by Meg Wolfe
Wesley Warren’s death?”
“I’ve already spoken with his attorney and the D.A.’s office. The charges will be either dropped or greatly reduced in exchange for his detailed testimony of Toley Banks’ loan shark and enforcing activities. I’ll be happy with that.”
Charlotte thought she’d be happy with that, too.
Once again, they were at the police station for a round of questions to answer and statements to make, all proper procedure, which Barnes wanted to make certain was executed perfectly. There was no way, he said, that everything everyone went through was going to be for nothing all because of a technicality, and no one could blame him. Helene and Charlotte also had the satisfaction of knowing their statements would help Donovan, as well.
While waiting for their interviews, they were surprised to see Bosley Warren on his way out. Charlotte tensed up at the very sight of him, even more so when he spotted them and walked over, his huge bulk blocking their view of the rest of the waiting room.
“Miz Dalmier, Charlotte,” he nodded to them in greeting. “I wish to offer my deepest apologies on behalf of Warren Brothers Pawn and Payday and Estate Sales. None of the crimes that were committed on your persons and property was planned by us or done with our knowledge. That’s all I’m allowed to say, other than that I hope you bear me no ill will, and I’ll understand perfectly if you wish to terminate the estate auction contract drawn up by Mitchell Bennett.”
“Thank you, Mr. Warren,” said Helene, who was sitting up straight and exuded dignity. “I think it is best all around if the contract is voided. If necessary, I can have my attorney send you a letter to confirm it.”
Bosley nodded, resigned to the loss of business. “Whatever you think best, ma’am. I stand ready to provide any reassurances you and your attorney require. Again, my sincerest apologies, my condolences on the death of Mrs. Targman, and my deepest hope that Van Targman recovers quickly. Goodbye.”
“Well!” said Helene, after Bosley strode away. “That was easy enough, but I’ll make sure the lawyer really does check everything. Now I can call Martin Stanton, which will be such a relief after this circus.”
“Oh, right! Martin! My sale!” Charlotte cringed at the realization she had completely forgotten about her own estate sale over the weekend, she was so entranced by the contents of the last notebook, caught up in solving the mystery, and on an emotional rollercoaster since Friday’s ordeal. “I’m going to have to call him as soon as we get out of here.” She pointed to the sign that said “NO CELL PHONES OR OTHER ELECTRONIC DEVICES.”
“That’s one upside of all this,” said Helene. “You were too busy to fret about your sale. A good thing, I would think.”
“Oh, sure,” Charlotte grumbled. “Like breaking an arm to stop worrying about a hangnail.”
“I wonder how it went? If it all sold, or if there was anything left. Maybe you even have a buyer for the house!”
Charlotte shook her head. “Lola hasn’t said anything, so I doubt it. I think she was waiting for Stanton to clear out before scheduling viewings. It was pretty full in there, the way they had everything pulled out and in the open.”
Then they were called in to give their statements.
Charlotte met Martin Stanton at the Lake Parkerton house, where the crew was doing a thorough cleaning job, after consolidating all the unsold items in the garage. There was, to her great surprise, very little, much of it things she would have been tempted to throw out. She looked around for her big painting, but of course it wasn’t there, nor was any of the other art. Some of the older pieces of her wardrobe were left, and the more beat up of her pots and pans and dishes. The kitchen cart she wanted to take was gone, as well.
“Hey, Charlotte,” Martin called out from the door to the kitchen. “Not much left, eh?”
“No, there’s not! I don’t see anything I want to take back, although I should probably look more carefully.”
“Come on in, and I’ll show you the figures.”
It was a little strange to be invited in to one’s own house, and yet it wasn’t. She realized that she was already settling into the little apartment, and into life in Elm Grove, and it hadn’t even been a week.
Martin had the itemized lists and their selling prices spread out. Some things went for high prices, some things were all but given away. She noted the sterling silver flatware did indeed go for nearly three times the amount she’d received for it at the pawn shop. Then she spotted the sales figure for the big painting—Martin’s estimate was very close, even slightly low. The trip to Paris to see Ellis was on. But where did it go?
