“Yes, if you put enough on”—and she had: onions, peppers, mushrooms, and broccoli—“you can almost convince yourself that it’s a healthy meal.”
They both took a bite. De-lish!
Tricia chewed and swallowed. “Have you heard anything from Karen Johnson?” she asked, eyeing the cat, who’d not only been known to sniff but take a taste of pizza on more than one occasion.
Angelica wiped her mouth with a napkin. “As a matter of fact, yes. I invited her to speak to the Chamber at the next breakfast and she agreed. I figured it would be a nice way for her to get to know everyone.”
“I meant in regard to finding a place for the Chamber to rent.”
“As a matter of fact, yes on that count, too,” Angelica said and practically squealed with delight. “NRA Realty has found the Chamber potential office space.”
“Where?”
“Across from the bank.” She took another bite of her pizza.
Tricia had to think about it for a moment. “I don’t remember any office space near there.”
Angelica finished chewing and swallowed. “Think again. The little run-down white house with the shutters falling off.”
Tricia frowned. “You’ve got to be kidding.”
“No. Apparently Antonio has been working on it for a while. Several months ago Billie Burke at the bank alerted him that the owner might be willing to sell.”
“Bypassing Kelly Realty?” Tricia asked. “What gives?”
“I have no idea. But Antonio finished negotiating a month or so ago and Nigela Ricita Associates took possession of it just today. It’s Karen’s first property to lease and she’s eager to have me look at it. Would you like to come with me?”
“Sure,” Tricia said. After all, she had nothing better to do. “When?”
“This evening.”
“Is that a good time to look at a potential home for the Chamber—in the dark?”
“Why not?”
“You might miss all its flaws and then get stuck with it.”
“I don’t think Antonio would let the Chamber get involved if he didn’t think it was a good prospect.”
“Promise me you won’t make up your mind until after you’ve seen it,” Tricia advised and noticed Miss Marple inching closer to the open pizza box.
“I won’t,” Angelica said.
Tricia ate another bite of her pizza and continued to keep an eye on the cat before speaking again. “I still don’t get it. For years Bob’s had all the property sewn up on Main Street. How come he never got his hands on that little house?”
“Apparently he annoyed the little old lady who owned it by continually badgering her to sell. She was so irritated she refused to deal with him. When Antonio found out about it, he took it upon himself to track down and meet the owner. Apparently she found him irresistible and he sweet-talked her into the deal.”
“He is rather lovable,” Tricia agreed as Miss Marple raised a paw to bat the pizza box. “No, no,” Tricia admonished and the cat sat back down, looking dutifully chastised. “If I’m not mistaken, that property has been empty the entire time I’ve lived here in Stoneham. And you’re talking about a house—not office space.”
“Karen feels it can easily be converted to office space,” Angelica explained.
“Who owned it?”
“A widow. She moved in with her daughter in Manchester several years back. Apparently the place needs a little work, but NRA Realty is going to refurbish it for us.”
“What are they going to charge the Chamber?” Tricia asked, still finding herself speaking as the voice of doom.
“Oh, dear. I didn’t think to ask.” Angelica bit her lip. “Maybe I shouldn’t have sounded so eager when I spoke to Karen. What if she jacks up the price?”
“You don’t have to take it,” Tricia said.
“My storeroom isn’t exactly handicapped accessible, and that little house already has a ramp. We need to move someplace and fast.”
“First you need to hire someone to take on the Chamber’s day-to-day duties.”
Angelica nodded and sighed. “That I do.” She took another bite of pizza, chewed, and swallowed. “That’s all my news for the day. What trouble did you get into today?”
“Hardly trouble. I spoke to Jerry Dittmeyer,” Tricia said.
“Oh?” Angelica said, sounding interested.
She nodded. “Did you know he works for David Black?”
