“Are you sure?” he asked as he nudged a rock off the porch step with the toe of his combat boot and watched it drop.
“Positive. Do you know what time they’re supposed to be home?” Libby asked.
“Sorry. They didn’t tell me. By the way, my name is Travis, Travis Deeds. I’d shake your hand, but”—he nodded down to them—“mine are a little dirty right now.”
“No problem,” Bernie said, taking a liking to him. “Do you take care of all of this yourself?” she asked, waving an arm in front of her in a gesture meant to encompass the entire estate.
“A lot of it,” the groundskeeper said.
“But you can’t do all of it,” Libby said, thinking of how much it would take to keep a place like this running.
Travis laughed. “Mrs. Katz used to hire people on.”
“I wonder how Grace and Ralph are going to manage,” Bernie mused. “This really is a lot to take care of.”
“It’ll be fine as long as the cats are here,” Travis observed. Then he repeated what Marvin had said, which was that according to the scuttlebutt, Grace and Ralph had got the house and an annuity to stay and take care of the cats.
“What will happen when the last of the cats die?” Libby wondered aloud.
Travis shook his head. “Won’t happen. Gracie and Ralph will make sure there are always kittens around.” Then he changed the subject. “Glad I wasn’t here for the wedding.”
“I wish I hadn’t been,” Bernie said.
“I feel kinda guilty.” Travis grimaced. “Here I was seeing Wonder Woman when all hell was breaking loose.”
“I don’t think it would have mattered. There wasn’t anything anyone could have done,” Bernie told him. The leaves on the trees were dancing, showing their undersides, as the wind picked up. It wouldn’t be long before the rain came. “You sound as if you liked her,” Bernie observed.
“I didn’t dislike her,” Travis replied. “I know everyone did, but she was always okay with me. Maybe because I did my job and kept out of her way.” Travis continued. “I’ll tell you one thing, though. She sure did like her kitties. She liked them better than anything else. She certainly liked them better than people, that’s for damn sure. If it didn’t have fur, she didn’t want to know from it.” He pointed up to the sky. “I better get back to work while I can.” Then he walked back to the hedge he’d been clipping, picked up his shears, and started where he’d left off.
Bernie sighed and looked around. Everything looked the way it had when they’d left. The tent and the area around it were still festooned with yellow crime-scene tape, the tape standing out like a beacon against the darkening sky. For some reason, the yellow reminded her of forsythia.
Then Bernie pointed to the tent. It was flapping in and out in rhythm with the gusts of wind. Under the gray sky, the tent had turned from marshmallow to dirty-water white. A couple of overturned chairs lay next to the tent wall, while a hodgepodge of pieces of wrapping paper, little lace collars, bow ties, and dying tiger lilies littered the grass.
Most weddings were happy events. But not this one. Susie Katz had never intended her cats’ nuptials to be a celebration, Bernie reflected. She had intended it to be an exercise of power, a way to say, “Screw you,” to her best enemies. There was no doubt about that. The question was, which one of the people there had hated her enough to kill her? At this point, she and Libby had a ways to go before they could answer that.
A moment later it began to pour. Bernie and Libby ran for the van. When they got inside, Bernie got out her cell and called Evan Molina.
“See him,” her dad had urged this morning. “You’d be surprised what he knows.”
Chapter 18
Spring and summer were house-selling season, Evan Molina’s busiest times of the year, so Bernie was surprised when she got him on the phone, let alone that he had time to see them.
“We’re on,” she told Libby as she tucked her cell back in her tote. “He’s at Breugger’s.”
“Big surprise,” Libby replied. Breugger’s was Evan Molina’s unofficial office.
“And,” Bernie continued, “he can give us an hour before his next appointment if we come now.”
“He’s going to nag us to sell,” Libby predicted.
“It’s the price of admission,” Bernie noted as she fastened her seat belt. “Anyway, he can nag all he wants to. We’re staying put.”
