Remodeled to Death

by Valerie Wolzien

  “Like the carpet and the walls,” Susan said, trying to understand.

  “Yeah, right. And then Art—I’m sure it was Art because I remember him taking off his headphones for an answer. And that means it’s real important to him. Well, Art said that you should’ve asked Ken about the call. He said Ken would be the only person who’d dare make a private call on a homeowner’s phone without asking permission.”

  Well, that gave her something to think about.

  TWENTY

  Susan woke up the next morning wondering if she had been transported from Connecticut to California. Surely only a major earthquake could cause such noise and shaking. She leaped up, smashing into the end of the antique sleighbed that had once been the prized centerpiece of her guest room—until she was forced to sleep on it. Her toes were permanently curled these days.

  “What was that?” Jed asked.

  “I have no idea,” Susan answered, rubbing her bruised shin. “I really smashed my leg here. Maybe you should get up and check.”

  “Sounded like something broke,” Jed muttered. “It will still be broken when I get up.”

  “I can’t lie here in bed when heaven knows what is going on around me,” Susan insisted, straightening up and limping over to the pile of clothing on the floor. “I really hate wearing clothes two days in a row.”

  “I thought you were going to move our stuff in here yesterday,” Jed said, sitting up slowly.

  “I was a little busy yesterday—and exhausted last night.” Susan reminded herself that she couldn’t kill her husband; she’d have to find an entirely female jury if she wanted to stay out of prison. “Where are you going?”

  “Across the hall. I can’t wear dirty clothes to work.”

  “Would you get some jeans and a shirt for me?” Susan pleaded. “I don’t want to go out there in my robe and I’d really like clean clothes. I’ll move everything we need in here first thing today,” she promised.

  “You don’t have to worry about my stuff. I’ll try to get home early tonight. Maybe we could go out to dinner,” he added, tying his robe around his waist. “Or I have a better idea. Why don’t you come into the city for dinner? It’s August. I can probably get reservations anywhere. Where do you want to go? Aquavit? Arcadia? Le Cirque? Or we could go down to the Village—”

  “Jed, I’m going to be busy. I’ve got to see these sinks and toilets, and I want to go out to the tile place that Joe—or was it Joel?—told me about. I definitely plan to visit Kathleen at the hospital. And we’ve got to start thinking about hardware.”

  “Hardware? You mean nails and stuff? I thought Ken took care of all that.”

  “No, I mean towel racks and soapdishes and toilet-paper holders. And lights. I have to look at lights. And I was thinking last night before I fell asleep that we should check into built-in wall heaters versus ones placed in the ceiling. And laundry hampers. Why shouldn’t we have built-in laundry hampers, maybe in the hall linen closet as well as in the bathrooms. And—”

  “I’m going to be late for work,” Jed announced, disappearing out the door.

  “And I have to figure out who might have called the police station yesterday … and who either hated Simon Fairweather enough to kill him or who hates someone in Cory Construction enough to hope that he’s a suspect in this murder,” she muttered. “And I really want to go see Kathleen at the hospital.”

  “What did you say?” Jed reappeared, piles of clothing in his hands. “By the way, Josie is working in our bathroom. She likes my robe. Apparently her father once had one just like it.”

  “What’s that?”

  Jed looked down at the clothing he had just dumped on the end of the bed. “The clothes you asked for.”

  Susan merely smiled. He tried. Just because he couldn’t tell winter clothes from summer ones didn’t mean he wasn’t a good husband. “Is Josie the only person in there?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then I think I’ll go find something a little cooler than this wool shirt,” Susan said.

  “I have to get going,” Jed insisted. He was almost dressed. “Call me if you need anything. I should be in the office most of the day.”

  “Fine.” Susan kissed her husband and crossed the hall to their bedroom.

  Josie, a tape measure in her hand, came out of the bathroom as Susan entered the bedroom. “Hi.”

  “Hi. You sure start early,” Susan commented, heading over to the closet and opening the door.

  “Don’t say I didn’t warn you. Seven a.m. on the dot.”

  Susan made a mental note to start setting the alarm for six-thirty. She dressed in her large walk-in closet while chatting with Josie. “Are you going to be working here or in the attic today?”

  “Mostly up there, but I’ll be coming down here while the plumbing is beginning. Kyle and Art can handle the framing themselves and a third person just gets in the way. You know,” she added as Susan came out of the closet wearing leggings and a large T-shirt, “the men were talking about you when I came in. In fact, I think part of the reason that I was sent down here was to get me out of the way so that they could continue their speculations.”

  “About me?”

  “Uh-huh. Seems they were wondering what sort of phone call could have been so important that you questioned everyone about it and the only conclusion anyone could draw was that you were expecting a call from your lover. It was even suggested that you were worried that he might hear a strange man answering the phone and think that you were two-timing him. Buns wondered if that meant you were three-timing Jed. I left at that point in the discussion.”

  Susan slipped her feet into some sandals and frowned. “These men don’t know what a dull life I lead,” she muttered.

  “You think investigating murders is dull?”

