The Body in the Attic

by Judi Lynn

  Isabelle spoke slowly and carefully. “I’m going to get sad news, aren’t I?”

  “I’m afraid so.”

  Isabelle straightened her shoulders and gave Reuben a brittle smile. “In that case, I think you should be ready to visit me at a moment’s notice in the next days. I’ll need you. But we’ve made new friends tonight, and we’re at a wonderful restaurant. We need to enjoy ourselves. Entertain us with your wit, dear friend.”

  Jazzi felt relieved. Isabelle wanted to change the subject and, hopefully, the mood.

  “When you call, I’ll come,” Reuben told her, then visibly shifted into host mode. “Now, on to serious things. When do you mean to depart your apartment, downstairs neighbor?”

  Jazzi stared at him, caught off guard, then laughed. “I’m guessing the landlord’s willing to sell you the house.”

  “Overpriced, but I’m happy to pay it. Isabelle would love to see your apartment if you wouldn’t mind giving us a tour.”

  She reached into her purse and took out her extra key. “Just leave it on the kitchen table.”

  “What do you think the house would look like painted lavender?”

  Her jaw dropped, and Reuben clapped his hands together, delighted. “You’re so traditional. I love it!”

  Olivia got excited, though. “There’s a Victorian on Spy Run that’s purple. It has two different shades for its trim.”

  “Do you like it?” Reuben asked.

  “It’s eye-catching.” Olivia finished her almond-crusted walleye and wild rice. She leaned back in her chair with a satisfied sigh.

  Jazzi glanced at Isabelle’s huge bowl of mussels, half-eaten. She finished her last scallop as Reuben ate his last bite of Dijon-roasted salmon.

  “Where are you ladies off to after this?” he asked.

  Olivia glanced at her watch. “I’ll probably have one last drink at Jazzi’s place and then head home. I start early in the salon tomorrow.”

  Isabelle studied her. “You look like a hairdresser. You have flair.”

  “Thank you, so do you. Where do you get your hair done?”

  Isabelle hesitated slightly, then said, “I travel to Chicago every five weeks to a salon and spa.”

  Reuben smiled. “And I go with her for the weekend. A great city! Lots of inspiration for a designer.”

  They were both too classy for Jazzi. She had to admire their style, though.

  Reuben motioned for the bills, and they said their good-byes. When Olivia pulled to the curb in front of Jazzi’s apartment, she gave her an apologetic look.

  “Do you mind if I beg off early tonight?”

  “Not a bit. I’m beat.”

  Impulsively, Olivia stretched across the seat and hugged her. “Hang in there, sis. Sorry about Noah, and I hope Maury takes the news well. He couldn’t have done it. He’s too . . . Maury.”

  Jazzi nodded. “Don’t say anything to anyone.”

  “I don’t want to. What a downer. I’ll leave that to you.”

  “Thanks.” Jazzi wasn’t looking forward to it. She climbed out of her sister’s car and trudged to her apartment. She didn’t even turn on the TV. She just fell into bed and slept.

  Chapter 18

  Jazzi didn’t want to get out of bed, but she reminded herself that it was Friday. Nothing terrible could happen on a Friday, could it? Then she remembered that Gaff would probably show up at Cal’s house today, and she needed to tell him about Thomas Sorrell. He might even bring Noah’s father with him. Her mood plummeted. Maybe she should never leave the apartment, hide under the bed, and pretend she wasn’t home.

  Her dad’s words spoke in her mind. “Problems don’t go away just because you ignore them.”

  Sad, but true. They weren’t her problems. She didn’t inherit them just because she bought the house. But she couldn’t really avoid them either. So she slung her legs out of bed and padded to the bathroom to get ready for the day. No use worrying about hair and makeup. She’d sweat so much, it didn’t matter. The new central air was getting installed today, but when you did hard physical labor, air conditioning only helped. It wasn’t a cure-all.

  She pulled on her worn work jeans and a sleeveless tee. When she glanced at her arms in the mirror, she did a double take. Her biceps could intimidate desk jockeys. She flexed her muscles. Look out, world. I’m a strong woman! Then she thought of Ansel and laughed at herself. No competition.