“Who bought the big painting?” she asked.
Martin showed her another list. “Bennington Eastman, the art brokers. They’ve been buying up Hannah Verhagens left and right.”
“Oh.” She was disappointed. It would have been nice to know where it went, but brokers tended to be confidential about that information. Yet “Blossoming” was painted for her, and she would never really lose the sense that it was hers.
“Here you are, ready to deposit.” Martin handed her the check.
It seemed like such a lotta, lotta money, but she restrained herself from too much giddiness. If the house was sold for less than the mortgage, she’d have to make up the difference with some of this check.
“Wow!” Then she suddenly had a question. “I’m supposed to give you 30% of this, right?”
Martin laughed. “No, no Charlotte, that’s your net. We’ve already taken the thirty percent out, see?” He showed her the total on the sales sheet. Yes, there it was: her check was, indeed, 70% of the total sales.
“You are good,” she said.
“We’re the best,” he said.
Charlotte deposited the check immediately upon returning to Elm Grove, happy to have such a substantial return on her shopping investments and giving up things she liked and loved, but sad, too, knowing that she would never enjoy those things again. There wasn’t even anything left worth bringing home. Her house itself was now empty, ready for Lola to stage for prospective buyers. It was done. All that remained was selling the house, and to sell it as quickly as possible.
She pulled into the parking space Larry had set aside for her in the delivery area behind The Good Stuff, locked up the Jeep, and made her way around the building to her front door. As she passed the shop windows, she thought of Shamus, realizing how happy she was to have him around all the time, and wondered if Larry missed him yet, or if things were bad between him and his wife.
The lock on the front door opened quickly, now that she knew the exact way to wiggle the key. Shamus was waiting for her in the foyer, and as she started to bend down to pick him up, she saw what looked like a dead mouse nearby. Oh no. She couldn’t abide mice. Then she spotted its cross-stitched eyes. Shamus flopped down and rubbed his head on it, then flipped over on his back. It was a toy mouse filled with catnip. The price tag was still on it. Crazy cat.
She started up the stairs, and the cat ran ahead of her, with his toy mouse in his teeth.
The afternoon sun was doing its thing again, warming up the walls and bouncing light around to form a sort of aura around the bed, the sofa, the rug, the big table, and the big painting—
The Hannah Verhagen still life was on the table, and propped against the wall. It looked magnificent in the high-ceilinged room, and in bold, joyous scale with the windows.
Shamus jumped up on the table, sniffing at the edges of the painting, then batted a note card sitting on the lid of the computer.
Charlotte caught it before it fluttered to the floor.
All it said was:
“With all my love and deepest gratitude,
Helene.”
About the Author
Meg Wolfe is the author of the Charlotte Anthony mystery series: An Uncollected Death, An Unexamined Wife, An Undisclosed Vocation, and An Uncharted Corpse. She is also the author o
f the Amazon best-seller, The Minimalist Woman's Guide to Having it All. Meg earned a Master's degree from Valparaiso University, and is a member of Sisters in Crime and the Alliance of Independent Authors.
After starting out in life as a writer, Meg experienced illuminating detours in garden design, cooking, and art before coming full circle back to writing. She lives in Valparaiso, Indiana, with her husband, artist and photographer Steve Johnson.
Newsletter: Sign up for special offers, advance notices and a free 25 page Charlotte Anthony short story: The Case of the Princess Daddy.
Website: megwolfe.com
Email: [email protected]
Other Books by Meg Wolfe
Fiction
The Charlotte Anthony Mysteries:
(Book 1: An An Uncollected Death)
Book 2: An Unexamined Wife
Book 3: An Undisclosed Vocation
Book 4: An Uncharted Corpse
The Charlotte Anthony Mysteries Box Set (books 1 - 4)
Nonfiction
The Minimalist Woman’s Guide to having it all