In the past few years, tempted by high offers, four stores on the block A Little Taste of Heaven was on had shut their doors. Good-bye to the Golden Word, Bob’s Pharmacy, the Ace hardware store, and Minnie’s Paws for Pets, and hello to two high-end clothing boutiques, a store that sold salt, and another one that sold men’s shaving supplies. The character of Longely was changing, and Libby didn’t like it. She didn’t like it one bit.
The drive over to see Evan Molina took longer than expected due to roadwork on Ash and Wadley. The rain didn’t help, either. At one point, it came down so thick and fast that there were a couple of times when Libby had to pull over to the side of the road because she couldn’t see out the windshield. Fortunately, the downpour was brief, and by the time the sisters reached Breugger’s, the rain had dialed itself back to a drizzle.
Evan Molina was sitting in one of the booths by the window, drinking a coffee, nibbling on a toasted, buttered sesame bagel, and reading the local newspaper, when Libby and Bernie walked in. He looked up, waved, and folded the paper up.
Libby noted he was wearing his usual outfit: a rumpled white shirt, a dark blue knit tie, a tweed jacket with patches at the elbows, and khaki pants. His wire-rimmed glasses had slid halfway down the bridge of his nose, and Libby could see a spot on his chin where he’d nicked himself shaving.
Evan had always reminded Libby of one of her English college professors. Not only did he look like Professor Frantz, but he also had the same slow speech, the same habit of always pausing to think before he spoke. Which wasn’t a bad thing, Libby reflected.
“You know, I could be holding my meetings at A Little Taste of Heaven instead of here,” Evan told Libby as she slid into the booth across from him, having just ordered and gotten her coffee. “Think about it. It would be good for you, good for me.”
“And our coffee is better,” Libby said, having just taken a sip of hers.
Evan laughed. “It certainly is.” Then he gestured around Breugger’s. It was midafternoon, and the shop was almost empty. In the morning there were lines out the door, but now he and two other people were the only customers in there. “You need a bigger place, a place you can grow into, a place you can put booths in. You know what they say. You either grow or you die. Nothing in life is static.”
Bernie slid into the booth next to her sister. “Always the salesman.” She took a sip of her coffee and wrinkled her nose. It tasted as if someone had run a few coffee beans through some hot water.
Evan laughed. “You gotta try, right?”
“Right,” Bernie said. “But we’re not interested in moving.”
“I’ve got the perfect place for you,” Evan said.
Libby gave Bernie an “I told you so” look before turning back to Evan. “You are persistent, I will give you that.”
“What would it hurt to look?” Evan countered.
“We’re really not interested,” Libby said.
“Okay. I get it. But times change. Places change. Sometimes for the better, sometimes for the worse.”
“So we noticed,” Libby said.
“Longely’s a hot commodity now. In ten years, who knows?” Evan lifted his hands, palms up, in the air. “All I’m asking you to do is drive by this place. If you like it, great. You’ll call me. And if you don’t, you’ll just continue on.”
“Fine.” Bernie leaned back in the booth. “You win. We’ll look.” At least it would shut Evan up.
Libby glared at Bernie. “We will?”
Bernie made a “Leave it alone” gesture with her hands to Libby.
“That’s all I
’m asking. And if, perchance, you want to move,” Evan said, ignoring Libby’s glower, “I have someone in mind who would really like your property and would be willing to pay quite a bit for it.” He paused. “Think about it,” he said to Libby.
“I don’t have to,” she snapped.
“Main Street is changing,” Evan said. “Retail is changing.”
“We know,” Bernie said. “It’s fairly obvious.”
“It’s my job to foresee the trends,” Evan told her. He absentmindedly ran his hand over the top of his head.
“That’s what has made you the best Realtor in this area fifteen years in a row,” Bernie replied.
Evan blushed. “No. What makes me the best in the business is a lot of hard work.”
“That too,” Bernie said.
“If we change our mind,” Libby assured him, having decided to rein herself back in, “you’ll be the person we come to.”
“Good to know,” Evan said. “But seriously, look at the property. It won’t cost you anything. Five minutes, at the most.”
“Where would we live?” Libby countered.
