Murder at the Makeover

by Sandi Scott

  “Nothing that isn’t one hundred percent normal. I was just going to go to UPM claiming to have a meeting with Samantha and ...”

  “Samantha is dead.”

  “You know that, and I know that, and the staff knows that, but a stranger coming in from out of town to talk with her about some property might not know that.”

  Aleta sat for a moment and stared at Georgie.

  “Fine, but I can’t see what this can accomplish.”

  “Leave that to me.” Georgie patted her sister’s hand. “I’ll meet you at your house. You’re driving.”

  Within half an hour the Kaye sisters were in Aleta’s Mercedes and heading toward UPM’s main office.

  “Yikes! This looks like a dreary place to work!” Aleta huffed as she pulled into the parking lot. “Are you sure you have the right address?”

  “This is the place. It looks like a box with tiny air holes poked in it.”

  As soon as they stepped into the reception area, Georgie and Aleta saw the huge letters behind the reception desk—Universal Properties Management. The receptionist looked up at them with a look not far from terror on her face.

  “Good morning,” Georgie said pleasantly. My name is Lynn Smith. This is my sister, Blanche Lyons. We have an appointment with Samantha Alfred.”

  The receptionist’s face went white. For a second Georgie felt bad for the girl. She couldn’t have been that many years out of high school and obviously hadn’t been coached on how to handle this type of situation.

  “If you’ll both take a seat,” said the receptionist while picking up the phone.

  “Blanche Lyons?” Aleta hissed.

  “Shush and listen.”

  Georgie heard the receptionist. The poor girl may as well have been whispering into a bull horn.

  “They are here to see Sam. They said they have an appointment. What should I tell them?” The girl nodded, but the color still hadn’t returned to her cheeks when she hung up the phone. “Someone will be right with you,” the receptionist said politely before averting her eyes to stare at her computer screen.

  Before Georgie could press the girl for additional information, a tall, unimpressive woman appeared from the inner office. She was wearing a pair of loose fitting canvas pants and a plain navy blue cotton shirt without a single piece of jewelry or a drop of makeup. The woman introduced herself to the Kaye sisters as Patience Mommer.

  Perhaps she’s in serious mourning, Georgie thought before she launched into her performance. Introducing herself and Aleta again, Georgie waited for the woman’s reply.

  “I’m sorry to inform you, Mrs. Smith, but we’ve had some devastating news this morning. Mrs. Alfred has passed.”

  Georgie stood there for a moment.

  “Passed what?” Georgie smiled as if she hadn’t understood the statement.

  “Uhm, you said you had an appointment with her. What was it regarding?”

  “Some property—my sister is looking to unload her building. But, I must tell you, she is incredibly hard of hearing and refuses to wear her hearing aids. They are for old people she says.”

  Aleta wanted to smack Georgie. Instead, she just pretended not to hear anything and looked around at the rather dull interior. Motivational posters in frames and tacky images of France, Italy, and Switzerland hung on the walls. Samantha might have been a genius at managing property, but she was seriously lacking when it came to interior design.

  Patience Mommer flipped through the calendar on the receptionist’s desk.

  “I’m sorry, I don’t have an appointment listed.”

  “It was rather last minute,” Georgie offered. “I contacted her about eight o’clock yesterday morning after playing phone tag for almost a week. Like I said, the appointment is for Blanche since she can’t hear.”

  “I see. Well, Samantha never had meetings here in the office. We have rather limited space.” Patience was obviously losing her patience.

  “Lynn?” Aleta shouted, making everyone in the place jump. “Lynn, what is going on?”

  “Excuse me,” Georgie said to Patience with a smile and walked up to Aleta. “They said they don’t have our appointment!” Georgie shouted.

  “Of course, they do! You made it yesterday morning! I was standing right there!” Aleta shouted back.

  “I know, but they said they don’t have it!”

  “Well, we are here now!” Aleta looked down her nose at Patience and the receptionist. “I’d like to get this business underway!”

  “I’m sorry to interrupt,” Patience said, her voice much softer and lower than the ones Georgie and Aleta had been using for their conversation. “But we’ve had some bad news, Mrs. Alfred has passed.”

