Moving Can Be Murder

by Susan Santangelo

  Yeah, I thought. Only this time, we can afford something that’s not a fixer-upper. I immediately felt disloyal to my beautiful antique house, but when we first bought it, it was no beauty. I remembered the leaky roof and the peeling paint and the sagging floors. It was a money pit for a few years, that’s for sure. But that was the only reason we could afford such a big house. It needed so much work, and we were young and naïve, and Jim was convinced he could do most of the work himself.

  Naturally, he couldn’t, and we ended up making a lot of local contractors rich over the years.

  Jim was yakking away about how much fun we were bound to have on our new adventure, and I guess I must have dozed off. The next thing I knew, he’d pulled the car into what looked like a rest stop overlooking the highway.

  “This can’t be right,” I said, squinting a little at a sign which read, “Welcome To Eagles’ Nest. Find Your Perfect Home With Us.”

  “Even eagles would have a tough time building a nest here, unless they were hard of hearing,” I said. To prove my point, two eighteen-wheeler trucks whizzed by on the road below. “This place is right on the highway. I don’t even want to bother going in.”

  “Come on, Carol, don’t be silly. We’re here now, and we have an appointment with the real estate agent. If nothing else, it’ll give us a basis of comparison with anything else we may see today.” He pulled me out of the car.

  At least the homes, which were in various stages of construction, were separate from each other. Of course, all the lots were postage-stamp size compared to our current acreage.

  One house was finished and appeared to be both the model home and sales office. We didn’t even have time to knock before the door flew open and a Botoxed blonde beauty greeted us with a phony smile plastered on her face.

  “You must be Jim and Carol Andrews. Welcome. Come right in. I’m Jessie Johnson. We spoke on the phone. I hope you didn’t have any trouble finding us.”

  We went through the usual preliminary small talk, and then Jessie let us meander around the model house alone. I was sure, though, that she was hearing every word we whispered to each other. The entire place was probably bugged.

  As we checked out each room, I grimaced at Jim to let him know I wasn’t impressed with what I was seeing. The kitchen was tiny, there was only one full bath (although, to be fair, there were two half baths), and only one master bedroom, which was on the second floor. Jeez, if this was supposed to be something to see us into our twilight years, I sure didn’t want to climb stairs every night to go to bed. Although we used a bedroom on the second floor in our current home, there was a room on the first floor with its own full bath that could easily be converted to a master suite if and when the need presented itself.

  “Do you have any questions?” Jessie asked brightly, stretching her face so much with her smile that I feared it would crack.

  What the heck. I piped up. Boy, was Jim surprised.

  “I have a question, Jessie. Jim and I are just starting to look at active adult communities,” so don’t get your hopes up that you’re going to make a sale, sweetie, “and I’ve seen so many in magazines that advertise tennis courts, swimming pools, that kind of thing. Are there plans for amenities like that here?”

  Jessie laughed, a little self-consciously. “This is a cozy community that will have twenty-five houses when it’s completed,” she said. “The builders want to keep that sense of community, not cheapen it in any way with things like tennis courts and pools. But they have come up with a wonderful amenity which will be available for all the owners. Perhaps you noticed it on the way in to the complex?”

  At our puzzled looks, she hastened to explain. “It’s our darling little gazebo, which will serve as the centerpiece attraction for Eagles’ Nest. We plan to decorate it to go along with each of the holidays – you know, hearts for Valentine’s Day, wreaths for Christmas, bunnies for Easter. It’s going to be great.”

  She waited for us to gush out our enthusiasm.

  “What a lovely idea, Jessie,” I replied, when Jim didn’t say anything. I guess the gazebo had overwhelmed him with decorating possibilities.

  I reached out to shake her hand. “Thank you so much for showing us Eagles’ Nest. We’ll take the packet with us. You’ve given us a lot to think about.”

  “Let’s get out of here,” I telegraphed to My Beloved.

  For once, we were both on the same wave length, and bid as quick a farewell to Eagles’ Nest and Jessie as we could without being rude.

