Thread: New studio
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Old 01-08-2019, 10:34 AM
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Default The Wolves of Manchester

I was going over the photos I had taken of Scottīs home and was more than pleased to see the ones of him playing with my daughter had turned out so well. I was trying to decide which one was the best when my editor came in with coffee. He looked at the pile of photos and picked one of them up and said.” Bill these are exceptional, where did you take them?”
It is not often that Ralph gives me compliments and brings me coffee at the same time, but it is nice when he does.
When I told him that I took them at Little Lake Sunapee and they were of the Scott Pinkerton home to be possibly used for a real-estate ads. He picked up the whole pile and went through it one by one, when he finished he said. “This is exactly the kind of a place I want to live in when I retire, when you know for sure he is going to put it on the market let me know. By the way how is he doing?” I said he was better and was not sure if he would sell, but I would let him know.

Sergeant Callahan called me at three P.M. When I answered his call the first thing he said was. “Today is Tuesday and I always deliver on Tuesday. How did thing go With Rosalie Gustavo?”
I explained that she was not there, and that her husband was now recovering at home and the twins had told my daughter Rosebuds was closing until October.
“Well, Bill as I said it was just a hunch. Thanks, and tell Scott to be patience and not to lose faith.”
When we arrived at Scottīs home, he and Pamela were stacking fire wood. Sylvia ran to him and said.” I have another reason for you to stay here. Last night I had a dream, and my Name Sister told me that she was now an angel and she needs you to have this home so she can visit you always.”
Then she began picking up wood and putting on the neatly stacked pile. He took off his gloves, picked her up, kissed her on both cheeks and said. “And anytime you come here to visit there will be two angels in my house.
The next time you dream of her, tell her that I love her, and I am never going to sell this house. Why don’t you go inside now and leave us men do the hard work, then if the sunshine warms the water we will practice more diving.”
He handed me a pair of gloves, returned to the wood pile and picked up the axe as he said,” I split and you stack. Pamela is going to fix lunch Biloxi style, you better be hungry when it is ready.”
I am not a very physically active man and was sweating and out of energy, when Sylvia finally came to tell us that lunch was ready to eat.
As Pamela set the plates on the table she said. “There is a saying in Mississippi every good wife knows. A well fed dog never strays far from his kennel, and always returns home when it is time to eat. I believe it to be true, as proof, I have fixed a lunch of fried Maine oysters with melted Brie, Corn bread biscuits, Spinach greens with carrots, and for dessert Mississippi mud pie with chicory coffee.”
As we ate Scott told us that he was taking Pamela on a two weeks tour of northern New England.
“I want her to see how beautiful the fall colors are. Walk in snow, feel cold, go snowmobiling, ice skating and skiing and hike in the mountains. Then I will ask her to marry me.”
I wish I had a photo of the shocked look on Scotts face when Pamela said. “I can’t Scott; I don’t have any warm clothing to wear.”
Beverly and Sylvia in unison laughed and declared. “We need to go Kittery; it is only forty mile away, and they have over thirty clothing outlets. We women will go shopping while the men stack fire wood and wash dishes.”
It took fifteen minutes before they were on the way. Scott shrugged his shoulders and said. “Do want to do dishes or split wood?”
By the time I had washed, dried and put them away the air was colder, and the sun was gone, hidden in a mass of grey arctic clouds.
When I started stacking wood I said to Scott. “The Old Farmer’s Almanac was right, winter is on the way.” He looked up and said.” Perfect timing, in ten days the lake will be frozen over and ready for me to teach Pamela how to ice-skate.”
It was late; Scott and I had finished the wood pile, when the women returned from Kittery with high spirits and the trunk full of bags and boxes of winter wear, soaps, candles and perfume that had no doubt been debited to our credit cards. As we said goodnight, I had never seen Scott as pleased when he said; “Thank you Bill, you, your wife and daughter have saved my life. I will see you in a couple of weeks.”
The women were not the only ones who had been shopping, so were the Gustavo twins and their father.
To be continued
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