  On her drive across town, she glanced at the orchard she passed every day. Apples clung to the trees, not ripe yet but plentiful. Jazzi had a thing for apple dumplings. That made her think of the upcoming Sunday meal. What in the world would she make this time? Somehow, in hot weather, her menu muse deserted her.

  She thought of the electric smoker on her back patio. Last April, she’d had the flu and spent a day on the couch watching QVC, and doggone if she hadn’t ended up buying the stupid thing. She didn’t regret it. She loved it.

  She’d make ribs and potato salad, she decided. The meat would cook outside, and the kitchen would stay cool. Making a decision made her feel like she’d accomplished something. The day might not be fun, but at least she’d taken a step forward.

  When she reached Cal’s house, she was the first one there. She was upstairs, installing beadboard in the master bath when Jerod and then Ansel arrived. Jerod narrowed his eyes to study her work.

  “Yeah, I like it. It gives it an old-fashioned look.”

  Ansel gently lowered George to the floor. The pug immediately stretched out on the cool tiles. George was tired. It took a lot of work to be constantly pampered.

  The doorbell rang, and Jerod poked his head into the hallway and smiled. “The air-conditioning men are here.”

  She was surprised the three of them didn’t break out into a happy dance. There was no break in the heat predicted for days on end. They’d hired the company Olivia’s Thane worked for. Thane took heating and cooling as seriously as they took flipping.

  Jerod raced down the stairs to let them in. When Thane entered the foyer, they cheered for him. He blushed all the way to his hairline. Ansel might be on the quiet side, but Thane was downright shy. He was as tall as Jerod with a heavier build, but Olivia was the aggressive one in their relationship. Olivia’s outgoing personality was good for Thane, who tended to brood. And Thane’s steadiness balanced out Olivia’s spontaneity. Gaff had given them permission to work in the basement, so Jerod led them to the furnace, then returned to help with the baths.

  Jerod chuckled as they worked in the bath. “I can’t believe your sister fell for a guy whose favorite hobbies are camping and birdwatching.”

  It had surprised Jazzi, too. Thane wasn’t exactly a showstopper. He had auburn hair and gray eyes, a crooked nose, a long chin, but he gave off an aura of being solid and dependable. And he was. “They say opposites attract. They complement each other.”

  “I guess.” Jerod reached for his hammer. The master bathroom was big enough that the three of them could work together. After they installed the beadboard, they carted in the cabinet for the double sinks. Last, they installed the toilet and glass shower doors. When the room was finished, Jazzi was one happy girl.

  “What do you want in the small bath?” Ansel asked.

  She hadn’t gotten that far. “What would you do with it?”

  “White wainscoting on the bottom half and dark blue paint on the top half. A big mirror with a white frame.” He’d obviously thought about it.

  “Sounds good to me. Let’s do it.” She felt sorry for Ansel. He wanted to make a house his own so much, and Emily wasn’t going to let him. They had plenty of beadboard for the wainscoting and installed that. “We’ll have to wait to paint,” she said. “Why don’t you pick out the blue and white tonight?”

  He gave her a look. “It’s your house. Are you babying me?”

  “Maybe.”

 
At first, he looked miffed, but then he relaxed. “The look will go with your house, and I’ll have my perfect bathroom.”

  “Why don’t you plan out the two guest bedrooms, too? You and I like the same styles.”

  Ansel’s blue eyes lit with excitement. “Really? Emily never let me pick things out without her.”

  Jazzi decided not to comment on that. “You have great taste. Make them pretty. I’m painting the master bedroom a rose color.”

  “What? You never expect to invite a guy over?” Jerod fluffed his short hair. “Rose is a little froufrou, isn’t it?”

  Ansel scowled. “I like rose.”

  “Oh, brother, you would,” Jerod complained. “Jazzi’s babying you. She never babies me.”

  “Franny does. You’re spoiled enough.” Jazzi knew better than to humor him. If she encouraged him, Jerod would use fake martyrdom status every chance he got.

  Jerod laughed. “She used to, before bitch mode, but let’s break for lunch before we start on the next project. It’s past noon.”

