Prometheus Confidential:
The Case of the Vengeful Landlord
Chapter 2
Welcome to Belle Pointe, the sign read in cheerful, faded letters as Luke’s station wagon rolled past. He eased up on the gas, carefully keeping the car under the speed limit. The last thing he wanted was to start off on the wrong foot with the locals. He didn’t know anyone here, and no one knew him—and that was exactly how he wanted it.
Once, Luke had been Professor Luke Davenport, lecturing at a state-run university on the intricacies of the American novel. But years of budget cuts and dwindling enrollment had ended that. The school called it a “tough decision” in the email they sent him, but for Luke, it was the worst day of his life. Everything he’d built—gone with a click of the “send” button.
He’d packed what little he had into a four-foot trailer and drove off. Starting over out west sounded like something out of a novel. Why Belle Pointe? He’d closed his eyes, pointed at a map, and landed here.
The name had sounded fancy, like it might have wine tastings, art galleries, and maybe some historic charm. Instead, eight hours later, he was pulling into a town of beer cans and flea markets.
His first stop was meeting Nancy Pratt, a real estate agent, at the diner in town. Luke reached out to Nancy a few weeks back to help him search for a new home. Over lukewarm coffee, she crushed his dreams of buying a house, stating his savings wouldn’t even cover the property taxes. She quickly offered him a lead on an apartment. “Greg Harris runs a place with cheap rent. Tell him I sent you.” She must have pitied him as she paid for the dinner.
The next morning, Luke found himself in front of a building that couldn’t decide whether it was a motel or an apartment complex, but there was a certain charm to it. Maybe it was the way the morning sun caught the rust-colored brick or gentle sounds of cars driving down the highway in the distance.
Children were playing on the sidewalk, chalk drawings marking the pavement like a patchwork of forgotten games. As Luke walked past their hopscotch board, one kid, a girl with pigtails and a toothy grin, shouted, “You gotta jump through it!” He paused, an amused smile tugging at his lips, and hopped clumsily from square to square. The kids erupted in giggles as he landed, a rare moment of levity that settled in his chest.
“Can I help you?”
Luke turned to see a heavy-set man standing outside a unit, wiping his hands on a grease-stained rag. The man’s eyes were sharp, assessing, and Luke felt suddenly out of place.
“Sorry, I think I’m in the wrong place. I’m looking for Greg Harris.”
“That’s me. What do you need?” The man’s voice was rough, with a hint of suspicion.
“I’m looking to rent an apartment,” Luke said, glancing at the small trailer hitched to his car. “Preferably furnished.”
Greg’s eyes scanned Luke with a quickness that felt more like an appraisal than a greeting. “Got one upstairs. Furnished. Sort of. There’s a bed and a couch.”
“That’s perfect,” Luke said quickly, pushing past the tightness in his chest. “How much?”
“Five hundred. Two months upfront unless you can wait for a background check to clear.”
Luke’s mouth tightened. The price was manageable, but the upfront payment was a hit to his savings. “I was hoping for a discount. Nancy sent me.”
Greg’s expression shifted, his brows knitting together with a sense of frustration. “God damnit,” he muttered, almost to himself. “In that case, it’s five-fifty.”
Luke blinked, taken aback. “Wait, shouldn’t there be a discount?”
“A discount?” Greg’s laugh was gruff. “Nancy takes a ten percent cut, and I’m not eating that. Next time, lead with that detail.”
Greg’s shoulders relaxed a little as he let out a sigh that sounded almost apologetic. “Tell you what, I’ll charge five-twenty-five, and I’ll deal with Nancy’s wrath over it. You’re not from around here. You don’t know any better.”
It took only a few hours for Luke to unpack his trailer, but it was almost three days before he finally felt settled. Not all that time was spent organizing his new place. Much of it was consumed by the soul-crushing task of job hunting.
It had been years since Luke last applied for a job, and the process was more daunting than he remembered. His first hurdle was creating a new résumé, which took the better part of a day to get just right. Once that was done, he applied to as many online listings as he could find, but few were within driving distance, so he shifted his focus to remote-only roles.
