by Anne Hagan
“What does that mean in terms of her sentence then?” Chloe asked.
“She’ll likely get 10-15 years in a Tennessee penitentiary. She’s still racked up some legal bills that she, my brothers and I have had to put some assets in, in holding over. Because of the mandatory jail time, she’ll be unable to work for anything more than a prison wage and pay us back. She needs to sell to make everyone whole without selling her house, the only place she’ll be able to come back to – if she wants to – when she gets out of prison.”
Marco looked pointedly at Jennifer and shook his head.
“Is something wrong Mr. Rossi?”
“She’s your mama...she raised you. She shouldn’t have to lose everything, is all.”
“Marco!” Chloe’s rebuke was sharp. “You don’t know their family or their financial situation!”
Jennifer sank back in her chair as a few sets of eyes turned their way.
Chloe lowered her voice, “Sweetie, I know, even if your mother didn’t need the money, she’d want to sell the store. None of you want to run it; right?”
Jennifer nodded. Seemingly relieved, she slid the ledger book toward them. “Mom and Terry put in a modern cash register and they were the first owners there to actually take anything but cash or checks.”
“Checks?” Marco asked, seeming surprised.
“Yes Mr. Rossi; in small towns like this one people apparently still write checks and merchants still take them.”
“Well, I’ll be.”
Chloe patted his arm, “Welcome back in time 30 years dear. Now, please do go on Jennifer.”
“Right, so they wrote all of the days’ receipts down in a ledger. That’s the most recent one.” She pointed to the one she’d presented them. “An accountant kept track of everything for tax purposes. They’d send him copies of the ledger and their purchase invoices and such every couple of weeks and he’d reconcile everything with their register records and the ledger.” Dipping her head and speaking in an even lower tone, she told them, “The record obviously stops a few weeks ago, after mom’s arrest.”
Marco turned pages as Faye looked on. Looking up at Jennifer he said, “So what I’m seeing is what they started with in the drawer every day, the sales and the outgoing to vendors on any given day.” The younger woman just nodded. “It doesn’t give me any sort of idea of cash flow or if they were making or losing money.”
Jennifer picked up the other papers. “I have some of the financials from the accountant here. He just finished doing their third quarter income tax filing so I have that income statement and a few of their previous ones. I don’t have cash flows for this year; they were on an annual cycle but I do have last year.” She pushed the little stack across the scrubbed wood surface.
Chloe and Marco sifted through them silently while Jennifer sipped the herb tea she’d insisted on but was unhappy to find came in the form of a Lipton tea bag.
Looking at his wife, Marco said, “It seems to be profitable, but just only that.”
Before Chloe could respond, Jennifer interrupted, “If you were hoping to get rich with this Mr. Rossi, I’m sorry to say you were mistaken. My mother and Terry made enough to pay their bills and travel a little. Their home was paid for.”
“We’d be fine on that Marco,” Chloe pointed out. “You’d have your pension, property is cheaper here and...well, you know, and there’d be Social Security in a few years plus, there are the, um, other things we talked about.”
Jennifer looked back and forth between them. “I must reiterate that the terms of the lease say the building must remain a store.”
Nodding, Marco told her, “We understand that. Do you have a copy of the lease with you?”
“Yes, but you can see the lease figures right there in the statements. The costs haven’t changed.”
“And I understand that but I would like to see all of the terms,” Marco said firmly.
She dug back into the case and pulled out a folder that she handed across to Chloe rather than to him.
They both pored over the document. As they did so, Jennifer pulled out her cell phone and checked the time.
“I do beg your pardon, but it’s half past 8:00. I have a luncheon meeting in Bath at 11:00. If you want to see the store, we really do need to head over there.”
“Okay,” Chloe told her.
Jennifer gathered the papers and ledger and then, picking up the case, she rose from the table, “If you’ll just give me a minute. There’s no service in here and I do need to make a call.” With that, she walked out the door.
“I guess we’re paying for the coffee,” Chloe said, eyebrows raised.
“It’s not in bad shape for such an old building,” Marco remarked.
“The owner takes care of it pretty well, so I’m told, Mr. Rossi. Your only responsibility is with store specific fixtures and equipment.”
Chloe looked all around, “Those look to be in pretty good shape too.”
“My mother is a neat freak. Any dust you see is likely a result of her not being in here for more than three weeks. Terry wasn’t a huge help in the cleaning department but he did manage to stay on top of the maintenance for the things he knew how to do and he didn’t hesitate to call for help if something was outside of his, er, abilities.”
Walking around, Marco looked at the stock. He started to speak when Jennifer interrupted again.
“With the asking price, you get everything that you see; all of the shelving, refrigeration units, the stock, everything...”
That’s just it,” he told her, stopping in front of the deli case, “that bread is moldy, this case is on but these cold cuts are surely outdated and I dare say everything in the dairy case and most of what’s in the cooler and in the storage cooler is too. We wouldn’t be able to sell any of that even if we took over tomorrow. We’d have to trash it all and have it hauled away.”
Both women watched as he moved toward shelves and bins of hardware and plumbing supplies in one back corner of the customer front. “How much of this stuff sells?”