  “What did she say?” Aleta shouted.

  “She said Mrs. Alfred passed.”

  “Passed what?”

  “Samantha passed away,” Patience whispered hastily. “She died, suddenly.”

  Georgie pulled Aleta closer, putting her lips near Aleta’s ear. “She died!” Georgie shrieked in Aleta’s ear, but Aleta didn’t even flinch. Georgie was impressed.

  “She can’t be the only one in this place who wants to buy a building!” Aleta shouted. “Can someone get me a glass of water?”

  The receptionist, who had been looking for a way to escape this scene since Georgie and Aleta walked in, jumped out of her chair.

  “I’ll get it!” she shouted before dashing away.

  “We really can’t discuss any business right ...”

  “She can’t hear you,” Georgie prodded Patience.

  Taking a deep breath Patience looked flustered.

  “Do you have an office or a store room or someplace where we can talk? Blanche can hear better in close, more compact spaces. She signed off on Bitcoin stock in a supply closet not six months ago,” Georgie offered with a smile and a nod.

  “Fine,” Patience grumbled. “Follow me.”

  “What did she say?” Aleta shouted.

  “She said follow her!” Georgie pointed and waved Aleta along.

  Georgie watched as Aleta followed Patience into what looked like a supply closet. There, Georgie heard Aleta say, “What? Speak up, girl!” at least twice.

  Without wasting a second, Georgie began to rummage through the receptionist’s desk. There were calendars and carbon copies of phone messages but nothing that listed the rental properties or the tenants in those properties. Just as she was about to give up, Georgie spotted a clue on the old carbons of phone messages.

  Dated four days ago, Mr. Paul Lee had called again. The notes on the message form showed that Mr. Lee had been swearing and threatening to go to the police. “Wants someone to call him back” was in big bold letters and underlined heavily. There were also the ten digits that would help Georgie locate Mr. Lee. Quickly, with shaking hands, she tore the slip from the book, put it back in the drawer she found it in, closed everything up, and nearly fell to the floor as she got out from behind the desk.

  Just then the receptionist appeared holding a bottle of water.

  “Oh, thank you,” Georgie gasped taking the bottle from the girl and helping herself to a huge gulp. “I get so thirsty having to shout so much.”

  Georgie could hear poor Patience shouting to Aleta who shouted back getting everything wrong each time.

  “I’ll just have my assistant reschedule!” Aleta shouted and burst out of the closet. “Come, or we’ll miss our plane!” She stomped down the hallway, through the lobby, and out the front door.

  “Thank you so much, Miss Mommer. I do appreciate your time. I’ll be in touch to reschedule.” Georgie didn’t look back as she followed Aleta into the parking lot.

  “Please tell me you found something,” Aleta said, sticking her index finger in her ears. “I think now I actually am deaf. Yikes!”

  “I didn’t get an address, but I got a phone number. A call came in just four days ago from Paul Lee. It said he was angry and swearing again, so they know who he is.”

  “Give me
that piece of paper,” Aleta said. She pulled out her phone. “I’ll do one of those reverse searches where you get an address from a phone number. We used this quite a few times when we needed to track a client down.”

  “How lucky am I that you are my sister?” Georgie smiled winningly at Aleta.

  “Very—you are very lucky.” Aleta smiled back as she manipulated her smart phone.

  Chapter 9

  “Okay, so we are heading to a not so great part of town,” Aleta said. “Do you know where the intersection of Division and Kostner is?”

  “That’s west. Oh boy! Looks like we’ll be taking a walk on the wild side of town!”

  “Why didn’t we take your car?”

  “Don’t worry, Aleta. They’ll think we are selling dope.” Georgie chuckled.

  “Great—and when we don’t have any dope, my car will be on blocks and stripped before I can say amen!”

  “Don’t worry. The gang bangers have much nicer cars than this. If anything, they will think we are canvassing for something or else we’re lost. There would be no other reason for two ladies our age to be roaming the sidewalk.”

  “True.”

  Just then Aleta’s phone rang.

