Traci Tyne Hilton - Mitzi Neuhaus 04 - Frozen Assets

by Traci Tyne Hilton

  Mitzy reached across the table to squeeze Cheryl’s hand, but Cheryl withdrew just a bit. Mitzy wrapped her hand around her purse handle. “Talking to him is a good place to start.”

  They walked back to their cars together, noting the cold, but not really talking.

  Mitzy got into her car with a sigh. Out a client, a sale, and of course, a trip through the squatter house. She looked up at it. Of course, she could go through herself, but if the current resident happened to be in, she didn’t want to be found alone.

  Her first attempt at non-sales related psychology had been a bust. This one had failed, but she wouldn’t give up. She owed Karina a sympathetic shoulder to cry on.

  ***

  At dinner that night, Mitzy proposed her ‘Hidden Potential’ style scheme to Alonzo.

  “Sure, why not?” He shoveled a forkful of chicken tetrazzini into his mouth.

  “Really?” Mitzy stopped, fork poised at her mouth. “You’re sure?”

  “Sounds easy, and it would help you.” He shrugged, smiled, and took a drink of water. “I do like to help you with the real estate thing you do.”

  Mitzy grinned, a weight floating off of her chest. “Sometimes I wish that first-time home buyers had to take a class or five. Some pre-home-buying finances and relationship stuff.”

  “Meh. You can’t be everyone’s mom.”

  “But I want to be…” Mitzy whined, but playfully. “I just hate it when people screw up their lives over a house.”

  Alonzo raised his eyebrow. “This doesn’t have anything to do with this house, does it?”

  Mitzy cast a glance at the early-American stained oak kitchen cabinets circa 1982 and shrugged. “Everything’s connected in one way or another.”

  They cleaned up their dinner and moved to the office where Mitzy brought out the images she had printed.

  Alonzo started to trace the pictures onto white paper.

  “We should do up some drawings of the squatter house as well,” Mitzy mused.

  “I don’t think you could turn a huge classic house into a tiny mod place.” He passed her his first drawing.

  She squinted at it and tilted her head. Then she erased a few lines and replaced them.

  “We couldn’t make it tiny, you’ve got that right.”

  Alonzo stared at her addition to his quick design and laughed. “In your dreams, Mitzy.” He erased her contribution and drew a new wall and window combination. He passed it to Mitzy.

  “I like that!” She nodded approval, then erased it and put it back, but with low, horizontal windows. She passed it to Alonzo with a smile.

  “Hmmm.” He held it out at arm’s length. “We could do that.” He laid the paper down and changed the layout of the deck. Then he passed it back.

  “Just no.” Mitzy erased again.

  Alonzo grabbed the paper. “How about this?” He drew a terraced front porch with a few lines.

  “Much better.” Mitzy erased a wall in the den and passed it back to Alonzo.

  “And that would be a supporting wall.” He drew it back in.

  “And that’s why I’m working with you, isn’t it? You can make the roof stay up without that wall, I’m sure of it!”

  Alonzo nodded. “Yeah, I could, but I don’t like it.”

  “You don’t have to like it. Bonnie and Dirk do.”

  “Lucky Bonnie and Dirk to get this free design work.”

  “Lucky me if I can finally sell them a house and get them out of my hair.” Mitzy rocked back in her chair, and glanced out the office window. Fresh snow had fallen all afternoon and the sky was clear. The night was bright and everything sparkled. “Want to go for a walk?”

  “No. It’s freezing out there.”

  “Do you mind if I go for a walk?”

  “Suit yourself.” Alonzo turned his paper over. “I’ll make up some realistic plans for this house that Joan can use to design from.”

  “Thanks, babe. I really appreciate it.” Mitzy stood and stretched.

  “We could do this for this house, too.” Alonzo said as he sketched.

  Mitzy ran her fingers through her hair, but they caught in a tangle of curls. “You didn’t forget our deal, did you? I sell Karina’s house and we get to move?” She smiled, but her heart was racing. She’d never sell a murder house. It wasn’t going to happen. But she couldn’t let him think that remodeling Grandma’s house was a suitable alternative.

