by Mary Maxwell
“What did you tell him?” I said.
She frowned. “No need to repeat it. Boris thinks I have a big enough potty mouth as it is. But I think my eight decades of life give me the right to get saucy every now and then.”
I held up my wine glass. “Cheers!” I said. “Let’s drink to saucy, confident women of all ages.”
Blanche raised her glass, touched it to mine and then took a tiny sip. After she put the martini back down on the bar, she asked me again what I wanted to discuss.
“It’s about Polly Ladd,” I said. “I wanted to know what you think of her.”
Blanche made a face before pinching her nose between one thumb and forefinger.
“This is what I think,” she said. “That woman is bad news.”
I smiled. “Can you be more specific?”
“How much time have you got?” Blanche teased. “I actually just talked to a couple of my girlfriends about Polly because they had a little incident with her at the nail salon.”
“Oh, really?”
She smiled. “Yes, but it’s not a very juicy story. We can save that one for another time. What I can tell you is that Polly Ladd moved here about a year ago from somewhere on the East Coast. She works as a tour guide for wealthy travelers, so she’s gone a fair amount of the time. When she is home, my sources tell me that she spends a fortune on Botox, eats a lot of quinoa, once ordered a dozen roses that she had delivered to herself and—”
“Sorry to interrupt,” I said, “but how do you know all of this?”
Blanche’s lips sloped into a rascally grin. “Now, now,” she said. “You know that ladies of a certain age never reveal three things, don’t you, doll? The date on their birth certificate. The combination to the safe where they keep their valuables. And which girlfriend dishes the best gossip in town.” She smiled again, tilting her head at a jaunty angle. “Although I love you very much, I cannot reveal my sources.”
“Fair enough,” I said. “What do you really think of Polly?”
Blanche smiled. “She’s not my cup of tea. I heard she’s snobbish, a sore loser and mediocre at bridge.”
Before I could move on to my next question, Blanche’s phone buzzed. She glanced at the screen, read the text and giggled. “That was Dot Higgins,” she said. “The girls are about five minutes away.”
I took another sip of wine. “In that case, I should probably get going.”
“Sure you won’t stay and join us for another?” Blanche asked, raising her martini. “We can drink to the handsome men in our lives!”
“I’d love to,” I said, getting up from the barstool. “But I have one more stop to make before I head back to work.”
“Okay, Katie.” She sipped her drink and put down the glass. “In that case, have a wonderful evening, okay? And remember to keep the most important thing front and center at all times.”
I smiled. “And what might that be?”
“Don’t do anything that Blanche wouldn’t do,” she said. “Unless it’s something that’s worth doing twice!”
CHAPTER 25
The offices of Eugene Crisp Realtors smelled like a movie theater concession stand when I arrived a few minutes after seven. Suzee Dirnhofer was standing behind the reception desk sipping from a bottle of Corona as one hand hovered above a large plastic bowl filled with glistening popcorn. Four men wearing black sombreros, two-piece suits and silver-accented red satin ties slouched on folding chairs just inside the front door. A bright blue banner spanned the back wall of the office: WELCOME! WE APPRECIATE YOU!
One of the musicians picked up his guitar and began to pluck the strings. I waved at the quartet before glancing at Suzee. The 25-year-old go-getter was dressed in a mid-thigh navy skirt and matching jacket over a jade silk blouse. I’d only known her for a few months, but I liked the fact that she seemed to possess more verve and enthusiasm than many other Crescent Creek residents.
“Hi, Katie!” Suzee said brightly. “I am so glad to see you!”
“You are?”
She put down the beer and walked around the desk. “You’re the very first guest at our very first Customer Appreciation Fiesta!”
“Wow!” I said. “What an honor!”
“What a disaster!” She followed the declaration with a raucous laugh. “Mr. Crisp went down the block to Milton’s Tap Room for something stronger than beer. He thought the place would be super packed.”
The mariachi band had moved into the middle of the room, where they began to play softly in the background.
“They sound great!” I said.
Suzee nodded. “Aren’t they good? I think their version of ‘Stairway to Heaven’ is even better than the original. They’ll take requests, too. Anything but Black Sabbath.”
She walked to a folding table on the far side of the room and plucked a CD from a small stack.
“Here,” she said, coming back toward me. “These are complimentary. It’s their latest album. It’s got a bunch of traditional stuff, but they also do a great Justin Bieber cover and a couple of gospel hymns that made me cry.”
“I’m sure it’s lovely,” I said, slipping the gift into my purse. “I’ll give it a spin later.”
As the band continued to play a sleepy song that packed as much punch as a limp noodle, I asked Suzee if she knew anything about recent homes for sale on Edgewood Road.
“How recent?” she said.
“Within the past few years.”
She shook her head. “I haven’t worked here that long. But if you’re in the market for a new place, I can see if anything on that street is in the MLS.”
“I’m not looking to buy,” I quickly explained. “I’m more interested in previous sales.”
“Want me to check?” she offered. “It’ll only take a minute to see if anything pops up.”
“Thanks!” I said, following her back to the reception desk. “That would be great!”
