by J. R. Ripley
“I hate to think of Christmas getting so ugly.”
“It will pass.”
“I hope you are right.”
“Speaking of which, how’s Kim holding up, Amy?” Ellery brushed his hands together. “Back to work soon, I hope?”
“You and me both.”
“Would you care for some mulled apple cider?”
“How can I resist?” The smell of allspice, cloves, cinnamon, and apple rising from his own mug was making my mouth water.
Ellery rose once again, moving to a cherrywood side table overlaid with a blue tablecloth sprinkled with fake snow, which stood near the fireplace. He grabbed a mug in the shape of Santa and stuck it under the spigot of the large stainless steel urn. A wood tray filled with unshelled nuts sat beside the urn.
I wrapped my fingers around the body of the ceramic mug as he handed it to me. “Thanks.” I inhaled, then took a sip. “It’s delicious”
“You’re welcome, but I can’t take any credit. Patricia made it.” He pointed to the agent at the front desk. “She brews it herself. It was her mother’s recipe. I look forward to it every year.”
“The secret’s in the brown sugar!” Patricia called.
“It’s wonderful, Patricia,” I said.
Mr. Belzer folded his hands on his desk. “Was there something else that I can do for you, Amy? You’re not considering selling, are you?” He waved to the window. “I have some lovely properties on the market if you’re looking to move farther out of town.”
I shook my head. “Nothing like that. This is really a personal visit.” I opened my coat the rest of the way and rested my purse in my lap and my mug on my leg for extra warmth. “I’m worried about Kim. She seems to be taking this whole Franklin Finch murder very hard.”
Mr. Belzer nodded.
“And it isn’t just the murder, it is the whole Christmas House Village fiasco. I mean, the sudden sale, the changing of the name from Kinley’s Christmas House Village to Finch’s.”
Ellery Belzer held up his hand. “Trust me, no one feels the pain more than me. However, the sale of Christmas House Village wasn’t sudden.” He smiled. “Even though I’m sure to an outsider it appears so. The Kinley family contacted me to sell the property quite some time ago. And the deal with Franklin Finch was a long and complicated process.”
I nodded my understanding. “It’s just that it came as a surprise to me and the rest of the town. I think that was what was hardest about it―that is, about the sale itself and the name change.”
Mr. Belzer nodded in acknowledgment. “My hands were tied. Believe me, I wish I could have told everyone what was going on, but it wasn’t my place to tell.”
“Nor Kim’s,” I said. I blew on my cider and took another drink.
“With you two being so close, I was afraid she might let something slip along the way.” He smiled. “She never once mentioned it to you?”
“Not even remotely.”
“Good for her.” He let out a long, slow breath. “I wish the entire thing had never happened. And I’m sorry that Kim had to be involved. I actually thought it would be good for her to participate in a bigger deal than the usual house or condo. It also meant a share of a bigger commission than normal. I thought I was doing her a favor. As it turns out, I didn’t do her any favor at all. It’s bad enough that the town hates me—now they’re mad at her, too.”
“Mrs. Fortuny actually smacked Kim with her purse when she learned of the sale.”
“Oh, dear.” Ellery Belzer’s hand went to his lips.
“Mrs. Fortuny says she’s willing to forgive and forget now that Mr. Finch is dead and she got her job back.”
“Glad to hear it.”
“I heard you personally have been taking a ton of heat over the sale.”
“And then some.” Belzer blew out a breath. “I was getting anonymous phone calls in the middle of the night. Angry messages left on the machine here.”
He pointed to the phone answering machine. “If you want to know the truth, I was afraid somebody might take out their frustration and anger in a more dangerous fashion. I mean, some people around here own twelve-gauge shotguns!”
“Did it really get that bad?”
“Believe you me, I’d been walking around with one eye looking over my shoulder ever since news of the sale became public knowledge.” He paused and sighed. “I guess I should have known better. I’ll say it again, this is a small town. We don’t like change.”
