A spoon on the counter caught her eye. She picked it up and put it in her pocket. She worried the spoon between her thumb and her finger, leaning on the kitchen counter. Alonzo had been reading that book, which Mitzy thought, was likely why he was so critical of her this afternoon. He thought she was in the “game playing” stage of their relationship still.
Mitzy yanked open the silverware drawer and pulled out all of the spoons. She put them in her purse. It was true at least in part. This evening she was in the “game playing” stage. She smiled a wicked smile. She would enjoy showing him what real immaturity looked like.
The restaurant was quiet because it was early. Dinner at 5:30 wasn’t romantic by any standards. But it was dinner together, it wasn’t leftovers, and they could have a long evening together but still get Alonzo to bed in time for his 3:30 wake up tomorrow. They were drinking ice tea and not saying much.
Alonzo’s phone rang. He pulled it out of his pocket and checked it. “It’s Mitchell, I’d better take it,” he answered the phone. After a few monosyllabic grunts he got up and went to the foyer.
Mitzy pursed her lips and thought about the evening. Early dinner at a cheap restaurant. A walk on the East side riverfront esplanade dodging the crazy bike commuters on their way home. A lot of talk about work. Maybe the trouble with them was that they had jumped straight from infatuation to boring with no game playing in between. She turned in her seat to see if Alonzo was coming back. He wasn’t.
Mitzy pulled the handful of spoons from her purse and set them on the table. She removed the knife and fork from his rolled up napkin and shoved two spoons in to replace them, careful not to crumple the paper napkin. She stuck a spoon in his ice tea. She looked at the table for more spots and decided to stick two more spoons in the condiment carrier. She put the last three spoons and the extra knife and fork back in her purse and stuck her purse under the table. Alonzo had ordered a big hamburger. Would he even open his napkin? It was worth the wait.
When the waitress came back by Mitzy ordered a decaf coffee just so she could set it on the table and stick another spoon in it. She turned around and saw Alonzo stuffing his phone in his pocket. A laugh welled up from her gut. It really was a stupid joke but it had lightened her mood immensely. She didn’t want to ruin the surprise so she pushed her chair back and rushed to the bathroom to have her laugh.
After recovering her composure, she stood in the doorway to watch Alonzo greet the spoon invasion. He did open his napkin. He unrolled it letting the silverware spill to the table. He put the napkin beside his glass of ice tea. He had his phone in one hand, reading something as he stirred his ice tea.
She walked slowly back to the table, one corner of her mouth turned up in a sly little smile.
“What’s the news from Mitchell?” She asked.
“He composed a formal complaint against the plan from the Grey to Green commission. He wanted to let us know because he is submitting it first thing tomorrow.”
“That’s good news,” Mitzy said, as she stirred her coffee.
“Have you heard from Ramona at the Historical Society?” Alonzo asked.
“She called yesterday. She can’t get an official word on the subject until the board of directors meets.” Mitzy took a long drink of her coffee. It needed cream. “I hate to wait, but it’s all she can do. Informally at least two of the members are opposed to pulling the house down for a parking garage. One is opposed in general because it is an old building and the other is really on fire for the museum space in the inn. They might be able to register their disapproval as community members but it won’t be the same as having the Historical Society as a whole disapprove the plan.” She opened a cream and poured it in to her hot cup.
“Umm hmmm,” Alonzo said, staring at his phone.
“Something important?” she asked.
“Oh? What? No.” He turned his phone off and pocketed it. “Sorry. It’s hard to leave work behind this early.”
“Especially since we are spending the whole evening in sight of the office,” Mitzy said with her coffee cup up to her mouth.
“We’ll always be this busy,” Alonzo said.
“What?” Mitzy said putting her cup down.
“We can still see the office from here. I know. But we will always be this busy. You and I work a lot.”
The waitress interrupted bringing their plates. She put the towering hamburger platter in front of Alonzo and a soup and salad in front of Mitzy.
Mitzy smiled as she picked up a spoon to start her soup.
“Anything else I can get you all?” The waitress asked.
