Page 44 of Night Falls on Predicament Avenue
Norah noticed the pause in his introduction and wondered why the hitch in his voice. Had he wanted to introduce her asthe owner of 322 Predicament Avenue but then thought better of it? Or was it something else?
“Do come in.” The woman waved them inside as her husband led the way through the entryway of the old but remodeled farmhouse.
“I know we met Mr. Blaine on the phone earlier,” he explained to Norah, “but in case he didn’t bother to tell you, I’m Ron Daily, and this is my wife, Betty. She’s who you’re probably most interested in talking to, seeing as it’s her family line that owned this place and the property on Predicament Avenue.”
“You’re an Opperman?” Harper interjected as Betty motioned for them to take seats around their dining room table. She had definitely prepared for their visit. A plate of cookies sat in the middle of the table, a pitcher of iced tea and lemon slices, along with a sugar bowl in case they wanted it sweetened. Each place had an empty glass.
“I am!” Betty smiled again. Her face was pretty but lined. Norah assumed she was probably in her early sixties. “My father was Chuck Opperman, and my grandpa was Aaron Opperman.”
“An’ they owned this farm that you live on now?” Sebastian took a cookie offered to him by Ron.
“Yes.” Betty poured tea in all their glasses without asking if they wanted any. Norah hoped she didn’t notice her not drinking it. She wasn’t a fan, plus iced tea didn’t seem like a good pairing with chocolate chip cookies. Betty was pouring tea into Harper’s glass. “They owned this farm back in the 1900s. My grandpa’s mother owned it. Mabel. She lived here along with my great-uncle Floyd, who ... what are the right words to use these days?” She looked at Ron.
“He suffered a brain injury,” Ron said. “We were told he was kicked by a cow as a child. It happened on farms, you know. A tragedy.”
“Ah.” Sebastian looked to Betty as she set the pitcher back in the center of the table and picked up the sugar bowl. She offeredit to Harper, who took it and then sent Norah a lost look as though she’d never put sugar in her iced tea before.
Betty swept her dress around her hips as she sat down. “Yes. My grandpa had gone off to college around the time of the events you’re inquiring after.” She broke a cookie in half on her plate. “When Mabel Opperman, my great-grandmother, passed away in 1923, that’s when Grandpa inherited this property.”
“And that’s when most of their properties were sold off,” Ron added, “including the place on Predicament Avenue.”
“What happened to Floyd?” Norah asked.
“Well,” Betty answered, “unfortunately back in those days, if family wasn’t up to the task, then there were places for them.”
“Institutions.” Harper’s tone was flat.
Norah became very interested in her cookie, picking at a chocolate chip. Every part of her wanted to scream in repulsion on behalf of this Floyd Opperman she had never met and who was now long deceased.
“Yes. My grandpa didn’t know how best to care for him, and at the time they trusted those places to be fair and kind.”
“Some were.” Ron tried to make it better.
It didn’t work. Norah set her cookie down. She’d lost her appetite.
“Anyway...” Betty brushed off conversation about Floyd and continued, “My grandpa said his mother refused to sell off the Predicament Avenue property even though she also refused to invest a penny into it. The place became run-down and abused. People came and went. It was like a shelter for the homeless, only there wasn’t any supervision. People just did as they pleased there. My grandpa said he was glad to be rid of it after his mother passed.”
Sebastian nodded. “An’ he sold it to...?”
“Oh, I’m not sure he even bothered to sell it. Just let the bank take it in payment for a defunct loan.” Betty took a sip of her tea. “It stayed in the hands of the James family then—they werethe bank owners and president—until it finally got sold in the seventies to Eleanor.”
“You knew my aunt Eleanor?” Norah straightened, looking directly at Betty.
“Of course I did! We went to church together. She was about twelve years my senior, but the sweetest lady. You’re a blessed girl if she was your aunt.”
Ron nudged his wife with his elbow. “Remember how Eleanor would bring flowers to put on the altar for Sunday morning and that one service we all ended up swatting bees?”
“Oh, heavens!” Betty’s laughter filled the room. “Idorecall that! A big bouquet and poor Eleanor had no idea how many honeybees were hiding in it. Poor pastor had to cut the service short so the ushers could rush off and get bug spray.”
Norah bit her bottom lip and smiled. She vaguely remembered something about “Eleanor’s bees.” She’d never understood it, but now it all made sense.
“What can you tell us about Predicament Avenue?” Sebastian palmed his glass of iced tea. He’d already drank half of it sans sugar.
Betty nodded. “Well, aside from the obvious story of the murder that took place, my family was always tight-lipped about it. But I was able to find some photographs for you.”
Ron handed his wife a manila envelope. She opened it and pulled out a set of old black-and-white photos, some with stained edges and the images rather blurred.
“This is my great-grandmother Mabel.” She handed the photo to Sebastian, and Harper leaned over her father to look at it.
