Traci Tyne Hilton - Mitzi Neuhaus 02 - Eminent Domain

by Traci Tyne Hilton

  “HuddingtonCenter…” Enid mused. “I think that we should keep that in mind.”

  The door flew open and Joan and Mitzy entered the room in the middle of a discussion.

  “I have too much on my plate right now Joan. I would happily send you on to the Smythes and pay you myself if you would quit asking about the Miramontes Offices.” Mitzy dumped her purse on her desk and pulled out her chair.

  “I know that you are busy. I know what you are doing is important,” Joan, Mitzy’s favorite home stager, said. She tucked her flyaway caramel colored curls behind her ear as she spoke. A large moonstone ring she was wearing caught in her hair and so she paused to untangle herself.

  “Joan, I think your plan is brilliant. I can’t wait to see it all pulled together. You are the best or we wouldn’t work together. But the issue with the city’s plans to condemn a whole street including two of my properties has become the priority. If you really can’t wait, just start.” Mitzy was pulling open the drawers of her desk as she spoke, looking for something.

  Ring freed from her curls, Joan responded, “I do not want to have to redo work later. You need to get in there with me and go over the samples in the light and discuss the layout. And Alonzo needs to come too.”

  Mitzy shook her head. “I honestly don’t think Alonzo cares. Have you not been to his old office? Folding tables. Carpet tiles.”

  “He has to care. He needs to be able to work in there with architects, designers, clients, engineers. I need a long talk with him about efficiency and comfort. I will not move on until we have this meeting.” Joan leaned against the edge of Sabrina’s desk and drummed her fingers on the top of the computer monitor.

  “I know you. You mean a series of meetings.” Mitzy pulled a folder out of a drawer with a triumphant swing and slammed the drawer shut again.

  “Yes. I do. So we need to get started.” Joan reached into her pocket and pulled out a paint sample notebook. She opened it on Sabrina’s desk.

  “Hi,” Sabrina said. “Working here.”

  “I don’t know how to tell you this in a way that you will understand. Your project is important but not priority. Shelve it.” Mitzy was flipping through the papers in her folder as she spoke. “If you want to have your hands busy call Dawn. Tell her that you are my gift to stage her home for the first big open house.”

  Joan shook her head. “I might call her. I might not. I’m going back upstairs to work.” She flipped her sample book shut and shoved it back into the voluminous pockets of her oversized wool cardigan.

  Mitzy pulled one paper out of her folder, closed the folder and put it on her desk. She turned immediately to Enid. “Enid,” She said, offering her hand. “I am so glad you could make it and so sorry to keep you waiting.”

  “Not at all,” Enid said, shaking Mitzy’s hand. “Why are you and Alonzo being followed?” she asked.

  Mitzy didn’t hedge. “It’s about the house. The Feds think that they can solve some immigration crime or some mafia crime or maybe both. But they think we are hiding evidence. It’s nonsense of course.” Mitzy rustled the paper in her hand as she spoke. She was high-strung today, tense with anxiety and her hands were shaking. She tried to keep moving to hide it.

  “Are you sure it is nonsense?” Enid asked.

  “Of course it is. We wouldn’t hide evidence. We’ve made everything available that we possibly could. But certain household goods had already been sold and we honored those contracts rather than giving up the items. The detectives working on this have seen everything we’ve seen and have been given the chance to keep everything that has information on it.” Mitzy set the paper on her knee and twined her fingers together, held them out and stretched them.

  “So that was what you meant by nonsense,” Enid said, nodding and pausing for a moment. When she spoke again it was with an intent look for Mitzy, “You agree with the people who are following you that the house was likely linked to several…interesting crimes.” Enid watched Mitzy’s reaction.

  Mitzy didn’t hesitate. “Things happened there, I’m sure. But it was in the distant past and has very little bearing on today.”

  “Your distant past and mine are not the same my dear. And what has bearing today is all a matter of perspective.” Enid stood up, hands resting lightly on her walker.

