Moving Can Be Murder

by Susan Santangelo

  To her credit, Mary Alice didn’t lose her cool. I remember she told me once that, whenever someone gave her a hard time, she pictured him in a hospital Johnny gown that was way too small. I figured she was using that technique now. I pushed that image out of my mind. It was too ugly a picture for me!

  “I got here at ten-thirty, which is the time Carol and I had agreed to meet,” Mary Alice said. “I waited for half an hour, and she didn’t come. I figured she’d changed her mind, so I went home. I didn’t try to call her, because I know ten-thirty’s past her usual bedtime and I didn’t want to take a chance on waking her up.”

  She flashed me a quick smile, which I returned.

  “Did you go into the house?” Paul asked, not giving Mary Alice a chance to catch her breath.

  “Of course I didn’t,” she answered with obvious impatience. “Why would I? How could I? It was all locked up and nobody was around. I sat in my car and waited for Carol.”

  At that point, a canine chorus from Lucy and Ethel began from outside. I had completely forgotten about them.

  “Jim, would you…?”

  The side door opened again and the dogs raced into the house, followed by Nancy.

  Bless their doggy hearts, they immediately ran to Paul and gave him a thorough sniff. Friend or foe, they wanted to know? And what’s he doing in our house?

  They accomplished in a matter of seconds what I’d been trying to do since I walked back into my house. Paul immediately brushed away the dogs and turned off his tape recorder.

  “I’ll type up these statements and get them to you to sign.”

  He couldn’t get out of the house fast enough.

  Never trust a man who doesn’t like dogs.

  There are two spots in Fairport, in addition to The Paperback Café, that my group of friends patronize on a regular basis: Crimpers, our local hair salon, and Maria’s Trattoria, which specializes in the best Northern Italian food around and is run by one of our kids’ former teachers, Maria Lesco.

  Deciding that the situation would look brighter after we had a good meal – especially one that we didn’t have to cook ourselves or clean up after -- Nancy, Mary Alice and I were settled into a corner table at Maria’s. Jim had elected to take the dogs back to our temporary digs. I think the idea of having lunch with three women was too much for him to handle on top of everything else that had happened. Not that I could blame him.

  “This is unbelievable,” Mary Alice said for the umpteenth time. “If only I’d looked in the living room window. It just never occurred to me.”

  “There was nothing you could have done,” I reassured her. “Don’t beat yourself up about it. It was just an unfortunate accident.

  “Besides, I have more things to feel guilty about than you do. If I’d remembered I was supposed to meet you last night, maybe we would have found Jack in time to save him. But instead, I decided to go back to the house later for my own private pity party, and look at the mess Jim and I are in now. And I didn’t tell you that Sara Miller’s threatening to sue us for negligence.”

  I looked at Nancy, who had remained unusually quiet so far. “Can the family really do that?”

  “I have good news and bad news,” Nancy replied, toying with her coffee spoon. “Which do you want to hear first?”

  I’m always one to take the bad news first. That way, the good news sounds even better.

  “Our attorney called the Cartwrights’ attorney this morning to get a preliminary read on the situation,” Nancy said. “Poor guy. He hasn’t had much experience with a situation like this.”

  Nancy reached over and squeezed my hand. “Not that I’m suggesting that you have, sweetie.”

  “Thanks. I think.”

  “Well, what’s going to happen about the house sale?” asked Mary Alice.

  “It looks like the sale is off,” Nancy said. “At least, that’s what the Cartwrights’ attorney implied. He didn’t say anything about a lawsuit, though.”

  “Small comfort,” I said. “Is that supposed to make me feel better?”

  “I think Sara’s threat about a lawsuit was just grief talking,” said Mary Alice. “She’s very upset, and took it out on you.”

  “Mary Alice is right,” said Nancy. “Remember that your house passed inspection with no trouble at all. If there had been any potential hazards there, the inspector would have found them. And you and Jim would have fixed them.”

  Jim! The man who’s made penny-pinching his life’s work.