After two days, he was convinced he applied to every job possible. Feeling like he needed to cover all his bases, Luke went the old-fashioned route, printing off copies of his résumé and handing them out around town. It didn’t take long to realize the local job market was as bare as the diner’s menu. No one was hiring.
By the time Friday rolled around, Luke had exhausted the local shops and was tired of staring at his laptop screen. He ate a small dinner at home, then decided he’d earned a drink.
Tim’s Bar was easy to find—it was the only place downtown with lights still on after dark.
The bar sat at the edge of Belle Pointe’s narrow main street, its blue paint faded to a dusty gray under the flicker of a neon bar sign. The building was squat and narrow, with a chipped facade and a mismatched screen door that groaned every time someone passed through.
Inside, the dim lighting wasn’t for ambiance—half the overhead bulbs had burned out long ago. In the corner, an unplugged jukebox gathered dust, a relic of a time no one seemed eager to remember, let alone move. A handful of patrons were scattered at the tables, drinks in hand, their conversations blending into a low hum. At the back, two men circled a pool table, the clack of the cue ball punctuating the quiet.
Luke slid onto a stool at the bar, trying not to feel out of place. The bartender—a wiry man in his sixties—wandered over, a towel slung over his shoulder.
“Cash only,” the man said, his voice flat.
Luke hesitated, glancing at the bottles lined up on the shelf behind him. “Have any beer?”
The bartender reached for something in the fridge below, popped the top off on a mounted bottle opener, and set the bottle in front of Luke without a word. Luke turned the label over in his hand, the name unfamiliar. He took a sip—it wasn’t bad, just different than he was used to.
He scanned the room as he drank, taking in the details. A man in a ball cap sat at the end of the bar, eyes fixated on the TV airing a baseball game. An older couple sat at a table in the middle, drinking beers but not talking to each other. Near the jukebox, a woman sat alone, scrolling on her phone. Her cropped leather jacket and dark eyeliner stood out against the flannel-heavy crowd. After a while, Luke fixated on the TV, trying to get caught up in the game.
“First time here?”
Luke turned, startled to find her watching him. The woman from the jukebox had relocated to the stool next to him, her phone still in hand.
“Yeah,” he said. “Just moved to town.”
She smirked. “That explains the stiff posture. Don’t worry—you’ll get used to the smell of cow manure, eventually.”
Luke blinked, caught off guard.
“I’m Charlene,” she said, tapping her knuckles on the bar. The bartender, without a word, slid a beer her way.
“Luke.”
Charlene took a sip and glanced at him. “So, where’d you come from?”
“City out east,” Luke said. “Needed a change of scenery.”
“Let me guess,” she said, leaning back on her stool. “You picked Belle Pointe because you thought it’d be picturesque. Quiet. Quaint.”
Luke gave her a sheepish grin. “More or less.”
She laughed—a sharp, unapologetic sound. “Classic. I give it a year before you’re outta here. Six months if the gossip gets to you first.”
“Good to know I’ve got a time limit,” Luke said, matching her sarcasm. Luke already felt comfortable with Charlene and debated if he should be less guarded about his failures. It would be nice to talk to someone about it all.
Charlene leaned forward. “Hey, I’m not judging. I’ve been here five years and still can’t decide if I like it.”
“What keeps you around?”
She shrugged. “The bar’s decent. Rent’s cheap. And every once in a while, something interesting happens.”
They fell into a casual rhythm, trading stories and jokes. Charlene had a quick wit and a way of cutting through pleasantries that Luke appreciated.
At some point, Charlene checked her phone and sighed. “Alright, I know it sounds strange, but there’s a potluck at the firehouse tomorrow night. Everyone’s going, and you probably should show your face.”
“A potluck?” Luke raised an eyebrow. “That sounds like something out of a 1950s Good Housekeeping. Should I bring a Jell-O mold or ambrosia salad?”
Charlene smirked. “Bring a six-pack and you’ll do just fine.”
“I’ll see what I can do,” Luke said, unsure if he meant it.