While she started the search, I listened to the mariachi band tear through a spicy rendition of I Heard It Through the Grapevine.
“Okay,” Suzee said a few minutes later. “Here are all the residential sales transactions on Edgewood Road during the last eight years.”
“Are the owners male or female?” I asked.
Suzee smiled. “Is this about gender?”
I shook my head. “Not exactly. I’m following a hunch about something that involves two or three women in particular.”
She narrowed her eyes, leaned toward me and lowered her voice. “Like a coven?” she asked. “Are you telling me that we have witches in Crescent Creek?”
I quickly explained that my mission didn’t involve witchcraft, broomsticks or pointy black hats.
“Darn!” Suzee said. “It’s been so dull around here lately. A good witchcraft conspiracy would liven things up a little bit.”
“No doubt,” I agreed. “But that’s not on my agenda.”
“What is?”
“It’s a long story,” I said. “But it may involve one or more women living on Edgewood Road and a man who’s gone missing.”
“Okay, sure.” Her eyes zipped back to the computer. “There’s a listing here from eight years ago. Someone named…” She moved closer to the screen. “Well, the buyer was Eldon Slattery. Do you want any of that?”
I shook my head. “Let’s focus on the female buyers.”
“Works for me,” Suzee said. “Six years ago, a woman named Lucille Fanbrick bought the little Tudor there on the corner of Edgewood Road and Elm.”
“Okay,” I said. “Anything more recent? Maybe within the last three or four years?”
“You betcha! There are three more…” She paused, frowned and then glanced at me over the top of her laptop. “This is pretty cool, Katie. Two of these transactions are from almost three years ago and the third one is from last year.”
“That sounds promising,” I said.
“Uh-huh. Do you want to know what else?”
I nodded.
“Wow!” S
uzee’s voice trilled with excitement. “Are you ready for this?”
I answered with another silent nod.
“All three properties were bought by the same woman!”
A soft tickle of anticipation fluttered in my stomach at the news.
“And get this!” She looked up, eyes wide with astonishment. “The notes here say that she paid well above the asking price for all three properties.” She paused again. “And…my goodness! She also paid cash to expedite each closing.”
“Must be nice!” I smiled as Suzee fell back in her chair. “That’s a lot of moolah!”
“No kidding!” she cheered. “I mean, I can’t do the math in my head, but it would’ve been like…” Her gaze tapered again and her lips moved silently as the abacus behind her vibrant blue eyes clipped into overdrive. “Well, almost a half million dollars or so.”
“Are they big lots?” I asked.
Suzee nodded. “Fairly large. The front lawns are a normal size, but they all have a huge amount of space in the back.”
“That sounds nice,” I said. “Can you tell me the buyer’s name?”
She nodded. Then she checked the screen again. And then she revealed the identity of the individual who owned a trio of houses on Edgewood Road.
“And you said that two of them closed on the same day?” I asked.
“Yep!”
“Can you tell me the month?” I said.
Suzee nodded and checked the information again before answering my question. The sales had transpired almost exactly three years after the brazen robbery of Diamond Galleria.
“And I have one more question,” I said.
“Fire away!”
“Do you know if the buyer lives in one of the houses?”
Suzee frowned. “What do you mean?”
“Well, if she purchased all three, then maybe two of them were investment properties,” I suggested. “Or she might possibly rent all three and live elsewhere.”
Suzee’s eyes twinkled. “Oh! I get it! My brain may not be clicking quite right.” She tapped on the bottle beside her computer. “This is my second beer. I never drink at work, but this is a special occasion and I hated seeing all of those Coronas go to waste.”
“That makes sense.”
She went back to the laptop, shifting her eyes around the screen in search of the answer to my question.
“You know something?” she said finally. “Let me just check Mr. Crisp’s notes in another file. For most transactions, he keeps a sort of personal journal about what each buyer is looking for, the types of features they want and if…” She stopped to study a new document, squinting to decipher Eugene Crisp’s comments about the Edgewood Road properties. “Well, this must be it,” she said. “The buyer spent most of her time looking at the house with the Jacuzzi in the master bath. She went back to see it eight times before making up her mind.”
“And which house has the Jacuzzi?” I asked.
“The one with the gazebo in the back,” Suzee answered. “It also has a walk-in closet and marble countertops in the kitchen.”
“Sounds nice,” I said.
“Doesn’t it now?”
“If I was flush with cash,” I said, “and buying more than one house on the same street, I’d definitely want the Jacuzzi.”
After a few more minutes with Suzee, while the mariachi band provided a melodic soundtrack for our conversation, I went outside to my car.
“Well, that was interesting,” I said, checking my makeup in the rearview mirror. “One woman, three houses and two more dots connected.”
CHAPTER 26
Food Town was having a sale on Charmin, Cheerios and Yoplait, so I decided to stop on the way home from Eugene Crisp’s office. As soon as I made it inside and grabbed a shopping cart, I saw Sheila Mooney huddled over a table loaded with day-old bakery items. I wheeled my cart in her direction and called her name. When she looked up, her eyes were red from crying and there was confetti trapped in the curls on one side of her head.
“Oh, hey,” she murmured. “How’s it going, Katie?”