“No,” Angelica replied, distinctly uninterested. “Betsy called David when he first opened his business and asked him to join the Chamber. He said no, of course. Said he didn’t want to have to run into either of us if he could help it. Now that I think of it, Betsy reported that little piece of information with a tinge of glee.” She sighed. “I’m sorry she’s dead, but I’m awfully glad I won’t be stuck with her for the remainder of my term as Chamber president. Speaking of which, I spoke to Libby Hirt.” Libby ran the local job bank, along with the Stoneham Food Shelf. “She’s got several people looking for secretarial work. She’s going to send me their résumés. In fact, they’re probably already in my e-mail in-box. I just haven’t had a chance to log on in the past couple of hours.”
“I thought you were going to wait until after Betsy’s funeral.”
“Well, no one has said anything about plans, and I do have to keep up with things. I simply can’t juggle my own businesses and keep the Chamber on track without help.”
Finally figuring out that she wasn’t going to be offered a bit of cheese, Miss Marple got up and sauntered away, heading for the back of the store. “Have you thought about hiring a virtual assistant for yourself?” Tricia asked Angelica.
“A virtual assistant? What could someone like that do for me?”
“I had a long conversation about it with the last author who came to sign at Haven’t Got a Clue. They do all kinds of things for authors—like posting on various social media sites, and sending out bookmarks and such to fans.”
“This sounds intriguing. I’ll have to look into it.” She sighed. “But my first priority must be the Chamber. Dear Antonio has offered to have one of his staff take care of the Chamber’s March breakfast, but I still have to give him an estimate of how many are coming. And then there’s the monthly newsletter . . .”
“Virtual assistants do newsletters, too. I’ll bet if you found one for yourself, they could also do Chamber work, too.”
“I don’t know. I’d have to think about it. The Chamber really needs to have a real person who can deal with problems that arise. I think my best option is still to find a small office to rent and replace Betsy as soon as possible.”
Tricia nodded. “Let me know if you change your mind and I’ll put out some feelers.”
“Thank you. Now, did Betsy’s ex have anything juicy to say about her?”
Tricia shook her head. “You know, he was angry when we first started talking, but the more he spoke about her, the more he seemed . . . I don’t know, regretful? He said at one time she was a dynamite lady.” Tricia sobered. “Somehow I just can’t imagine Betsy as a real spitfire, but . . . I suppose anything’s possible. Or was when she was younger.”
“Do you want another slice of pizza?” Angelica asked, taking one for herself.
Tricia shook her head. “I also went back to Betsy’s house and managed to talk to one of her neighbors.”
“Did you learn anything of interest?”
“Only that, thanks to Betsy, the neighbors have a terrible mouse problem. She said after Jerry left, Betsy didn’t bother with proper maintenance. She corroborated some of the things Joelle told me on Saturday. And, speaking of Joelle, the neighbor also said she’s been back again and again, but she doesn’t leave with anything other than her purse. Or at least a purse.”
“So what’s she been doing there?” Angelica asked.
“Tidying?” Tricia suggested. “If the neighbor hadn’t been watching me like a hawk, I might have walked around back to see if Joelle had lifted any of the blinds.” Tricia ate her last bite of pizza. “I have one piece of happy news for you.” Angelica’s eyes lit up. “You are now officially on the guest list for Mr. Everett’s surprise birthday party.”
“Oh, good. If I can’t be out on a date with a rich, handsome, and kind man, then I’d just as soon be among my friends—and you, dear Tricia.”
“Thank you.” Tricia wiped her mouth with one of the paper napkins. “What time do we have to meet Karen?”
Angelica bit into her pizza and looked at the clock. She chewed and swallowed before answering. “In about fifteen minutes.”
“That soon?”
“Why, have you got something else planned for tonight?”
“Hardly,” Tricia said without enthusiasm. She noticed Miss Marple patiently waiting by the stairs that led to her loft apartment. “I’ve got to feed Miss Marple. By the time I’m finished, it should be time to leave.”