“Good. And hey, if you don’t show up, it’ll just give the town something new to talk about.” Charlene slid off her stool, grabbing her beer. “Welcome to Belle Pointe, Luke. You’ll fit in… eventually.”
With that, she disappeared into the crowd, leaving Luke to nurse his beer and wonder what he’d just signed up for. She vanished into the thinning crowd, leaving Luke alone at the bar. He glanced around at the others around him. It wasn’t the life he’d pictured when he packed up his station wagon.
But then again, maybe it wasn’t so bad.
“Can we skip ahead?” I said, glancing at my watch. “When I said start at the beginning, I meant with Greg—not the whole damn town newsletter.”
Luke stood at the counter, methodically filling a kettle with water. “I’m getting there,” he said, his tone unhurried. “But this whole town is…” He trailed off, his fingers tightening on the kettle’s handle.
“Eerie?” I offered, leaning back in my chair.
He nodded slowly, placing the kettle on the burner. “Kind of. It’s like stepping into some forgotten time. Bradbury or Lewis. The town never left the 1920s.”
“There’s nothing wrong with that,” I said, shifting slightly as a faint, uncomfortable pressure built in my stomach. “Some people crave that—small-town life, leaving doors unlocked, kids playing outside unattended. Not surprising, some places stayed that way.”
Luke grabbed a mug from the cabinet, tilting it toward me silently. I waved it off. “No thanks.”
“Are you ok?” Luke asked, frowning slightly. “You’re looking kind of pale.”
“I’m fine,” I said quickly, though even I didn’t quite believe it. “Lunch isn’t sitting well. Last time I eat gas station hot dogs.”
Luke’s lips twitched into a faint smile, but he didn’t press further. Turning back to the counter, he continued. “Capote wrote about places like this—how even the safest, most serene towns hide their secrets. ‘It was the last place in the world he expected to be murdered.’”
“Breakfast at Tiffany’s wasn’t exactly small-town life,” I said, smirking faintly as I rubbed my stomach.
Luke chuckled softly. “Not Breakfast at Tiffany’s. I was talking about In Cold Blood.” He paused, his gaze distant. “But now that you mention it, this town is a little like Holly Golightly: charming, unpredictable, and never quite whole. That perfect, shiny exterior hiding cracks no one wants to see.”
“I think it’s time we be more like ‘Holly Go-Fastly’.” I grabbed the whiskey bottle again and poured myself another drink. “Let’s continue but perhaps just share the details that matter here.”
Luke arrived at the potluck an hour after it started, hoping to slip in unnoticed. The firehouse had been cleared of equipment, its walls still bearing faded posters from safety drills and charity fundraisers. Long folding tables stretched across the room, covered in mismatched cloths and laden with steaming casserole dishes, deviled eggs, and Jell-O molds that shimmered under the fluorescent lights. As Charlene alluded to, it seemed like everyone in town was here tonight.
Nancy Pratt intercepted him the moment he walked in, as if she’d been watching the door. “Welcome,” she said with a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. Her gaze flicked to the six-pack in his hand. “I see you didn’t bring a dish. Do they not have potlucks where you’re from?”
Luke blinked, caught off guard. “Charlene said beer would be fine.” He raised the pack slightly, offering it as his contribution to the party.
Nancy’s smile softened, but there was a knowing look in her eyes. “Oh, sweetie, don’t listen to her. Charlene’s a little different, and that’s part of her charm. But here, well, people like the familiar. Bring a dish next time, and you’ll fit right in.” She nodded toward the dessert table, where a plate of cookies sat untouched. “Carol brought extras. We’ll say those are yours. She won’t mind.”
Before Luke could respond, Nancy gestured him inside. “Go on, meet your neighbors. They always love meeting new people.”
Luke wandered toward the food table, feeling like he was stepping into a play where he’d missed the rehearsal. Part of him wanted to slip out, but he knew he couldn’t. Not if he wanted to start over. He scanned the room, hoping to spot Charlene. She was nowhere to be found.