“It has two units upstairs,” Evan told her. “That’s one of the beauties of the place. You could live in one and rent out the other, or you could combine them.” He held up a finger and delivered his kicker. “And there’s an elevator, so your father wouldn’t have to deal with the stairs.”
Libby raised her hands in surrender. “I give up. You’ve worn me down. We’ll go see it.”
Evan smiled.
Libby leaned forward. “Now about . . .”
“Susie Katz?” Evan asked.
“Yes,” Bernie said.
“Speaking of Longely changing,” Evan commented, “I can tell you a lot of people were not happy when Susie bought the old Connor estate to begin with . . . and then, when she put those neon cats all over the place. Well . . . you can imagine.”
“I heard some of the neighbors tried to have the town remove them,” Libby said.
“Charlene Eberhart, to be specific. But Susie Katz promised to enlarge the library, and surprise, surprise, somehow the cats weren’t such an eyesore, after all.” Evan shook his head. “In retrospect, I’m sorry I sold her the property, although there really wasn’t any way I could have not sold it to her. It was for sale, and she had the money to acquire it. End of discussion.”
Evan sighed. Then he got up, walked over to the island where the milk and sugar were kept, picked up three packets of sugar, and returned to his seat, where he ripped the packets open and stirred them into his coffee. “My wife doesn’t allow sugar in the house,” he explained. “She calls it the new drug, God help me.”
“That seems rather extreme,” Libby ventured.
Evan grimaced. “Tell me about it. No more ice cream. No more cookies. No doughnuts. Oh well. I lived through the fat-free phase. I guess I can live through this one, as well.”
“Susie Katz,” Bernie prompted. “You were starting to tell us about Susie Katz.”
“Ah, yes.” Evan rested the stirrer on his napkin. “Susie Katz. Now, there was a character.”
“Nice way of putting it,” Bernie said.
“She didn’t bring out the best in people,” Evan observed.
“No, she did not,” Libby agreed.
Evan smiled again. Smiling was what he did. It was his default expression. Sometimes, Libby wondered if he was like that at home or if he had a set number of smiles per day and used them up during business hours.
“She even got to me a couple of times,” Evan admitted, interrupting Libby’s thoughts. He took another bite of his bagel.
Bernie snorted. “Why should you be different?”
Instead of answering the question, Evan said, “I have to say, your call was not unexpected given the circumstances.” He took a sip of his coffee to wash down the bagel. “Ah, better. Word has it that our fearless chief of police is not happy with you.”
“You could say that,” Libby agreed.
“I heard he threatened to arrest you,” Evan continued.
“He’s a big kidder,” Libby lied.
“I hope you’re right,” Evan told her as he straightened his tie, patting it into place. “Susie will not be missed,” Evan said. “I know that’s a terrible thing to say, but it’s true. She was . . .” He stopped for a minute, trying to find a polite way to say what he wanted to. Finally, he settled on something and added, “A very difficult human being.”
“She was tough to work with,” Libby agreed.
“She was a bitch,” Bernie said.
“She was that and then some,” Evan said. “Don’t repeat that,” he said hurriedly.
“We won’t,” Bernie assured him.
“But it was more than that.” Evan paused for another minute, searching for the correct words. “Some people play to win. She played to hurt.”
Bernie cocked her head. “Explain please.”
Evan spread his hands apart, palms down. “She was aware that what she was doing was going to be hurtful, was going to cause people angst, and that knowledge seemed to heighten her pleasure. She actively enjoyed hurting people—in a psychological sense.”
“In other words, she was a sadist,” Bernie said.
Evan nodded. “Exactly.”
Libby leaned forward. “Can you be more specific?”
Evan didn’t reply immediately. Instead, he washed down the last of his bagel with a couple more sips of coffee. “You know,” he said when he was done, “people tell me things, they trust me to go into their houses, go into their closets, and they trust me to fix things. I’m kind of like a doctor or a psychiatrist in that regard.”
Bernie raised an eyebrow. If Evan saw it, he ignored it.
“If I were a blabbermouth,” he continued, “I don’t think they’d do that, which would mean I wouldn’t get their business.”
