Traci Tyne Hilton - Mitzi Neuhaus 03 - Buyer's Remorse

by Traci Tyne Hilton

  Mitzy pushed the door to her parents’ house open with her hip. Her arms were full of apology presents for the cats. “Here kitty-kitty,” she called. She set the bag of pet store stuff on the counter. The light on the answering machine was blinking. Mitzy grabbed a pen out of the jelly jar next to the phone and pulled a sticky note off the pad before hitting play.

  The first message sounded like a pocket call. She thought she could hear her mom laughing. It lasted forever. Mitzy looked at her watch. It was almost two and a half minutes of muffled laughing. Mitzy tapped her pen against the counter in staccato. The pocket call finally ended.

  The next message was different. “You’re not wrong.” The voice was breathy, also muffled. That was all it said and then the robotic voice said, “End of Messages.” Mitzy hit replay. She skipped the lengthy pocket call. There was the breathy voice again, “You’re not wrong.” The speaker said it so fast she almost didn’t believe she heard it right. The pencil in her hand was shaking. That message was not for her parents. She pulled out her cell phone and called Alonzo.

  “Hey babe,” he said.

  “I’m at my parents’ house to feed the cats, and there is a horrible message on the machine, and you need to hear it.” The words spilled out a mile a minute. She put the phone next to the answering machine and hit play again. The robot voice announced she had two messages and what time they were recorded. It began the pocket call and she skipped it. Then the robotic voice announced a call this morning at 11:30 am. Then the horrible breathy voice.

  When it was over, she picked the phone back up.

  “Slow down Mitzy, what was all that?”

  “The message, from my parents’ answering machine. Did you hear it? The second one?”

  “The short one?”

  “Yeah, did you understand? The voice said I wasn’t wrong. I mean they said, ‘You’re not wrong.’ Why would they say that? Is it about the murder? How did they know to call here?”

  “Didn’t the machine say that the call came at 11:30?”

  “Yes.”

  “What time is it now?” Alonzo asked. Mitzy pulled the phone away from her ear and looked. 11:42 am. “Mitzy, its only 11:40. That call came ten minutes ago. Does anyone know you are there?”

  “Just Carmella. I told her I was coming here around lunchtime to take care of the cats. No one knows I am here.”

  Alonzo was quiet. “I’m all the way out in Huddington working on the community center. I can’t get there fast. Just leave the stuff where it is, get in your car, and drive here as quickly as you can. Be fast and don’t get off of the phone, do you understand?”

  Mitzy was already at the front door when he started his instructions. She had the house locked and her car door open before he had finished. “Okay, I’m driving.” Her breath was fast and caught at the top of her lungs. Her hands were still shaking.

  “Keep talking until you get to the first big road then put the phone down so you won’t get pulled over, but leave it on.”

  “Do you think it was the killer?” Mitzy whispered.

  “Who else could it have been?” he asked.

  Mitzy saw the first big intersection coming. She wished she had Bluetooth set up. She hit her speakerphone button while she had a second and tossed the phone on the dashboard in front of her. “What if it was a wrong number or a crank call, or what if it was for my parents?”

  “Or what if it was the person who tried to kill you earlier but got the wrong person. What if they followed you to your parents’ house and called you right before you walked in?” Alonzo asked. “You’re on the Mafia’s radar, babe. We’re not taking any chances.”

  “The job site is busy right now. Tons of guys are here finishing the interior. Come to the trailer and set up your office. Just work here today with me. As soon as you get here, we’ll call the police. You didn’t delete the message, did you?”

  “Of course not,” Mitzy said. “I should be there in about ten minutes.”

  “Okay. I’ve got work to do, but I’m clipping the phone to my belt and leaving you on. Feel free to scream if anything happens.”

  “Will do.” It made her smile which helped relieve the tension a little. She wasn’t sure if she was shaking from fear or hunger, so she drove through Burgerville on the way to Alonzo’s work site and got a salmon salad for herself and a Colossal burger for Alonzo.

