“Looks nice,” Claudine said of Ellie’s home. Photos from a design magazine’s website showed white shag carpeting and a marble entryway with a chandelier. A mirrored wall reflected puffy white furniture. It was immaculate, like Ellie herself.
“Looks like a set from The Young and the Nervous,” Grady said. “Anyway, that’s just the public stuff. Let’s see what we get if we dig around in back. Have a seat.” He gestured toward a chair covered with back issues of Soap Opera Digest and one of Arthritis Today.
Claudine sat silently while his knobby fingers clacked the keyboard. Every once in a while he took a note in his shaky hand before returning to the keyboard. The computer screens glowed almost blue in the dim light. Oswald would be waiting for a message from her to finalize plans for the heist. Soon she’d be finished with stealing. What she’d do next, she didn’t know. Spend more time with her father, that’s for sure.
“Not getting much,” Grady said finally. “Excellent credit score, no priors, dean’s list at college. Longstanding member of her church. She’s had a subscription to Gracious Living for ten years.” He turned toward her. “Frankly, she sounds like a real pain in the ass.”
“She is. Kind of a control freak. Nothing on her business?”
“Looks like she specializes in buying properties, demolishing whatever was on them, and putting up something new.”
“Anything in particular?”
“Lots of different stuff. Apartment complexes, big houses. Here’s a strip mall.” Grady scrolled down the screen. “Huh. Here’s something. Nothing illegal, mind you. But it’s interesting.”
Claudine stood. “What?”
“She’s been buying condemned houses for a good price, then selling the lots as a plot. This sewage treatment plant, for instance.” He tapped the screen. “She bought seventeen houses condemned by the county. According to property tax records, she got them at about half price. The old property owners weren’t too happy about it, either. Here’s a news story from a couple of years ago, part one, but it looks like the reporter never followed up. No part two.”
I bet, Claudine thought. She pulled up a chair. “Where are these properties?”
“East side. Poorer neighborhood. Unlucky sods,” Grady said. “Probably had the county pull their houses right out from under them.”
“And with those minuscule buy-outs they’d never be able to afford another place.” Claudine would bet it all that Ellie had something going with the county. They’d condemn properties and value them low, and she’d sweep in and buy them just above the county’s offer—probably with a little something for particular election campaigns in return. Like Ned Rossum’s. The people they displaced didn’t have the money to hire a lawyer and fight it. The county could claim it as economic development.
“You know, they carp on and on about crooks, and then you find something like this,” Grady said.
“Can’t be legal, but can’t be proven.”
“But their mothers would be ashamed.” Grady massaged his hands. The typing must be bothering his arthritis. “Let’s see if we can dig up something on the girl’s husband.”
“Thank you, Grady.” She’d load the freezer with frozen dinners the next time she visited.
After another ten minutes of switching between screens and mumbling, he swiveled toward her. “The husband, a Roger Millhouse, got a divorce about ten years ago. The wife filed for alienation of affection.”
That was something. Maybe Millhouse cheated on wife number one. That would mean he might be tempted again. “Anything else? What does the husband do?”
“From what I can tell, he’s an investor. Eleanor was wife number three. He must have had some ironclad pre-nups, because the guy still has two cents to invest.” Grady pushed back his chair and pulled off his thick spectacles. “Otherwise, he’s as clean as her. Spends a lot of time in puzzle forums, and kind of an expert crossword puzzle guy, but that’s it. Pretty boring.”
“Are you sure?”
“What I’m sure of is that my mac and cheese is ready. Let’s go.”
Claudine didn’t move. She slowly tapped a pen against her arm. “Could you give me the names and addresses of the houses that Millhouse bought out last year?”
“I already told you about them.”
“Just the names and addresses, Grady. Please.”
With a sigh, Grady returned to his keyboard. “Here.” He tapped on a screen to a block of text in an enlarged font. “I’m sending it to the printer. Get it and meet me downstairs. I can taste those noodles now.”