  “No, but—”

  “Mrs. Henshaw, ma’am.” Buns was leaning against the doorway, leaving a long smear of grease on the white woodwork. “We need you upstairs.”

  “Oh.” Susan grabbed an elastic band from the top drawer of her dresser and pulled her hair back into a ponytail. “What do you want me to do?”

  “You have some decisions to make,” Buns said, hiking up his pants and turning back toward the attic stairs.

  “I’ll be right up,” Susan called to his departing back. “Could you come with me?” she asked Josie. “Please.”

  “In a minute,” Josie answered. “I don’t want it to look like I’m second-guessing the rest of the crew, but I’ll be up as soon as possible. And just remember: You can wait to make a decision. This is a big job. There’s always other work to be done.”

  Susan sighed. “Okay. I’d better get going. By the way,” she added, “what was that loud noise this morning?”

  “You better ask about that upstairs.” Josie turned and went back into the bathroom.

  Susan ran up the stairs; now that she was fully awake, she was curious to see what progress had been made. The night before, the attic had looked so orderly with the walls beginning to take shape and the wood flooring laid down nice and smooth. Today … She arrived at the top of the steps and stopped immediately.

  Evil elves must have been very busy while she slept. The entire attic was a mess. The walls that had been marked with two-by-four pieces of lumber were no longer standing. The wood, pipes, and long dowels were scattered around the floor and leaning up against walls. Susan noticed that a table saw had been set up on a trunk that had accompanied her to her freshman year of college. Nearby, boxes and discarded sports equipment were covered with sawdust. Long sheets of some sort of white material were protected by shrink-wrapped plastic and propped up in front of the window. The old toilet lay on its side, dripping filthy water. The new toilet was being used as a chair by Ken Cory. There was probably a sink around somewhere, but Susan had something else to worry about.

  “That’s not the bathtub I ordered,” she announced, staring at the monstrous white ceramic square that took up a large chunk of the floor.

 
Ken looked up from the diagrams he had been studying and smiled. “Looks huge, doesn’t it?”

  “It—”

  “Everyone says that,” Buns announced. “Don’t worry. Most of that tub is built in.”

  “It’s stained,” Susan insisted, moving over for a closer look.

  Buns bent over, too. “Nah. Look at this. Wipes right off.”

  It did. And then it rubbed off onto the wall as he braced himself to grope around under the eaves for an elusive length of copper pipe. Susan bit her lip and didn’t say anything. It was no big deal. She’d just repaint when they finished. “What happened to the walls that you built yesterday?” she asked, pointing to the empty space.

  “You changed your mind and added a tub. We had to take them down to get the tub in place,” Kyle said, smiling at her.

  Susan sighed. “You had some questions to ask me,” she said to remind Ken why she was there.

  “We need to know if you want lights in the ceiling over the tub,” Ken said, “and if you’re planning on having a separate fixture over the sink. Remember, you and Jed agreed to buy all the electrical fixtures.”

  “I haven’t had time to choose.”

  “We just need to know the location so we can get the wires in place before the walls go up. Angelo is going to be here any minute now.”

  “Can’t you do this later?” Susan asked, remembering Josie’s suggestion that she could wait to make decisions.

  “Sure can. But it will be more expensive,” Ken said, smiling again.

  Susan had no idea how she was going to visualize the lighting locations without knowing what the lights looked like, but she gave it her best shot, listening to suggestions and generally agreeing with all that was said. “I guess I’d better go to the lighting store first thing this morning,” she added.

  “Good idea,” Ken agreed, nodding his approval.

  “Am I supposed to actually buy the lights myself? Pick them up and bring them here?”

  “Unless you can teach them things to walk by themselves,” Buns said in a jovial voice.

  “But what about the other stuff? Wires and everything?” Susan protested. “I don’t know anything about that.”

  “Angelo takes care of all that. Don’t have to worry yourself about that stuff,” Art said. His headset hung around his neck and he seemed to be communicating with the outside world today.

  Susan got the impression that he would like to tell her not to worry her pretty little head about this particular thing. Although he might not describe her appearance that way, she thought ruefully, wondering when she was going to find time to run to the club and wash her hair. “I’d better get going,” she added. “I’m not going to be necessary for anything, am I?”

  She heard a snicker or two in response to her question, but her attention was drawn to something else. “Isn’t that edge of the tub broken?” she asked, pointing at the corner where a large chunk of metal seemed to be damaged and bent.

  “Nah. It’s fine,” Buns insisted, getting up and pushing a large piece of cardboard around the offending sight. “Nothing for you to worry about.”

  Susan smiled weakly and left the room. She was going to walk the dog, have a deliciously greasy breakfast at the diner downtown, then go and do some serious shopping.

  An hour later she was standing in the Brightly Lit showroom and realizing that her day wasn’t going to be easy. In the first place the hash browns (or possibly the ranch omelet) had given her indigestion. In addition, there were more kinds of recessed ceiling lights than she had ever imagined. The salesman who directed her to bathroom fixtures had bragged that they carried over a hundred different models—what he hadn’t mentioned was that most of them were hideous.