Alonzo had taken the bun off the top of his burger and was pouring ketchup on his meat. He reached his hand to his pile of spoons. Not feeling a knife he looked at it. “Yeah. He said. I could use a knife.”
“Sure thing,” The waitress said. “You all enjoy your dinner.” She pulled a knife out the front pocket of her apron and left it on the table.
“I’ve got a knife,” Mitzy said.
“All I’ve got is spoons. Why do I have so many spoons?” Alonzo said, noticing that he had three spoons on the table and one in his drink.
A laugh bubbled out of Mitzy. She put a spoon of soup in her mouth.
Alonzo shook his head and took a bite of his burger.
The trick now would be collecting all her spoons before they left the restaurant.
She sipped another spoonful of soup when her phone rang. She sighed and pulled it out of her coat pocket.
“Hello?” she said. It was another realtor, looking at the Smythe’s house. “I’m very close to the office. Fax it over and give me an hour,” she said.
“Going to work?” Alonzo said with a smirk after Mitzy ended her call.
“Eat fast and we can take our romantic walk back to the office.” Mitzy fidgeted with her jacket, putting it on but getting her elbow caught. Twisting out of the little bolero she knocked her half empty ice tea over. Jacket hanging on one arm she began to mop up the mess.
“Leave it. Go to work. I’ll meet you there with your dinner in the box.”
Mitzy sighed deeply and slowed down. “Thank you.”
“I’ll bring your spoons too. While I appreciate your effort, I don’t think pestering me with extra spoons is what that book is getting at.”
Mitzy jingled the one spoon in her pocket as she left for her office. That man was imperturbable and way too observant.
The offer waiting on the office fax machine was no good. She wouldn’t even ask the Smythes to counter it. They were offering thousands less than the asking price and still wanted to seller to pay all of their closing costs. And to top it off it was contingent on the sale of their current property. It wasn’t worth leaving dinner for such a weak offer. She sat down in her chair to wait for Alonzo. She wondered absently how he would bring her a box of soup.
“Thanks for coming with me,” Mitchell, the head of the Grey to Green Commission said to Mitzy. He worked with the City Council on a daily basis trying to undo decades of paving and development to restore the abundant greenery to Portland that was native to the landscape. He and Mitzy stood at the steps of city hall. “I respect these guys a lot and what they do for the city. It’s hard for me to come here specifically to tell them how wrong they are.” Mitchell was wasting no time presenting the facts of the tram situation to his Grey to Green Initiative team.
“You have all your data though? Let the facts speak for you. It’s not you disagreeing with people you respect. It’s the data responding to their plan. You can do this,” Mitzy said.
“I do this kind of thing all the time,” Mitchell said, “But usually I am representing the concerns of the city and not opposing them. Okay then, here we go.” He held the door open and followed Mitzy in.
Martin, the guy from the city council that worked with environmental issues was attending the regular meeting of the Grey to Green Initiative team today. Mitchell had made sure that the Baltimore project was on the agenda. It was the first ite
m and Mitchell had to present it to the team as a “grey” that they needed to work on so it could be a “green.” If his initiative agreed that the project couldn’t happen as planned Martin would be required to report that decision to the city council. The city council would have to report back to the Initiative team with proposed changes. It was possible to get the whole project cancelled. Barring that, it was likely to derail the whole thing with red tape. There is nothing, Mitchell thought, quite like red tape to slow a project down.
The data presented itself well. The team of biologists, ecologists, and forestry employees were properly horrified. Martin did his best, explaining the drainage possibilities of the stone-paved courtyard and the green driveways. But it was decided unanimously that the Initiative would require the city to present changes before the plans could move forward.
Martin looked with big sad eyes through his round glasses at Mitchell. “We need the tram, Mitchell. And this is where the city is going to put it. I didn’t expect you to do this to us.”
Mitchell looked at his feet for a moment. “It’s not you, Martin,” he said. “It’s the flooding. We’ve got to stop the flooding.”
“If people insist on living in flood plains…” Martin muttered as he let himself out of the conference room.