  “I’ll get it for you. You just keep driving,” Georgie said as she rummaged through Aleta’s small, strappy Louis Vuitton purse. “It’s your beautiful daughter.”

  “Hi, Em! It’s your Auntie Georgie. Mom is driving. What’s up?”

  “Hi, Aunt Georgie. Can you ask my Mom if she can swing by the office?”

  “Sure. Is everything okay?”

  “I’ve still got a problem,” Emily grunted. “I’ve gone over and over these numbers, and they aren’t coming out right. I can’t tell if there is really a mistake, or if I’m just so exhausted that everything is blending together.”

  “You poor thing.” Georgie relayed the message to Aleta.

  “Tell her, of course I’ll come by. Looks like the wrong side of the tracks will have to wait.”

  “Your Mom’s going to drop me off at home, Emily, and then she’ll swing by the office. Will that be okay?” Georgie asked.

  “Yeah. I’m sorry. I hope I didn’t ruin any plans you guys had.”

  “Your mother was trying to get me to go to Division and Kostner. Something about scoring some smack? I don’t know what that means.”

  “You’re lucky I know you so well, Aunt Georgie, that I can spot a fib when I hear one.” Emily laughed. “And you do so know what that means!”

  Now it was Georgie’s turn to laugh. She said goodbye to her niece and tucked the cell phone back in Aleta’s purse.

  “Georgie, do we need to have a talk?”

  “Emily knows you don’t do smack.” Georgie scoffed.

  “Not that—Division and Kostner! You aren’t going to go without me, right? You aren’t going to get so wrapped up in this case that you’ll risk that side of town by yourself, right?”

  “Of course not!” Georgie rolled her eyes. “Do you think I’m crazy?”

  Georgie had no plans in postponing her visit to Mr. Paul Lee, but there was no need for her sister to worry—a little white lie wasn’t going to hurt anything. She’d be in and out of there before anyone even noticed she was gone.

  “I do, that’s why I want your promise that you won’t go out there without me. Just wait another day, and we’ll go together. It isn’t like Samantha Alfred won’t be dead anymore.”

  “You’re right. I’ll wait, and you and I can go tomorrow.”

  Aleta pulled up in front of Georgie’s bungalow.

  “I’ll call you when I’m done with Emily. Maybe we can grab a late lunch or early dinner?”

  “Sounds good, give Emily hugs and kisses from me.” Georgie waved as Aleta’s Mercedes drove out of sight. Bodhi barked from the backyard. He’d ventured out of his doggie door to give any trespasser an earful. Georgie went to the back fence, unlocked it, and stepped inside her yard. The pug bounced and twirled happily now that his mistress was home. Then, he ran up to Freckles, Aleta’s cat that had been snoozing on Georgie’s picnic table in a bright square of sunshine.

  “Well, you two appear as if everything is under control. Come on, snacks all around!”

  With the animals safely inside snuggled up together on the couch and their tummies happy with treats, Georgie got her keys, her phone, and her pepper spray before heading out to talk to Paul Lee.

  The last time Georgie and Aleta had ventured to the West Side around Division Street and Kostner Avenue had to have been at least a decade ago. At that time the family bungalows were quickly being vacated as the gangs and drugs were muscled out of other areas. Houses that burnt down were left unrepaired. Graffiti of crowns with arrows and illegible letters tagged every other building. Potholes were utilized as speed bumps. The place was a sad state of affairs to say the least.

  But, as Georgie checked the address and looked around, she was surprised to see the neighborhood, although still a bit on the shady side, was showing signs of life. Five brand new condominium buildings lined up on the north side of the street. They were simple but cute, colorful, and clean. A Whole Foods grocery store was a few blocks up. There was still a good bit of graffiti, and some young men with their pants drooping almost to their knees did loiter around a couple of corners. But Georgie also saw women pushing strollers and young couples walking hand-in-hand down the sidewalk.

  The address Georgie was looking for popped up across from a construction site. The sign bragged it was the future location of a CVS Pharmacy.

  The house was a small, single family residence, and there was a compact U-Haul truck in front of it.