  It took her almost thirty minutes to choose ceiling fixtures. She liked them so much that she decided to use the same model in all three bathrooms. Feeling extraordinarily efficient, she had placed her order for the lights and was examining brass wall sconces when she felt that someone was staring at her.

  She turned and discovered Patricia Fairweather standing behind her. Susan didn’t know what to say.

  But Patricia leaped right in. “Hi,” she said, smiling. “You know, I thought these were appropriate mourning clothes for running errands, but I think I was wrong.” Patricia looked down at her black jeans and black T-shirt. “I feel like a geriatric heavy-metal fan.”

  Susan laughed as she knew she was supposed to. “I think you have to shave your head.”

  “Funny you should mention that. I was thinking of getting my hair cut.”

  “You’re kidding.” Patricia’s long, straight hair was as much a part of her as her strong artist’s hands.

  “I guess I’m looking for a symbol of a new life.”

  Susan nodded. “Without your husband.”

  “That and other things.”

  “Ma’am. Ma’am.” The salesman was trying to attract her attention.

  “Yes?” Susan asked.

  “The lights you ordered, ma’am.”

  “Yes. You know, I think I need ten, but did you find out if I can return some if I’m wrong about that?”

  “Yes, ma’am. You can return them. But that’s not the problem.”

  “Then what is?” Susan asked, realizing that Patricia Fairweather was still by her side.

  “They’re out of stock. They have to be ordered from the warehouse.”

  “And how long will that take?” Susan asked, all her attention drawn to the question at hand.

  “Between a month and sixty days.”

  “You know what that means,” Patricia said. “If I were you, I’d choose another style.”

  Susan frowned. “You know, I think you’re right,” she told the other woman. “I guess I’d better check out some more,” she told the salesman.

  And when she looked around again, Patricia Fairweather was gone.

  TWENTY-ONE

  “And when I turned around, Patricia Fairweather was gone,” Susan said, picking a dead rose off the floor by Kathleen’s hospital bed.

  “So what did you do about the lights?”

  “Well, I figured I had three choices: wait sixty days for them—or probably longer, you know how these stores are; pick out different lights; or go to another store, which might not have the lights either. But then I had an inspiration. I copied down the information hanging from the light on display and called Jed. He’s going to go down to the Lower East Side after work and see if he can pick them up there.” She pulled a notebook from her purse. “Damn, I lost the list I made this morning!” she said, writing furiously before she forgot what she had planned to do.

  “What else are you going to do today?” Kathleen asked, moving around to try to make herself more comfortable.

  Susan looked down at the list she had just completed. “It’s not what I want to do, it’s what I have to do. Every time I change my mind, it costs us money. And I have to go to that bathroom design showroom out on the highway, a tile store downtown that the men who are laying the tile on this job recommended, and to every lighting store in the area until I find fixtures.”

  “I thought Jed—”

  “That’s for recessed ceiling lights. I have to find lights for over the sinks in both second-floor bathrooms. I did buy something that isn’t too ugly for the attic.”

  “Lunchtime, ladies.” A perky nurse’s aide entered the room, a large tray held in front of her ample chest.

  “Thanks,” Kathleen said politely as the tray was deposited before her. She waited until she and Susan were alone again before removing the cover from the food. “You know, I ate a lot of dreadful meals while I was a police officer, but this stuff …”

  Susan reached across and, taking the cover from Kathleen’s hand, hid the meal. “I know exactly what you mean. No hospital is known for its food. That’s why I brought this.” She pulled a large canvas carryall from under the chair where she had stowed it. She moved the hospital tray and put a paper bag and a white bakery box in its place
.

  Kathleen opened her goodies. “Oh, Susan, you shouldn’t have. A sandwich and my favorite salads from the deli and”—she peeked under a corner of the box—“and mixed Italian pastries from DiBonni’s! And I didn’t even thank you for the chocolates and champagne you sent last night.”

  “Don’t thank me. Just get lots of rest. You’re going to need it. And I’d better get going. The nurse at the desk scares me to death and she was very direct about visiting hours for nonrelatives. Also I want to get a peek at your beautiful baby before they kick me out of here.”

  Kathleen, her mouth full of corned beef, nodded and waved her goodbye, and Susan, after visiting the viewing area of the nursery, headed back to her car to finish her errands.

  She pulled a chopped liver on rye from a bag on the passenger seat and bit into it as she steered the car from the hospital’s parking lot. First things first. But what was first? The towel racks? Sinks? Tiles? Sinks and toilets, she decided. Besides, the bathroom showroom was closest to the hospital. She hurried to finish her lunch before she got there.

  Susan entered the large store and was immediately accosted by a salesman. “May I help you?” he asked, appearing from behind a shiny black shower stall.

  “Yes, I—”

  “You have something smeared across your T-shirt,” the man continued.

  Susan glanced down. “It’s chopped liver,” she said, knowing exactly what it looked like.

  “Are you here because you need a shower?” he said, smiling at his own witticism.

  “Actually,” Susan said, deciding that it was time to get to the point, “I’m here to look at some sinks and toilets that I have on order. And to pick out those glass things that go around showers.”

  “Tub enclosures. What’s your name?”

  “My name?” That seemed a little rude.