  Alonzo grunted. “I remember that you’ll sell that house and then we’ll talk about moving.” He spun in his chair and grinned, his eyes narrowed. “But you’ll never win. Not now.”

  Mitzy kicked the leg of her chair as she passed, but refrained from responding. She might not win this particular bet, but she wasn’t going to live in an eight-hundred square foot ranch house with detached garage for much longer.

  The night was crisp, but it wasn’t as cold as it had been. The new snow that had fallen during the day was like a blanket, fluffy and making everything she looked at softer around the edges. It was bright as well, though the sky was dark. She stopped under a streetlight and looked to her left and right. Despite the full dark of the night sky, she could see everything around her so clearly. It was a rare, snowy but cloud-free night in Portland.

  Her mind turned to the last really snowy night, when Arnold English had died. If someone had been watching, like Charlie their gypsy witness, they would have seen everything so clearly. If Livia had happened to see Arnold and his accomplice on the Juliet balcony… then what? If she knew who the accomplice was, she would have easily recognized him.

  Mitzy watched a neighbor come out the front door of his one-story ranch and smoke a cigarette. She waved.

  The neighbor nodded, and exhaled a puff of white smoke.

  Her neighbor, James, was a young guy, in his early twenties. He drove an old yellow Corvette that he kept covered within the side driveway. He had a girlfriend with a lot of tattoos. Even though they had nothing in common, Mitzy knew James pretty well because he was her neighbor.

  Was life on Concord Street, where Karina and Livia both lived, like that? Did the other neighbors know what had been going on between Livia and Arnold? Would they have noticed if Arnold showed up at his old house one night?

  Mitzy shook her head and moved down the street, kicking a path through the few inches of snow that had fallen during the day.

  Tomorrow, she’d connect with Joan about sketching some design ideas for Alonzo’s house plans, and she’d pop back up to Concord Street, just to check if maybe any of the neighbors wanted to talk about what they may or may not have seen.

  They might talk to her, since she was just trying to sell what was now an almost-unsellable murder house on their street. The sooner she could change the town’s perception of the house, the better for the value of all of the houses on Concord.

  10

  Joan liked the idea of doing a mod design. She liked is so much she was completely ignoring her herbal tea. Mitzy held her twenty-ounce mocha close to her mouth, the warmth of the paper cup half of the pleasure of coffee on a cold December day. The barista of this particular Bean Me Up Scotty’s brought over the plate of pastries they had ordered.

  “Anything else I can do for you?” he asked with a shy smile.

  Joan waved him away.

  Mitzy smiled apologetically. “We’re good, Anders, thanks.”

  Joan’s sketchbook was open on the table, and she was already moving small furniture cutouts around the room.

  “The thing to keep in mind is Dirk wants the feeling of this being a tiny house, even though it’s not very small.”

  Joan chewed on her lip. “That’s why you picked such a small kitchen, right? And why Al put those built-ins in the main room?”

  “Yup.”

  Joan frowned. “I don’t know. It’s not working for me.” She laid her pencil down. “It’s mod, sure. Mid-Century. And you’ve figured out ways to make it even more stylized. I totally see that. But twelve hundred square feet is too big t
o be small.”

  “It’s pretty small, though.”

  “Sure, to you. But these kids are moving out of an apartment that’s no bigger than this. Unless I fill it with giant furniture, it won’t feel small.”

  “Mid-Century furniture isn’t giant.”

  “My point exactly. You need a smaller house to start with.”

  “We need to start with my house.” Mitzy sipped her coffee, but it was too early and burnt her tongue. She needed to quit thinking like that or she was going to drive herself insane. She couldn’t move this afternoon, so there was no point in torturing herself.

  “Exactly. Your house would be perfect for this. I mean, really, what’s that kitchen of yours? Six by two?”

  “Ha, ha.” Mitzy drank her coffee to keep from continuing her complaint-fest.

  “So, your whole neighborhood, and the one behind it, on the other side of the park, used to be quite the place.”

  Mitzy nodded. She had a passing acquaintance with what her neighborhood used to be, and was keenly aware of what it currently was.