17
Claudine stared through a chain link fence at the edge of a wet pit. Churned earth spanned at least five square blocks. “Carsonville Sewage Treatment Facility Coming Soon,” a sign wired to the fence read. This was what Ellie bulldozed all those homes for. “Coming Soon” appeared optimistic. At the bottom of the pit was a lonely bulldozer, but otherwise construction appeared halted. Waiting for spring, maybe.
The autumn-stripped trees and bare earth didn’t make the most of the neighborhood, but it hadn’t been a ritzy one to start with. The sidewalk edging the construction site was cracked and streets pitted. Many of the nearby homes were boarded up or had windows hung with tattered curtains and bent blinds. Beyond the houses on one side slogged the murky river.
She’d never spent much time in this part of town, where the industrial area had encroached on a residential neighborhood that had probably followed the river since Victorian times. Her work certainly didn’t take her there—no one had anything worth stealing. Her father had always made sure they lived in a firmly middle class, nondescript neighborhood.
She released the cold fence. Where to start? She looked at the list Grady had printed out the day before. She’d already called—or tried calling—the phone numbers Grady found in a reverse directory. Most were out of order, and one that rang through went to voice mail. She’d have to knock.
Green asbestos shingles covered the first house she approached. A pit bull—not as friendly as Tinkerbell—was chained to the front railing. The living room curtain briefly parted, then fell shut again, and no one came to the door. Pass.
At the next house, a duplex fashioned out of an already modest residence, no one answered her knock upstairs or down.
At the third house, a plump woman with wide eyes greeted her from the top of the stoop before Claudine even made it to the door. It was hard to pin down her age. Her upswept white hair and stooped figure put her in the senior category, but her unlined skin glowed. She smiled as if Claudine had been expected.
“Come in. What a nice surprise,” the woman said.
“But I’m—”
“Oh, you don’t need to explain. Now come on in, I’m not going to keep the door open all day. We don’t own the electric company, you know.” The woman turned to the living room and clearly expected Claudine would follow her.
She paused only a moment. Why not? The older woman looked harmless enough.
“I’m Letty.” She bustled into the kitchen and put on a kettle. “We’ll have some tea, and you’ll tell me what’s on your mind.”
“Claudine Dupin.” Claudine stuck out a hand, but Letty was busy settling into a pink armchair with a clear plastic slipcover. The vague scent of gardenias hung in the air.
“Have a seat,” Letty said.
Claudine lowered herself onto the sofa, also covered with clear plastic, facing Letty. Elasticized plastic covers shielded the lamps. Beyond Letty, through the pristine picture window, yawned the muddy pit of the construction site.
“Now, what can I tell you?” Letty said.
“How did you know I wanted to talk to you?”
“You were going door to door, weren’t you?”
“Yes, but I could have been selling something.”
“No valise or clipboard.” Letty smiled in satisfaction.
“Or worse. It’s not safe to let just anyone in your house,” Claudine said.
“Now listen to you.” Letty dismi
ssed her with a wave. “You’re not packing heat. Not in that slim jacket, and your purse is too small. Besides, you were looking at a list out there by your car. I’d guess you’ve come to see Madeleine.”
Madeleine? The kettle in the kitchen began to whistle, but Letty showed no sign of rising to get it.
“Shall I?” Claudine offered.
“If you don’t mind. Thank you.”
In the kitchen, Letty had laid out a tray with two pink ceramic tea cups and spoons on a fresh paper towel. Claudine filled the teapot and carried the tray to the living room. She made sure to stay on the clear plastic strip that made a runway into the next room.
“Madeleine isn’t here. Not now.”
“I’m not sure who Madeleine is,” Claudine said. “Actually, I came to talk to you about the sewage treatment plant.”
Letty tittered. She leaned forward and lowered her voice. “You don’t have to make excuses with me. I could see it in you when you walked up. You’re looking for a little extra help finding someone special, aren’t you? Madeleine got all the glory, but I have the gift, too, you know.”
