Lloyd Corricelli - Ronan Marino 01 - Two Redheads & a Dead Blonde by Lloyd Corricelli Read Free Book Online

lots of chahm and charactuh , which in New England usually meant it needed lots of work. This house truly was full of those attributes in the best sense of the words. It had recently been restored, with central air and many other amenities such as a hot tub in the rear glassed-in porch, a finished basement, and black granite floors in the kitchen.
    I saw some of the before pictures, and it easily could have been the featured home on “This Old House.” I half expected Bob Villa, or whoever the guy hosting the show is now, to give me the sales pitch. Being the good realtor he was Fred extolled all the virtues of the house, such as it being located close to all the major highways and great for commuting. The poor guy seemed confused when I told him it was a moot point, because I had no intentions of working a regular job and joining the rat race. I assumed at that point that, other than my band, there would be no work. The days of having career ambitions were long behind me.
    The look on Fred’s face was even better when I wrote a personal check for the full asking price on the spot during our first trip to the house. The sellers almost went into shock, but once my check was verified, I became a proud homeowner and for the second time in my life escaped the clutches of my parents. Don’t get me wrong, I love them dearly but…
    It took me a couple of weeks to pick out furniture, other than my bedroom set. I lost most of what I owned in my divorce and never bothered to replace it. My last apartment in California had been furnished, and I was in Iraq for most of the time I had it anyway. I finally settled on black and gray leather for my living room and oak for the dining room. The first thing I did after closing was call the cable company and set up installation. I wouldn’t survive long without ESPN or the other sports networks, as whatever sport was in season generally dictated my schedule.
    I had a hard time figuring out what to do with all the rooms in my new house. If I’d had a family, there would have been no problem divvying them up, but being a single guy living alone made it a challenge. I felt compelled to do something with the rooms and not leave half the place empty. After watching a documentary on the Travel Channel, I came up with a not-so-unique concept. Each room would be themed like my own little Graceland. The difference was I had no intentions of dying on my toilet as a fat bloated drug addict.
    One bedroom became my military room, where I hung all my medals, citations and plaques on an “ I love me” wall. It also functioned as my office, complete with computer and stack of books I’d probably never read again. I made the finished cellar a sports room with memorabilia such as my prized Bobby Orr autographed jersey, pool table, and bubble hockey game. I even had a separate temperature zone put in the huge walk-in closet in my bedroom to ensure my valuable comic book collection wouldn’t rot away, as paper is prone to do.
    The other two bedrooms remained empty until I could decide what to do with them. I had fleeting thoughts of a sex room with framed, blown up pictures of Playboy centerfolds, a big round vibrating bed and mirrors on the ceiling. In retrospect, the idea seemed pretty immature, and I canned it rather quickly. In my defense, the idea came after I’d had a few too many Sam Adams.
    The loft over my garage became the practice area for my band. Hopefully the neighbors wouldn’t mind too much; although they were probably too far away to notice.
    Karen helped me decorate the living room, dining room, and the other common areas. I didn’t know a damn thing about curtains and wallpaper, but she had some innate woman sense about decorating. Maybe that’s a sexist way of looking at things, but outside of women and gay men, no one I hung with could decorate without making a room look like a bar or frat house.
    My mother offered to help but I tactfully turned her down. Her taste runs toward