by Suzi Weinert
Jennifer stared incredulously at the phone before pressing end-call. Was her mother back in the hospital? Had her heart given out, weakened by her a-fib? At eighty-seven, could she make it through another medical crisis?
She looked down, surprised to find herself wringing her hands. The suspense was awful. Besides anguish for her mother, if they had to call off the move while she recovered, everything they’d accomplished so far was in vain. Should she call the sheriff’s office and ask for Goodwin? The hospital?
She jumped when the phone rang and snatched it up. “Yes.”
“Goodwin again. Sorry about the interruption. Where were we?”
“My mother! Is she…”
“Doing the ID was tough on her and we almost called it off, but she made it through. No, I’m calling about what happened afterward.”
Jennifer clutched the phone, “What did happen afterward?”
“I can hardly believe it myself, but they say it’s true.”
“What?” Jennifer tried not to scream this, but couldn’t hide her anxiety.
“The fact is, in the process of returning Max Roderick to his cell, he escaped.”
Jennifer stared, flabbergasted. Unwanted though it was, this news paled compared to relief that her mother had survived this ordeal.
“Okay. How did this happen?”
“When we do a line up, we need people who look similar to the suspect. Sometimes we use other perps already in cells; sometimes we use detectives, whoever’s handy to solve the situation. They put on similar clothes so the perp looks like the rest. When the lineup ends, we take the same number of men back to the cells, but they weren’t the same men. One of them was a substitute janitor. Confused about where to go, he ended up in the cells, and Roderick just walked away.
Jennifer’s mind raced. This embarrassed the sheriff’s office and, unless they recaptured Max, he wouldn’t pay for his crimes against her mother. A disappointment, true, but with no threat for her family. Figuring Goodwin felt miserable enough at this awkward turn in his case, she chose a noncommittal response. “I see.”
“Yeah, well, normally this would be just our problem and not yours, but something else changed that.”
Uh-oh. “What?” A lump sprang into her throat.
“Roderick’s cellmate says he threatened your mother. He blames her for his arrest and says he’s ‘gonna get her for it.’”
Jennifer faltered. “What does that mean, ‘get her for it’?”
“The cellmate says he didn’t spell it out, but it doesn’t sound good.”
Jennifer sank into the nearest chair. “What happens next?”
“Well, you and I should talk about security at the house, how much longer you’ll be there and so on. Then we’ll figure out a plan.”
“Where’s my mother now?”
“Your daughter’s bringing her home. They don’t know about this yet. It happened after they left. I thought you could tell them and keep them at the house until I get there. See you in about twenty minutes?”
“We’ll be here,” she managed.
Goodwin arrived just as Becca and Grammy strolled in from the garage, taking final licks of their ice cream cones.
Goodwin repeated what he’d told Jennifer. “Here’s the deal. He didn’t give up the name of his female accomplice. She may still be in Naples. He might even hide at her place, so be alert for either of them. Here at the house, only Mrs. Ryerson knows what they look like, so I brought a mug shot of Roderick and here’s a sketch of the woman your friend Chelsea helped us make.”
Goodwin gave a slight smile at the mention of Chelsea’s name.
Well, well, thought Jennifer.
“Do we just keep the doors and windows locked and the alarm primed?” Becca asked.
“Yeah, and report anything unusual to me, like phone calls where the caller doesn’t speak and then hangs up. He could be trying to learn if you’re at home.”
“If he breaks in, how…how do we protect ourselves?” Grammy wondered aloud.
“Call 911. Meantime, get some cans of wasp spray. Here, keep this one I brought as a sample. It sprays twenty feet and temporarily blinds whoever it hits. Don’t panic and accidentally spray it on each other.”
“I have my husband’s pistol,” Grammy announced, to everyone’s surprise. “And a permit, so it’s legal.”