“The gift?”
“They’re telling me you’ll find your direction. And soon.”
“They? Who’re they?” She’d made a mistake coming in the house. Letty might be able to take care of herself, but a screw was loose somewhere in there. “Look, thank you for your time, but I’d better get going.” Claudine grabbed her purse and rose.
“Wait,” Letty said, teaspoon in the air. Her eyes darted to the side for a second. “They’re telling me you’re right. There was collusion.” She frowned. “What’s collusion?”
Claudine lowered herself to her chair again. “A kind of conspiracy. Are you talking about the sewage treatment facility? Condemning all those houses?”
“Oh, that was awful,” Letty said. “One afternoon last spring everyone across the street and for the next few blocks got the same letter. Madeleine got one, too. She used to live right across the street, you know. In a little blue house with a yellow door. I thought it was the cleverest thing to paint the door yellow. You don’t often see that, probably because of the marks you can get on it. Use your foot to push open the door, and you’ve—”
“What did the letters say?”
Letty poured the tea. “I can show you, if you’d like. We received one, Madeleine and me. Maybe I’ve been saving it for you.”
“The both of you?”
“Yes. We lived together. Have for a good forty years. When the house was condemned I moved here. The people who lived here didn’t want to be across the street from a sewage facility. I wanted to stay nearby. So many memories.” Her voice weakened, and she looked away.
“I’d love to see the letter, please.”
The older woman still smiled, but the light behind it seemed to have gone out. “Oh. Yes.” She wandered down the hall and past the kitchen.
Claudine picked up a photo on the side table. It showed two young women, one of whom looked like Letty but with thick black hair. The other woman had equally black hair, but short, and huge eyes. Doing jobs, she’d been inside a lot of houses, read a lot of life from dishes left in the sink, bedside reading, framed photos like this one. One thing was for sure: no matter the value of your stock portfolio, everyone had people they loved—or used to love. They passed holidays, happy or busy or alone. They celebrated births and feared death. It’s just that some did it over Aubusson rugs. Here it was 1960s molded carpeting with vinyl runners.
“Here it is. The letter.” Letty arrived with an envelope the familiar pale gray of county correspondence.
Claudine glanced through it. An address, presumably Letty and Madeleine’s, was printed in large type on the top. The rest of the letter looked to be boilerplate about how the property was needed for critical functions, and how the property owner would be remunerated at—was that all?—a price far below what Claudine would have guessed, even given the neighborhood. The last paragraph gave information about where to petition the letter.
“Did you follow up with the county at all? You know, follow the instructions to petition?”
Letty kept her gaze fastened on the teapot as she refilled her cup. “I told her it was a bad idea. I told her no one else was getting anywhere with it, but she insisted.” She lifted the cup to her lips and looked toward the window. “It was the darlingest house. Little yellow door.”
Claudine gave the woman a few moments to respond before prompting her. “A bad idea?”
“Oh yes. They’d never let her get away with it. They wanted the property. And then.…”
Another moment passed. Claudine couldn’t tamp down her urgency. “What happened? With Madeleine?”
“Oh.” Letty set down her cup. “I guess you didn’t know. She killed herself.”
* * *
Letty’s staunch expression melted into tears. “I told her we should have taken the offer. They warned us when they came around the second time. But Madeleine said no, that we weren’t going to take it, even if we were the only house left standing on the block.”
Had the women been sisters? Lovers? Simply friends? Whatever it was, when Madeleine died, Letty lost family. “She took her own life because of it.” Claudine said it as more of a question than a statement.
“She was fine at first. Oh, she was mad, but fine. Then he came again.”
“Who?” Claudine found herself perched at the edge of the couch.
“I don’t know,” Letty said. “Madeleine wouldn’t tell me. But she wasn’t the same after that.” The rosiness had drained from her cheeks, and her hand trembled. A dog barked down the street, bringing the silence into relief.