  She looked so sad to see us go that I was afraid she was going to kiss us goodbye.

  “At least that place was easy to get to,” My Beloved said in defense of his first active adult community choice.

  I didn’t respond. I just gave him a look.

  “OK, Carol. You’re right. It’s much too close to the highway.”

  “Well, it did have that lovely gazebo,” I said with just the right touch (I thought) of sarcasm. “Think of the fun we’ll have decorating it with red, white and blue streamers for the Fourth of July. We could even organize a fireworks display.”

  “Very funny,” Jim snapped, never one to take criticism well. “Let’s just cross it off the list. The next one is supposed to be ‘nestled in the bucolic countryside.’ So it can’t be close to a major interstate.”

  Forty minutes later, when we were bouncing along one unpaved road after another, I asked, “Where is this place, anyway? Is it in the middle of a pasture?”

  Jim replied by tossing me the information he’d printed off of MapQuest. “We’re supposed to be looking for a split rail fence on the left, and then a sign to lead us into the development. It’s called Bertram’s Hollow.”

  “More like Sleepy Hollow,” I snorted, trying to make some sense out of the directions. We passed by some houses with abandoned cars rusting on the front lawn. “Nice decorating touch.”

  Then I screamed, “Stop, Jim. There it is.”

  Jim screeched to a halt, then backed up and turned into another rutted road. I thought I heard him mutter, “This one better be good,” but I didn’t comment. I do know when to keep my mouth shut. Sometimes.

  Suffice it to say that Bertram’s Hollow, which was a small community of semi-detached homes, didn’t pass muster with us, either. Despite their cute slogan: “It’s not about counting the years. It’s about making the years count.”

  The model house/sales office was small and packed with way too much furniture. The kitchen was postage-stamp size. There was only one master bedroom suite, and it was on the second floor.

  We were back in the car in less than ten minutes. We made a quick escape because the salesman, who looked younger than both of our kids, had another couple enthralled with his sales pitch and he’d left us to our own devices. “This one didn’t even have a gazebo, Jim,” I pointed out as we made our way back to a paved road and civilization.

  Two master suites was beginning to look like a fantasy. An unattainable one.

  Chapter 5

  No outfit is complete without dog hair.

  I was tired, I was cranky, and I was hungry. Not necessarily in that order. And also, a little bit smug. I’d done what My Beloved wanted. I’d looked at two active adult communities. And we had both – both! – agreed that they weren’t for us.

  As far as I was concerned, the discussion was over. I wanted to go home, let my dogs out for a run, have a late lunch in my beautiful kitchen with its granite counter tops, and chill out.

  Imagine my surprise when Jim drove into neighboring Westfield and pulled into a parking spot in front of Chita, the trendy tapas restaurant everyone was talking about.

  Huh? You mean we were going out to lunch, as in “out at a real restaurant”? I was immediately suspicious. Maybe the day wasn’t over yet. This was certainly untypical behavior for My Beloved.

  Then I thought, Jim must have a coupon. Although I doubted that a restaurant this new, and this popular, had to stoop to offering coupons to get customers.

&nb
sp; The maitre d’ waved us to a table, and in no time Jim had placed our order – in Spanish, yet.

  I was duly impressed. But still suspicious.

  “What’s this all about, Jim? Since when are you a foodie? And how in the world did you manage to get us in here today, much less find a parking spot right in front of the restaurant? This is the hottest new place in town.”

  Before My Beloved could answer, a young man, obviously the owner from the mantle of authority he wore over his crisp navy blazer with “Chita” emblazoned on the breast pocket, arrived at our table with two margaritas. “On the house, Señor and Señora Andrews. Welcome to Chita. We are honored to have Mike’s parents as guests here.” He bowed slightly, then left to attend to another table.

  I had to laugh. “So that’s how you did it, Jim. It’s not who you know that counts. It’s who your kids know.”