  Alonzo took a huge bite of his burger and nodded his head in agreement. He chewed thoughtfully and then swallowed. After a gulp of soda, he answered her question. “Yeah,” he said. “We may have just overreacted. But that was one creepy message. If you are being followed and intimidated I’d rather they follow you here. There are a lot of guys here. Big guys.”

  Mitzy’s eyes followed his glance out the window. Two men were carrying a piece of plate glass on some kind of metal carrying thing. Their arm muscles bulged. “I agree. I’d rather work from your trailer than from my office just now. The trouble is, I’m following through with my plan for some time off. I’ve got nothing to sell right now and no one looking to buy. What will I do in your trailer all day?”

  “Read a book?”

  Mitzy rolled her eyes. “It’s hard to find the killer from your trailer.”

  “You do not need to find the killer.”

  “Of course I don’t need to. But can you think of something better?” She pulled her new Macbook out of her Birken bag and set it on the table beside her. She picked up the plastic salad dish and tossed it in the recycling. “I guess I could try to learn something more about the people involved. Google is bound to have an hour’s worth of work for me.”

  “Or a whole day’s worth. Google away if it keeps you here. I’ve gotta get back inside.” He leaned over and kissed the top of Mitzy’s head.

  She nodded at him and he left. Lunch had fortified her. She didn’t want to go back to her parents’ house just yet, but getting together with a friend to do a little more digging into Lara’s life sounded right up her alley.

  Mitzy made a few phone calls. Joan agreed to meet Mitzy at the office, ASAP.

  “It’s a pity about the murder,” Joan took a sip of her latte. “That new brick facade was going to increase property values. But with the murder…well. Good luck getting anyone to buy in that building.”

  “That’s a bit callous. I’d think the pity is the murder and nothing else really matters.”

  “Well of course the murder is all that matters, and yet, they spent a lot of money…oh, never mind. That was a rotten thing to say. It does feel like the last few years have been a constant string of bad news. The murder, the floods, the hurricanes, the fires. The economy. Will the real estate market ever recover?”

  “It depends on what you mean. We won’t have the soaring prices we used to have for a long time, if ever. But we won’t have the interest rates we had in the 1980’s either. We’ll come around to a balance. The day of the flipper is over, I’d say.”

  “More’s the pity. I know, I know. The murder is the real pity. Did you see my new bag?” Joan held up a slouchy black leather messenger bag with heavy stitch work and dull ruby and clear crystals decorating the flap.

  “Very wintry,” Mitzy said.

  “That’s what I thought. A little gothic Christmassy thing going. It’s a local designer.”

  “Of course it is. Where did you get it?” It looked to Mitzy like it could have come right off of the racks at Neveah’s.

  “I got it online. Look at the lining, isn’t it luscious?” She flipped the flap over to reveal the vintage velvet paisley inside. Mitzy took a close look at the label.

  “It is an Alice McNinch, isn’t it?” she asked.

  “It is, but how did you hear of her?”

  “That shop Lara worked at carries Alice McNinch. They said they had an exclusive line or something like that.”

  “Over at Neveah’s? I’ve been there. They might have an exclusive. I confess I got mine from a resale shop.”

  “Hmm.” Mitzy rubbed the velvet l
ining with her thumb. “I wonder what this Alice knows about the business at Neveah’s.”

  “Let me guess, you and I are going to get one more coffee for the road and find out?”

  “Sounds good to me.”

  “Okay. But I’m going across the parking lot to the coffee hut and you can hunt for her digits.” Joan swung her bag onto her shoulder and pushed the door open.

  Mitzy had now seen one person in her whole life carrying an Alice McNinch bag and zero people wearing her clothes, and the bag had been purchased resale. Lara couldn’t have made enough money at a store no one shopped at to save up her whole down payment.

  While Mitzy waited in her office for Joan to return from the coffee hut she pulled out the big, clunky white pages. She thumbed through until she came to the M’s. Alice McNinch was listed. She tore the page out of the book and went outside to meet Joan.

  Her keys jangled against her office door handle as she locked up her shop. The key stuck a little and it took some effort to pull it out. The copy she had had made to replace her missing keys didn’t work with ease, but the new locks were coming in the evening, which was a huge relief. A dark shadow crossed the door as she yanked the key out and turned around. “What did you buy me?” she asked with a smile.