He stood awkwardly by the table for several minutes, contemplating whether to grab a plate just to keep his hands busy. Eventually, his eyes met Greg Harris’s across the room. Greg’s expression softened into a welcoming smile, and he made his way over. “If I knew you were coming, I could have given you a ride,” he said, his voice friendly and welcoming.
Luke smiled faintly. “Appreciate that. Wasn’t sure I’d make it myself.” He shifted the six-pack in his hand, unsure what to do with it.
“How’s the apartment treating you? Settled in yet?”
“Unpacked right away. It’s feeling like home. I really enjoy the view out of the bedroom window. I can see the lake from there.” Luke hesitated, then added, “Actually, could you look at the stove sometime? One burner doesn’t turn on, and the cabinet above it is covered in soot. Probably nothing, but I’d hate for it to be a fire hazard.”
Greg scratched the back of his neck. “Yeah, I’ve been meaning to swap that stove out. I’ll get to it tomorrow.”
“No rush. Just can’t be too careful, right?” Luke said, offering a disarming smile.
Greg nodded, then held out his hand. “Here, let me take that beer. I’ll stick it in the fridge in the back. Grab one whenever you want.”
Luke handed over the six-pack and watched as Greg disappeared into the back. Before he could decide his next move, an older woman approached, a half-eaten cookie in her hand. “These are delicious,” she said. “Nancy said you made them.”
Luke’s face burned. “Actually, I didn’t—”
The woman laughed, cutting him off. “Relax, honey. I’m Carol. They’re mine. Nancy told me she’d pull this stunt. Don’t worry—I don’t mind. I’m always around if you need anything.”
“Everyone is so nice here.” Luke grabbed a cookie and tried them.
“Most of us grew up here. Our lives are all intertwined. We watch out for each other.”
“Hey, newbie,” a familiar voice said from behind. Luke turned to see Charlene standing there, a smirk on her lips.
“Everyone is so nice here,” Luke said, taking another bite of Carol’s cookie.
Charlene chuckled. “Nice? It’s all a charade. In Belle Pointe, people will go from hugging you hello to gossiping behind your back before the night’s over.”
Luke glanced around the room. The atmosphere differed from the city’s constant hum, where faces were fleeting and conversations brief. Here, the interactions were slow, almost deliberate, like pleasantries exchanged between old friends. It felt warm, familiar—like a family reunion that never ended.
He noticed a group at a nearby table casting quick glances his way. The looks weren’t unfriendly, but they were curious, the kind that said, Who’s that? or What’s his story? Luke felt a sense of both welcome and unease.
Charlene picked up on the tension in his expression. “I didn’t mean to frighten you,” she said, her tone softening. “Just an early warning. When the gossip starts—and it will—you either learn to roll with it or let it get to you. Thought I’d tell you now so you’re prepared.”
Luke managed a small smile. “Maybe I should leave before the backstabbing starts. I’m sure there will be plenty of time to get to know everyone. Any good places to go around here?”
Charlene’s eyes lit up, her smirk turning into a grin. “Do you want to go with me to Burke’s? It’s a bar in the next town over. A few friends will be there, and I’d love for you to meet them.”
Luke thought about it for a moment, realizing he no longer had the extensive public transit he once had in the big city. “Sure. Sounds like fun. Do they have taxis in this town? I need to drop my car off.”
Charlene laughed again. “Oh Luke, you’re so naïve. Where are you living? I can drive you.”
“The apartments over on Whispering Pines Road.”
Charlene’s eyes widened. “You’re on Whispering Pines? Seriously? That place has stories. Doors opening on their own, people hearing voices.”
Luke wasn’t sure if Charlene was joking or not. “Haunted? Fantastic. Maybe the ghost can explain why the endings of all the great American novels are so depressing. I’ve been dying for a second opinion.”
Charlene raised an eyebrow. “What novels? ... Never mind—let’s head out.”
As Luke followed Charlene back to his car, he couldn’t shake the thought of her words. Haunted? Maybe. But as the wind rattled the firehouse doors, he realized it wasn’t just the apartment that felt unsettled—it was the whole damn town.
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