  “Let’s face it, Carol,” Jim said. “Our parents called these the golden years. I don’t know if that’s true, but we’re still here and we might as well make the best of it, right? Cheers.” He raised his glass and toasted me.

  What the heck. I could be a sport. I mimicked his toast and took a sip of my drink. And choked.

  I am not a serious drinker. Unless you count wine, of course. Which I don’t.

  “So how did this happen, Jim?” I asked once I’d stopped coughing. “I want details. Who is this guy, how does Mike know him, and how did you find out about the connection?”

  With the ability Jim had perfected over the years as a public relations agent in New York, he neatly deflected my questions and changed the subject. Oh, well, I could e-mail Mike later and get the details, so I let him get away with it.

  Until I realized that he’d placed a glossy folder in front of me with the legend “Eden’s Grove – One of the Top 100 Active Adult Communities in America” stamped on the front. My head was a little buzzy from the margarita, but not that much.

  “I thought we were through looking at these places,” I said, and took another sip of my drink. “I went along with you, we saw two, and we both decided they weren’t for us.”

  I turned my palms up. “End of story.”

  “I just wanted you to see those two first for a basis of comparison,” My Beloved said. He slapped his hand on the folder and nudged it closer to me. “This is the one I really want us to look at. It sounds fabulous. Just look at all these amenities. It has an indoor and an outdoor pool, exercise rooms, tennis courts, and a golf course. If we moved there, we’d feel like we were on vacation all the time. Look at these photos, honey.”

  Right then and there, I should have stopped him. But he was so excited, I just couldn’t throw cold water on his enthusiasm. At least, that’s what I told my best friends Nancy and Mary Alice later when I brought them up to date on our foray into active adulthood.

  I hadn’t seen Jim this energized since his first meeting with his retirement coach, Davis Rhodes. And look how that worked out, Carol, my little voice reminded me. Jim ended up being suspected of murdering him.

  “But Jim,” I countered weakly, trying to inject some reality into the situation, “neither one of us plays golf or tennis.”

  “We’re not too old to learn,” he snapped back. “Come on, Carol. Let’s finish our lunch and go check it out. What have we got to lose?”

  My beautiful home for one thing, I thought.

  But it meant so much to him. The last time I saw such a pleading look was when Lucy and Ethel wanted to go outside and romp around the yard. And when I ignored that look, I was always sorry.

  What the heck. I raised my margarita glass and said, “Eden’s Grove, here we come.”

  And I repeated my mantra silently: Two master suites. Two master suites.

  “The Eden’s Grove entrance is pretty impressive,” Jim said.

  “Hmm,” I said. “It’s different.”

  With its stone fence, guard house, and gate, I thought the community looked more like a prison than my idea of an active adult community.

  “I wonder if they’re keeping the bad guys out, or keeping the residents in.”

  “Very funny, Carol,” My Beloved said. “Try to keep an open mind. I think you’ll really like this place.” He took my hand and eased me from the car.

  I took a closer look around the grounds. I had to admit that they looked beautifully cared for. Despite the fact that it was January, all the sidewalks were completely free of snow and ice. And the steps leading into the sales office were pristine.

  I thought guiltily of our icy front walk and rutted driveway. I was always nervous someone was going to fall when we had company this time of year.

  Of course, the Eden’s Grove management paid big bucks to keep the property looking this great, I reminded myself. And poor Jim did the best he could with our snow blower. When it was working.

  Sighing, I followed Jim into the sales office. At least it would be warm inside.

  “Welcome to Eden’s Grove,” said a pleasant-looking woman who was the point-of-entry at the reception desk. “You must be Jim and Carol Andrews. I’ll get Eve for you. I know she’s been expecting you.”

  I resisted the urge to giggle. Eve? At Eden’s Grove? Would Adam be joining us too?

  Jim shot me a look. I’ve heard that when you’ve been married as long as we have, couples often read each other’s thoughts. Not when it really counts, of course, such as, “Honey, will you please take out the garbage?” But this time, he could tell I was about to whisper a wise-ass comment. I got the message, and kept my mouth shut.

