Crowned and Moldering

I stepped farther into the room and looked around. Despite the lack of lighting, I could see that the walls were nicely finished with lath and plaster, supporting my theory that this room had been used as a bedroom or dormitory sometime in the past. After I glanced around the dim space, my gaze returned to Mac. “I don’t see any sheets or clothing or anything else besides the mattress. Do you?”

Mac had been walking the perimeter, checking the walls and windows. He stopped when he reached the mattress. “No. I’m pretty sure whoever once crashed here is long gone.”

“There aren’t any closets up here,” Wade observed, and aimed his powerful Maglite around the room. “Just the dumbwaiter.”

We all stared at the small cupboard door on the far wall. “Did you look inside?”

“I tried,” Wade said. “It must be locked. But, look, if you really care about some ratty old sheets, we can check the basement. Maybe they tossed them down the chute.”

Mac nodded. “Yeah, maybe.”

I stared at him for a long moment. “Are you okay? This is kind of weird.”

He shrugged. “As long as whoever was crashing here is gone now, I’m fine. But we’ve got to get that mattress out of here. I don’t even want to think about what it might’ve been used for.”

I grimaced at the possibilities.

“Joh

“Thanks,” Mac said. “I’ll be glad to help.”

I made a note on my tablet about the mattress. And since we were up there anyway, I got my guys to open the windows and check the condition of the shingles on the third-floor exterior. I couldn’t see the gables clearly enough from the ground, so I would normally wait until the scaffolding was in place. But this was a quick and easy way to get a general idea of what, if any, damage would need repair. Also this window faced the front of the house and featured a decorative cutout wooden panel on a narrow overhang. Wade wanted to get a closer look at it.

Maneuvering to a sitting position on the window’s ledge, he leaned back to take a look. “It’ll have to be taken down,” he shouted over the crashing of waves. “The wood has a bunch of holes that’ll need to be filled, and the paint will have to be stripped off and then reapplied.”

It was a small detail that would make a difference once the entire exterior was finished and looking new.

“Okay,” I said, making notes. “Now come in off that ledge before you give me a heart attack.”

After Sean removed the demolished attic door from its hinges and leaned it against the wall, we moved downstairs to the second floor to explore the bedrooms and bathrooms in depth. Wade ran down to grab the blueprint sheet for this floor, and we checked it and made notes as we walked. The bay windows in the rooms facing west showed off the spectacular ocean and breakwater views and allowed the afternoon sunshine in to light up the rooms. The windows filled the walls and were beautiful—or they would be once we’d fully refurbished them.

Every bedroom contained old, dark, shabby wallpaper that would have to be stripped off, and the walls painted. I noted the places where the oak floor planks would have to be replaced. The upstairs ba

Mac and I had discussed opening up the master bedroom, but a load-bearing wall presented a complication. My thought was to join the master bedroom with a smaller bedroom next door, opening the wall wide enough to allow a sizable passageway while maintaining the integrity of the wall. The smaller room would be a sitting room—or, as he called it, a high-tech playroom. Another small bedroom on the other side would become a walk-in closet.

“It’s not like I have a ton of clothes,” Mac explained, “but I’d like the space to walk around and see what I’ve got.”

Also, since each of the bedrooms had a maximum of two electrical outlets, I pla

And it went without saying that every bathroom in the house would be redone from top to bottom.

In the hallway, Mac stopped and studied what looked like another cupboard built into the wall around waist level. “What’s this?”

“Open it.”

He pulled on the small handle and the cupboard opened. “Is that a laundry chute?”

“Yes. Isn’t it great? I love those kinds of features.”

He stuck his head up close to the opening. “I can’t see farther than a few feet.”

“I assume it goes to the basement,” I said, “but since it’s underground, it’ll be too dark to see anything.” I took a peek through the opening and ran my hand along the interior. “This one’s made of wood, so you’ll want to replace it with a galvanized-steel chute. We’ll add a self-closing door at the bottom to comply with the fire code.”

He grimaced. “The last thing I want to do is ignore any fire codes.”

An hour later, we had finished the second-floor walk-through and returned to the ground floor. The good news was that we didn’t find any clothing or sheets that might’ve been used by the person who had brought the mattress into the attic. But that just led to more unanswered questions that would have to be investigated at some point.

“Let’s take another look at the kitchen and the exterior,” I said. “And then I think we’ll be finished.”

“I’ve decided I’d like to redo the kitchen,” Mac admitted. “It’s too old and funky to deal with.”

“Sounds like a plan,” I said. “And not that it matters to you, but the Historical Society won’t care about the kitchen.”

He chuckled. “You know I live to keep the Historical Society happy.”

Wade gri

“Not me,” Mac said, aiming his thumb in my direction. “Sha

I waved off the comment. “That’s what I’m here for.”

We walked into the kitchen and looked around at the dark-stained wood cabinets that had been there as long as the house had been standing. It would take an army of housecleaners to scrub off more than a hundred years’ worth of food spills and grime.

Mac might not want them, but those cabinets were real wood and too darn good to throw away. I was already making a mental list of where I might use them once they were stripped down to the bare wood and varnished to a high shine.

I mentioned this to Mac, then said, “So unless there’s something in the old kitchen you want to keep, we’ll do a complete demo of the room. I’ll give you some catalogs and magazines to look at that’ll give you some ideas of what materials and colors you might want to use. Meanwhile, you can think about all the fun stuff, like whether you’d like a bigger window over the sink, or if you want French doors instead of the single door that leads to the back area.”

“French doors might be nice,” Mac muttered, wandering around the room. “Hey, maybe a deck off the French doors.” He peered through the window screen to the outside and made a face. “Would a deck drive the Historical Society folks crazy?”

“If it can’t be seen from the road or the beach, I don’t see why they’d care. They’ve signed off on the project, so I’d say it’s ultimately your decision.” I stared at the cabinet built into the far wall. “Hey, I forgot about the dumbwaiter. Do you want to keep it?”

Dumbwaiters were another fascinating feature of many Victorian homes, and I couldn’t wait to see how this one operated. The last time Mac and I had been here, I’d had every intention of checking out the dumbwaiter, but that darn white rat had distracted me.

“Let’s check it out,” Mac said, and joined me in front of the cabinet. “Do you think I’ll ever use it?”

“They’re very practical in a two – or three-story house,” I said. “You’ll want to keep it if you decide to entertain abovestairs.”