  “Jim’s going to freak when he finds out the sale is definitely off, and we are now the proud owners of not one, but two houses. I don’t know how we’re going to afford this. How soon can the house go back on the market? Can it happen today?”

  Nancy paused and took a deep breath. “Here’s the other piece of the bad news. Your house is now what we call in the real estate business ‘psychologically impacted.’ That means something dire has happened in it – in this case, the potential buyer has died on the premises under somewhat suspicious circumstances – and that has to be disclosed to potential buyers. It often makes a property difficult, if not impossible to sell.”

  I gaped at Nancy. “Are you telling me that we can’t sell our house? Ever? I thought what I went through last night was bad. But this…this is even worse. What are we going to do?”

  At that moment, the cell phone in my purse began to play my favorite Four Seasons’ song, “Big Girls Don’t Cry,” which had taken on a whole new meaning in the last 24 hours.

  “Carol honey, it’s Claire. I’ll bet you and Nancy and Mary Alice are at Maria’s celebrating the house sale. God, I wish I was there. I miss all of you.”

  I started to cry. Again. And handed my phone over to Mary Alice. “It’s Claire. Can you talk to her and tell her what’s happened? I just can’t deal with it.”

  “Let me handle it,” said Nancy, snatching the phone away from Mary Alice. “You’ll take too long to get to the point. I’ll go outside to talk to her. You deal with Carol. Try to calm her down, if you can.”

  Mary Alice glared at Nancy’s retreating back. “Well!” she huffed. “It’s a good thing we’re friends or I’d follow her outside and give her a smack upside the head.

  “Here, Carol,” she said, handing me a fresh tissue. “Wipe your eyes. And look on the bright side.”

  “The bright side,” I said, my response muffled by the tissue. “And what would that be?”

  “Why, you were smart enough to wear waterproof eye makeup this morning, of course,” said Mary Alice. “You always plan ahead.”

  “It’s comforting to know that I don’t have raccoon eyes,” I said, massaging my right temple. “I have a splitting headache. Do you have any drugs with you?”

  Mary Alice looked at me like I was crazy.

  “Not hard drugs, Mary Alice. I didn’t mean it that way. I just need some aspirin. You usually have something in your purse.”

  “What you need is some food,” Mary Alice said. “When you get something in your stomach besides coffee, you’re bound to feel better.

  “Nancy’s coming back. Don’t worry. I’m not really going to smack her.”

  “Well, that’s all taken care of,” Nancy said, sliding into her chair and handing me back my phone. “Claire’s very worried about you and Jim, sweetie. God, she asks a lot of questions! Probably because she’s married to an attorney.

  “She did have a suggestion, which I hope will be all right with you, Carol, because I told her to go ahead.” She paused and took a sip of her now cold coffee.

  “Ugh,” she said, signaling the waitress for a fresh cup. “Did you two order already?” Mary Alice was looking daggers at her, but Nancy, as usual, was oblivious.

  “We’ll all have the risotto with a house salad,” Nancy said to our server, who scurried away to place the order. “I hope that’s OK with everyone?”

  “Would it matter if it wasn’t?” asked Mary Alice. “You really are something.”

  “This is a very stressfu
l day for all of us,” Nancy said, and squeezed Mary Alice’s hand.

  This was probably as close to an apology that Mary Alice was going to get under the circumstances, so she gave Nancy a tight smile.

  “What was Claire’s suggestion?” I asked, anxious to diffuse the tension between two of my closest friends. “Was it about selling the house?”

  “No, not exactly,” replied Nancy. “She was wondering about Mike. She was worried that he’d be upset if he saw anything about Jack Cartwright’s death on one of those trash T.V. shows. She offered to go to Cosmo’s today and tell him what happened in person. I told her to go ahead. I hope that was OK.”

  “Of course that’s OK,” I said. “Thank God for friends like Claire. And you. I don’t know what I’d do without you. Both of you.” I squeezed their hands for emphasis. Equally.

