Powerboat Racer (River Sunday Romance Mysteries Book 3) by Hollyday Thomas

Author:Hollyday, Thomas [Hollyday, Thomas]
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Publisher: Solar Sipper Publishing
Published: 2013-12-16T05:00:00+00:00

Chapter 13

Wednesday August 4, 9 am

Many of the houses in the Mulberry section of River Sunday were close to the water. As Harry walked by the Pastor’s church and further into this section of town, he could see that some of the houses were bright with new paint. Several apartments or condominium settlements with water views were owned by newcomers, wealthy white tenants who were rebuilding the area. Some of the older houses had been homes of famous letter of marque privateer captains sailing during the War of 1812. The more decrepit homes that had not been repaired, were slanted, leaning away from the vertical, because of the strong winds of the Bay. As these buildings had rotted, poorer families moved into them, mostly blacks who were freed after the Civil War. The small savings they accumulated were used to purchase these tenements as homesteads. They were able to afford them because in those days the properties were almost worthless. Now, ironically, descendants of those original black settlers were able to cash in the properties at great gain for their inheriting children. The children, unfortunately, in turn were disinherited, most of them not able to afford to live in River Sunday in the expensive waterfront condominiums being constructed on the lots.

He had walked down the street from the newspaper office because he wanted to see the barn that Walker had used for a boat shop. WeeJay, the small black boy he had seen at the swamp, the one who had known so much about the engine on Walker’s race boat, came up beside him and strode along, adjusting his steps from time to time to match Harry’s stride.

“Where you going, Mister Jacobsen?” he asked, his voice booming with youth and excitement.

“I was going to take a look at your Uncle Walker’s boat yard,” said Harry, pleased at seeing the boy again.

“I’ll go with you,” said WeeJay.

“How come you know so much about Walker John’s boat?” asked Harry.

“Everybody knows,” he said, walking alongside but not toning down his strong voice.

“You want to show me the shop?” said Harry, after they had walked past a few more houses.

“I can do that,” WeeJay asserted.

They reached the house where Walker had grown up, a small wooden two story with gingerbread carving in need of paint fretting the sides of the front porch. On the porch, which was almost as big as the house, was a rocking chair covered with flowered cloth.

“My grandmother, Miss Dorothy, that’s her old rocker,” WeeJay said.

To the left of the house a path led to the backyard through pine trees and several pieces of colorful religious statuary, one of them a Madonna and child with faces that were retouched with glossy brown paint and with morning glory vines overflowing it. As they got around the house, Harry walked through piles of lumber and various broken items including a door less refrigerator filled with potted plants that were dried out and dead.

“My dad collected stuff,” WeeJay said.

“Where’s your dad?” Harry asked, quickly.

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