“Potentially deadly and not necessarily for the bad guy. Unless you practice regularly at a shooting range or are an experienced hunter,” his frown at Grammy showed he doubted this, “then shooting a gun could take out a family member. Are you weapon proficient?” Grammy shook her head. “If Roderick has his own piece, an encounter could escalate into a gun fight where you lose. Even with wasp spray, be sure he’s your target before you press the button or one of you could end up in the hospital. Here’s my card again to report anything unusual.”
“Would we be safer at a hotel?” Becca asked.
“Don’t know. Sometimes these guys brag to their cellmates. Act like big shots. Now that Roderick’s on the run, avoiding arrest should be his highest priority, not revenge.”
“He does know details about the house since he lived here a week,” Grammy said, her voice rising an octave.
“Yeah, but you changed the locks and got the security system. You got what…a couple of weeks left here? We’ll have the neighborhood patrolman drive by oftener than usual. If you need more protection, we’ll figure out something. Just use common sense. Lock your house whether you’re at home or out somewhere. Always lock your car when you’re not in it…”
“We routinely do that anyway,” Grammy offered.
He looked down sheepishly. “Sorry this happened. I am and the department is.” He looked up with a wry smile. “You can imagine how tight department security is now, after-the-fact.”
As he left, a woman came up the stairs. “Hello. I’m Peggy Perkins, here for our 3:00 estate sale appointment.”
They waved goodbye to Goodwin and greeted the newcomer. Once inside, the woman gave a double take as they locked the door behind her. Jennifer didn’t want to frighten her or reveal the whole story. She invented a plausible and essentially true explanation as the four of them sat down in the living room. “We had a home invasion, so forgive us for being safety freaks.”
CHAPTER 36
“Here’s our company brochure.” She offered a copy to each of them. “We can help empty the house however the owner benefits best. These lists,” she pointed to her copy, “offer problem-solving sources. For example, not every item sells at an estate sale, so we’ve listed Naples thrift shops that pick up large items they think resalable. You might consign some and donate others for a tax deduction. You might prefer liquidators who make everything left disappear. To ready the empty house for sale, we list handyman services, a construction company and a landscaper. We also list Realtors you might consider when the house is finally ready for sale. Our goal is to assist our customer in achieving what he wants in the time he has.”
“What do you charge for your service?” Grammy asked.
“We charge thirty-five percent of the receipts from the sale, and we pay you within five days of the sale’s last day. To earn this, we advertise, organize and run your sale, pricing every item individually. We have a staff member or camera in each room to discourage sticky fingers. At the end, we give you receipts showing item and price for each thing we’ve sold.”
“Where do you advertise and who pays for it?” Becca inquired.
“You pay $100 toward all our advertising, which includes the Naples, Marco and Ft. Myers newspapers, Craigslist and our e-blast customer list.”
“E-blast?”
“People who want advanced info about our future sales sign up for our weekly e-blasts describing them. Also, we have a website listing our sales, with photos and directions. You might check that website—the internet address is here on our brochure.”
“How many days would you run the sale?” Grammy wanted to know.
&n
bsp; “Depends upon how much you have. Once we take a tour, I’ll have an exact answer.”
“Girls, will you please take Peggy upstairs for show-and-tell?” Grammy asked. “I’ll rest here while you do.”
“The movers come Thursday and your sale would start eight days later, the date we agreed upon on the phone.”
Peggy checked her notes and nodded. “After the movers leave, will the estate sale handle everything left in the house?”
“Yes. We’d like to stay in two of the bedrooms a few days after the movers finish and then go to a hotel to make your work easier. When do you suggest we do that?”
“We can arrange all the rest of the house, so two days before the sale starts would work fine.”
“Can we stay here during the sale?”
“Yes, if you like. But if you think watching her things disappear will distress your mother, you might want to whisk her off to a movie. Some people feel such strong attachment to their belongings, it’s painful to let go. For her sake and ours, if you see a meltdown start, please intervene. It’s your call because you want a successful sale as much as we do. Crowding is another consideration. Our staff plus the customers add up to a lot of people moving around. It’s a busy time. You know what I mean.”