“No rush,” Angelica said and reached for a third slice of pizza.
Tricia got up from her chair, shaking her head. No doubt Angelica would soon be complaining about her weight again and Tricia would have no sympathy for her. And what if the little house proved unsuitable as office space? Would Angelica find solace in junk food and eat even more?
Tricia wasn’t going to speculate.
Instead, she opened the door marked PRIVATE and headed up the stairs with Miss Marple trotting along beside her. If the house did meet Angelica’s standards, and she indeed rented it for the Chamber of Commerce, it would no doubt annoy the hell out of Bob Kelly, and that at least made Tricia smile.
* * *
Since the rental house was only two blocks up the street, Tricia and Angelica elected to walk the short distance. They saw a car parked at the curb. As they approached, the engine died, and Karen Johnson got out. “Good evening, ladies.”
“Hi,” Tricia called.
“I hope you don’t mind me bringing Tricia along,” Angelica said, and pulled her scarf just a little bit higher on her neck.
“Not at all. The more the merrier.” Karen joined the sisters on the sidewalk. She held a large flashlight in one hand, and picked through a set of keys with another.
“Oh, dear. Will we have to see the inside of the place by flashlight?” Angelica asked.
“Oh, no. Antonio called the power company and had all the utilities turned on. He came over earlier and got the furnace working so there should be heat and light, but I imagine it might take a few days for the house to warm up and thoroughly dry out.”
“Was there water damage?” Angelica asked, concerned.
“No, but Antonio said it felt damp. It’s been shuttered for over a year. Overall he felt the property was in pretty good shape.”
“So you haven’t seen it yet, either?” Tricia asked.
Karen shook her head. “Antonio told me there are still some boxes inside. The former owner had rented out the building for storage for the last couple of years, but the last tenant hadn’t paid the rent in some time. They were contacted several times and asked to collect their belongings before the sale went through, but the owner never heard from her tenant again.”
“So who has to clean the place out?” Tricia asked.
“Tell us when we get inside,” Angelica complained. “I’m cold!”
“Follow me. The steps are icy. We’ll use the ramp,” Karen said and led them around to the side of the building and the wooden ramp that had been cleared of snow. She unlocked the door, reached inside, and flipped a couple of light switches before allowing Tricia and Angelica to enter before her.
Karen hadn’t been kidding when she’d said there were some boxes inside. The descriptor some was certainly an understatement. What must have once been a living room was stacked floor to ceiling with cartons.
“Now would be a good time to answer Tricia’s question,” Angelica said, sounding apprehensive. “Who’s going to empty this place?”
“Of course, NRA will clean the place before the Chamber takes possession. Antonio has already ordered a Dumpster to be delivered tomorrow. We’ll take care of clearing the place out, and we’ll also paint, and either replace the carpet or put down a new floor. It depends on what we find when we rip up the old stuff.”
Tricia gave her sister a skeptical look. “You can’t be serious about renting this place.”
“I’m more than serious, I’m desperate,” Angelica said. She turned back to Karen. “Let’s see the rest of the place.”
A short hall linked the living room to a bathroom, a closet, and a small bedroom. At the back of the house was a tiny kitchen, which was only big enough for a bistro table and four undersized chairs. The former tenant must have left them, but all the appliances were missing.
“There are two small bedrooms upstairs that could be used for storage,” Karen said hopefully.
“How much is it a month, and how long a lease does the Chamber need to sign?” Angelica asked.
“We’d like a year’s lease. We can talk about the price when we get to my office.”
“Can you throw in a fridge and a microwave?” Angelica asked hopefully.
“We can talk about it,” Karen said, still sounding hopeful.
“That bathroom looks like it’s in terrible shape,” Tricia said, trying to be helpful.
“We won’t be bathing,” Angelica said.
“We’ll make sure the plumbing works before you take possession,” Karen promised.
“Do you have the paperwork with you?” Angelica asked.