  Joan wasn’t there.

  Mitzy put her hand up to give her eyes some shade and looked down the sidewalk. Tabby’s door was swinging shut. Just a customer passing, Mitzy thought. But there weren’t any new cars in the parking lot since she had last looked. Mitzy walked the few feet over to Tabby’s shop and popped her head in.

  “Hey there!”

  “Oh, hey Mitzy. How are you doing today?” Tabby greeted Mitzy with a sympathetic smile.

  “I’m doing well. Did someone just come in here?”

  “Some guy popped his head in for a second, but he didn’t come all the way in. Must not be the artsy type.”

  “Weird,” Mitzy said under her breath. Something tapped her shoulder, and she jumped.

  “Here’s your coffee,” Joan said. “Let’s go.”

  Mitzy had not been able to convince Joan that real art was made in Tabby’s paint your own ceramics shop. But now seemed like a good chance. She decided to forget about the mysterious shadow and went all the way in to the shop.

  “Come in, Joan. You really have to see Hannah’s stuff.”

  Joan dragged her feet a little but made it all the way in.

  “Tabby, this is Joan, our stager. I wanted her to see Hannah’s work. As much of it as you have. She is always looking for beautiful things for homes.”

  Tabby stepped forward and smiled. “Sure. I love showing off my kid’s work.” She motioned to the shelf that held another Mt. Hood scene platter.

  Joan walked to the shelves and peered at the platter. “This is really beautiful. It’s like the one in your office, Mitzy, but different. They’re all one of a kind pieces, aren’t they?”

  Tabby smiled proudly. “Of course. She makes a number of these every time she comes down from school.”

  “I’d love to see what she does with dinnerware. Has she done plates and things?”

  “She has done a few sets. I have her card if you are interested.”

  Joan stretched out her hand but didn’t look away from the work on the shelves. “Yeah, this is really great. Not at all what I expected. I owe you an apology.”

  “Don’t worry. I run the shop for hobbyists and parties, but we do get artists in who just want to play. Even I’m surprised at how beautiful the work that comes out of my kiln can be.”

  “Mitzy, I want to buy this platter. I want it right now and I don’t want to carry it all over town.” She dug in her huge bag and pulled out a card. “I don’t care how much; it’s a lovely piece.”

  Tabby took the card. Mitzy checked her watch. “Okay, get it, run upstairs, and then come right back.”

  Joan snatched up her new platter as soon as it was wrapped in paper and toted it back to her office.

  Mitzy turned to Tabby but she had taken a call. Mitzy drummed her fingers on the shelf in front of her for a moment and then moved on to the next shelf of pottery. She inched her way to the door, hoping Joan would come back. Mitzy leaned her forehead against the glass door and watched the street.

  Traffic was heavy; it looked to be a busy delivery day in the Eastside Industrial neighborhood. Three semis stopped as the light at the nearest intersection changed. Each truck turned cautiously to the right, heading in the direction of the freeway. Two men were standing on the sidewalk, looking across the street. Mitzy squinted to see them better. One was tall, and skinny, wearing a cap. The other was built like Alonzo, and wore a trench coat.

  She looked down at her watch. Three minutes had passed since Joan left with her platter. Were those men waiting for a bus? She couldn’t remember if there was a stop there or not. She looked up again to see if there was a bus stop sign, but the men were gone. There wasn’t a bus stop sign. Mitzy shivered. She didn’t like strange men standing around and staring in her direction. As innocent as they probably were, she preferred people to just keep moving. She tapped her boot on the linoleum floor and glanced back at Tabby. Tabby was still on the phone.

  The door swung open, and Joan grabbed Mitzy by the arm, “Let’s get out of here before I drop more of my artistic sensibilities.”

  Mitzy groaned, “Hang on, I should say goodbye to Tabby.”

  Joan led Mitzy by the arm to the Miata, “Did you see that delicious man cross the street a minute ago?” she asked, ignoring Mitzy’s pleas to stop back in the shop.