  “I can see why Alonzo has hung on to it all of this time. The Ladd family designed it, just like Ladd’s Addition.”

  “I know.”

  “It was called the jewel of Felony Flats forever.”

  Mitzy snorted. “It was not.”

  “Who was there back then, you or me?” Joan lifted both eyebrows. “It was supposed to uplift the area in general.”

  “Did it work?” Mitzy faced the large windows that looked across 82nd Avenue to the very heart of the not-so-desirable side of Southeast Portland.

  “For a few years. The thing with your house and street is that it was designed well and built well. Who knows if this house was?” She waved her hand at the picture. “I want to do this for you, but… ugh.” She remembered her tea and took a sip.

  “Ugh? That’s a bit dramatic. We’ve got plans, just throw some colors on it, add some design elements to the sketches. I’m not asking that much.” Irritation built up in Mitzy like a static charge. When Joan started down her artsy road, it could get hard to rein her back in. “The muse likes money, right? I could pay you for this.”

  Joan gave Mitzy a hurt, motherly look. “Now, I didn’t ask for money. Just a smaller house to work with. I’m not being that difficult.”

  “Of course not.” Mitzy pushed the stack of papers towards Joan and grabbed a pastry for herself. “Why don’t you take those with you and see if you can’t get over the size of the house and make them pretty for me?”

  Joan shook her head slowly. “You keep them. Your client won’t be happy with a house that size no matter what color I pencil in.” She also took a pastry and then stood up. “I’ve got to go. There’s an estate sale in Ridgefield that I can’t miss.”

  “Of course.” Mitzy leaned on her elbows. “Have fun.”

  “Want to join me?” Joan smiled as she walked towards the door.

  The invitation sounded hollow to Mitzy’s disappointed ears, so she declined. She had work to do. Like coloring in the mid-century modern sketches and talking to Karina’s neighbors.

  ***

  Mitzy’s cell rang, so she grabbed it from the jumble of her purse. She answered it before the voicemail did, but just barely. “Neuhaus New Homes, this is Mitzy. How can I help you?”

  “Mitzy, this is Karina.”

  Despite the concerted mental effort Mitzy had exerted on behalf of Karina English, she hadn’t actually spoken to her in several days. Her heart sped up. She was dying to get the pulse of the situation as it currently stood. “How are you holding up?” She moderated her excitement a bit.

  “As well as can be expected.” Karina cleared her throat. “But I was hoping you could help me with something.”

  Mitzy turned to a new page in her notepad. “I’m ready. What do you need?”

  “I’ve spoken to Zachary.” Her voice was taut as though she put a great deal of effort into controlling it. “He and his wife want to see me.”

  “That’s great news, isn’t it?” It made Mitzy smile. She wanted to see Zachary and his ex-step-mom reconcile. It could only do good for both of them to have each other during their family crisis.

  “No, it can’t be good.”

  “I’m sorry?” Mitzy paused, pen hovering over her page. “I thought maybe this meant he wanted to reconnect.” She put her pen to paper and wrote PRAY in bold letters, though she suspected that was not what Karina was going to ask her to do.

  “Zachary and his wife want to meet me somewhere to talk. Will you come with me?” Her voice cracked, making her sound older and frail.

  Mitzy underlined her one note to herself. She was far from a crisis negotiator, despite her great negotiating skills, and though she counseled families all the time, she was hardly the right person to call for mediation. But Karina didn’t want a negotiator or a mediator any more than she wanted a Realtor right now. She just wanted a friend. Mitzy laid her pen down. Karina was so very alone in the world. “Of course I will.”

  “Thank you.” Her voice wasn’t much more than a whisper. “I just know he is going to confront me about the house again, and I’m just not myself right now. If you’re not there to represent me, who knows what I’ll agree to.”

  “I see.” Mitzy picked her pen up again, chagrinned. This was just about the real estate. She stifled a disappointed sigh. Not that it mattered. That’s how she would earn her commission, after all. “So, tell me, Karina, before we’re all together, what exactly do you need from me? Give me your parameters.”

