The Nesting Instinct

“I’m sick of living in a rat-infested apartment,” Stephanie grumbled one day. “I can’t stand seeing them scoot around so brazenly. I hate their horrid little clawed paws. The landlord just doesn’t care.”

“So what are you going to do about it?” asked Julie, her sister.

“I’ve decided to buy a place of my own. I should have done it years ago instead of waiting for that non-existent Mr. Right. Come house hunting with me this weekend! Matt won’t mind and your kids will be away to their sport.”

So for the next few days the two women searched the realty advertisements. Then they put together a list, narrowing the choices to Stephanie’s top priorities. They were ready for the house-hunting to begin.

*  *  *

After attending a couple of Open Homes, when they arrived at the third address it was love at first sight for Stephanie.

The old Victorian-era villa was in a handy location and had the charm and character that she hankered for. The garden was spacious and beautifully kept – no major labouring work would be required to tame it. 

The kitchen had been modernised: the cooker was a new gas one – more efficient than the electric range Stephanie was using currently. The bathroom, too, was well appointed. The realtor explained that the ceiling extractor fan was not working, but would be easy to replace. One of the bathroom features sealed the deal for Stephanie – a very deep claw-foot bathtub.

“Isn’t it gorgeous! I’ve always loved the look of those old-fashioned baths. And this one’s been restored beautifully.”

Julie had to agree. The bath was indeed lovely.

*  *  *

All went well when Stephanie submitted her offer for the house, and within a month she was the proud owner of her little piece of heaven. Julie and her husband, Matt, helped her move in over a weekend, then on the Sunday evening the three of them sat on some boxes and popped the cork on a bottle of bubbly to celebrate.

“Thanks so much, both of you. I wish I had my own man for the heavy lifting! I really appreciate your help, but now I want to be left alone for a week so I can get this place organised. I’ll be nesting!”

“Yes, that’s fine,” agreed Julie. “How about we come over on Sunday night for dinner? You’ll have gotten used to that gas oven by then. You do the mains and I’ll bring dessert. Your favourite cheesecake. OK?”

“Terrific idea. Don’t phone during the week, either – just come over at 6-ish on Sunday.”

*  *  *

Julie rang the door bell and waited, admiring the wrought iron decorating the veranda as she juggled the plate with Stephanie’s favourite cheesecake on it. 

Matt was holding a bunch of flowers and a gaily wrapped package containing a beautiful vase for Stephanie’s housewarming present. 

“Isn’t that a bit odd?” He drew Julie’s attention to a pile of several of the past week’s newspapers – still tightly rolled – on the porch. “Steph said she was arranging the paper delivery, so why hasn’t she collected them?”

Julie jabbed the doorbell buzzer several times in an increasing panic, but Stephanie did not appear.

They placed the items they were holding on the porch bench, and while Julie phoned her sister’s number, Matt went around the side path to the back door. After a few minutes, he came running back to his anxious wife, his face grim. 

Julie wailed, “She didn’t pick up! She’s not answering!” 

Matt tried to be calm, but was clearly distressed. “I know. I heard it ringing in a back room. We have to get the police.”

He pulled Julie close to him and held her tight. She could feel his heart thudding. “The bathroom window’s slightly open. I had to stand on the rubbish bin, then I jiggled it a bit and tried to look in. Steph’s had an accident – I could see a foot sticking up from the bath.”

Julie immediately struggled within Matt’s arms; her mind doing flip flops. What should we do? How can we help? How will we get in?

“You phone the police and I’ll have a go at wrenching the bathroom window open.” Matt released her and headed for the back of the house again.

With shaking hands, Julie made the emergency call and was just explaining the situation when a squad car, its lights flashing, screeched to a halt in front of the house. Two officers leapt out and were at her side in seconds.

“What’s going on here? We have a prowler report. Are you safe, Ma’am?”

Confused by their sudden appearance, Julie had trouble answering. Her mouth was doing a goldfish impersonation when Matt arrived.

An officer officer seized him. “So you’re the prowler? We got a call from the neighbour – said some guy was snooping…”

“Thank heaven’s they called you! We need to get inside…an accident... I hope we’re not too late! Break down the door… back door looks easier. Follow me! Darling, you stay here.”

*  *  *

They wouldn’t tell Julie many details about her sister’s death. 

Stephanie was found, deceased, lying awkwardly in the claw-foot bath. It was empty of water, but rather strangely, the circular vent covering from the overhead extractor fan was in the bathtub with her.

The preliminary scene investigator theorised she had been bludgeoned with a blunt instrument several days prior. Foul play was suspected, due to the grimace of pure terror on the victim’s face and the massive contusion on the side of her head. The progressive discolouration indicated the time frame. 

Blood had pooled around the victim’s body in the bathtub, but there were no spatter marks elsewhere. The cranial injury was not the cause of blood loss. Intriguing.

At the end, Stephanie had her wish: a man was by her side for the heavy lifting. She’d eaten a lot of cheesecakes over the years. When the victim’s rigid corpse was lifted from the claw-foot bathtub, beneath her body they found two very large rats and six baby rats, all of them dead. Judging by the state of the victim’s lacerated back, with torn strips  leaving oozing holes, the adult rodents must have been trapped with her as she fell, and had tried to chew their way out from under her comatose body. 

The forensic investigator could only hope mortality had occurred prior to the frenzied incisions. He deduced the victim had slipped and hit her head after bathing – resulting in a fractured skull – while attempting to scramble her panic-stricken way over the rim of the deep bathtub and away from the rats, which, like her, could not escape over its slippery sides.

The rats themselves must have fallen into the bathtub from overhead, when the extractor fan cover came loose as they scuttled about in the ceiling cavity above. They had been nesting up there, making themselves comfy with shredded newspaper. Chewsday’s edition.