Traci Tyne Hilton - Mitzi Neuhaus 02 - Eminent Domain

by Traci Tyne Hilton

  Dedicated to

  Mike and Vicky Rothery, my dad and mom, who like good books and believed I could write one.

  This is a work of fiction. All characters, places, and incidents are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, either living or dead, is completely coincidental.

  Eminent Domain (3/10/13)

  Copyright 2011 by Proverbs 31 House LLC

  Cover Art by Andrew Rothery

  All rights reserved

  The floorboard crumbled under Mitzy’s first step. She extracted her boot, ignoring the scratches on the new leather and said, “Replace floor.”

  Alonzo Miramontes offered Mitzy his hand and directed her to a firmer spot in the upper attic room they were touring. “Replace floor,” he repeated, making a note on his iPhone.

  The mansion on Baltimore Street had hooked Mitzy earlier in the year. As a Realtor she saw the broke-down mansion as a great commission waiting to happen. She also saw potential every time she looked at it. It could be so much more beautiful with a little work. And since she owned the little rental house next door, potential for the mansion was potential property value for herself as well. As icing on the cake, all that renovation work would mean jobs for her friends.

  But Mitzy was realizing the word “renovation” was absurd and insufficient. An argument could be made for just tearing the old house down. The untamed acres of property and ramshackle house that had consumed her mind were now consuming all of her capital as she, her new boyfriend Alonzo, and his sister Carmella converted it into an inn.

  Buying the house had been the action of a heated moment. They had tried to buy it out from under each other separately and found that the mafia didn’t want either of them to have it. There was a little secret in the house, earlier that spring—the secret of a missing collection of Romanov jewels.

  Mitzy was the best Realtor in Portland. A millionaire by 30. She didn’t get to the top by making mistakes. But in the thrill of the battle for the jewels, the house, and their lives, she and Alonzo had skimped on a few home buying technicalities. In fact, she had broken her favorite rule as a Realtor: Due Diligence. Mitzy took her job as a Realtor seriously. She wore her purple blazer with its company logo with pride. She wore her matching purple fingernails with pride too.

  But being a Realtor was more than just owning a business to Mitzy. It was her life’s blood. The due diligence she had forgotten was the inspection. A mortgage requires an inspection. But cash can move mountains and who needs an inspection when you are hunting for missing jewels? This was the first time Mitzy had discovered a whole floor of living space in a building after purchasing it.

  Turning the property into an inn was Carmella and Alonzo’s dream. Since falling in love with Alonzo she had fallen in with this dream. But really, the love part only complicated the business start-up. Mitzy fully intended to get beyond the drama of the mansion and the jewels and the mafia and get back to selling homes as soon as the inn was up and running.

  The business partners were dealing with the servants’ quarters on the top floor of the house today. The floor that had been a complete surprise. Mitzy was becoming convinced as she sketched plans yet again for the rooms upstairs, that some mountains should just stay put.

  The Victorian mansion had five bedrooms right below the storage attic. It was enough space to house a butler, cook, and a few maids. Also on that floor was a larger room that must have been a school room or nursery.

  “We need one large suite with extensive private accommodations, bath, sauna, living room, and big screen TV,” Carmella, Alonzo’s sister and future inn manager, said.

  “No,” Alonzo said.

  “It’s the top floor. It needs to be posh,” Carmella said.

  “Can we even get a spa up here?” Mitzy asked, eyeing the narrow stairs and low ceilings.

  “Lift it in through the window. It doesn’t matter how we do it, it just needs to be done.” Carmella drew a line across the window with her pointer finger.

  “We are not plumbing a spa up here. It’s too expensive. We’d have to reinforce all the floor joists. Can’t do it. We’d have to get new permits. These rooms should be offices and storage,” Alonzo said.

  “No,” Carmella said, shaking her head “I am the inn manager and the design consultant. We can’t waste all of this space on storage and offices. The more rooms open the more money we make.”