“I understand,” Libby said, although she really didn’t. She thought Evan did the business he did because he knew how to price things correctly, but what did she know? “Don’t you think these circumstances transcend that in this case?” she asked.
Instead of answering, Evan reached for his paper cup, then realized he’d drunk the last of his coffee, and withdrew his hand.
“We’re just looking for background information about Susie Katz. That’s all,” Libby assured him.
“Specifically, her real estate transactions,” Bernie explained. “We hear she was buying up a lot of real estate and that you were handling it for her.”
“Yes, I was,” Evan said. “And you are correct. She was in the process of buying up a fair amount of business property. That’s true. The strip mall down near Diane Street and the abandoned typewriter factory over by Ridley were two of her recent purchases. She was going to turn them into mixed-use facilities.” Evan picked up a crumb from his bagel and deposited it in his coffee cup. “Those are a matter of public record.”
“Meaning that there are other purchases that aren’t?” Bernie asked.
Evan nodded. Bernie studied his face.
“And those are the interesting ones, aren’t they?” she said, guessing. “The ones we should pay attention to.”
Evan nodded. “Two, to be exact.”
Libby looked at her watch. Their time was growing shorter. Soon Evan would be off to his next appointment. “So, are you going to tell us or not?”
“I’d love to tell you,” Evan replied, “but there are some rocks one shouldn’t turn over.”
Bernie frowned and leaned forward. “Exactly what does that mean?”
“I don’t know,” Evan confessed. He laughed. “It’s sounds good, though, doesn’t it?”
“I suppose,” Bernie said slowly. She wasn’t quite sure how she should respond.
“I’ve always wanted to say that. It’s a line from a TV show,” Evan explained when he saw the blank expressions on their faces. “One of those detective shows,” he clarified.
“Right.” Bernie sighed and started to get up. Evan
wasn’t the only one who had a schedule to keep. This was turning out to be a waste of time, and they still had to pick up peanut butter, onions, and potatoes, as well as napkins, paper plates and cups, at Sam’s Club. “Okay, then. Thanks, anyway.”
Evan held up his hand. “Wait.”
“I’m sorry,” Bernie said. “This has been very interesting, and you know Libby and I always like talking to you, but this isn’t shedding a lot of light on the present situation, and we have a slew of stuff we have to get done, so if you’re not . . .”
“Oh, but I am,” Evan replied. “I’m just trying to explain to you why I can’t give you specifics.”
Libby took another sip of her coffee and made a face. “Then what can you give us?”
Evan leaned back, folded his hands, and rested them on the table. “I can give you the lay of the land.”
Bernie sat back down. “I guess we’ll take what we can get,” she said.
“I can definitely point you in the right direction. Once you hear what I have to say, I’m sure you and your sister are smart enough to figure out the rest,” Evan told her. He cleared his throat and began. “There are some people Susie Katz really didn’t like. . . .”
“No kidding,” Libby said.
Bernie elbowed her sister in the ribs. “Let the man finish talking.”
Libby rubbed her side. “I get it. Go on,” she told Evan.
Evan nodded. “As I was saying, when Susie didn’t like someone, she went out of her way to make their lives as unpleasant as possible.”
“This is not a news flash,” Libby couldn’t help blurting out.
“I realize that.” Evan raised his hand. “Just have a little patience.” He paused for a moment before continuing. “Which, I think, is why she expanded her horizons and began to dabble in private real estate. Now, there are people in this community, as there are in every community, to whom the economy has not been kind, who appear to be doing better than they are. That’s not a news flash, either, I know.” He paused again, and Bernie and Libby waited.
“They owe money on their houses and their cars.” Evan paused for a third time. “More than they can pay. In the past number of years, a variety of companies have grown up to answer this need. The one I’m thinking of operates on a strictly confidential basis. No ads. Strictly word of mouth. All very hush-hush. ‘We will give you money to keep going in exchange for the deeds to your property,’ they say. ‘You can buy the deeds back at any time,’ they promise. ‘No risk to you, and no one has to know,’ they state.”
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