  Georgie pulled Pablo up to the curb and cut his engine. She hopped out, grabbed her pepper spray in her pocket, and walked up the front steps. The white siding on the eastern part of the house was drooping, and there were a few splotches of black spray paint where someone had tagged the house in a hurry.

  “Just as Georgie was about to knock, the door flew open, and a man in his late twenties let out a yelp.

  “Yikes, lady! You scared the hell out of me!”

  “I’m so sorry.” Georgie sensed his aggression but remained calm. “I’m looking for someone.” She put her hand to her chest and gasped.

  “Oh, crap. Are you all right? You aren’t having some kind of episode, are you?”

  In reality, Georgie was fine. But this guy, if he was Paul Lee, needed to come down a notch if she was going to get any information from him.

  “I’m afraid,” Georgie panted, “that I might need to sit down.” She took slow, steady breaths and looked inside the house. There were plastic and paper garbage bags filled with what looked like clothes, Tupperware, toiletries, blankets. The young man was moving out—and in a hurry.

  “I’m sorry. Please don’t die on my front stoop. That would be all I needed.” He reached out his hand and took Georgie’s arm. “Here, sit down. I’ll get you a glass of water.”

  Georgie sat down on the hard cement step that was the front porch and had another quick peek inside. An empty pizza box and two empty liters of Coca-Cola lay in the corner with crumpled napkins scattered around.

  The young man came back with a jelly jar of tap water.

  “Are you Paul Lee?” Georgie asked as she took a sip.

  “Who’s asking?” Suddenly, the young man’s face lost all concern and hardened.

  “My name is Georgie Kaye. I knew your landlord, Samantha Alfred.”

  The man folded his arms across his chest and stood over Georgie menacingly.

  “I’m looking into her death. I don’t mean to be insulting, but you left some rather colorful remarks in your reviews of UPM. It’s only a matter of time before police see them and come to talk to you. You may not know this, but if you are moving the cops might see that as suspicious.”

  “I heard she died. That’s why I was leaving.”

  “Are you Paul?”

  He nodded yes.

  “I thought this would be the perf
ect time to bail out on my lease while their office is in shambles.” Paul took a deep breath then started to cough. “You see this?” He pointed to his throat as he continued to cough and hack up some mucus. “I don’t have any proof, but I didn’t have a cough like this before I moved in here. There is mold everywhere, and they won’t do a thing about it!”

  “I don’t understand.” Georgie offered the man her jar of water. He took it from her and took a sip.

  “That Mrs. Alfred, whose name is on all the paperwork, is a slumlord. She doesn’t care about the tenants. She just cares about getting the rent, and, if she doesn’t, look out! I’ve never met her, but I’ve had her goons show up here plenty of times. They claim to be some kind of mold specialists.”

  “You don’t believe them?”

  “Nope. Since when do mold specialists bring paint cans and brushes with them on inspections?” Paul coughed again.

  “Can I ask where you were the day Samantha Alfred was murdered?”

  “Sure. I was with my roommate and a couple of other guys down at Grant Park playing football. Well, I tried to play football, but this coughing kept me on the sidelines for the last quarter. We still won.” He smirked and cleared his throat. “Then we all went to Buffalo Wild Wings for beers and wings. I got home around seven at night.”

  Georgie was disappointed. Paul Lee was a tenant with a legitimate complaint, but he wasn’t a murderer. She didn’t get that vibe from him at all.

  “Well, I appreciate your time, Mr. Lee. Good luck with your move.” Georgie stood from the steps, taking Paul’s hand as he helped her to her feet.

  “I’m sorry I scared you like that. In this neighborhood you have to be aggressive sometimes.”

  “I understand, I’m sure you do.” Georgie replied with a friendly wave goodbye.

  As she headed back toward more familiar stomping grounds, what had to be a mile-long construction detour sent her off in a direction she’d never have taken. Just five blocks from Paul’s small home, Georgie stumbled on JuJu’s Bakery. The sign boasted that it had hot coffee, chicken strips, and better doughnuts than Krispy Kreme.

  “That sounds like a little corner of heaven,” Georgie said to Pablo as she pulled up to the curb.