  Mitzy was measuring windows with her keychain measuring tape and responded without thinking. “The more we advertise the more money we make.”

  “Focus Mitzy,” Alonzo said. “And you,” he said to his sister, “are not our design consultant. You had better not expect to be paid for design consulting. You are not a designer.”

  “You invited me here for my opinion. I assume it is my opinion on design and not on what to have for lunch.” She tossed her thick black pony tail and turned her head to the window. “This is the best room in the house because it is the top room. The offices need to be downstairs so I am available to our guests,” Carmella said.

  “We’re turning the staff staircase into an elevator,” Mitzy said.

  “Focus,” Alonzo snapped.

  “I am focused. Don’t be such a jerk. We are putting an elevator here, so guest access to the top floor wouldn’t be a problem.” She walked through the doorway into the hall, looking up and down its length. “But fitting out a spa would be.” She raised her voice to be heard. “If this is opened to guests at all it needs two washrooms. But if we don’t have sleeping space it wouldn’t have to be full en-suite baths. For two toilets and two sinks we wouldn’t have to reinforce floor joists, etc. The nursery is large and we could open up into the other small rooms.” Mitzy walked back into the room with her partners.

  Alonzo shook his head, eyes lowered to a paper he was holding, “We’ve got all of our estimates.”

  “We left the servants’ quarters ‘to be decided,’” Mitzy said. “We might as well decide now.”

  “Because we don’t have enough to do?” Alonzo said.

  “I have two ideas,” Mitzy began, “The first is the best. We could turn this into a banquet room. A place for large parties to meet in private. We would just need two bathrooms. The ceilings are low so it wouldn’t be very grand, but we could make it stylish and offer it as part of our wedding packages.” She paused and looked at Alonzo to see how he liked it. “Or we could turn it into a business conference room and fit it out like a smoking room or library or that kind of manly thing.”

  “We do need to add those bathrooms, no matter what we do,” Alonzo said, thumping the floor boards with his booted foot. “Do you know what it costs to reinforce these old beams?”

  “We could get a lot more money for it as a honeymoon suite,” Carmella said.

  Mitzy observed Carmella. Her peevish expression was so exactly like her brother’s. Her lips were pursed and her thick eyebrows drawn over her big black eyes. Her shoulders were thrown back and she stood with her feet planted shoulder width apart.

  “We’ll keep that idea in mind, Carmella. But as far as we can tell off hand, it isn’t in the budget.” Mitzy patted her fluffy blonde curls as she thought. Top floor was top floor. But these spaces had been servants’ quarters. Small rooms, small windows, low ceilings. Even converting them into a conference room would require larger windows and disturb the historic integrity of the façade.

  “Carmella,” Mitzy asked, “What would you charge per night for your top floor honeymoon suite?”

  “At minimum, $400 a night,” Carmella said,

  “And what would you charge for your smallest room?” Mitzy a
sked.

  “Nothing in this hotel will be less than $175 a night.”

  Mitzy pointed as she counted the rooms, “Then one, two, three four, five, junior-rooms with shared baths off the hall and continental breakfast in the nursery at $100 dollars a night, would be more profitable than one large suite at four hundred,” Mitzy smiled. This new plan was her favorite by far. “If you had the large suite rented every weekend in June and half of July and August the inn would make $3200 a year on this space. If we averaged renting half these rooms half of the weekends for the year this space would bring in $5250 a year. What do you think?”

  “Can we get away with five bedrooms and shared bathrooms?” Alonzo asked.

  “Sure. The McMennimins hotels do it,” Mitzy said.

  “The McMennimins hotels are destinations. We won’t have a movie theater, a micro-brewery, or golfing,” Carmella said.

  “True,” Alonzo said. “But I think we could get the permits. I’d rather have a handful of rooms to rent than a conference room that was always empty.”

  “Me too. I think we could do it. It would be so much cheaper. All we have to do is put in the bathrooms, new flooring, and paint. I’ll draw up the plans and estimates,” Mitzy said.

