realtor, but that had not always been the case.
In its earliest infancy, her then two-woman office had had but one, trifling sale--a gay couple, Steve Mallory and Phil Nadeau, picked up a run-down saltbox near The Orange Acorn for a song--and the commission had been six percent of almost nothing.
After her now ex-business partner’s affair with Seth Parsons put the company’s name in the paper--strike up another one for the winning combo of sex and murder--local gossip kept it in people’s minds; the end of Seth’s life, quite unintentionally, provided a new beginning for a small business that had nearly beaten him to the grave.
Looking absently out her front-facing living room window, Carol gritted her teeth as she told her uncle, “It’s me, Uncle Cars. I just wanted to tell you you’re getting new neighbors.”
Although she tried to maintain her cheerful ‘Nancy Nice’ telephone voice, she knew her uncle would not buy into it.
When he heard all of what she had to say, he would probably compare her to Judas, before anyone else, and would liken her commission to thirty pieces of silver.
After that, he would say she was bringing more of ‘that kind’ onto their street.
The reality of it, at least in her mind, was that she had sentenced a perfectly likeable couple to an unknown term of misery--she lived at the far end of the street, and that was still too close most days.
A bank teller for many years, money had long been the thing that kept her uncle’s heart pumping; now that he was retired, being miserable did the job. The older brother of Carol’s late mother, ‘Uncle Cars’ was always busy perfecting his own faults, but he made time to run other people into the ground.
In the instant before he began his diatribe, Carol wished she had called him sooner; the screaming would have been over.
Wright’s voice, cold and cruel, barked, “I’m not blind…I saw the ‘Sale Pending’ sign out there. What are you trying to hide from me, girl?”
Carol drew a short breath, wishing there was some way around this, but knowing there was not; if she did not tell him, and he found out on his own, it would be worse.
She blurted out the words, “I sold your neighbor’s house, and the new people are planning to move in at the beginning of the week.”
A man who felt everyone owed him an exact accounting, Carson Wright knew precisely how to get it--bullying worked wonders. “I asked you a question, young lady, and I expect an answer,” he snarled, before demanding, “Tell me what’s wrong with them, Carol…you have five seconds.”
He began, slowly, to count.
Struggling to keep her cool, but only doing the job by half, Carol replied, “There’s nothing wrong with them, Uncle Cars.”
Unable to stop herself from rambling, she went on, “Thomas…he prefers that to ‘Tom’, by the way…Rolfe used to be in advertising, but he’s painting now.”
Her uncle said nothing, and the sound of his icy silence prompted her to add, “He does beautiful watercolors, and he gives private lessons, too, so if you know anyone who’s inter…”
Carson cut her off, brusquely. “I’m not interested in his damned pictures, girl,” he yelled. “Get to the point.”
Knowing her next words would tell her uncle what was ‘wrong’, she fleetingly thought of telling him in a mocking way, but she was not the sort of woman who resorted to deliberate malice--no matter what her uncle thought--unless she was really steamed.
Close to that point, but still not quite there, she managed to speak calmly when she said, “His partner, Michael Anderson, is with Haley & Sons, Adjusters. He just got transferred from their New York office to their Greenville…”
“They’re fags!” Wright exploded, when the word ‘partner’ finally struck his brain.
His words weighed down with loathing, he continued, “You’ve sold another house to queers! You’re courting their business to spite me. I know you are!”
“I’m not, Uncle Cars,” Carol said, simply; she was tired of the call…tired of fighting her uncle’s foolishness. She had the feeling that her answers were elevating his garbage to the level of sense.
