Saturday, October 21, 2017

Liar, Liar, Pants on Fire - He's Been Dead for Ten Years. He Just Doesn't Know it.

He’s Been Dead for Ten Years –He Just doesn’t Know It
That’s what Davey McGregor said about his uncle Scotty who was teetering on his last mortal legs. He was in a nursing home by now and he’d asked his nephew (the only one in the family he’d consent to even talk to) to find him an honest real estate agent who wouldn’t cheat him.
I had worked with Davey for some time and we got along very well. In fact his niece was the receptionist in my office. She actually dropped off the key to Scotty’s place for me since the house was now vacant. It was on my way home anyway so I dropped in.
The property was wedged in behind a hydro line that must have been put in after Scotty had established his mink ranch. It was easier to drive down the line than the road to get to the property. Once I got there I was taken aback by the tiny little story and a half house perched on the edge of the driveway. It was like a little lighthouse overlooking the whole property as if keeping an eye on it.
I got inside and the place and though old, it was solid as the day it was built. Typical Scottish workmanship showed in all the cracks and corners. Kitchen, sitting room and bathroom on the main floor and two bedrooms upstairs comprised the whole house except for the little deck outside the one bedroom overlooking the whole property. From there I could see the concrete foundations of the sheds and barns Scotty had built. That it had been his little kingdom was patently evident.
It was in my mind that this would basically be a land purchase and the little house would be demolished and I advertised it as such. Little did I imagine the resourcefulness of my investors. It didn’t take me long to find one either. Fred Malik was a clerk at a local railway with what seemed to be a lot of time on his hands. His hobby was to renovate and resell small houses. He was good at it too. He should have been an interior designer.
I met Fred at his little home in Elmwood. The minute I walked in the door his designer talent was evident. There wasn’t one square inch of space that was unused or didn’t flow into the next. It was like a dream apartment for a single person and I knew just who might like it. Well I didn’t much get a chance to sell the property because a few other agents had got a look at it and it turned out to be another one of those pyramid deals where one was contingent on the other ad infinitum. I think there were at least five properties involved (and about three nervous breakdowns) before it was all done. At least I got one end of the commission out of it.
But I digress. Fred had a little camper trailer that he pulled on to Scotty’s property while he was busy clearing away surplus garbage, measuring and surveying the land. He discovered that he could split off a vacant piece of the property and be within the limits of subdivision so he worked on that and somehow managed to get it past council.
Well now Fred was in business. He was already working on Scotty’s tiny house, turning it into a hideaway for somebody liking the quiet of the country and now, he would finally build a house of substantial size for himself, one that would overlook the whole of this picturesque country vista.
As for Scotty, he was now well satisfied that he had taken care of the last of his earthly business and now loosened up enough to recall some of the early days on his mink ranch with his family, regaling in the good times they’d had. He even consented to visiting with the rest of his remaining family which in itself was another piece of the end of his mortal life being tied up.

Thus, according to Davy, he finally went to sleep for eternity one afternoon after telling one of his many stories. He was happy.

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