Remodeled to Death

by Valerie Wolzien

  “Simon was always so concerned about my allergies. He even brought large boxes of Kleenex to the office in the early fall.”

  “You worked with Simon Fairweather?” Susan asked, becoming interested immediately.

  “For the past twenty-six years. I always thought he would be the one to give me my thirty-years-with-the-village gift, but I guess that was not to be.” A loud sneeze punctuated this statement, and Susan reached out to support the plate that was tipping precariously from the other woman’s hand.

  “Why don’t we find someplace to sit down?” Susan suggested. “Perhaps in the shade?”

  “I’d like that.”

  Susan led the way through the crowd toward a couple of chairs formed from branches and twigs, which were off by themselves near a small herb garden.

  “Simon told me about these chairs,” the other woman said, sitting down. “He made them a few years ago. I’d always wanted to see them.”

  Susan sat down, too, and introduced herself while shifting her weight to keep an outlaw branch from poking her in the kidney.

  “It’s nice to meet you, Susan. I’m Evangeline Forest. Everyone calls me Evie.” Evie rummaged around in her capacious patent-leather purse and finding the pink handkerchief with tatted edges that she had apparently been looking for blew her nose before continuing. “Over the past few years I’ve heard a little about what you do. Are you helping Chief Fortesque investigate Simon’s murder?”

  “Yes, I am. Well, not right now, of course,” Susan lied. “This isn’t really the place for me to start asking a lot of questions.”

  “I don’t mind. I haven’t been as upset about Simon’s death as I thought I would be. I mean, we didn’t have a very personal relationship.”

  Susan thought about twenty-six years in the same office and those boxes of tissues, but she didn’t interrupt.

  “We worked together, but I never felt that I understood the man,” Evie continued, blowing her nose again.

  “What did you do for Simon?”

  “I ran his office,” Evie answered proudly. “Oh, not to begin with. I began as a secretary. Back in the old days we were the entire office, just Simon with me as his secretary. We used to work out of one room down at the municipal center. We had that tiny office where everyone now goes to get dog licenses, can you believe that?”

  “You’re in a larger space now?” Susan had been to the mayor’s office, the tax office, and, of course, the police department, but she had no idea where the building inspector worked.

  “We’re up above the town council chambers. We have the entire second floor,” Evie said proudly.

  “You’re kidding. That really is a large area if it’s the same size as the meeting room.”

  “It is. And I can tell you that we need it.”

  “But Hancock is such a small town,” Susan said.

  “True. But the building inspector’s office is always very busy. Think how many of your neighbors have improved their homes in the past few decades,” Evie reminded her.

  Susan chuckled. “Almost all of them,” she admitted. “Some more than once.”

  “Every time someone changes a leaking toilet they have to apply for a permit,” Evie explained, nodding her head.

  “You’re kidding!”

  “Well, that’s the law. But you would be surprised how many people try to get away with breaking the law.”

  “Surely just replacing an old toilet …” Susan began. She didn’t know about everyone else, but she had no idea she’d needed a permit for such a small job.

  “Simon always said the law was the law.”

  It was difficult to argue with that.

  “And that made my job much easier,” Evie continued.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I started out as a normal secretary—straight out of high school. I typed letters, answered the phone, took notes during meetings of the town planning committee, you know the type of thing.”

  “But that changed?”

  “Well, the office got so much bigger in the eighties. Instead of a few requests for permits a day and probably one or two variances applied for a week—at the most—things changed. Not only did half the people in town want to expand their houses or upgrade their kitchens or whatever, but builders started coming in and buying up old houses. Some of them were remodeled and some were bought to be torn down. Sometimes two or even three new homes were built in place of one. The paperwork was enormous. So another secretary was hired and then about ten years ago a third.”

  “But you’re the senior secretary.”

  “Yes, and I’ve had enough experience to do a lot of the routine work without any problem.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like accepting fees and handing out permits for simple remodeling jobs. Or taking down information that’s needed to apply for a variance. Or looking up old covenants—you’d be amazed how many homes in Hancock are built on land that is covenanted.”

  “I don’t know what that means,” Susan admitted.

  “It means that you buy land on which a past agreement restricts the use of the land in some way.”

  “Like what?” Susan asked.

  “Well, there are covenants that prevent land from being subdivided. You know, so that someone can’t build another house on their large lot. There are covenants that require all the building in a particular area to be done in a certain style. That’s pretty uncommon these days, though,” Evie added.

  Susan agreed. Hancock was a veritable melting pot of housing styles.

  “There used to be covenants against things like selling your house to a member of a minority.”

  “You’re kidding!”

  “No, that type of restrictive covenant was pretty common before the early sixties, but of course it’s illegal now. There are also records of various rights of way that our office keeps track of,” Evie added, starting to sniff again.

  “Like driveways that go through other people’s properties,” Susan said, having a friend who had lived with this situation for the past few years.