“I suppose there’s a certain truth to that.”
“It’s over now, at least I hope so. Kim’s young and she’s tough. She’ll put this behind her and get back to business soon enough. Give her another couple of days. Trust me.”
“I hope you’re right, Ellery. I’ve never seen her like this before.”
Behind me, I heard Patricia preparing to leave with her clients. Before she did, she called out to her boss, “I’m going to show the Todds the Johnson and Deidrich properties, Ellery.” Patricia plucked a set of car keys from her purse. “Back in an hour.”
“Those are two great homes, folks,” Belzer called out with a big smile. “If you like either one, I wouldn’t wait too long to make your offer!”
The couple muttered that they’d keep that in mind and left with the silver-haired real estate agent.
“The Johnson house?” I asked, after Patricia and her clients had stepped out. “Are you talking about the Virginia Johnson house?”
Ellery Belzer nodded solemnly, his eyes on the three people moving toward Patricia’s minivan. “Yes, it’s Patricia’s listing.” The corners of his mouth turned down. “To tell you the truth, I’m having a hard time selling the place. Too many bad memories, you know.”
“I can imagine.” I rubbed my arms, feeling a sudden chill spread over me despite the heat of the fire. Instead of visions of sugarplums, I was having visions of Virginia Johnson dancing from the end of a rope.
“Speaking of bad memories,” I began, “what do you think will happen with Christmas House Village now?”
Mr. Belzer shrugged in clear confusion. “It’s too soon to tell, I suppose. Franklin Finch is barely cold in his grave. Besides,” he said, reaching for a mug of cider on a heated coaster at the edge of his desk, “no one has approached me regarding a sale, if that’s what you mean.”
“You haven’t heard from Mr. Finch’s ex-wife?”
Ellery Belzer seemed surprised. “No, should I have?” He drank slowly, then carefully set his mug back on the warm coaster.
“Not necessarily. I was talking to Eve Dunnellon. She told me that she heard from a lawyer up north that his ex was the new owner.”
“Eve is back?” Ellery threw up his hands. “That’s news to me.” He thought a moment before adding, “Whatever happens, I hope it’s best for the town. I hate to sound mercenary, but when you’re in the real estate business, like I am . . .”
“I know,” I finished for him. “It’s all about maintaining property values. Believe me, I’m going through some issues of my own. If I could do it all over again, I would have bought a property through you rather than buying direct from the seller.”
Belzer chuckled. “You aren’t the first person to try to save on a real estate commission and you won’t be the last. But that Gertie Hammer you bought your house from is one tough old cookie.” The corners of his mouth turned down. “I was afraid that house of yours would be trouble.”
He waved a pencil at me and I felt like I was back in school. “I told Kim to tell you that, when I learned through her you were considering the property.”
I pulled a face. “I know you did, and it’s my fault for not listening. Gertie’s deal sounded too good to be true.”
“And it was, wasn’t it?”
I sensed a touch of amusement but also compassion in his tone. “Yes, and now Cash Calderon has a lis
t of repairs a mile long that he says I need to make if I don’t want the entire house either falling down on me, burning to the ground, or slowly poisoning me to death.”
Ellery arched his brow at me and pushed a three-ring binder toward me. The cover read: Current Local Listings. “Are you sure you aren’t in the market, Amy?”
“Trust me,” I quipped. “If you saw my bank account you’d know the answer to that question without even having to ask.” I stiffened. “Something has just occurred to me.”
“What’s that?”
“I wonder how Franklin Finch could afford to purchase Christmas House Village. It couldn’t have been cheap.”
Ellery smiled. “It wasn’t. I made a hefty commission on that sale and I’d give it all back now if it would change things.”
“Don’t chide yourself. If you hadn’t brokered the deal, someone else would have.”
“True. That’s the only reason I accepted the listing. As for how Finch got his money, I honestly couldn’t say. My impression was that he’d sold his previous business for a substantial sum. He put down a considerable down payment and financed the rest with a commercial lender up north.”