  “The tall one?” Mitzy guessed.

  “Yes, his friend wasn’t my type at all. Yumm-o. You’ll have to get Alonzo to introduce me,” she said.

  “Alonzo knows them?”

  “They went into his office.”

  “What do you mean? I saw them across the street, but they sort of disappeared in a blink.”

  “They crossed the street, dingy. How hard is that? I watched them from my office window. I love that window.”

  “Those two guys are up in Alonzo’s office? But he’s not there today. He’s at the site.”

  “His secretary is in. I’m sure she’ll take a message. What’s wrong?” Joan was looking at Mitzy with her head tilted, like a curious dog.

  Mitzy was breathing a little shallower but tried to pull herself together. She opened the Miata and got in, shutting the door quickly. She hit the lock button and stared at the front door of her office building. A rapping at the window made her jump.

  Joan stood at the door and waved her hands mouthing, “Hello, unlock!”

  “Sorry,” Mitzy mumbled and unlocked the door. As soon as Joan was in the car she locked the door again. “I don’t trust those guys. They just stood there staring and now they are upstairs in Alonzo’s office. What if they are connected to the murder? Should I call the police?”

  “You’re paranoid.”

  “You didn’t see them staring at me.”

  “Actually, I did see them. They were looking at the traffic, and then they crossed the street.”

  “Can you be sure?” Mitzy asked.

  “If they were staring at you why didn’t they come into the pottery shop, hmm?”

  “Let’s just see how long it takes them to come downstairs.”

  “I’d rather not,” Joan protested. She shrugged out of her chunky knit sweater and wriggled it out from behind her. She draped the sweater over her knee and pulled her new satchel up from the floor. Mitzy watched her, entranced. Joan opened the satchel and pulled out a small cylinder. She slid it open.

  “Lipstick, Mitzy. Seriously.” Joan pulled the cap off and applied the velvety red color. “You need to relax. What did you think I was going to get out? A pen gun?”

  Mitzy shook her head and laughed. “I don’t know,” she said. “Maybe. I am a bit stressed out. I see killers in all of the shadows right now.”

  “Then I think we do need to go find Alice. This murder was not about you and the soo
ner you believe that the better off you will be.”

  Mitzy thought about her phone message. Was she wrong? No, she was not wrong. But she decided not to tell Joan yet. She wanted more evidence first.

  They drove straight to Alice McNinch’s home address on the first try. It was a very plain split-level ranch, painted a faded sky blue. Mitzy sidled her car next to the curb and turned off the engine. She turned to Joan, smiled, and let a small laugh escape. It led to another laugh. Her shoulders shook, she laughed so hard. When she started snorting Joan put a hand on her shoulder.

  “We don’t have to ring the door bell,” she said.

  “Well, no,” Mitzy said, gulping for air, “We don’t.” She looked at the house again and tried not to laugh. She sold that house to Alice eight years ago. That’s why the name had felt familiar; she knew Alice. Alice was a crazy young thing with a sewing machine and an inheritance. Mitzy stifled one more giggle and stretched her arms out, gripping the steering wheel.

  “She picked this house because the day light basement made a perfect sewing studio. She hated everything else about it, even the color. Did you know I’ve sold thousands of houses over the years? If someone lives in Southeast Portland, it is very likely that I’ve been inside their house at least once. And if someone strikes me as familiar, it is probably because they were a client once. I can’t believe I totally forgot who Alice McNinch was. But I helped her buy her house during the bubble. Those were crazy days.”

  “Yeah. And this is the wrong side of town for you. Are you really saying Alice was a client?”

  “Yes. I am. Now I’m wishing I had called first. But we’re here so we might as well just go up and do it.”

  “Are you sure you’ve pulled yourself together?”

  Mitzy took a deep breath. “Nope. Not at all. But I think it will be fine.”

  Alice answered the door with a mouth full of straight pins and a headband with a built in pincushion. As Mitzy said hello Alice patted her head frantically looking for the cushion. She found it, waved them in and began to poke the pins into her hair. She had on a leather apron and Tom’s wrap shoes.