  “Exactly. And there are a lot of questions of previous use, grandfathering and that type of thing.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like doctors’ and dentists’ offices in homes in residential areas. Back in the fifties neighbors didn’t object to that type of use. But now every time a house like that is put on the market, there are neighbors who insist that the office be removed. And that’s difficult if it’s been there for decades.”

  “And you give out information about this type of thing.”

  “Sometimes. Of course, if I don’t know about the situation, people can always go look it up at the county offices. But a lot of the time I’m just the first face that anyone sees in the building inspector’s office. I tried to take some of the burden off Simon.”

  “What sort of burden?”

  “Well, most of the contractors are unreasonably impatient. They file building plans with us and expect approval or disapproval immediately.”

  “How long does that type of thing usually take?”

  “No offense, but you sound like some of the contractors in town. The whole point, Simon would tell you if he were alive, is that we don’t know how long it will take to examine the plans until the plans are actually in our hands.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “That’s because you haven’t spent almost thirty years dealing with building and remodeling plans. Believe me, the variety is limitless. A house can be a mansion like the one in Gone With the Wind—”

  “Tara,” Susan supplied the name.

  “That’s right. Or it can be a one-room geodesic dome.”

  “In Hancock?”

  “A permit was issued for one last week. Of course, we had to have an out-of-town engineering firm examine the architectural drawings and all of the specs.”

  “Is that usual?”

  “It’s what Simon always did when the plans or materials were something he wasn
’t familiar with, like that underground house over near the field club. That was built about twenty years ago and the technology was experimental. The U.B.C. didn’t cover that type of construction then, so Simon called in more than a few experts to make sure the design was feasible and safe. He was always making sure that Hancock was protected from lawsuits.”

  Susan shook her head. “I don’t understand. Who would sue the town over something like that? The town didn’t build it.”

  “If a plan wasn’t safe and there was a fire—or the roof fell in on a sleeping baby because no one checked to make sure there was a load-bearing wall where it should have been—if something like that happened and the building inspector’s office had approved the plans or, even worse, given a certificate of occupancy to the unsafe building, Hancock could very well be sued by the family who owned the home. And Hancock would probably lose a suit like that. It would be devastating for a town this size. That’s why Simon was always careful. He didn’t care how many enemies he made, all he cared about was getting the building built safely.”

  “That’s certainly admirable,” Susan said, wondering if it would be tactful to ask how many enemies he had made and if Ken Cory was one of them.

  “Of course, that’s what I told Chief Fortesque,” Evie continued. “It wasn’t Simon Fairweather’s job to be popular, it was his job to be conscientious, firm, and fair. That’s what he always said. He had an artist paint a sign that hung on the wall over his desk. It said ‘ ’Tis Better to Be Honored Than to Be Loved.’ ”

  “Were there many people who considered Simon Fairweather their enemy?” Susan asked.

  Evie nodded seriously and moved her chair inches closer to Susan’s. “He said there were a lot of people in town who would be happy when he was dead.”

  “Really?” Susan looked around at the gathering and wondered if any of these people were secretly thrilled by this serious occasion.

  “Then, of course, they could go ahead and build their shoddy buildings without Simon Fairweather peering over their shoulders.”

  “Did he?”

  “Did he what?”

  “Did he peer over their shoulders?” Susan asked, wondering whether or not Simon had been paranoid. “I thought he just went out and inspected buildings when it was time to have a final inspection done.”

  “Not on your life! In the first place there are numerous inspections done on all new buildings. The foundation has to be inspected before the floors are poured. Then the concrete is examined. There’s a framing inspection that is done after the framing is finished, including the roof framing. That’s when the rough electrical, plumbing, and heating inspection is done, too. There’s also an inspection done after the walls, both interior and exterior, are up. And then there’s a final inspection before a certificate of occupancy is granted.”

  “So—”

  “But that’s not all. A building inspector can decide that other inspections are required, that tests of building materials are needed, that someone should check out a building every step of the way. In fact, a building inspector could be on a building site once a day. Even for residential buildings.”

  “You mean private homes.”

  “Yes.”

  “Don’t builders mind all that looking over their shoulders?” Susan asked.

  “Some do and some don’t. But it really didn’t matter to Simon. It was Simon’s job and he did it.”

  Susan was silent for a while, eating her pastry while Evie sniffed into her handkerchief and stared unselfconsciously at the people milling around the lawn. “I see Mrs. Fairweather decided that jeans weren’t an appropriate outfit for her husband’s funeral,” she commented.

  Susan decided to ignore how catty the woman sounded. “I think she always looks wonderful. I don’t know her well, of course. But I’ve seen her around town over the years and I took a pottery class with her in the spring.”

  “Oh, so you’re artsy-craftsy, too.”

  “Well, I’m not as good as Patricia,” Susan explained. “She says it’s not true, but she really is an artist, you know.”

