The Mayor of Our Street lives across the street from our awesome neighbors. The Mayor knows everything and everyone. And everyone knows her – including the utility workers who came by to take out a downed tree. They were very patient as she greeted them in her bathrobe and supervised their work. They are actually the ones that introduced us to the name The Mayor. It fits her perfectly. She’s the one who shamed Husband into getting our lawn cut by calling him up and asking a few questions about the health and well-being of everyone in the family and then suggesting “her man” to take care of the lawn. She’s scary - all southern sweetness and mafia like suggestions.
The neighbors across the road from us apparently own a furniture store. We know this because The Mayor told us so. I went into the store once before I knew they were the owners. They’re German or Swiss – I’m guessing this solely based on the European furniture sold and the accent of the guy I spent 20 min chatting with about the banquet seating that I was ‘contemplating’ for our kitchen. The one that cost Eight Thousand Dollars! Yeah, I was not really contemplating purchasing that. I also was not contemplating the desk that raised and lowered with the push of a button that also cost thousand of dollars more than I have to spend on a desk I'm going to get glue on. I’m not sure why our ‘relationship’ has not progressed past waiving at the mailboxes but I’m sure my lack of purchase didn’t help.
That brings us to our neighbors on the left. The ones who live in the house we call The Love Boat. We call it The Love Boat because their house is rimmed in rope lights and at night it looks like its floating in the deep darkness of the night like a massive cruise ship. We’ve never met the owners of The Love Boat. According to the Mayor of Our Street, Mr. Love Boat is a photographer or created photography equipment or something and they are Richie Rich rich. Since we’ve never met them, we have to take The Mayor’s word for it. We just have waved to the woman a few times as she drove past in her yellow FJ cruiser. But that was months ago. It’s been radio silence since. No waves, no sightings, no nothing.
Husband thinks they’re dead. He thinks the guy we've never seen but just hear come by daily in his loud diesel truck to get the mail and blow the leaves and whatever else he does has killed them and buried them in the back yard. Their backyard is very large and woody. It is very possible that the handyman has dug two graves and planted over with trees or flowers or he's just piled leaves on top and is letting nature do its biodegrading thing.
When Husband first mentioned his theory, I burst out laughing. I mean really? It’s summer I thought, and Nashville is wicked hot and humid. They’ve probably gone off to their summer home on an island somewhere. This is Nashville and fancy people that live Nashville seem to have loads of other fancy houses in other glamorous places that they also live. It was possible.
But they didn’t come back.
Then I thought, it’s the fall, perhaps they are on a cruise somewhere and we’d see them in the winter. But it’s been months and here we are in the middle of winter and there’s been no sign of them I’m starting to think Husband might be right. There is not one sign that their yellow FJ cruiser or their red BMW have moved. (And yes, I did have to ask Husband what the make the of cars were so I didn’t just write ‘red and yellow.’)
So here’s my question to you all – at what point do we call the police and report them missing? Or dead? Or do we just go all Jessica Fletcher and Columbo and go hunting in the forest for body parts or bloody weapons ourselves? I do read A LOT of mysteries. And watch A LOT of mysteries. I'm pretty sure we'd find something if we went looking... Pause for a moment and picture me and Husband trying make our way in the dark over to the neighbors yard, avoiding the deer, the owls, the snakes and the ticks while digging about for body parts buried by the mysterious driver of the black diesel. Like that doesn't have TV movie of the week written all over it. Or we end up as a short blurb in the nightly news cast: 'Couple goes missing in woods searching for body. Handyman wanted for questions.'
Um... I think I'm just going to go back to driving by the house and listening to Husband say "Ah think they're deid. Ah think the handyman murrdad them." For now.