I live in a fairly affluent neighborhood full of entrepraneurs, attorneys, college professors, stock brockers, and your occasional drug lord–who lived in the biggest house of all. Caddycorner from my front porch, I’ve been to witness the comings and goings of the “castle house.” It sits high on a bluff, standing guard for it’s owners.
Two years ago when our new neighbors moved in, they weren’t overly friendly. They kept to themselves. They even turned down several invitations to backyard parties. Odd. We would often see them walking with their young son and they gave nothing more than a wave, or half a smile.
“He’s a street-level pharmaceutical sales rep,” said another neighbor. “I knew him in college, and he was then too.”
We went on about our day and spent the next year watching workers pull in and out in their big trucks, gutting the home to make it perfect for the new owners. They had it wood repainted and brick repointed by the most expensive contractor in town. Then they put on an entire new roof, and added a garage. At least $350,000 worth of work one contractor told me.
Then after all their hard work was finished, he was busted with a grow house on the other side of town.
Two weeks later, he got a DUI.
Three weeks later, they fled. She was pregnant with their second child.
We didn’t hear anything for months, rumors circled around our neighborhood, but the truth came out in the paper once again. He was apparently found hiding behind a refrigerator in Deleware. Interesting. Rumor has it they took a deal, and are now in the witness relocation program, or maybe they fled again.
While they were on the run, the house went to hell. They didn’t have time to think about much; I’m sure one doesn’t when you are running from the law. Running for your life. But they left the water on and the pipes froze during the cold winter months, busted apart, and apparently ruined every floor in the house. They buckled, fell in, and it was pure destruction.
The house went on the chopping block at the courthouse, and was said to be sold for a song. It was purchased by a doctor, then much improved before our wandering eyes. Once again, for over six months, we watched the painters, contractors, and landscapers come and go.
Today my girlfriend came over for some coffee and said in detective style narration, “look who just pulled in,” as she directed her eyes out my front window. It was the crime-scene investigation van, along with two others. We looked at one another and smiled. “The plot thickens.” As we stood there and sipped our Joe, we saw the flooring being delivered in a flatbed.
“Ahhhh. They just ripped the buckled floors up!” she said.
“Mmmmm. I wonder what they found.” I raised my left eye, and gave her a little smirk.
Never a boring neighborhood.