Jennifer shrugged, “That was Terry’s area. Mom says he tried to keep things that people asked for the most so they didn’t have to drive into Zanesville to get it but some of it is slow moving.”
“So we have bad stock and slow moving stock that make up at least fifty percent of what we’re seeing?”
“I suppose,” she said, half shrugging.
Chloe and Marco shared a glance. He addressed the younger woman again, “Look, Ms. Coventry, let’s say we were interested in this place; it’s in good shape and all but I can’t see paying thirty grand for the business when we don’t own the building and more than half the stock is bad.”
“I agree,” Chloe backed him up.
“What sort of price do you propose, Mr. Rossi?”
“We haven’t said we’ll take it, you understand?” When she nodded, he continued, “If we decide to do it, we’d only want to pay about $20,000 for it all.”
Jennifer reeled back a step, “That’s probably not going to work!” Her tone was haughty.
Chloe, speaking in a soothing tone of her own, told the younger woman, “We realize you have some grave financial concerns but we have to consider a lot of things too. There will be legal fees to take over this business, and licenses and so forth besides the leasing costs and the replacement of the stock to consider. Given those things, I think $20,000 is more than fair.”
The woman blew out a breath, “I suppose you’re right. Okay, so,” she looked back at Marco, “if you’d agree to take it at $20,000, I’ll speak with my mother about the lower number.”
“Marco?” Chloe asked.
“I take it that you’re all for it?” he asked her back. She nodded. “You have a deal then,” he said sticking out his hand to Jennifer.
“I gotta say,” Marco said as he made the turn back toward the farm, “I like the feel of the store and the numbers are workable. I think we could make a go of it including a little salon for you to bump
up the earnings once we move all that feed stock in the back dry storage area that doesn’t sell anyway, but...” He trailed off.
“Okay, ‘but’ what?” Chloe asked him.
“I’m just not so sure about the whole situation.”
“What do you mean? Are you talking about moving?”
“You know what I mean! Moving isn’t the problem. There being multiple murders here in this village is, for one thing, and then there’s the woman we’re buying the whole shooting match off of, pardon the pun, who’s going into the clink for murder and attempted murder too. I just can’t wrap my head around all of that.”
“You can’t count Sheila Ford, Marco!”
“Why the hell not?”
“That was involuntary manslaughter because of a crime of passion.”
“That’s just semantics and you know it.”
“It’s not like this here all of the time. It’s just a weird fluke. They have a drowning and two murders here in 100 years here and you’re worried, but back home people are being shot and killed every day; just ask you son!”
Chapter 17 – The Missus
Faye Crane
Friday Morning, November 7th, 2014
The Crane Family Farm
I watched with Chloe as Marco pulled away. We walked back into the house and took up positions at the sink to deal with the breakfast dishes.
“So,” I asked her, “How’d you convince him to leave without you?”
“I just told him that since I planned to be up here Sunday night anyway to spend the week working on Barb’s house, I might as well just stay on. I only had one nail client scheduled for the weekend and she didn’t mind me putting her off for a bit. She didn’t have anything going on.”
“Will Marco be back up?”
“He will if Sheila’s daughter comes back with more reasonable numbers and wants to talk some more about a deal.” Chloe shook her head and looked away.
Handing her a plate to swipe dry, I asked, “What’s wrong? You’ve been quiet this morning and you sound a little lost.”
“The deal looks good Faye...if Sheila goes for our offer, that is. But, well, Marco is wavering based on what he’s calling the local crime wave. He’s just not too sure about moving here because of that.”
“What’s going on is unsettling to all of us but Mel’s working on it.”
“She just doesn’t seem to be getting anywhere. You heard the same exasperation in her voice the other night that I did.”
I nodded, “You’re right.” I just didn’t know what else to say.
“Faye, if Mel can’t solve this, I guess it’s up to us again.”
We looked at each other but I stayed silent for a minute as we wiped dishes, the wheels turning in my head. Finally, I asked her, “What’s your schedule look like with Barb?”
“Honestly? I wasn’t scheduled to work for her at all this week and we were going to play it by ear weather wise for the following week.”
“Then let’s try to avoid letting Barb know you’re even in town. She’s in her own world at the bar at the moment anyway, what with trying to find a new manager. That will give us some time to do some snooping around our way and see what we can turn up. Mind you now, we have to be careful of what we say and do around Jesse too.”
Chloe shot a look over her shoulder at the door that came right into the kitchen.
“Relax. He’ll be down at the barns and such for a good couple of hours.”
“Alright then,” Chloe practically breathed out, “let’s try and figure out what we do know. You were familiar with both victims, right?”
“Yes.”
“I know Mel probably covered this but, from your point of view, was there any relationship between them?”
“You know,” I shook my head no; “I really don’t think so. They weren’t relatives that I knew of, they weren’t neighbors, and while Purcell was always out and about nosing into this and that, Ginny kept pretty much to herself. She didn’t socialize with anyone.”
“Hmm. What else? What aren’t we thinking of?”