  “If you will,” Mitzy said, standing with Enid and indicating the open door to her private office. Generally only used when contracts needed to be signed, the small private office was proving useful for other situations that needed discretion as well.

  As soon as she was sure that Enid was seated comfortably, Mitzy began, “Thank you so much for meeting me here today. Would you mind sharing what you thought of Frankie’s plan?”

  Enid took a deep breath. “I think it may be more important for you if we talk about the house you are renovating instead.”

  Mitzy drummed her fingers on top of the walnut table where they were sitting. “I could talk about the inn all day, but if they are going to demolish it, what good would the talking have done us?” She spoke wistfully, at odds with the nervous energy of her tightly strung body.

  “I moved two years ago. But I originally moved to Baltimore Street in 1950. Are you sure there isn’t anything you’d like to ask me about the home on the corner?”

  “The questions I could ask are nearly endless. For example, who is Mrs. Baker?” Mitzy asked.

  Enid turned her head to the side a little and then shook her head.

  “And was the family friendly with Dorothy McCollough Lee?” Mitzy went on, her words picking up speed in her excitement, “When did Maxim Mikhaylechenko, the man who attacked me in the basement last spring, move in? Who was he living with? When did the house start to go downhill and why? Was there a lot of coming and going over there? And that’s just to start. But if I find out the answers and they are not what I want them to be, I could be in a lot of trouble over the sold furniture.”

  “You are a bright girl Mitzy. You seem to be much brighter than the people who are following you. What do you think that means?” Enid asked.

  “What does it mean that I could be in a lot of trouble? It means I can’t take any more action until I know what is going on,” Mitzy said.

  “That is a very good starting point. But I was wondering what all your questions mean.”

  “They mean I don’t even know where to start. I’ve got too many questions,” Mitzy said.

  “Or it could mean that you have many of the answers you need already.” Enid said. “Think this through with me; you sent some furniture away in the night. The ladies and gentlemen who wanted the furniture weren’t bright enough to know you were going to do that.” Enid leaned forward, her face creasing into a serious frown, “But what if I was able to answer all of your questions and you learned that not only was the home the center of a crime ring, but the family who lived there had hollowed out the legs of all their furniture to hide drugs? Then the Feds would have been right. What would you do then?”

  “This is hypothetical?” Mitzy asked

  “Of course. I have no reason at all to believe anyone hid drugs anywhere,” Enid said, sitting back and relaxing her face.

  “And neither do we. In fact, the Feds checked the legs of the furniture. None that could be removed proved to be hollow. But if that was so and I was threatened with arrest, it would make the most sense to me to pass along the contact information for the current owners of the furniture,” Mitzy said.

  “Exactly dear. The hypothetical drug evidence was not yours. It merely passed through your hands without your knowledge. You would pass on the names, addresses, phone numbers, and all of that and the lovely people who are following you would then follow the furniture. I knew you were a bright girl,” Enid said.

  “Do you think I should give the Feds all of that information?” Mitzy asked.

  “It doesn’t seem to be necessary yet. But please keep it in mind for when the time is right. I think before all of this is resolved you will need to g
ive up on your furniture,” Enid said, nodding her head.

  “Enid, I don’t want to waste your time. What do you want to tell me about the house?” Mitzy asked.

  “I have sixty years worth of memories. Of seeing the house, visiting the neighbors, being involved with the community. I wish I knew which bit you needed. I had hoped the questions you had keeping you up at night would tell me what I needed to tell you.” Enid began to tap her toe on the floor and lean forward on the arms of the walker again.

  Mitzy took a deep breath. “I’m sorry,” she said. She was beginning to feel like she was wasting everyone’s time with her questions about the contents of the myrtle wood box.

  Enid smiled at Mitzy and laid her gentle hand on Mitzy’s arm. “I don’t know a Mrs. Baker.” She said. “But you have no need to be sorry. We can sort out this mess. I do know that Maxim grew up in the house; he moved there as a rather young boy. He was there on and off for most of his life. I remember when he mowed lawns for all the neighbors.”