“Actually, I do. I’m a regular customer at these sales in Virginia, where I live.”
“Then I don’t have to explain.”
Peggy jotted notes in every room upstairs, then started the main level in the downstairs study. Twenty minutes later, the three of them joined Grammy in the living room.
Peggy addressed Grammy. “You have many beautiful things here. If you choose our company, we’d suggest a three-day sale: Friday, Saturday and Sunday. This time of year is different from high season in Naples when we’re flooded with tourists, but we’ll alert local antique dealers north and south of us and some in Miami, Boca and West Palm. I think we’ll have good success.”
Jennifer smiled. “Your company’s thoroughness has my attention.”
“May I leave our contract and my card so I can answer any questions you have after I leave? We don’t have much time, so please let me know by tomorrow, because I don’t think we can organize a sale this size in less time.”
Grammy stood. “Good presentation, Peggy, and with what we’ve learned about your company from other sources, I’m ready to sign now. What do you think, girls?”
“I’m in,” said Jennifer.
“Yes,” Becca agreed.
“Oh, I almost forgot, our company gives an estate sale this weekend nearby. Here’s the information if you’d like to drop by. You’d get a feel for how we do things… to anticipate what’s coming in two weeks.”
Grammy smiled. “Good. We’ll take a look. Peggy, I’m glad we’re partners in this venture.”
“One more thing,” Peggy began. “We must unlock your doors for the sale. You understand that means strangers coming through your house. Are you okay with this?”
Peggy didn’t know what to make of their stunned expressions.
Finally, Jennifer answered her. “We’ll make it work.” To herself she added, we have to.
CHAPTER 37
When Peggy left they sat down together in the kitchen.
Jennifer pointed to the calendar. “In thirty minutes Joan Langley comes,” she glanced at the clock, “at 4:30, to finalize the Realtor phase. She’ll put the house on the market here, in three weeks.” She tapped the date with her pencil point.
“Looks like everything’s in place,” Grammy acknowledged, her voice tired. “How do we deal with Peggy’s question about strangers coming through?”
Becca looked thoughtful. “If we move to the hotel here,” she pointed to the calendar date, “and if Max is around...” she sidestepped knowing he was only after Grammy, “we’ll all be safe there. He doesn’t recognize me or you, Mom. So one of us could oversee the sale and the other stay with Gram. Thanks to the deputy’s mug shot and sketch, we could recognize this Max or his girlfriend and call Goodwin if we see them.”
Grammy stood. “You two work it out, I’m going to curl up on the couch a few minutes before the Realtor gets here.” She left the kitchen.
Becca whispered, “Mom, maybe this Max has another angle. We hope Goodwin’s right, that he bragged just for an ego trip. But what if he meant it? If he can’t vent his revenge on Grammy herself, might he still try to hurt her by destroying something important to her?”
“For instance?”
“For instance damaging something in this house… or even the house itself—like burning it down.”
Jennifer registered shock. “Becca, I hadn’t considered this, but you’re right. Let’s ask Goodwin what he thinks.” She checked her watch. “We have time to call him before Joan arrives.” She dialed, pressing speaker so they both could listen, and explained their concerns. “Locked doors, the alarm system and wasp spray you say work for routine protection, but what about the estate sale… when the public wanders through the house?”
“Interesting twist. I’ll think about this and get back to you. Gotta go.” Goodwin ended the call.
“Let’s not tell Grammy we’re concerned,” Jennifer sighed. “She’ll just worry.”
Becca nodded. “While you deal with the Realtor, I’ll dash out to buy wasp spray. How many cans?”
“A dozen?”
“Got it.”
The doorbell chimed. Instead of opening the door, Jennifer peered through the side glass to see their caller. “It’s Joan. Before you go, Becca, please tell Grammy that Joan’s here and we’re coming to the living room to talk.”
After negotiating the fee and explaining how to complete the sales contract closing from McLean, Joan answered their remaining questions, then stood to leave.