I reached over and brushed away the specks of colored paper.
“What was that?” she asked.
“Just some confetti,” I said. “You must’ve been celebrating something earlier.”
She sighed sadly. “A coworker’s birthday.” She sounded morose and distant, like someone carrying the weight of the world on their shoulders. “They had balloons and confetti and noise makers.”
“That’s nice. Are you shopping for dinner?”
She shook her head. “I stopped in here for a few minutes so that I wouldn’t be home alone all night. Pete’s still sleeping in the RV at Herb and Marion’s place.”
I knew about the temporary living quarters from the grapevine. I’d also heard that the trial separation was due to Pete’s midlife crisis. Since he and Sheila were both forty-five, I figured there might be some truth to the rumors.
“I’m sorry to hear about what you’re going through,” I said. “How are you holding up?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know what happened. We went to bed one night and everything was fine. The next morning, Pete said he needed some space to pursue his dream of being a rock star. I mean, have you ever heard anything so idiotic in all your days? A grown man who walks away from twenty-odd years building a solid reputation as a plumber to give Elvis Presley a run for his money?”
I nodded, but didn’t say a word.
“Have you ever heard such a thing, Katie?” Sheila continued. “I mean, if you need some space, go outside. Or put an addition on the house. But to just throw away a marriage that’s endured as much as we have? His back surgery. My job troubles. The car wreck in Montana on our summer vacation a few years ago.” She paused long enough to refill her lungs. “Did you know that Pete was in the ICU for six days after that crash?”
“No, I’m sorry,” I said. “That happened when I was living in Chicago.”
She pressed her lips together, fighting the tears that were beginning to fill her eyes.
“Oh, sure. I keep forgetting that you haven’t been here this whole time.”
I reached over and put one hand on her shoulder. “Is there anything I can do for you, Sheila?”
She clenched her teeth. “Maybe talk some sense into my husband?”
I laughed. “Okay, if I happen to run into him.”
“I should let you go,” she said. “You don’t need to listen to me whine and complain.”
“Nonsense!” I grabbed her hand and held it tightly for a few seconds. “You’re not whining or complaining, okay? You’re in the middle of something difficult and it can be helpful to talk about how you feel.”
“I hope so,” she agreed. “We have an appointment tomorrow with a marriage counselor.”
There was a glimmer of optimism in her eyes, a tiny spark that maybe a remedy was just around the corner.
“Good luck!” I said. “Come in and see us at Sky High sometime soon. I know that Julia and Harper would love to see you!”
After she promised to stop by and I offered another encouraging smile, I grabbed my cart and set off in search of toilet paper, breakfast cereal and yogurt. As I rolled past the bread aisle, I saw Trent standing with two cellophane-wrapped packages in his hands. He was glaring and muttering as his eyes shifted from one loaf of bread to the other.
“Didn’t I just talk to you?” I said, gliding toward him.
“Hey, Katie.” He barely glanced away from the diligent analysis he was conducting. “What the heck is sprouted grain?”
I laughed. “Some people would tell you that it’s healthier,” I said. “They believe grains that have just started to sprout—meaning that they’re somewhere between a seed and a new plant—offer more vitamins and minerals than their counterparts.”
He stared at me. “What was that about plants?”
Since it had been a long day and his eyes were already glazed over, I thought it would be best to skip ahead.
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“Are you trying to choose between those two loaves?” I asked.
“What was your first clue, Sherlock?”
“Hey, now. There’s no need to get lippy.”
“Sorry,” Trent mumbled. “I’m beat and there’s not much at home. I figured that I’d stop and get some grub.”
“Sounds like a plan,” I said. “Did the sprouted grains throw you for a loop?”
He nodded. “One of these has seven grains,” he answered. “And the other has twelve.”
“I’ve got an idea,” I said, smiling. “Why don’t you buy both and compare? Then you can decide which one you prefer.”
His mouth swooped up. “Man, that’s a great idea! If I wasn’t so tired, I probably would’ve come up with it on my own.”
I patted him on the back. “No doubt about it, Deputy Chief Walsh.”
“Thanks, Katie. What’re you up to?”
“Just buying a few things,” I said. “I need to get a little more bookkeeping done tonight, so this was my chance for some fresh air.”
“How’s business?” he asked.
“It’s good,” I answered. “Really good. I’m in the early stages of planning a new series of cooking classes. Maybe you could take one and learn a few basics.”
He grumbled. “Will it involve sprouted grains?”
“Possibly,” I said. “But there will be plenty of other yummy options, too.”
“Ooey Gooey Butter Cake?” His smile was wide and dazzling. “I think that would make an excellent class.”
“I’ll keep it in mind, big guy.”
“Have you been back to the hospital to see your little friend?”
“You mean Rex Greer?”
He answered with a faint grin. “Dina said he kept blabbing about how Sky High must be involved in his brother’s disappearance.”
“Really? Because of the picture Theo took on our front porch?”
The grin widened even more. “Got me, Katie. The guy’s thick as two short planks. Dina and Tyler have both interviewed him, but they keep coming up with the same mumbo-jumbo.”