  “Really?” Mitzy perked up, her eyes bright. “I can’t picture him as anything but a thug.”

  “Everyone was a child once. Mitzy.” Enid said with a chuckle. “And as for Mayor Lee, I feel I knew her well but I only ran into her at the home in question every once in a while. She spoke at, but wasn’t a member of, our committee. And as for much coming and going? Yes. There seemed to have been. But you must remember it was a rather large and connected family. And over fifty years what I remember as a lot of coming and going may have been nothing more than regular holiday visits from family.”

  “I’d say those answers are helpful. Tell me more about your committee. What was it? What did Mrs. Lee come and speak about?” Mitzy said, scratching notes on the paper she had dug for in her desk.

  Enid smiled. “It’s a rather unpopular idea around here nowadays, but we were the Women’s Christian Temperance Union.”

  “That fits with the Dorothy I read about. She spoke on ‘Clean Home, CleanCity’ or something like that didn’t she?” Mitzy said

  “Something like that. And other things as well, I’m sure,” Enid paused. “Volunteer organizations had quite a bit of power way back then, Mitzy. We could do many things that supported our general purpose. Not like today. Please ask me more questions as you think of them my dear. I know there must be much more that I can help you with.” Enid paused again, shaking her head. “I have a feeling that you are not taking those detectives seriously enough.”

  “I am giving them as much serious consideration as they deserve right now. Would it be alright if I asked you about Frankie’s plan now? I have a feeling I need to think longer before I can ask the right house questions.”

  “That’s fine, dear. I think the word for Frankie Abalone is weasel. He’s a sneak. I don’t trust his plan,” Enid said.

  “I didn’t like it either. It seemed to me like blackmail,” Mitzy said.

  “Yes. That is the right word for it. I don’t think that is the plan we should take, whether we have the shelter of a lawyer or not. And my dear, though he thinks with snooping we’d be able to uncover something of use to us…things can stay hidden for many decades when the city wants them to stay hidden.”

  “Yes.” Mitzy considered this. Mitzy’s mind was set on her small wooden box. Some things stayed hidden in the arm of a sofa for decades. She had found it but still didn’t know what it meant. “How long did your Temperance Union meet?”

  “Our charter met from right after the war until the mid 1960’s, but I was only involved while I lived on Baltimore Street. Oh, I’d say I was a member for about 15 years,” Enid said.

  “What kind of political activities did a Temperance Union do back then? Seems like temperance was just as out of style in the ‘50’s and ‘60’s as it is now.”

  “You are right about that. Drinking was very popular back then, though the city as a whole hadn’t gone as beer crazy yet as it is now. At that time, in fact, adults went to the KennedySchool for PTA meetings and conferences, rather than drinks and movies.” Enid smiled at the thought.

  “The microbrews have taken over in strange places, haven’t they?” Mitzy said.

  “They have and I hate to think what Mrs. Bonner would have thought about it all.”

  “Who is Mrs. Bonner?”

  “She was the president of the Union. We met at the Simonite’s house because of the space, obviously. But Mrs. Bonner was the president. She believed in the message more than the rest of us, I think. But as for political involvement, we did the usual; petitions, rallies, letters to the editor, that sort of thing. We didn’t have much impact on alcohol consumption,” Enid said.

  “What kept you meeting if you didn’t have much impact?” Mitzy asked.

  “As a non-profit we dabbled in a number of causes unrelated to temperance. We worked hard for the schools. Some of the schools were really suffering after the flood,” Enid said.

  “The Vanport flood?”

  “Yes. That’s it, Mitzy. I knew you were a bright girl. When Vanport flooded, the children that lived in that neighborhood were moved all over the city. Some of them went to schools that were already overburdened and underfunded. We did a lot of fundraising.”

  Enid and Mitzy discussed the situation of Portland Public Schools in the 1950’s for a little longer, Mitzy fishing for answers, to questions she hadn’t formed yet. In the end she posed the question of the tram redevelopment.