  “Simon always said artsy-craftsy.” Evie continued to use the word that somehow offended Susan. “He never said a word against her, of course. He was a loyal husband. But sometimes he would talk about the women in Hancock who have too little to do. The housewives who add family rooms when their families are never home to use them. Women who would explain that they just had to have saunas in their bathrooms no matter what the fire code is because their arms hurt so much after long tennis games at the club. And, you know, I used to wonder if he wasn’t thinking about his wife and her artsy-craftsy pretensions.”

  Susan tried to work up some sympathy for this woman’s obvious bitterness. After all, Patricia Fairweather was talented and wealthy and didn’t have to earn her own living. But, on the other hand, it was Patricia Fairweather who had the reputation for being an abused wife, not Evangeline Forest. She had just decided to ask Evie about that when Patricia joined them.

  TWENTY-FIVE

  “I was horribly embarrassed. I’m sure she overheard me talking about her. I felt like a fool.”

  “She’s probably forgotten all about it,” Brett Fortesque suggested. “Today was probably very traumatic for her. Remember, that funeral must have been a strain no matter how little real feelings were left in the Fairweathers’ relationship.”

  “She did seem genuinely upset,” Susan said slowly, stirring sweetener into a tall glass of iced tea. “I thought it was a little strange, in fact. Most people are less emotional by the time the funeral comes around, and Patricia was very together right after Simon’s murder.”

  “Interesting,” Brett commented, picking up a French fry and, after dipping it in catsup, returned it, uneaten, to his plate.

  “Yes, I thought so.”

  “I spoke with your ceramics teacher,” Brett said, not adding that the woman had confirmed Susan’s poor performance in class. “She admitted knowing that Simon had beaten his wife. More than once, she said. But Patricia insisted on keeping the information private.”

  “I just wish—” Susan began.

  “Your teacher also spent some time wishing that she had done something. But really, it was up to Patricia Fairweather,” Brett insisted. “And guess who else I spoke with? The Fairweathers’ cleaning woman. Well, I spoke, but I’m not sure she understood me,” he added ruefully. “She doesn’t speak English very well. But she did confirm Patricia’s story about how we got the wrong message. After spending time with her, I’m surprised we got any message at all.”

  Susan only smiled.

  “Did you happen to have a chance to speak with any of the family?” Brett asked the question so casually that Susan knew it was the reason he had grabbed her after the reception and suggested this lunch that neither of them was hungry enough to eat. “I didn’t want to do it at the funeral; it might have seemed a little insensitive.”

  “I spent a few moments with one of her sisters.” Susan picked up a sweet potato chip and stuffed it into her mouth. Why did she always eat the fattening stuff?

  “The one with the house in Montauk?”

  “She did say she lived on the tip of Long Island,” Susan said. “You got her phone number from Patricia. Didn’t you call and talk to her?”

  “Yes. She said that Patricia was staying out in Montauk when her husband was murdered. We didn’t discuss anything else,” Brett said. “What did you two talk about?”

  “Oh, you know, social things. She mentioned growing up in the house her sister was living in now and I said something about how different the house was, how much work Simon Fairweather had done on it over the years. And she said yes, he had, and that Hancock had changed tremendously since she was a little girl. And she asked how long I had lived here—”

  “I’m not all that interested in what you told her,” Brett admitted gently.

  “Okay. If you want to know if she said anything like ‘Did you know that bastard Simon Fairweather wa
s beating my sister and I’m glad he’s dead,’ the answer is that nothing like that came up. I was already feeling a little embarrassed about the personal nature of my conversation with Evie. After all, a funeral is no place to investigate a murder.”

  “Susan,” Brett said.

  “But I did overhear the family talking about getting together for dinner tonight at Patricia’s house. And I just might think of a reason to stop over.”

  “What sort of reason?” Brett asked.

  “Something a little artsy-craftsy,” Susan answered mysteriously.

  “Did you find out anything more about Simon Fairweather from talking with Evangeline Forest?”

  “She certainly is loyal to her employer,” Susan said. “She said you had already spoken with her. Did you get the impression that their relationship was anything more than professional?”

  “Not really. Though I did wonder if maybe she wanted it to be something more,” Brett admitted.

  Susan nodded. “I wondered the same thing. But most of our conversation was about Simon’s job and the way he did it. I found that interesting.”

  “In what way?”

  “Well, in the first place, I had very little idea what a building inspector does. You know, the whole approval process and how many choices he has over the way he does his job. Like how many inspections must be carried out at each site and all that.”

  “A building inspector is a very important person in town. And most people don’t realize how much is left up to his discretion. He has to see that the terms of the building code are carried out, but how he goes about it is pretty much his decision.”

  “So I gather. It didn’t sound like he did his job very well to me,” Susan said. “Jed always says that a good manager hires good people and then he lets them do their work in peace.”

  “But Simon Fairweather didn’t hire the people that work on the houses, the homeowners do. And the contracting business has long been known as a place where people can get rich quick and then get out of town. Simon Fairweather’s job was to make sure that didn’t happen.”