  On their way down to the kitchen, Jazzi asked Ansel, “I’ve been debating between butcher block countertops or stainless steel. What do you think?”

  “Stainless steel.” He didn’t hesitate. “It will go with the white tin ceiling tiles you want.”

  Not real ones. She couldn’t afford those, but they made great replicas now. “You don’t think it will look too modern?”

  He put George down. George didn’t like stairs, so Ansel always carried him. “It’s according to what you use for a backsplash and cupboards.”

  Ansel was right. If she stuck with everything else traditional, stainless steel would work. “I went with a robin’s-egg blue Shaker-style cupboard. I’ll order the stainless steel. It will match the knobs and hardware.”

  “Backsplash?” Jerod asked.

  Jazzi looked to Ansel when she said, “Subway tiles?”

  Ansel grinned his approval. How could Emily resist pleasing a man with a smile like that?

  When they reached the kitchen, the air-conditioning men had left for lunch, too. Thane would be chowing down at a nearby bar. The three of them were grabbing sandwiches out of the cooler when there was a quick knock on the door and Gaff led a tall, thin man with gray hair into the house.

  The guy looked like he hadn’t had any sleep for weeks, and his eyes were puffy. She hoped seeing where Noah died and was buried would give him some closure, but he was going to be more miserable at the moment. She looked at her sandwich, her appetite gone. She rewrapped it and put it back.

  Gaff pressed his lips together. “Sorry. I ruined your lunch.”

  Even Jerod tossed his half-eaten sandwich into the trash. Who could eat in front of a grieving father?

  Noah’s dad looked so nice. And so sad. She was depressed. Gaff had told her that Noah’s dad was a music teacher and his mom played in the symphony orchestra. Music was an everyday part of Noah’s life growing up.

  Noah’s dad looked at them, apologetic. “We should have called before we came.”

  “No big deal.” Jazzi stood to greet him. “You came to see the basement?”

  Gaff nodded. “He ID’d the body. It’s Noah. He’d like to take the toolbox home with him. Noah’s grandfather gave it to him.”

  “My father,” the man said. “He was a handyman and taught Noah his skills.”

  Jazzi bit her tongue before she could blurt out, “Lucky Noah.” He must have been dearly loved, but he’d died much too young. Instead, she flicked her head toward the basement door. “I’ll lead you to the furnace. That’s where we found the box.”

  She stopped walking with them for the last few feet, and Gaff took charge. He motioned to the toolbox, set between the furnace and water heater. “This is where they found it. We think Noah was killed while he inspected the furnace. Right here.” He pointed to tape marked in an X on the floor.

  Tears rolled down Noah’s dad’s face. “I wish Noah had told us about Cal, about meeting him and coming here. We could have come with him. Maybe then . . .” He had to stop to regain his composure. “Maybe we’d still have him. But he was always so thoughtful.”

  Grief was hard to hear and see. Jazzi clenched her hands, wishing she had something comforting to say. But what can comfort a grieving parent?

  His dad went on. “When he was young, we told him he was adopted, and he told us over and over again that we were his real parents. We were the ones who loved and raised him. But we’d have understood that he wanted to know more about his birth mother and father. We’d have been all right with that. If only . . .” He swallowed and looked away.

  Jazzi heard footsteps enter the kitchen and looked at Gaff. “The air-conditioning crew’s back from lunch. Someone might come down here.”

  Gaff nodded. “Let’s go outside and look at where we found his body.”

  Ansel was talking to Thane when they climbed the stairs and went outside. Bless their Viking friend! He’d stalled the crew so that Noah’s dad could have some privacy. She sent him a grateful glance, and he nodded.

  Thane strained to see Gaff and Noah’s father. He’d obviously heard all of the latest news from Olivia. His expression saddened. No one could look at the dad and not feel his pain.

  Jerod was waiting by the police tape in the backyard. When they joined him, he said, “I was using the backhoe to check our drainage system when I saw Noah’s black curls two feet down. I called Gaff.”

  The dad looked like he might collapse. Gaff stepped closer in case he needed to grab him. “Someone just threw his body in a hole. No tarp to cover him. No blanket. Nothing. No respect for his body at all.”