  “Well, I’m glad that’s settled,” said Nancy. “Now, do you want to hear the good news?”

  “I’ll bet the good news is that you’re putting this lunch on your expense account,” said Mary Alice, not missing another chance to get a little dig in at Nancy’s expense.

  “No, smarty pants,” Nancy shot back. “It’s a great idea about how to make Carol and Jim’s house saleable again. If this works, and there’s no reason why it won’t, we’ll have buyers in a bidding war within the next two months.”

  I brightened. A bidding war? Jim would love that.

  “OK, I’ll bite. What’s this miracle idea of yours?”

  “It’s not my idea. It’s Marcia Fischer’s. The home stager from Superior Interiors. You remember her, Carol. She did such a terrific job with the house.”

  I remembered that Marcia was a royal pain in the patootie, but I wasn’t going to say that.

  “Marcia wants to make your house into a show house to benefit a local charity. Isn’t that a terrific idea?”

  Chapter 17

  My favorite shade of nail polish is Starter Wife.

  “A show house? Are you kidding?” I said in astonishment. “You mean turn our house into something that people would buy tickets to tour? I’ve heard about these things, but I’ve never been to one.”

  I sat back in my chair so our waitress could serve us our lunch. Yum. It smelled delicious. I was feeling better already. Mary Alice was right, as usual. Food always gets me in a better mood. Unfortunately, as my ever tightening waist band kept reminding me, I needed to find another stress buster soon or go up another size in my clothes.

  “OK,” I said, my mouth full of risotto, “how does a show house work? And how can I convince Jim that this is a good idea?”

  Mary Alice interjected a comment before Nancy had a chance to answer. “I went to a show house a few years ago that benefitted the hospital. One of the volunteers told me that it took two years to pull the whole thing together. How do you expect to get it organized in such a short period of time, Nancy? Carol and Jim” -- she looked at me apologetically – “well, forgive my bluntness, but you guys are desperate. You don’t have time to fool around with this.”

  Nancy shot Mary Alice a look. “You ought to know that I wouldn’t suggest anything this radical unless all the pieces were already in place to pull it off successfully. Give me a little credit, please.”

  Mary Alice rolled her eyes.

  Nancy turned to me and continued. “Here’s the deal. Dream Homes Realty and Superior Interiors have partnered with Sally’s Place, the local domestic violence program, to do a show house as a fundraiser for them. A lot of people, especially Marcia, have been working on the project for quite a while. We’ve been keeping everything quiet until all the designers were chosen. Then we’d start a huge publicity blitz.”

  She paused and took a quick bite of her lunch.

  “First, we had to find the perfect property – something large and jazzy, but which could use a major facelift. We had a house all set, and Marcia put out a call for interior designers to come, preview the property, and bid on a room to re-design. Things were moving along great, and then the home owner backed out of the deal. He decided to sell the property privately to a family member. We couldn’t believe it! All that work down the drain. We’ve been on hold for the past week, and the office has been going crazy trying to find another property.

  “Your house is perfect, Carol. It’s an antique in Fairport’s historic district. You know how people always want to see what the inside of those houses look like, especially during the annual Christmas stroll. And your house is completely empty now. Marcia says that one of the biggest hurdles in putting together a show house is moving out all the owner’s furniture and putting it into storage. But we wouldn’t have to do that with your house, because you and Jim have already moved out.

  “Don’t you see what a perfect fit this is? It’s absolutely brilliant.”

  “It’s really a good idea,” Mary Alice admitted grudgingly. “I’ve heard about Sally’s Place. They do terrific things to help families in crisis. I’ve seen some domestic abuse victims when they’ve come to the hospital for treatment. You wouldn’t believe some of the things that go on behind closed doors in this town. Domestic violence is one of life’s dirty little secrets.”

  “Sally’s Place is a wonderful organization,” Nancy said, warming to the subject even more. “It offers counseling and support services for families in crisis, and provides temporary safe housing for victims of domestic violence. And it runs a thrift shop in Fairport as another way to raise funds.”

