by Nicole Ellis
“I don’t know,” I admitted. “Adam’s been spending a lot of time at work lately, and it doesn’t seem to be letting up.”
“Well, there are always nannies. Wait. I know someone who’s moving out of the area, and they have a fantastic nanny. My friend is always raving about her. She and her husband both travel frequently for work, and the nanny is sometimes home with their daughter for weeks at a time. Do you want my friend’s number?”
I felt even more ill at the prospect of leaving my kids for a week, much less a few weeks. But I also felt sick thinking about giving up a possible job opportunity.
“Sure, give me the number.”
Gena read the digits off to me, and I scribbled them down on the newspaper.
“Oh, jeez, I’ve got to run. Let me know about the job as soon as you decide. I need to let them know something ASAP.”
I agreed and hung up the phone.
I pulled my legs up onto the chair and hugged my knees, staring at the scenery without actually seeing it. If I didn’t accept this job interview, I wasn’t sure Gena would be back with more offers. I decided it wouldn’t hurt to interview for the job. But was it really what I wanted?
16
I wasn’t due at my in-laws to get the kids until after noon, so I took a luxuriously long, hot shower. When my skin was bright pink and pruny, I hiked down the hill to the bookstore to pick up the new mystery novel I’d pre-ordered. Beach Reads was an indie bookseller located next to Elmer’s Sea of Fish and was popular with tourists, commuters, and locals. I stopped to check out the rack of sale books outside the door, ducking to avoid hitting my head on a hanging planter. An elderly man sat on the bench below the window with his English bulldog, reading a book and drinking a cup of coffee.
At this time of day, the bookstore was a silent oasis. Jenny Adler, the proprietor, greeted me when the door chimed. I waved hello, and she sat back down on her stool behind the wooden counter and buried her head in a book. It looked like the latest Stephen King novel that Adam had been eyeing. At the back of the shop, a few people stood in line at the espresso counter, and I joined them to get my second fix of the day.
With a latte in hand, I perused the shelves in search of a new series I hadn’t read. I was reading an excerpt out of the middle of one particularly interesting book involving a circus when someone tapped me on the shoulder. I reluctantly looked up from a riveting description of a monkey’s involvement in a murderous deception.
“Brenda, hi,” I said, putting the book in my shopping basket, along with a few other cozy mysteries off the shelf and the book I’d pre-ordered. It would probably end up in my to-be-read pile for the next year, but I couldn’t pass up circus monkeys.
“Hi, how are you? Where are the kids?” Brenda asked. As usual, she looked fabulously put together. I surreptitiously pulled my Lycra tank top down over the yoga pants I’d worn to the store. I’d rationalized the yoga mom look this morning by telling myself I was getting exercise by walking into town.
“I’m child-free this morning, so I’m trying to get in some ‘me’ time.” I sipped my rapidly chilling drink. “What about you?”
“Brad has the kids, so I have a whole child-free weekend.” Brenda smiled. “That’s the best thing about joint custody. I get to see the kids all week and by the time they’re driving me bonkers, I send them off to their Dad’s house. Just kidding… well, partly kidding. I love those little goobers, but the free time is nice. I was just picking up a book for Sara and Dara. They’ve been begging me for this book Ms. Shana read them and they were out of it at the library.” She held up a popular kid’s picture book.
“No worries, I totally get what you mean.” I took another long sip of my drink.
“Hey, if you aren’t doing anything else at the moment, would you be interested in coming with me to see a house? It’s an older house out in the boonies and, I have to admit, it kind of gives me the creeps to be there alone. I wouldn’t mind having someone join me. I need to take some pictures to put up on the MLS online.”
“Sure, sounds good. I love to look at houses.” As much as I loved my sister-in-law, I needed a break from worrying about her and thinking about Mr. Westen’s murder. Brenda and I paid for our books and walked outside to where she’d parallel parked her sparkling white BMW.