I finished my drink and rose. “Thanks for your time and the cider.”
“Anytime.” He rose and walked me to the door. “And if you’re ever in the market . . .”
“I know who to call.”
“That’s right, Belzer Realty.” He pulled a business card from his jacket pocket and handed it to me. “And Kim will be more than happy to show you some listings.” He paused as we stood at the door. “If you hear anything from Kim, you’ll let me know?”
I took the card and promised I would. “And if you hear anything about Christmas House Village, you’ll let me know?”
“Absolutely. But I’ve washed my hands of Christmas House Village.”
I buttoned my coat and put on my gloves. “Can you imagine who might have wanted to kill Franklin Finch?”
Mr. Belzer twisted his mouth. “I didn’t know him long or well. Considering how mad everybody was at me and Kim, and we were only the brokers for the sale of Christmas House Village, I can only imagine how angry some of those same people might have been at Mr. Finch for buying it and changing the name. Before the ink had even dried on the contract, I might add.” He furrowed his brow. “Mad enough to kill, maybe.”
“What about Irma Fortuny?”
“Are you asking me if she might have been mad enough to kill Franklin Finch?”
I nodded yes.
“I doubt it.” He chuckled at the thought. “I’ve known her a long time. She attends my church.”
“And William?”
“William?”
I gave Ellery Belzer a description of the man.
Ellery smiled in recognition. “William Sever. He takes care of Irma.”
“Interesting.” Maybe he took care of her dirty work, too—like murder.
“Do you know a Max Poulshot?”
“No.” He shook his head slowly. “I knew a Eustace Poulshot. I sold her a house some years ago. Three bed, two bath, as I recall. Why?”
“I met Max. He’s a security guard at Christmas House Village. I can’t figure him out.” Was he Finch’s henchman or his killer?
“I remember him now. A young fellow?” I nodded and Ellery Belzer continued. “Franklin hired the fellow himself. I remember him saying they needed extra security.” He frowned. “Not that it ended up doing him any good.”
“Did he say why he needed extra security?”
“I think Franklin realized he wouldn’t be making any friends when he rebranded Christmas House Village and laid off a lot of the older workers. He did mention that he was afraid of vandalism. I told him such things may happen in New York but not in Ruby Lake.”
As it turned out, it hadn’t been vandalism that Franklin Finch should have been worrying about. “Are you sure you can’t think of anybody in particular who had been threatening you?” It stood to reason that whoever had been harassing Ellery Belzer and Kim would also have had a strong motive for murdering Franklin Finch.
“You mean can I name names?” I nodded and the broker shook his head. “Sorry, Amy. People like that don’t leave their names or their calling cards.”
He was right, of course. Unless their calling card was murder.
16
Another day went by with no word from Kim.
“I’m really worried about her, Mom.” I was driving my mother to the nearby city of Swan Ridge for her appointment with her neurologist. Now that I was living back in Ruby Lake, I intended to accompany her as often as possible to her medical appointments. I wanted to make sure she was getting the best of care. I also wanted to be sure she followed the doctor’s advice.
“I have to say,” Mom said, her hands in her lap, “I’m worried for her, too. Have you gone by her house?”
“Not lately. I haven’t had a chance. I’ll stop by later today.”
“Yes, do that, dear.” She swiveled the air vent away from her legs. “Has Dan talked to her?”
“He hasn’t returned my calls,” I replied. “I think he’s been busy with the Franklin Finch murder case.”
Mom nodded. “People seem quite agitated over the whole thing.” Her hand went to her throat. “Such a nasty business. Are the police any closer to finding his killer?”
“Not that I know of. I’ve been meaning to talk to Jerry. Not that either of us ever enjoy our conversations.”
Mom chuckled. “Jerry’s doing his best.”
“Yeah, that’s the scary part.”