  “So we’re just going to do your plan then?” Carmella said.

  “Yes,” Alonzo replied, turning to go down the stairs.

  “I’m sorry,” Mitzy said.

  Carmella’s shoulders drooped for just a moment. She pulled them back up though and glared at her brother’s retreating figure.

  “We just can’t afford your idea, even though it is awesome.” Mitzy paused and looked at Carmella. Carmella turned away, crossing her arms on her chest. With a shrug, Mitzy started her trek down the flights of stairs to the main floor.

  Alonzo was arguing in the foyer with two well dressed men. Through the front windows Mitzy saw two black Lincolns with tinted windows. And a police car.

  “What’s going on here?” Mitzy rushed down the last few steps and interjected herself into the argument.

  “I’ve got it, Mitzy,” Alonzo said. He stood with his feet apart and his arms crossed over his broad chest. “Until you show us a court order you’re not taking anything from this property.”

  A tall, thin, man with wire rim glasses and sparse blonde hair peered around the foyer before he spoke. “I don’t think you realize the seriousness of the situation. I don’t think you realize who you are working with here.”

  “I realize,” Alonzo said, dropping his voice an octave, speaking slowly as to a child, “that you are attempting to seize our property without the legal authority. I realize that I am going to escort you off of our property now.”

  Mitzy had moved to the front door, keeping the heels of her boots quiet on the wood floor while the strangers had their stand off with Alonzo. She opened the door and a gust of fall-scented wind blew into the room. “After you,” she said with a false smile, gritting her teeth.

  No one moved.

  The thin man stepped towards Alonzo. “I can see you’ve never worked with the FBI before.”

  A local policeman stepped in through the front door. He stalked into the room, leading with his forehead and stood between the shorter, dark haired FBI man and the thin reedy one. He glared around the room, turning to take everyone in. He got to Mitzy. His face burst into a grin and he puffed out his chest. “You’re Mitzy Neuhaus!” he said, his voice rising like a choir boy. “I saw you on TV this morning.”

  Mitzy turned on her 100 watt smile and joined the officer in the middle of the room, “Hey there,” she said fluttering her eyelashes and pursing her pink lips. Alonzo frowned.

  The thin blonde agent frowned too.

  “Is this THE Victorian?” the cop asked. “The one you found the missing jewels in?”

  “It sure is,” Mitzy said.

  “Such a bummer that you had to turn them all over to the authorities. You bought ‘em, you should get to keep ‘em.” The cop shook his head and looked around the house again, eyes wide, shaking his head.

  “You’ve got to come back and visit us once we’ve opened the inn,” Mitzy said, “It’s going to be gorgeous.”

  “Will do,” the cop said with a nod. “You done in here?” The cop asked deep voiced again, to the FBI agents.

  “No, we are not done here,” the thin one said biting off the ends of his words.

  “These guys got work to do,” the cop said. “I suggest you finish up and move on. I’ve got work to do too.”

  The thin man sucked in a breath that flared out his nostrils. “I am here for the items on this list. As you learned when you turned in the Romanov jewelry collection you do not have a choice. As you can see I’ve brought the local law to enforce the order, though if you knew anything at all, I didn’t have to bring them.” He glared at the officer who was still chatting up Mitzy.

  “Come back with a warrant and take whatever the judge says you can take.” Alonzo walked forward, forcing the two men in suits to retreat to the open door. The cop followed them out.

  “You don’t realize what it means to frustrate the FBI, do you?” The thin agent said.

  “I am so sorry you are feeling frustrated,” Mitzy said. “But that has nothing to do with us. We have a building to renovate.”

  The agents hesitated in the gravel drive. Their cars stood waiting for them. The beefy one spoke for the first time. “We’ll be back,” he said and then opened the door of his black Lincoln.

  The tall thin agent’s shoulders slumped at his partner’s ridiculous comment. Collins hated working with new agents. The agents slammed the doors to their cars shut, and kicked up the gravel with their wheels as they drove off of the property.