“How do you keep this car so clean?” With all the mud we had in the Pacific Northwest, I couldn’t fathom having a white car. The inside had retained its new car smell, and the leather seats were unmarred by sticky, jelly-covered fingers.
“I keep it in the garage and don’t let the kids near it.” Brenda laughed. “I only use this car for work so that it looks good for clients. Got to keep up the image, even with munchkins. You should see my minivan.” She made a face. “That thing has seen better days.”
“Any chance you and Adam looking for a new place? A few really nice ones just came on the market this week. Nice views too. Although, you have a pretty nice view yourself,” Brenda said. We drove down the highway for about fifteen minutes, and she halted at a stop sign. After craning her head from side to side, she made a sharp left turn onto a gravel road.
“No, we’re there to stay. It’s our forever home. I just like to look. There’s such a variety of houses around here. I’d love to live in one of those vintage Craftsman houses, but I’m happy to not have the maintenance expenses that come along with them,” I said. “Where are we? Are we still in Ericksville?”
The distance between houses had increased, and there weren’t any houses near where we’d turned off on the gravel lane. One side of the road was heavily forested, while the other side was a weed-choked pasture, bordered by a torn barbed wire fence.
“We’re on the outskirts of Ericksville. Or as the listing will say, ‘Quaint country setting close to the city’.” Brenda grinned at me and expertly piloted the car into a parking spot that had been consumed by weeds. I stepped out of the car and took a long look at the house.
“Yuck. How long has this house been empty?” The farmhouse’s yellow paint had peeled off in large chunks, and someone had boarded up the windows bordering the front porch, which drooped in places.
“About five years. The owner is in a nursing home and only recently gave her daughter permission to put the house on the market.” Brenda climbed the steps and unlocked the front door with the key from the lockbox attached to the handle.
“It doesn’t look like they’ve performed any maintenance for years before that.” I followed her into the unkempt house.
“The owner and her husband lived here for sixty years together, but he passed away and then she went into the nursing home, so you’re probably right.” Brenda wrinkled her nose. “It doesn’t look like I’ll be taking pictures anytime soon. We’ve got to get a cleaning crew in here first.” She withdrew a Kleenex from her purse and wiped a clean circle on the kitchen window. “Nice woods view. This house just needs a little touch-up, and someone will snap it right up.”
“A little touch-up? What this place needs is a bulldozer.” I gingerly made my way across the cracked vinyl floor to where Brenda stood.
“You don’t watch many of the home makeover reality shows, do you? People really go for these vintage homes. Look, it’s the original farmhouse sink,” she said, turning on the faucet. A loud thunk reverberated throughout the kitchen, and brown water spurted out of the faucet. Brenda quickly turned it off. “Ok, so maybe it could use more than a touch-up.”
“Have you been inside the house before?”
“Just once, about a year ago, but then the owner decided she wasn’t ready to sell yet.” Brenda took a notebook out of her purse and made notes. Snapping it shut, she said, “Let’s take a look upstairs. I’d like to get a repair crew in here to take care of everything all at once so we can get this on the market.”
“Is it safe?” I looked dubiously at the orange shag carpeted stairs, which reminded me of the carpet at Mr. Westen’s. At least part of the house had been updated in the seventies. The rest a
ppeared to be original issue from the twenties.
“Of course. These houses were built to last. Not like the cheap junk they build nowadays.” Brenda led the way up the pumpkin-colored staircase and paused at the top of the stairs. “Look at this hand-carved banister. These are the kinds of details that will sell the house.” She rubbed her fingers lightly over the woodwork and then brushed her hands together to get rid of the dust coating them.
We entered a sparsely furnished bedroom with hardwood floors. Cobwebs hung like cloaks from the corners, and I spotted mouse poop scattered over the top of a bookshelf. I regretted following Brenda up the stairs.
“I think I’ll head back down,” I said, backing out of the room.
