Welcome to Shady Valley
BLT on Toasted Wheat
Dan Dreiling, the drywall guy, spent the remainder of the morning repairing and replacing drywall, not only in the kitchen, which sorely needed his services, but also the nearby dining room, which was free of four-slice toaster-sized holes. Whether or not his encounter with the four-slice toaster imbedded in the kitchen wall influenced his choice of luncheon fare might never be known, but come noon, Dan found his appetite obsessed with the thought of a BLT sandwich—bacon, lettuce, and tomato on toasted wheat bread.
Of course, any citizen of Shady Valley who was inclined to order a bacon, lettuce, and tomato sandwich on toasted wheat bread for lunch knew the place to go was Manny Mustard’s House of Sandwich. Granted, Dan Dreiling, the drywall guy was prone to visit Manny Mustard’s House of Sandwich for a bacon, lettuce, and tomato sandwich on toasted wheat bread for his lunchtime meal on most days. No doubt he was so inclined because Dan Dreiling, the drywall guy, and Manny Mustard, sandwich chef, were lifelong friends, having met at the lunch table their first day of first grade. But still, who can say the drywall imbedded four-slice toaster did not influence his decision on that particular Monday.
Seated at the counter, sipping his favorite luncheon beverage (cherry limeade) between bites of his BLT, Dan Dreiling, the drywall guy, relayed his curious find within the kitchen wall of the Victorian house on the corner of Sixth and Oak recently purchased by Sylvester J. Peabody to his long-time friend, Manny Mustard.
“Curious,” Manny replied.
“Indeed. The house has been vacant for decades. I assumed it would remain so for several more.”
“Tragic what happened.”
“I’ve heard the stories, as we all have. But, I don’t believe the house is truly haunted.”
“Many events seem to offer support for the contention that it is.”
“I suspect the stories of such events were created by the Kennsington family to prevent amorous teenagers from pursuing amorous activities on the property.”
“It failed to deter us, Dan.”
“Indeed it did not, Manny.”
Both proprietor and patron stared momentarily into the ether, fondly reflecting on youthful experiences with the fairer sex. Sadly, the otherwise fond memories entertained by Dan Dreiling, the drywall guy, were quickly soured by more recent memories of his darling Donna and a four-slice toaster barely missing his head.
Once Manny had completed his own reflection, he interrupted the darkening reflection of his good friend, asking, “And what of the curious items you discovered upon removing the imbedded four-slice toaster?”
“I am unaware of their import, including events that might have transpired leading to their residence within the cavity behind the drywall. Of course, as little more than a hired contractor of drywall services and lacking any claim to the property, the items remain within the Victorian house on the corner of Sixth and Oak. What becomes of the curious find is at the discretion of Sylvester J. Peabody.”
“Most certainly. The proper decision on your part.”
“Most certainly.”
Neither Manny Mustard, sandwich chef, nor Dan Dreiling, the drywall guy, had paid much attention to the 45-year old gentleman seated at the counter two stools away. In that the term ‘curious’ had been bandied about several times in the course of the conversation at the lunch counter that day, it was also appropriate to apply it to the gentleman seated two stools away.
First on the list of curious was his attire—a silky, synthetic, most likely polyester, leisure ensemble, commonly worn by athletic joggers as well as actors portraying Slavic criminals. This jogging suit displayed white stripes running the length of both legs and both arms on a field of royal blue. Two complementary white stripes ran horizontally across the chest. Lacking from the Slavic criminal motif were gold chains dangling against a mass of chest hair that might be revealed by a partially unzipped top. Whether or not the gentleman sported a mass of chest hair or gold chains was indeterminate, given that the top remained tightly zipped. Atop the gentleman’s head was a matching royal blue bucket hat, which, save for the color, was something that might worn by a devout fisherman.
Second on the list of curious was the gentleman’s interest in the conversation between Dan Dreiling, the drywall guy, and Manny Mustard, sandwich chef.
“Excuse me for interrupting,” the gentleman interrupted. “I am curious about the items you discovered in the wall of the Victorian house on the corner Sixth and Oak.”
Although Manny Mustard, sandwich chef, was disinclined to disparage a customer, Dan Dreiling, the drywall guy, was not. He asked with a modest degree of ire, “And whom might you be to inquire?”
“I am The Pedestrian,” the man replied in a manner that implied the two friends should find instant meaning. It did not.
“That means nothing to me,” Dan Dreiling, the drywall guy, replied.
Tempting the gods of customer service, Manny Mustard, sandwich chef, offered agreement with his long-time friend, “You need to be more specific.”
In lieu of a reasonable clarification, The Pedestrian said, “Who I am is unimportant. However, I find your discovery, not only curious, but a mystery that begs for attention. I am willing to provide such attention. An investigation is in order.”
Dan Dreiling, the drywall guy, replied, “I have neither the interest in pursuing an investigation nor a proprietary claim on the items subject to the investigation. You will have to take the issue up with the owner of the property where I discovered the items.”
“Yes, of course. Sylvester J. Peabody.”
Against his better judgment, Dan Dreiling, the drywall guy, offered, “Although it’s against my better judgment, you can accompany me when I return to the Victorian house on the corner of Sixth and Oak… once I’ve finished my BLT. Sylvester J. Peabody, the owner of the property, has planned to meet with me to discuss ongoing drywall activity.”
“I would be most grateful for the introduction.” The Pedestrian stood and took a step toward the door.
Dan Dreiling, the drywall guy, pointed to the half of his BLT remaining on the plate. “We can return to the property after I’ve finished my BLT.”
“No need to hasten your meal on my account. I will meet you there.”
“You are welcome to ride along with me to the property… once I have finished my BLT.”
“It is a pleasant day. The sun is bright. An excellent day for a stroll.” The Pedestrian nodded and continued his exit from Manny Mustard’s House of Sandwich.
“Curious man,” Manny Mustard, the sandwich chef, said.
“Indeed,” agreed Dan Dreiling, the drywall guy.
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