“As a matter of fact, I do.”
“Then let’s not bother to go back to the Brookview. We can hash it out right here.”
“Very good,” Karen said, sounding delighted.
Tricia gave her sister a penetrating glare. “I thought you weren’t going to rush into signing a lease.”
“Once the place is cleared out, it should be adequate as a short-term solution.” She held her arm out, gesturing for Karen to sit.
Tricia shrugged. “While you negotiate, I’ll just wander around the place. Maybe check out the upstairs bedrooms.”
Angelica wasn’t listening. She grabbed a wad of paper towel from the roll that hung under the cabinet near the sink, dusted off one of the chairs, and sat down.
Tricia climbed the narrow stairway up to the darkened second floor. She fumbled for a light switch, found it, and flipped it. A dim bulb glowed at the top of the stairs. Like the floor below, the bedrooms were stacked with boxes and the floor was covered in dust. The ceiling sloped on both sides, which might have been perfect if the occupants had been children with twin beds. Had a happy family once dwelled within these walls? Tricia’s bedroom in her parents’ home had been the size of this house’s entire second floor, and had been beautifully furnished and decorated. Still, she would have traded that to have felt loved and cherished by her mother.
Don’t start down that road again, Tricia warned herself. She hadn’t dwelled on thoughts of her dead twin in days. She didn’t want to think about the life he’d never had—depriving her of a happy childhood as well.
Between the bedrooms was a tiny, and dingy, bathroom with a miniscule triangular shower. In a house this small it must have seemed like a luxury to the previous inhabitants.
Turning off the light, Tricia headed back downstairs. Angelica and Karen were deep into negotiations by then, and Tricia wandered into the downstairs bedroom, found the light switch, and flipped it. The ceiling globe was missing, leaving a bare bulb in a socket. Whoever had lived in the house must have been a cheapskate. The bulb couldn’t have been more than forty watts. Someone had left a metal crucifix hanging on the wall above where a bed might have gone and where there were now boxes and boxes of stuff stacked.
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Tricia wandered back into the living room. The cartons weren’t taped; they’d merely had their top flaps folded so that they interleaved. If the contents were going to be trashed anyway, Tricia figured she might as well open one of the boxes to see what was inside. She chose the top box of the shortest pile and pulled open the flaps. The carton was filled with old magazines, newspaper articles, and recipes clipped from food boxes and jars. She pawed through the contents and found an envelope that seemed to be stuffed with old receipts. She pulled out the wad of folded papers, shuffled through them, and froze when she saw the name of the recipient on the power company’s monthly bill: Elizabeth Dittmeyer.
FIFTEEN
Tricia stared at the name on the utility bill, unsure what she should do next. After a few moments it became obvious—look for more evidence that it was actually Betsy who’d been renting the house to store her treasures.
Tricia shuffled through the bills. Yes, all of them were for Betsy at her Milford address, and they were only two years old—long after the breakup of her marriage—so it wasn’t surprising they were all in her name and not that of her ex.
So what happened? Had Betsy simply run out of space to store her junk and, since she had worked in Stoneham, approached the house’s former owner about using it as a storage facility? Why hadn’t she just rented a conventional self-store unit? There were plenty of them around. Or did she want her trash to be close to her workplace so she could visit it as need be? And why had she stopped paying the rent? From what Tricia had seen on her financial statements, Betsy had had plenty of money.
Tricia set the bills down and investigated the rest of the box. Paper, paper, and more paper. She closed the lid and moved the box to the floor, looking into the carton directly below it. It was filled with dirty stuffed animals. Had Betsy frequented tag sales in the area during her lunch hours and bought them all for small change? What had she intended to do with them? Clean them, find them loving homes with disadvantaged children during the holidays, or just keep them in case she needed the love and adoration of an inanimate object? It all seemed so sad and pointless.
Book Clubbed (A Booktown Mystery) Page 16