  That bothered him, Jazzi could tell. Would Noah’s flesh have lasted longer if he’d been wrapped in a tarp? Maybe. She wasn’t sure. She didn’t know what to say, so went with the standard lame words most people used. “I’m so sorry for your loss.”

  The dad turned to her and pumped her hand. “I’m so grateful you and your friends bought this house to fix it up, or we still wouldn’t know what happened to Noah. You’ve spared us lots of agony.”

  She doubted that. They finally knew what happened to Noah, and that would ease some of their pain, but there’d be plenty left to last a while. Experts said the first year was the worst, but she’d watched people, and the second year wasn’t much better. Knowing did help, though. She thought of her mom and Cal, always wondering if Lynda was still alive and why she never got in touch with them. Closure was a good thing.

  She felt uncomfortable, uncertain if Noah’s dad would like some time alone. She took a step back, and Gaff said, “I’d like to take Noah’s dad to visit Maury Lebovitch. You said you’d come with us.”

  Oh no, Gaff and Noah’s father? She hadn’t counted on that. She’d promised to tell Maury if they found Lynda’s son, though, and she’d rather he heard it from her than Gaff. This was going to suck. How could it go well?

  Her expression must have shown how much she was not looking forward to it, because Noah’s dad said, “I know we’re asking a lot, but we’d really appreciate it.”

  How did you walk away from that? She nodded and turned to Gaff. “You should call Maury and have him meet us in his office. He deserves some privacy when he hears the news.”

  Gaff didn’t argue. He reached for his cell and made the call as the three of them walked to his car.

  She glanced at Jerod. He gave her a thumbs-up. “Don’t worry. Do what you need to do and we’ll work on the smaller bedrooms upstairs.”

  He really was a pretty neat cousin. Ansel stepped out of the house and handed Gaff Noah’s toolbox. Gaff carried it to his car. Jazzi and Noah’s dad followed him. It was a short drive to Maury’s deli. The place was packed. For good reason. River Bluffs didn’t have another true deli. There was a chain deli on the south side of town, but it couldn’t compete with corned beef or pastrami made from old
family recipes.

  Maury was working behind the counter with his two sons, but when he saw them come in, he nodded to a door on the left near the rear of the restaurant. He finished a sandwich for a customer, then came to join them.

  The office was cramped, and that was putting it kindly. Maybe it had been a pantry at one time. It had room for a desk, a file cabinet, three chairs, and not much else. That worked for Jazzi. She planted herself by the wall near the door. Noah’s dad looked at Maury’s tight, gray curls and looked away for a minute.

  Gaff and Noah’s father took chairs across from Maury’s. When everyone settled, Gaff made introductions. “Maury Lebovitch, this is Noah’s father, Alan Jacobs. Alan, this is Maury.” He turned his attention to Maury. “Jazzi asked me to tell you about Noah Jacobs. He was Lynda’s son. She gave birth to him and gave him up for adoption when she went to New York for a year.”

  Maury leaned forward, excited, staring at Noah’s father. “Did you adopt him?”

  Alan nodded. “My wife and I did. We couldn’t have children of our own. We were older, in our early forties, when we got lucky enough to adopt Noah.” He fumbled in his coat pocket and brought out pictures. He shoved them to Maury, and then Gaff passed them to Jazzi.

  An infant Noah had the same wild, unruly curls Maury had once had, but he looked like Lynda. There was another photo of Noah with “five-years-old” scribbled on the back. If there was a cuter kid in the world, Jazzi hadn’t seen him. Next came a high school graduation picture of Noah in his cap and gown. The last photo showed Noah playing a guitar with his band.

  Maury sucked in a quick breath. “I’m Catholic. Lynda never told me that she was pregnant when she left for New York. She just broke up with me. She said we were done, she wasn’t ready to get married yet, and then she left town. It wasn’t until years later, when she was angry with me for telling Arnie that he was better off without her, that she told me she’d had my child. She did it to hurt me, which was pretty low, considering she’d hurt me to start with. I tried to find the boy, but I finally gave up and hoped the best for my son.”