  “If he wants the house, I won’t take anything less than full asking price. No seller assist, no discount. If he still wants my house, he is going to have to pay for it.”

  Mitzy detected hurt and pain behind Karina’s words, nonetheless, there was an icy coldness that shocked her. “Absolutely, Karina. We won’t bend.”

  “Not even if I tell you I’ve changed my mind, okay?”

  Mitzy hesitated.

  “I mean it. He’s always known how to get just what he wants from me.”

  “I will remind you of our conversation.”

  “Thank you, Mitzy. We’re meeting at the house at noon.”

  “I’ll be there.” Mitzy made a note of it. When they ended the call, she bowed her head and prayed. Every new page of the drama laid out before her was colder and uglier than the one before it, which said a lot considering it started with a dead man.

  ***

  Tiny bells jingled overhead, and Mitzy pushed open the door of the nail salon. The earthy scent of patchouli and henna masked a hint of the nail enamel smells she had expected to find. A dreadlocked woman laid a henna tattoo on the shoulder of a client who wore a flowered headscarf. She nodded an acknowledgement to Mitzy but didn’t smile.

  Mitzy shivered. Snow fell softly outside, melting as it landed in the murky puddles of slush that lined the street.

  Nirvana Nails was not her regular place.

  She braved it today for the sake of the view. It was directly across the street from the psychic Charlie had sent her to. She picked it hoping she might spot her eyewitness again and get to have another chat.

  “Mitzy?” A young woman with short—very short—brown hair greeted Mitzy with a smile. “I’m Lena. Why don’t you join me?”

  Lena gestured to an antique table with a purple paper laid over the top of it. Mitzy sat in the gold velvet wingback chair on the customer side of the table and laid her hands flat on the paper, as she usually did. “I’m chipping, so it’s time for a change.”

  Lena frowned. “Oh, it is time for a change.” She took Mitzy’s right hand in hers and turned it over. “Traditional nail chemicals cause cancer.”

  Mitzy bristled.

  Lena took out cotton swabs and an unmarked brown glass bottle. “I’ll take all of this away for you.”

  Mitzy kept an eye on the street, but Lena’s gentle touch and soothing voice had mellowed her out already.

  When the polish was gone from both of her h
ands, Lena dried them with an unbleached towel that was as soft as a baby blanket. She held Mitzy’s hand out. “Isn’t that better? Pure and natural.”

  Mitzy frowned at her nails. They were a little yellow, they needed the ridges buffed out, and they really needed to be shaped. Lena had popped the acrylic tips off and her hands felt light.

  Lena patted her hand. “They’ll get prettier. They just need to breathe for a while.”

  Lena took out another bottle and shook three drops onto the back of Mitzy’s hand. She massaged her nails and hands. “This is almond and coconut oil.”

  Mitzy was mesmerized. She glanced at the street, but couldn’t concentrate on the house across the way. Her hands felt amazing. In fact, her whole body had loosened up and relaxed as Lena worked on her hands.

  “You’re breathing easier, aren’t you?” Lena asked, her eyes on Mitzy’s hand.

  “Um-hmm.” Mitzy inhaled deeply. Who knew hands could feel so good?

  “You were so tight when you walked in here.” She rubbed the palm of Mitzy’s hand just under the backside of her knuckles. “That’s for your lungs and chest, and that’s for your arms and shoulders.” She rubbed from the outside in. Then she gently but firmly rubbed the thumb between the first and second knuckles. “And that’s for your neck and throat. This awful weather gets us all in the throat.”

  Mitzy smiled and tried not to roll her eyes. “I don’t know about all that, but it sure does make my hands feel good.”

  Lena turned her attention back to Mitzy’s nails. “Your nails will be healthier, your skin will be so much younger, and your thinking will clear up. You’ll never regret eliminating these chemicals from your life.”

  A sigh of pleasure escaped. Mitzy didn’t want to give up nail art, but she was willing to ask her regular nail artist if she could add a massage to the routine. “What are my color options today? It’s almost Christmas, so I was thinking cranberry, maybe, with snowflakes.”