“What about the neighbors? Did any of them back you up, do the same?”
“What?” Letty swayed a bit in her chair.
“The neighbors. Did they sell or try to hang on to their houses?”
“Well, let’s see.” She ticked off her fingers. “The Titos refused at first, but they seemed to change their minds awfully fast and sold. Barbie Stanton was planning to go live with her son, anyway. The house next to her was a rental, and I don’t think the landlord cared. The Krugers….” Her voice trailed off. “They’re all gone now.”
“Letty? Are you okay?”
“Is it Wednesday yet? I have to go to the doctor on Wednesday.”
“Tomorrow. Can I get you something?” She shouldn’t be living here alone.
“I’m fine. They say it’s all right.”
Talking to spirits again. “You’re not feeling well. I shouldn’t be pushing you like this. I should go,” Claudine said.
“No. Stay. Just a few more minutes until this passes. I’m all right. Ask me another question.”
“If you’re sure.” At Letty’s nod, she said, “Then tell me about the first offer on your house,” Claudine said. “After this letter, right?” She held up the letter from the county.
“Oh, no. A young man came around about a month before the letter arrived. He said he wanted to buy our house.”
This was getting interesting. “Did he say why?”
“No. Only that his firm was looking to buy out that whole side of the street for a big project. Madeleine told him we wouldn’t do it. He had a shadow over him.” She looked at Claudine with meaning. “He said this was the best offer we’d get, then he left.”
“The condemnation letter came later. But the man wasn’t from the county?”
“Oh, no.” Letty’s chest rose as she inhaled deeply. She let it out in one long sigh. “Oh Madeleine. I told you we should have left it all alone.”
“But you say you had two visits.”
“We did. By the same man, but he wasn’t very gentlemanly the second time.”
“Let me make sure I understand. You got a visitor with an offer to buy your house.”
Letty nodded.
“You declined the offer. Then you received this condemnation letter from the county. Shortly after that, the visitor showed up again and offered to
buy the house at a price just above what the county proposed.”
“Yes.”
“You declined that offer, too.”
“I told Madeleine just to let it go, not to pay attention to his threats. For a little while, she was fine—and then….”
“He threatened you?” Claudine spoke more sharply than she’d intended.
“He said he’d tell everyone—something,” she whispered.
“Letty.” She clinked her tea cup into its saucer to punctuate the word. “Do you happen to remember the name of the man who visited you?”
Letty pulled a cream business card from the pocket of her housecoat. “I thought you’d want it.”
“Fine Properties of Distinction,” it read.
18
At the tea shop the next day, Ruby scooted her chair closer. Claudine seemed a bit more animated, more vivacious than usual. But frustrated, too. “That’s all? You couldn’t find anything? They got Al Capone on a tax charge. Isn’t there something like that?”
“Eleanor Millhouse is ridiculously clean,” Claudine said. “Immoral, but clean. Grady scoured computer records. Couldn’t even get a parking ticket on her.”
“But what about trying to break into the firehouse?” Deborah said. Her hair was molded into 1920s-style finger curls, like Betty Boop in the old comic strip. It had taken only half an hour with the curling iron before their meeting, but Deb had been thrilled. Ruby thought it was like having her little sister around. “You know we can’t be the first people who got in her way.”
“If she crossed the line with someone else, there’s no record of it.”
“So blackmail’s out of the question,” Ruby said.
“I’m not sure about that. Not entirely, anyway. On a hunch, I went to visit her last big property sale to the county. It’s out by the river, south of town.”
Claudine told them about Letty and Madeleine, and about Madeleine’s death and the property sales. Claudine pulled a notepad from her bag and tapped her pen on the page at each point. “I had Grady chase down the Fine Properties sale to the county, and compared to what she paid the homeowners, she made heaps of money.”
The Booster Club Page 15