“This would be disastrous for our whole initiative,” Bryony, a leading ecologist who worked as a professor at PortlandStateUniversity said. “If we let this go as stands we set a precedent that undermines our authority. I will stand up against this. Let them put the tram somewhere else. There’s enough concrete out in EastCounty. Put the tram somewhere that’s already paved.”
“I’m glad to hear you say that,” Mitzy said. “We’re working on a plan to do that and your support would be invaluable.”
“Just let me know what you need. I agree completely with you on this one,” she handed Mitzy her card.
Listening in on the meeting opened Mitzy’s eyes. She wanted to save the inn so that she wouldn’t lose her investment and so that that her part of town would have one more stable employer around. To her, the bit of acreage the building sat on was good for leverage. She hadn’t realized until now that it was important in its own right. It was forest that deserved protection. They really couldn’t remove the underbrush or limb up the trees. They were going to have to have a romantic wilderness instead of a formal park. She’d have to discuss the plans for the land with Alonzo again.
Since she was already across the river she hoofed it across town to the Historical Society. She wanted to know what Ramona had been up to.
Efficiency and cutting costs had been the word of the day at the society. The lights were all off except for Ramona’s office. Mitzy had called her from the door to be let in. Off hours the place was locked up and shut down. Ramona’s office was also dimly lit, but the furniture was comfortable.
“It came from the Portland Hotel,” Ramona said, rubbing the wooden arms of the chair. “I know it’s old and it won’t last forever. It was donated to the society. We’re working on a new exhibit about old downtown and I suppose I’ll have to give it up when it’s ready. But until then, sit down and get comfy. Tea?” she was pouring from her hot pot into thick ceramic mugs.
“Thanks. I’d love it.” Mitzy took the cup and wrapped her fingers around it, enjoying the warmth. “Things went well at the meeting today. I think we have a very strong ally.”
“I wish the Society could do more for you. We’ve finally got the grant funding confirmed,” Ramona said. She patted a fat stack of papers on her desk, “And we have so many of the details worked out for the exhibit. It’s going to be really lovely. I’ve got the school board excited about a new field trip location too. I can’t believe that a parking structure might undo all of this work.”
“It won’t. It can’t. But I thought you and I might brainstorm a little, talk about who you know that can back us up,” Mitzy said.
“Our board of directors can. They meet in a couple of days and I’ve put the issue on the agenda.”
“Who is on your board?” Mitzy asked.
“You probably wouldn’t know them. A couple of professors, one from PSU and the other from ReedCollege, Grant Arlington as well. He’s a collector and has donated a great deal to our exhibits over the years. Judge O’Donnell from the state supreme court. He’ll come up to town for the meeting. Greta Baker is, but I can’t think of any reason you would have heard of her. And myself, of course.”
At the name Baker Mitzy leaned forward. It was a common name of course, but she had to ask. “How old is Greta Baker?”
“About 40, I’d say. Do you think you know her?”
“No.” Mitzy thought for a moment. There was still a chance. “Is she from an old family in town?”
“Oh, not really. She’s the granddaughter of a newspaper woman though. She got involved with the Historic Society when she came across a scrapbook full of her grandma’s clips. She wanted to know if we wanted them for the museum. Of course we have all of the Portland Journal’s stuff on microfiche but the scrapbook was fantastic. And once we got to know each other Greta was hooked on our museum.” Ramona smiled as she spoke of her friend.
“What was her grandmother’s name? When did she write?” Mitzy asked, excited.
“Oh shoot…I think it was Margaret Baker…she was active through the war and into the 1970’s. Are you interested in her clips?” Ramona asked.
“A little. I think she may have been working on a story about our inn. I have reason to believe it anyway. But it could be a coincidence. Bakers are a dime a dozen, I suppose.”
“Sure, the name is common. But I bet it was her. She was all over the place. She was a good journalist. Let me give you Greta’s card. She loves talking about her Grandmother.” Ramona shuffled through her desk drawer and pulled out a card.