“No wait, I want to show you one of the other bedrooms.” She brushed past me and pushed open another door at the top of the landing. “I thought it was in here.” Brenda strode over to a dresser that was built into an alcove under the eaves.
“How cool is this? A lot of these old houses have built-ins like this. Houses used to be built smaller, and they really knew how to maximize space.” She knelt down on the dusty hardwood floor and tugged on the bottom drawer. Reaching under the drawer, she pulled down what had appeared to be a fixed base of the dresser, but was actually a board on hinges.
“See?” Her words bubbled out as she turned to me. “They built a secret compartment in here. People used to hide their jewelry and other valuables in some of the built-ins because you can’t see the hidden section just by looking at it.”
I had to admit it was pretty cool. “Do they have built-ins in all the rooms?”
“No, I think I saw one in the dining room, but this is the only one I remember upstairs.” Brenda’s brow furrowed over immaculately tweezed eyebrows. “Wait. I think there is one in the bathroom.”
We both crowded into the small upstairs bathroom. A tall person wouldn’t be able to use the shower crammed under the eaves. It would probably be labeled as ‘cozy’ when Brenda listed the house. The bathroom smelled faintly of mildew but appeared to be in good condition.
“I feel like I’m in a Hostess Sno Ball,” I said, looking around the bathroom. Roses adorned the wallpaper, and the Formica countertop was speckled with gold and pink. Even the toilet was made of a matching pink porcelain.
“Go stand by the window,” said Brenda. I did as directed.
Brenda shut the white wooden door, revealing a built-in linen closet behind it with three drawers underneath. She tugged on the handle of one of the drawers, and the aroma of cedar wafted out. I breathed in deeply.
“I need one of those. I love the smell of cedar,” I said.
“Me too. It always reminds me of walking in the woods with my grandfather when I was a kid. I make do with cedar blocks in my drawers at home, but it’s not quite the same as a cedar-lined drawer.” She reached for the larger, closet portion of the built-in, but it didn’t open. Brenda lightly thumped on the wood to loosen it.
A streak of gray darted out from a hole between the bathtub and the closet.
“Aaaaaahhhhhh!” It took me awhile to realize that the scream was coming from me.
Mickey Mouse’s cousin ran directly toward me, its beady little eyes intent on crawling up my pant legs. I panicked and did the first thing that came to mind.
When I opened my eyes, Brenda looked up at me, amused. “You can come down from there. I must have scared it with all the noise, but it’s gone now.”
I looked down from where I stood on the very pink toilet and sheepishly dismounted. “Uh, I have this thing about mice. They’re so creepy with their little tails and ability to get into tiny spaces.”
“You wouldn’t last long in my business. When houses stand empty, rodents tend to move in. I have an exterminator on speed dial.” She grinned at my discomfort, and we walked toward the front door. “So this house hasn’t exactly convinced you to move, huh?” She locked the front door, and we started down the steps. I couldn’t get away from the Mouse House fast enough.
“Haha.” I laughed good-naturedly. “No, I’m staying put. Adam and I searched for years for the perfect house for us, and we found it.”
Brenda grew more serious. “With all those houses going in below you, you might change your mind. Living with construction noise for a few years would make me want to move.”
“What houses? What construction?” I asked, stopping abruptly on the final step.
“You didn’t know? I figured there was some sort of notification process before a lot could be subdivided to that extent.”
“Brenda, what are you talking about?” Blood pounded in my ears. I was afraid I already knew the answer.
“Samuel Westen was selling his house and land. I spoke with the developer, Elliott Elkins, about it last week. We both attended the same continuing education class. Ericksville has a pretty small real estate community, so we all know each other. He asked me to be the sales agent for the development.” Brenda fiddled with her car keys. “I’m sorry, I really thought you knew.”
“No, I didn’t,” I said through clenched teeth. Even in death, Samuel Westen was reaching from behind the grave to mess with my family. “How many houses are we talking about?”
“Twenty-four houses, I believe.”