  “A thrift shop?” This surprised me. I didn’t think there was a shopping opportunity in all of Fairfield County, Connecticut, that I hadn’t heard about. And patronized. Often.

  Nancy nodded her head. “Yes, Sally’s Closet. It’s on Sanborn Street, right near the train station. Marcia took me there a few weeks ago and I was amazed at the great bargains.”

  I shook my head. “You both know how much I love to shop. But I can’t imagine wearing something that someone else owned and then got rid of. Too icky for words.”

  “Boy, and I thought I was a snob,” Nancy said. “First of all, when you’re shopping in one of the local department stores, how do you know who’s already tried on that gorgeous little black dress you simply must have? Or, even worse, actually put the tags inside, wore the dress, then returned it? Now, that, my friend, is icky.”

  She held up her Coach purse. “I got this at Sally’s Place for only thirty-five bucks. With the original price ticket still on it. Which read ‘one hundred and sixty-five dollars.’ Have I convinced you yet?”

  “Wow, that’s incredible.” My eyes glazed over at the thought of all those bargains waiting to be snapped up. “I’ll have to go and check it out. Jim couldn’t object to my spending a little money at a thrift shop, even though cash flow is tight right now.”

  “How do you think Jim will react to this show house idea?” Mary Alice asked, bringing me back to reality with a thud.

  “He’s going to jump at the chance,” said Nancy. “To sweeten the deal, I convinced my boss at Dream Homes Realty to pay all of your furniture storage fees for the duration of the show house. And the rent for your temporary apartment. We need your house.

  “Plus…” she paused dramatically. “Plus, we’re going to try and get you an in-kind tax write-off for this. How could Jim refuse?

  “Of course, the yellow ‘scene of the crime’ tape would have to be removed before the official opening.”

  I dawdled at Maria’s for another half hour after Mary Alice and Nancy left. Nancy had left me with some printed information on show houses to peruse – including a contract – so I amused myself by reading some of the material.

  “Wow! I never realized all there was to putting together a show house before,” I said aloud. Then, I stopped myself. Under normal circumstances, I’d be sharing this with Lucy and Ethel. But I knew patrons of Maria’s would look at me funny if I carried on a conversation with myself.

  I had hoped to catch up with Maria while I was here, but since the restaurant had become such a hit in t
own, I knew she was spending more time doing off-premise special events catering than running the Trattoria.

  Come to think of it, it was funny that I wanted to catch up with Maria. When she was teaching Mark or Jenny, I used to dread those back-to-school nights. She was a tough teacher, and even the parents – me included – were intimidated by her.

  But now, Maria had become what I call an “unexpected friend.” Someone whom I initially disliked – yes, even misjudged – but when I got to know her better, was a real sweetie. I’d like to think every person has people in their life like that, but maybe I’m the only one.

  Anyway, I was in no hurry to go anywhere, particularly back to our tiny rental and have The Conversation with Jim. Nancy had promised to stop by later and give us more of the particulars. I dreaded telling My Beloved that the house sale was off. Although he’d probably figured that out for himself. He’s no dummy, after all, and if the buyer is – well, dead – that tends to put a damper on the sale.

  But a show house. Convincing him to go along with that idea would be an entirely different matter, despite the potential tax write-off and free storage. If I knew him – and after all these years of marriage, I certainly did -- he’d just want to slap a little paint on the walls and put the house right back on the market.

  In my brief and stressful visit home this morning for my “interrogation,” I couldn’t help but notice, now that all the pictures were off the walls and the furniture was gone, how many places there were in the house that needed a touch-up. Well, if I was honest, all the rooms needed to be completely painted.

  Jim likes to take charge of those projects himself. He’s pretty adamant about color choice – neutrals like “Autumn Wheat” are the only thing he’ll consider unless I really kick up a fuss. God, when I remember the fight we had about painting the kitchen, it makes me cringe. (I won, though. We painted the walls light yellow and even My Beloved admitted – finally – that they looked good.)