“Thanks.” Mitzy flipped the card back and forth looking at the phone number. She slid in into the side pocket of her purse. As much as she wanted her tea, she really wanted to leave and make a phone call. She stuck it out though. Ramona was doing a lot for her inn.
“Maybe Margaret wrote something important about the inn,” Ramona said. She leaned forward on her desk, grinning. “Maybe she knew a secret about it that would save it from the tram. You should call her now. Better yet, let me call her.” Ramona picked up her phone and called her friend.
Greta met them at her home that evening.
“I’ve pulled out the scrapbooks of Grandma’s clips and this file box of her own notes. It’s mostly full of steno pads and journals. I used to think I’d like to organize it and publish it one day but it’s not what I thought it was. It’s her story notes mostly and most of it is in short hand.”
“Shouldn’t be a problem,” Mitzy said, kneeling down by the cardboard filing box. “Unless she made up her own, I can probably read her shorthand.” She put her hands on either side of the lid and lifted it off.
“What are you looking for, exactly?” Greta asked, taking a seat by Mitzy on the floor.
“I want to see what Margaret knew about the Simonite family. I have this note,” Mitzy set down the first steno pad she had pulled out and pulled the note from the box from her bag.
“That’s all you’re working from?” Greta looked at the note, her lips pursed. “It’s not much. ‘Mrs. Baker’ might not even be my grandma.”
“She might not. But it seems likely she is. The Simonite family was close with the Mayor and any number of city leaders. Your Grandma was an important person as well. This note says that Mrs. Baker wanted to write a story about them. At first I thought a biography, but what if it was a news story?”
“I think she would have been more interested in a news story than a biography,” Greta said, nodding.
The three women pulled the notebooks out and organized them by date. They each took a stack and flipped the pages looking for mentions of the Simonites. Mitzy had the stack of books in shorthand. She paused in her flipping to rub her eyes. “It’s hard with shorthand,”
she said. “I think I know what she is writing but over time it can become such a personal way to write. I might be entirely wrong.”
“Have you come into anything good?” Ramona asked.
“I don’t know. Margaret did write a lot about politics. And she seems to have some notes about Mayor Lee, Do-Good Dotty that is, serving in DC on a…here it is…on the US Subversive Activities Board.”
“That woman just keeps getting better and better, doesn’t she?” Ramona said, wrinkling her nose.
“She spent a lot of time helping foreigners enter the states. I wouldn’t wonder if she had to join the board to prove she wasn’t a communist herself. She was in kind of a tight spot.”
“But no mention of what you are looking for?” Greta asked.
“Not yet.” Mitzy bent over her stack of books again.
“I’ve got something, I think,” Ramona said. “In this notebook from 1957 she keeps mentioning the S’s. I know it could be anybody, but listen to what she says.” Ramona stood up and stretched her legs before she started reading. “The ‘S’s’ were approached three times in March by X. S-1 gone April. S-1 returns May with X. Yacht sold. Approached by X again in May. Car sold.” It goes on for a few pages listed when this S family was ‘approached’ by X and what they sold. What do you think?” Ramona asked.
“If the S’s are the Simonite then who is X?” Greta asked.
“Let’s say it’s someone from the mafia,” Mitzy said.
“Why are they selling their things?” Ramona asked.
“For money,” Mitzy said. “Enid said no one in the family ever worked. They were from money, and then the money ran out.”
“Why did they have to sell things when X showed up?” Greta asked.
“Blackmail,” Mitzy asked. The women looked at each other. “Blackmail. That’s so film noir. It’s such an ugly word.”
“It destroyed the Simonite family.” Ramona said in a small, quiet voice.
“But what did the Simonites have to hide?” Mitzy asked.
Greta shut her book. “We don’t know that it was blackmail,” she said rocking back onto her heels. “And we don’t know who S or X are.” She began stacking books back into the box. “I don’t think I can help you after all,” she said. “Blackmail is serious business. You can’t just go saying people are blackmailers from notes like this. That’s jumping way too many steps.”
Traci Tyne Hilton - Mitzi Neuhaus 02 - Eminent Domain Page 13