  We were joined by a well-groomed woman who looked like she was in her early fifties but was probably older. “Hello, I’m Eve Hamill, the sales manager here. So glad to meet you both. And before you ask, no, my husband’s name isn’t Adam.” She laughed. “Everyone asks me that. It’s just coincidence that I ended up working at Eden’s Grove. But my name is always a good icebreaker.

  “Why don’t we start by having me give you both a tour? Then I’ll sit down and run some numbers with you, and turn you over to one of our Ambassador Couples for a nice cup of tea. Sound good?”

  Not giving us a chance to respond, she continued, “Follow me.”

  I hated to admit it, but I was impressed. I could tell that Jim was, too, but of course, he had expected to be.

  There was a lot to like about Eden’s Grove. Two pools, the 600-seat ballroom with its own stage (what we’d use that for, I had no clue), the beauty salon, the woodworking room, the nail salon, the barber shop, the computer center, the exercise room, the other exercise room, the arts and crafts room, the library, the darts and billiards room – well, I think you get the picture. This place was like a small city. The only thing it lacked was a food store, and even that was convenient, less than a mile away.

  “This place has everything,” Jim said, clearly amazed at all we’d seen on our tour.

  “I’m glad you think so,” Eve replied. “I’m sure you two would love living at Eden’s Grove. I’m even thinking of buying here myself.

  “I know it’s cold outside,” she continued, not giving us a chance to respond, “but I want you to see two of the models we currently have available. It’s just a quick walk from here. Both styles are what we called semi-detached housing, meaning they are attached to another unit on one side.”

  “Do either of these styles have two master suites?” I piped up.

  “We get a lot of requests for that,” Eve said. “I guess a desire for some breathing room is common to a lot of couples when they’ve been married for a long time. One style has two master suites, but unfortunately, there are none of those available at the present time.”

  Bummer, I thought. But Eve was one smart salesperson. She could tell how important that feature was to me. “There are units under construction, ready for early summer occupancy, that will have two master suites. They’re very popular, so if that’s a real priority for you two, you’d be wise to put down a deposit now so you won’t be disappointed.”

  She whi
sked us into first one, then the other, model home, and I was dazzled by the stainless steel appliances and hardwood floors. And how bright and open everything was. Skylights, lots of windows. The units were gorgeous. Smaller than what I was used to, but gorgeous.

  I hated to admit it to myself, much less to My Beloved, but Eden’s Grove might actually be a place I could live in. If I decided to move. Which I had definitely not decided to do. Yet.

  I didn’t dare look at Jim. He could read my face too well, and I didn’t want any pressure from him on the ride home.

  “How about a nice cup of tea and some cookies?” asked Eve as she ushered us back into the sales center. She reached for her cell phone. “I want you to meet one of our Ambassador Couples, the Bakers, who can tell you first-hand how great it is to live here.”

  I looked at my watch. Yikes! It was almost 4:00. We’d been gone almost all day.

  “Jim, we really can’t stay any longer,” I said. “Lucy and Ethel have been alone since ten this morning.”

  Eve gave me a startled look. “Lucy and Ethel? Who are they? Your grandchildren?”

  I laughed. “No, but they do think they’re human. They’re our two dogs.”

  Eve recoiled. “Dogs? As in more than one? I’m sorry, but residents are only allowed to have one pet here.”

  Forget the stainless steel appliances and the gleaming hardwood floors. Goodbye two master bedroom suites.

  I shot a quick look at Jim and telegraphed, “No way we’re moving without the girls.”

  This was a deal breaker for me.

  Chapter 6

  When a girl marries, she exchanges the attentions of many men

  for the inattention of one.

  “We are not going to discuss it,” I said to My Beloved. “There is no way I’m giving up one of our dogs to move into that place! In fact…” Fortunately, I caught myself before I said something really hurtful, like I’d sooner give him up than either of the dogs.