I drained the sink and wiped it down while I wracked my brain but I couldn’t come up with any plausible reason why those two became victims of such a gruesome crime.
“Who would have it in for either one of them, Faye?”
“You’re kidding right?”
At her confused look, I continued, “Old Man Purcell wasn’t well liked at all. He was a village nuisance. You remember our chat with Jon Thomas at church, right?”
She nodded.
I held out a hand toward the table and we both took seats. Continuing, I told her, “I went and talked to Keith Quigley, an old friend of my brother’s, who’s a past President of the Zanesville VFW Chapter, after we talked to Jon.”
Chloe tilted her head and looked at me quizzically, “You did? Why?”
“After our little escapade at Purcell’s house, I wanted to know if there was more to the man’s story.”
“What did this Keith person tell you?”
“Not much more than Jon Thomas said to us privately. Purcell is to be cremated and buried in their memorial garden but, beyond that, he would only volunteer that he wasn’t well liked there either, among their members. So, take a number on that one. Anyone might have had something in for him. If I’m to be a suspect than half the town should probably be right along with me.”
“Well, that’s him but what about Ginny Brown? Who would be out to get her?”
“That’s a hard one too but for a different reason. She didn’t personally bother anyone at all. Her cats did, but not her. They were a huge nuisance to some and no real bother to others.”
“Wouldn’t people though blame her for having so many cats and not controlling them? Has someone been, let’s say, overly vocal about their annoyance with them?”
“On that point, I can think of several people.”
“That’s really no help then,” she said. She rubbed her chin in thought, “So, okay, we have an annoying man who’s a hoarder of just about anything on paper and we have a woman who, for lack of a better term, hoards cats. Maybe their hoarding is the connection...maybe that really bothers somebody.”
“Can’t be. No one had been in Purcell’s house in years, remember? How would anyone have known that?” Half-jokingly, I added, “Maybe the connection is that they both just annoyed a lot of people.”
We both chuckled then Chloe sighed. “Wait a minute,” she said, her voice rising, “what was the deal between Purcell and that Craig Stroud guy that ran the haunted house?”
“I don’t rightly know, to be honest.”
“Could Craig be somehow related to Ginny or have had some sort of issue with her?”
“I don’t know that either but we could find out. We could go and pay Mrs. Stroud a visit.”
“On what pretext?”
“We don’t need one; this is Morelville.”
We took Jesse’s truck out to the Stroud place. They live just on the edge of the village proper where they have several acres that Valerie Stroud, Craig’s second wife, does what folks around here call hobby farming on. When we pulled in, Val, as she prefers to be called, was outside spreading compost on her garden beds.
“Getting ready for winter I see,” I said to her as we approached her.
“Hey Faye, it’s great to see you!” She, at 40 something was still a bubbly and peppy person that could run circles around Craig, even on his best days. She removed her gloves as she told us, “Yeah, everything is pretty much laid to rest for the winter but it never hurts to lay good nutrients for the soil.”
I turned to Chloe, “Chloe this Val Craig, she’s an organic farmer and Val,” I said looking back at her, “this is Chloe Rossi. She and her husband are planning to buy the store in town and they’re thinking about carrying some organic local produce and such come next season. I told her she just had to come and talk to you.”
“Oh that’s wonderful,” Val gushed. “I’ve been trying to get Sheila
and Terry to do that for the last couple of years but Terry wouldn’t budge. ‘Too expensive,’ he said. It didn’t stop him from buying stuff out of season that came up from South America through Kroger though and selling it for an arm and a leg, I’ll tell you that.”
Chloe, bless her, didn’t miss a beat. She picked up my half-truth and ran with it. By the time we’d been there ten minutes, Val was leading us back to the house to show off her new herb greenhouse where she could grow herbs and pepper spices for her local restaurant buyers year round.
“This is amazing,” I told her. “I had no idea you’d built this onto the house.”
She colored slightly, “Thank you. Actually, it just sort of evolved over time. I really tried not to push Craig to make changes until he was ready.” Val turned to Chloe, “His first wife, Marlene, he lost to cancer. This was their home. I certainly couldn’t force him to leave it and it really is a lovely old home with a beautiful piece of property.”
“What was here, in this space before,” Chloe asked her.
“That’s just it, it was a south facing patio that got all day sun. His complexion is so light; he would burn in minutes out here. We never used it during the day at all so it was going back to seed.”
“It looks like you’ve hit upon an ideal solution then,” Chloe marveled.
“That we have.”
“In all honesty, I’ve only met your husband briefly. It was the night of the last planning meeting for the fall festival, wasn’t it Faye?”
I nodded, “Yes, that’s right.” There’s my cue! “I don’t mean to change the subject but such a terrible business, all of that.” I shook my head and clucked my tongue gently several times for emphasis.
“I hope,” Chloe said, “they catch whoever’s behind this stuff soon. My husband is wavering on making the store deal based on what’s been going on around here.” She looked between me and Val.
“Oh, that would be such a shame! I’m with you. It’s a terrible business...a terrible mess. Those poor people.”
“The bad thing is,” I put in, “they at first thought I had something to do with Old Man Purcell’s death.”