  Mitzy turned away from the exiting cars and looked at Alonzo with fear in her wide blue eyes, “Those guys were the FBI? What on earth did they want?”

  “They want everything in the house that is not nailed down,” Alonzo said.

  A small green Prius squealed into the driveway. A middle-aged man with spiky hair and thick black glasses popped out. “Hey guys,” he said with a big toothy grin.

  Alonzo looked at the man once, turned and went back into the house.

  “I’m Geo from the city council,” The man said. “Let’s talk about your property.” He walked over to Mitzy and offered to shake her hand.

  Mitzy put a business card in his hand. “Call my assistant and make an appointment,” she said. She turned on her boot heel and followed Alonzo into the house.

  “Everything that’s not nailed down? What do you mean?” she asked Alonzo when she caught up with him.

  “I mean that all of the furniture, the stuff stored in the basement, and that cache of papers we found in the ceiling are considered evidence by the government. We chose to give over the jewelry collection and now they think they can have everything else.” Alonzo paced the foyer.

  “They think it is evidence? Of what? Of bad taste? Of a loss of a fortune over a few generations? All that furniture that was stored upstairs is just old furniture. It’s not evidence of anything important.”

  “The papers, Mitzy.” Alonzo said.

  “Oh.” Mitzy drew her fingers through her blonde curls. She didn’t fight nature by straightening her curls. She wore them as big as hairspray would let them get.

  “Notes. Names. Lists. All evidence of forged papers. Illegal immigration.” Alonzo and Mitzy had found more than just jewels hidden in the old house when they bought it. And it looked like the old papers were about to cause as much trouble as the jewels did.

  “I was under the impression that it was illegal to leave Russia, not to enter the US, during the Cold War. Didn’t the US welcome defectors?” Mitzy asked.

  “Don’t be simple Mitzy.” Alonzo said. He stopped pacing at the doorway to the kitchen. Many of the papers they found had been hidden in the ceiling of the kitchen and butlers pantry. He was looking up at the recently finished plaster work on the ceiling.

  “Don’t be rude. If you do
n’t know the answer, just admit it.” Mitzy said. She followed him to the doorway. Standing behind him, she put her arm around his waist and leaned her head on his back.

  Alonzo turned, wrapped his arms around Mitzy and gave her a squeeze. “During the Cold War we were concerned about our National Security. Spies were the issue back then. That’s what our little papers are about.”

  “The more things change. I would have said piffle if it weren’t for that spy ring they just broke up back east. Wasn’t it the Zotalli’s or something like that? Do you think these old papers could have anything at all to do with spies here today?” Mitzy asked. She stepped away from Alonzo again and looked at the new ceiling. Quality plasterwork wasn’t cheap.

  “Yes. I think they could. But I don’t know. I also don’t know how the FBI knew we had a stash of old notes in this house and I don’t believe having old papers gives them the right to take all the furniture and fixtures,” Alonzo said.

  “Did those guys show you any ID?” Mitzy asked, in a more worried voice.

  “They flashed a badge. I didn’t examine it. I wouldn’t know what an FBI badge is supposed to look like.”

  “What if this is a list of defectors and those guys are KGB?”

  “You’re about 20 years behind the times, Mitzy. There hasn’t been a KGB since you were in grade school.”

  “Use your imagination. So they don’t call them the KGB. The KGB wasn’t called Cheka or OGPU anymore either but their function was the same, if not most of the people involved. I’m just asking. What if our papers are nothing more than the notes taken by family as they functioned in a perfectly legal way to sponsor their relatives as they left the old country? What if the enforcement arm of Russian Intelligence wants that information?” Mitzy walked into the kitchen as she talked and looked out the window.

  The sun was out today, warm and bright. Completely at odds with the cold feeling gripping her heart. Sending known mafia to prison took a piece of your security away. The feeling that someone was trying to get her back had never really left Mitzy.