“If you like, I can schedule improvements after you leave. Painting the front door and sprucing-up the property outside add curb appeal. Selected touch-up painting and carpet cleaning inside are also smart, and of course, the kitchen needs painting now after the fire. I’ve already explained staging, but we may not need it. You’d pay for any of these services, but I’d give you cost estimates before hiring workmen. You could veto any you don’t want. First impression is important for a buyer, and we want your lovely house to display its best face.”
“Thank you, Joan,” Grammy said.
When she left, the three sat down.
Jennifer sighed with relief and satisfaction. “Let’s celebrate somewhere special tonight. We’ve hired everybody needed to complete the move. Only three weeks more. McLean, here we come.”
“And I have good news,” Becca announced. “I finished all the photos and e-mailed them to the family, explaining we need quick decisions. The movers could take north whatever they choose for distribution from Virginia. And Grammy, I found something I’d love to have… with your okay.”
“What, dear?”
“Even though I’m at Mom and Dad’s house now, once I get a job I’ll look for my own apartment. I’d be honored to have a few of your beautiful crystal wine goblets. They’re elegant and practical, and they’d remind me of you as they add your touch of class to my simple digs.”
Grammy smiled. “It would be my honor. Show me which ones right now.”
As they went to the dining room, Jennifer dialed Jason. “Hi, honey. You’re driving home…? Have you dinner plans for tonight…? Good. Sounds like fun. Bet you thought you were up to speed about what’s happening here because we talk every day. Wrong. There’s yet another new wrinkle.” She described the new Max threat. “At least we’ve hired everyone we need for the move and house sale. It’s been a marathon, Jay. I can’t wait to get home to you…. Yes, you’re right, TGITCH. Thank God, It’s The Cocktail Hour. Miss you, too, love. Bye for now.”
She no sooner ended the call than she heard a crash in the next room. Was Max breaking in through a window?
Heart in her throat, she grabbed the wasp spray can Goodwin left and raced from the kitchen toward the dining room.
> CHAPTER 38
Grammy and Becca stared at the shower of glass fragments, some sprinkled beneath the broken pane and others skittered around the dining room floor. Seeing Jennifer rush in with wasp spray at the ready, Becca pointed to the floor at Grammy’s feet.
“A baseball?” Jennifer laughed with relief.
But Becca frowned. “Didn’t you say they installed a safety system when you changed the locks? If it’s turned on, why didn’t the security alarm sound?”
“We installed one, all right,” Grammy verified.
Jennifer remembered now that their chosen protection package didn’t include everything. She winced, realizing Max could break the glass in any window and climb in undetected. She and Becca exchanged meaningful looks but neither wanted to worry Grammy. “System must be off,” Jennifer said quickly, “because if it’s on, an opened window triggers the alarm. Unless you press the main key pad to show the situation’s under control, the security company automatically calls police.”
Jen hoped her mother didn’t catch the subtle difference between window-opening and window-breaking.
When the doorbell chimed, they hurried to look out a side window before opening it.
“This isn’t Max, is it, Grammy?
Grammy looked and shook her head.
Becca continued. “I mean he doesn’t look like the photo but if he dyed his hair…”
Jennifer opened the door. “Yes?”
“Hi. I’m George Bixby from that house across the street.” He pointed. “This is my boy, Georgie. I was showing him how to bat but accidentally gave him a terrible example by hitting your window. My apologies for this inconvenience. Of course, I’ll pay for the repair. Now if this ever should happen to you, Georgie, you’ll know just what to do.”
The boy, about eight years old, eyed them with interest.
Jennifer winked at the father. “Would you like to see your baseball?” The boy nodded. “Then let’s all go to the dining room.”
Seeing was believing for the boy. “Anybody can make a mistake, even a Dad,” Jennifer continued, “but when you damage somebody else’s property it’s good manners to get it repaired.” The boy nodded and eyed the window and glass shards as she handed him his ball.