“Twenty-four? Holy cow. How are they going to get that many houses on his few acres?” It was unfathomable to think of the woods below our house being mowed down for an entire subdivision.
“It’s going to be one of those developments where the houses are really close together and have a common area between them. They euphemistically call them ‘cottage homes,’ but it’s really an excuse to cram as many houses as possible into a plot of land. It will be a fantastic opportunity for me though. How many major developments do we get in Ericksville? I can almost taste the twins’ college fund.” Brenda didn’t seem to notice how upset I felt.
“How the heck did they get that past the zoning board?” We didn’t have an HOA, but the city of Ericksville tended to be conservative when it came to lot sizes.
“Do you really have to ask? Your neighbor had some powerful connections.”
“You’re right. That’s going to be miserable. Any chance it didn’t go through before his death?”
“I don’t know.” Brenda shook her head and slid into the driver’s seat. I collapsed into the passenger seat.
“I suppose there’s a chance, but Elliott seemed pretty sure the deal would go through,” she said.
“I spoke with Samuel Westen’s daughter yesterday, and she didn’t say anything about him selling the property.” I remembered Anna’s vehement opposition to the idea of her father selling the BeansTalk Café property. I couldn’t imagine how mad she would be if she knew about his intentions to sell her mother’s home.
“Maybe she didn’t know about it?”
“I guess. I still can’t believe it.” I felt like the seatbelt restraint was going to crush my chest. I opened my window to let in some fresh air. “I know this deal is important to you, but if there’s a chance it didn’t go through, I’m going to fight it. Maybe there is some legal loophole with his death.”
“I don’t blame you one bit. I wouldn’t want it in my neighborhood either, but if they are going to be built anyway, I might as well be the one selling them,” Brenda said. She executed a three-point turn in the driveway and drove away from the house, her wheels churning up the gravel as we sped back to the main road.
Brenda dropped me off at my house a half hour before I needed to leave to meet my mother-in-law at the Boathouse. Before I left home, I looked out the window at the Westen place. How was it possible for one man to cause so much pain to others? I’d put so much time and effort into finding this house and had dreamed of raising my family here on this quiet street. Now there could be twenty-four more families living below us, creating noise and additional traffic, and ruining our view. Development of the Westen property would decrease the property value of our home, as well as our joy in living there.
17
I found Beth in her office at the Boathouse, making decorations. She waved at me from behind a mound of pink- and lime-green bows. Ella smiled at me from her Exersaucer next to her grandmother.
“What are these for?” I asked.
“They’re for an upcoming wedding in the main hall.”
“So was the bride on some sort of drugs when she chose these colors?” The neon shades hurt my eyes. “They look like some sort of flashback to the 1980s.”
“You should see the bride.” Beth waggled her eyebrows and grinned at me. “I’m curious to see what her wedding dress looks like. When we last spoke, there was talk of a pink and green veil and matching train. She’s an artist, very eclectic.”
“Do you need help?” I eyed the pile of silky wide ribbon Beth was fashioning into bows.
“I have two hundred and fifty of these to make. I will babysit for a week if you help me get these done before my eyes are burned from the neon glow they emit,” Beth said.
I took a seat at the round table in her office. “Actually, about the babysitting. Remember the client event intake meeting for the Boathouse I had on Saturday?”
“Yes, something about a class reunion?” Beth’s fingers stopped in mid-bow, and she furrowed her brow. “Was that for late summer?”
“Yep, that’s the one.” I tossed a finished bow on the pile and grabbed more ribbons to twist. “The client kind of offered me a job.”
“Jill, that’s wonderful. Did you take it? What will you be doing?”
“I said I’d do it. It’s not a big deal, only a few hours a week, but it would get me back into the business. I’d be creating and implementing a marketing plan for the condos down by the water. I was hoping you’d watch Ella for a couple of hours on Monday when I start the job.”
“Of course I will.” Beth frowned. “But the condos that caught on fire? You aren’t going to be the most popular person around town.”