  “Frankie’s idea was terrible and Brett won’t step in. We need a better plan,” Mitzy said.

  “Who else would think the redevelopment was a bad idea, Mitzy? Who are your allies? When you have sorted out who your allies are, your battle is won,” Enid said with a slow smile.

  Mitzy spent that evening on Alonzo’s sofa making lists of allies and eating his mama’s left-over ravioli.

  “The Historic Society wants to preserve the building and have an East Side presence, so they are our allies. Who else?”

  “Have you gotten a hold of the rest of the homeowners yet?” Alonzo asked.

  “Sabrina is working on it, but so far nobody likes the idea of taking what the city is willing to give them for their home,” Mitzy said.

  “Are the woods in the back of our property a green space? Or a habitat?” Alonzo asked.

  “Now there’s a thought. We need to see who doesn’t want all of that habitat paved over. Maybe the watershed has a committee I can get involved with. Don’t we have some kind of building preservation committee in this city?”

  “Have you seen the old buildings in this city?”

  “We don’t have many,” Mitzy said.

  “Exactly,” Alonzo said. “We have a powerless building preservation society. You can get a historic home listed. But if the owner wants to demolish the house all they have to do is request that it is unlisted.”

  “Listing is entirely up to the owners?” Mitzy asked.

  “Yes.”

  “As we are the owners, we need to get it listed right away. Then when the city tries to condemn it we can deny the right to unlist it.”

  “Number one, I hate doing renovations of historic buildings on preservation lists. Number two, if the city condemns it, they become the owners and then they get it unlisted.”

  “But it wouldn’t hurt to get it listed and then have one more group of people as allies.”

  “I say it would hurt to get it listed. We’d have a load of work to do to renovate to historic standards. If we wanted to do anything that would be up to code for an inn we’d have to get ourselves unlisted,” Alonzo argued.

  “But it seems like it should work.”

  “Not to anyone who knows better.” Alonzo sat down with Mitzy in the living room. “We need to think of something less obvious. You know that our city council gives itself a lot of power.”

  “I can’t think less obvious right now.” She reclined on the sofa, setting her plate on the coffee table. “I’m stuffed and exhausted. In fact, the most obvious thing to me seems like a good sta
rting place.”

  “What’s the most obvious thing?” Alonzo asked.

  “Come up with a better plan. Make a better bid. You and I think putting the tram so it runs past the community college would be perfect. Could one of your engineers draw something up? I know you are busy, but the planning phase for the community center has been over for ages. We could do a survey of the traffic patterns and draw up an alternative plan for the tram. Baltimore Street has to be the stupidest place to put it.” Mitzy sighed deeply when she was done speaking.

  “It is the stupidest place. So why do they want it there?”

  “Who knows? Could you get someone to do a plan?” Mitzy asked.

  “Yes. I can. We will be taken much more seriously with a better plan in hand. But think for a minute. Why do they really want the tram on Baltimore?” Alonzo asked again.

  “They want it there because they will profit from it. But how? They claim to want to improve the city with…jobs. But they still add jobs if they use a different location. They want to improve traffic as well. This goal is met in a better location. They want to decrease cars. But again, that is not location dependent. Who on city council owns a house on Baltimore?”

  “That, my dear, is a very good question. Who are the homeowners Sabrina hasn’t been able to get in touch with?”

  “Can we finish this in the morning?” Mitzy asked, yawning.

  Alonzo looked at his watch. It was past midnight. Mitzy, who usually kept early hours, was exhausted.

  “It’s a date. I’ll drive you home.”

  The Thursday morning Spot-light on Real Estate came like usual. Mitzy, unlike usual, missed the days when she used to do a radio segment. If she had been chattering with the radio talk show host she could have brought up the tram corridor and taken calls and gotten the public talking about it. She could have gotten the public angry about it.

  Her television segment had a bigger audience and was usually more fun than her time on the radio had been. But it was scripted and produced. Everything she said on TV was preplanned and she wasn’t allowed to talk politics.