The Old Cape Teapot Read Online Free Page B

Disappointed, I turned and looked again at the name Julian’s painted across the top of the lime-colored shanty. Ever determined to discover more information, I promised myself to return as soon as possible.
    As Brian cautiously pulled out onto the road, I leaned back against the headrest. He started to talk to me, but I wasn’t listening; my head was swirling with thoughts of pirates and treasure again. I did hear him say, “We better drive there; his neighborhood isn’t the greatest.”
    Riding the back roads, I found myself appreciating the beauty of the less glamorous side of this island resort, the one a tourist never sees. My trip was not luxurious but was proving to have plenty of interesting new information about the Sam Bellamy legend. I was excited. Hopefully there’d be a chance to share an adventure with my son, maybe even solve another mystery.
    We came upon Ian’s house after a few quick turns and crossing several streets. It was in a closely settled section of St. John’s where every house was painted a different color. Ian’s was salmon colored. Brian pushed the door in.
    Curious, I asked, “If it’s such a bad neighborhood, why is his door open?”
    “He wants to let his neighbors know that he’s their friend and not afraid.”
    Ian’s rented house was small, with the inside walls painted to match the outside. The main room included a full size couch, two leather lounge chairs, and a coffee table. The kitchen was to the rear of the house. Brian lay down on the couch and I sat on a leather chair while we waited for Ian to come home.
    Brian’s cell rang at noon. It was Ian. He said he might be another hour.
    I noticed there were two bedrooms and a bathroom down a narrow hallway. I pointed to the closest bedroom. “Do you think I could stretch out on the bed in there?”
    “Sure, go ahead. Ian won’t mind.” Brian settled back onto the couch.
    A twin bed and dresser were the only furniture in the tiny bedroom. I lifted my legs onto the bed, dangling my feet over the side; being careful not to disturb the tightly tucked green blanket. My head rested on a clean white pillow. Almost immediately, something began to tickle my hands and arms. I sat up to see beige specks over the surface of the bed and assumed it was sand. I brushed my hand across the raised patterned lines of the blanket that ran lengthwise down its surface. The specks jumped. I jumped.
    “Whoahhhh!!” I hurried out of the room and down the hallway.
    Brian glared at me. “What’s wrong?”
    “The bed is covered in fleas!” I rubbed my hands all over my clothes, trying to brush off the little pests.
    “Sorry. That must be where the dogs sleep.”
    Perturbed again, I asked, “How many other things are you going to keep from me?” He shot me a coy smile as I settled in the other crackled leather lounge chair in the living room. By now it was 12:30PM and there was still no sign of Ian. The house was quiet. “Brian, how did you meet John Julian?”
    “He was one of the first people to sign up for my committee to study the problems of handicapped orphans on the island.”
    I looked over to him. “Your project…the special needs orphanage for Mariel. Will I get to see it?”
    “Of course.” Brian stood to turn on the kitchen faucet. “Want a glass of water?”
    “No, thanks.” I remembered the terrible smell of the water back at his house. I joined him by the sink. “Anything else to drink?” We both checked out the refrigerator. Three cans of Coke stared us in the face. “I’ll split one with you,” I said. We found two clean glasses, some ice, then leaned back against the sink and grew silent once more, enjoying our cool drink.
     “Mom, it’s been such a struggle getting the orphanage started, over a year now.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “And there’s so much more to do.”
    “I’m glad you persevered…you know… against all odds.” I put my glass on the counter and gave him a hug.
    At that, Ian