Following my mother’s directions, we arrived at a sleek two-story tan brick building in the heart of Swan Ridge. There was a large, vacant corner lot on one side of the office building and a white cottage on the other side that housed a bail bondsman.
I parked the minivan in the nearest empty space and helped Mom down. We went inside and Mom led me down the hall on the left to the offices of Rheumatology and Neurology Associates of Swan Ridge.
I helped Mom with her coat as she checked in for her appointment with Dr. Ajax. I found us a couple of chairs looking toward the wall of windows facing the empty corner lot and sat. Mom joined me but was soon called for her appointment.
“I’m coming with you.” I started to rise.
“Nonsense,” said Mom. “You stay here. I’m not a child. I promise to tell you exactly what the doctor tells me.”
“Fine.” I fell back into my chair, pulled out my cell phone and checked my messages. Still nothing from Kim. I sent her yet another text: Call me. A thought struck me and I texted once more: U have 1 hour or sending police to check on u.
I was sure that would get Kim’s attention. She wouldn’t want Chief Kennedy or one of his officers—Dan, in particular—showing up, lights flashing, sirens blaring, at her doorstep.
I stuck my phone in the pocket of my butterscotch corduroys where I could get to it quickly and searched the stack of magazines—an assortment of health and nutrition rags. Why not a decent magazine on birding?
“What’s with all the protesters?” I asked the receptionist, to pass the time. A small crowd stood gathered around a small folding table near the edge of the road on the weedy acreage.
The receptionist leaned forward. “They’re protesting a new development. I guess they figure a lot full of weeds should stay a lot full of weeds.” From her tone, I didn’t think she agreed with the protesters.
“Ruby Lake has had its share of protesters lately, too.”
“Oh?”
“Some employees were protesting the new owner of Christmas House Village.”
“Kinley’s Christmas House Village has a new owner? I hadn’t heard.” The receptionist was clearly surprised. “Wait till folks hear.”
“It’s Finch’s Christmas House Village now.” How long it would re
main so, I had no idea. “The protests seem to be over now.”
“Why did they stop? Maybe we can try the same thing on that lot. I’m tired of looking at them every day.”
“Mr. Finch, that was the new owner, died.”
“That will do it, all right.” She frowned as she angled her head to see out the window to the vacant land. “Unfortunately, that’s not a supportable option in this case.”
“I take it you are in favor of this development?”
She nodded. “Rumor has it a big hotel chain is considering building on the lot next door. I say, let them come. This town could use the taxes, the jobs, and, dare I say it, even a decent hotel to stay in.”
“There’s a lack of accommodations here in Swan Ridge?” I moved closer to the reception window.
“There’s nothing but a forty-year-old roadside motel up at the other end of town. There are only a dozen or so rooms, and I doubt if the owner has updated those tiny guest rooms once in all those years. It goes by the name of Smoky Comfort. I ask you, what kind of name is that?” The receptionist’s nose wrinkled up. “Smoky Comfort? It doesn’t sound comfortable, does it?”
“No.” I had clearly hit one of the receptionist’s nerves. “Fortunately, we have the Ruby Lake Motor Inn and a handful of nice B and Bs.”
“Lucky you. I live in a one-bedroom apartment. I’m embarrassed to have to ask my friends to stay at Smoky Comfort”—her nose wrinkled again as if it couldn’t help itself as she repeated the motel’s name—“when they visit.”
The receptionist looked pensive for a moment and then her words jumped to another topic. “Hey, Finch, that was the man who hanged himself, wasn’t it?”
“He was found hanging, but the police have determined that he was hanged after he was strangled.”
“Wow. Crazy world, isn’t it?”
I agreed that it was.
The receptionist was silent a minute. “Must be contagious,” she quipped. “We had a patient some time back who hung herself.”
She bounced her pencil off her teeth several times. “What was her name?” She snapped her fingers. “Virginia Johnson.” She nodded. “Yep, that was it. She was nice. I was real sorry to hear she went like that.”