Traci Tyne Hilton - Mitzi Neuhaus 02 - Eminent Domain

by Traci Tyne Hilton

  Mitzy set her book down as well. “Okay,” she said. “We can stop looking if you want us to. You probably don’t want me to mention these notes to the FBI either—or would you mind? They might be able to make sense out of them.”

  “No. I would rather you not mention them to anyone. They are just old notes. I’ll probably just recycle them. They are just notes from her articles, and the old Oregonian editions are all on microfilm anyway.” Greta spoke in a fast, high voice as she shut the cover of her box.

  Greta took a deep breath and asked, “What are you guys mixed up in? Why did you want these notes? I came here thinking you were interested in my grandma’s work. You don’t think she was involved in blackmail, do you?”

  “I am interested in your grandma’s work. But only in so far as she was writing about the Simonite family. I have a lot of money tied up in a business that the FBI wants to shut down. I’m doing everything I can do to save it.” Mitzy said. She looked Greta in the eye and spoke in a firm voice, her hands resting on her lap. She tried to make a confident picture. She didn’t understand why Greta had freaked out, but this was her only shot at learning what Mrs. Baker knew. She didn’t want to lose it.

  “But if the Feds are involved what you are doing must be dangerous.” Greta said.

  “It probably is.” Mitzy responded in a neutral tone.

  Ramona rocked back on her heels, “How dangerous, Mitzy? I thought this was just about the tram.”

  “It is about the tram, in the short term.” Mitzy said. She stood up and began to pace, hands clasped behind her back. “We’re looking at these notes in part to figure out how to save the inn from the tram. And it is about the FBI, how to save the inn from them too. And maybe about using the FBI to save the inn from the tram. But I have to sort it all out first. I have to know what was going on and why there is such interest in the property.”

  “I don’t want to accuse anyone of a serious crime. I don’t want to smudge my grandma’s reputation. I just don’t want to get involved.” Greta said, laying her hand on top of the box filled with notebooks.

  “Neither do I,” Mitzy said. “Here’s the thing, if we can convince the FBI that they need the inn around, then the FBI can stop the city from demolishing it. But to convince the FBI I need some kind of evidence of crime. I’m grasping at straws, but I’m confident that your grandmother’s reputation won’t be at risk.”

  “I feel for you.” Greta said, lifting her box as she stood up, “This is a bad time for real estate. But I just can’t give you these notes.”

  “Everyone involved must be dead by now, Greta.” Ramona said. “What would it hurt?”

  “It could hurt my family. My mom. Me. I’m not getting involved.” Greta said.

  “Your grandma took the notes. She was trying to uncover something, Greta. She wasn’t a criminal.” Mitzy said, trying one more time to make her case.

  “We know that. But it’s not a risk I am willing to take.” Greta said. Her mouth was pinched shut, her face strained.

  “Its okay, Greta. We understand.” Ramona said, patting her friend on the back. “If you change your mind, let us know, okay?”

  Greta looked away, frowning.

  Mitzy looked out the window at the setting sun and shook her head. “We’ll just call it another dead end,” she said.

  There was a good chance that the sermon this Sunday morning was interesting. It usually was. But Mitzy couldn’t keep her foot still. She tapped the Bible shelf on the back of the pew with the toe of her black leather boot over and over again. She hoped she looked like she was taking notes as she made lists, over and over again, trying to gather all the bits of her troubles on one 8.5 x 5.5 piece of paper she had pulled from the bulletin.

  The front side of the bulletin insert she was using to gather her thoughts was an announcement for the upcoming women’s retreat. She ran out of things to write and flipped the paper back and forth. Her inn would be a great place for a retreat…she could let out the whole servants quarters area for nothing to the ladies, in the future. If she could keep the inn. However, her inn didn’t have a ropes course, or a canoeing pond or a giant swing so maybe the ladies wouldn’t want to stay there. Everything on her mind was listed on the blank side of the sheet, in cramped indecipherable pseudo short hand. The page was full. She folded it and stuck it in the back of her Bible and turned to the sheet meant for Sermon notes. She filled in the blank that was up on the screen, though she hadn’t been following along. It was “consumed.”

  “What is consuming you right now?” the pastor was asking, “What is keeping you awake at nights? What gets the majority of your mental efforts? I’m pretty sure I can say for certain that it’s not worship. When the water heater breaks and the car needs new tires and your unemployment is about to expire you are probably not consumed with thoughts of worship. You are probably not, at that moment, overwhelmed by the greatness of God and his glory. Well, at least I’m not.”

  The pastor was right on with that one, Mitzy thought. She was not, in her current circumstances, distracted by the Glory of God to the point that her worries had vanished. Thoughts of losing all of her investment in the inn and harming all of the people whose livelihood depended on the success of both the inn and Neuhaus New Homes Realty were her constant companions.

  “But of course I am going to say what you expect me to say. In fact, I won’t show you the next slide because I have a feeling you can fill in the next blank before I even say it,” Pastor Greg said. “The magnificent Glory of the Living God should be enough to take our mind off of our present concerns. But all of us have a well-developed worry muscle and we keep working that same muscle to the point where it feels strong enough to carry us through. We think, ‘If I just worry enough about this I can fix it.’ Worry is not a tool and cannot fix anything. Here’s the part you have already filled in, without my slide. What does the Bible say about worry?”

  Of course what followed was Matthew 6:24-33. Do not worry about life. About clothes. About food and drink. Do not worry about tomorrow. Seek first the kingdom of God and its righteousness and all of the rest will be taken care of by God.

  Mitzy wasn’t surprised by the verse. It wasn’t breaking news. Of course that was true. But to not worry about how to pay for a business concern that was to feed, clothe, and provide for the tomorrows of several families? Mitzy’s foot stopped tapping. She wasn’t the one who was supposed to provide for all those people.

  She took a deep breath, pressing the palms of her hands down on her knees. She wasn’t the one who was in charge of providing for all of those people.

  Alonzo and Mitzy ate Sunday lunch together at his mother’s house. Over the meal they compared services. “First Peter 4,” he said. “Suffering for righteousness sake and rejoicing in it. You?”

  “Matthew 6. Do not worry,” Mitzy replied.

  “I was thinking a lot about it,” Mitzy said. “And maybe it goes along with what you heard this morning as well. Suffering for Christ, putting righteousness first. Not worrying. I think it might have been wrong to try to—um, trick the Feds.”

  “I wondered,” Alonzo said.

  “Wondered?” Mitzy asked.

  “Wondered when you’d stop trying to do it all yourself,” he said.

  “I have been trying to do it all.” Mitzy looked at her hands and picket her nail polish. She hadn’t been in for a manicure in a while and the soft lavender color was flaking off. She felt exposed, like the naked tip of her thumbnail. Taking care of things, getting it all done herself, was at the core of her nature. Relying on herself instead of God was her pet sin. The sin of being responsible. It didn’t seem that wrong, usually.

  “Yes. But you can stop. I know: you always work according to your conscience. But your brains get in the way sometimes. You’re clever enough to think your way out of your problems but that doesn’t make it your job.”

  “If I’m not supposed to think, what am I supposed to do?” Mitzy said, rolling her eyes.

&nb
sp; “Don’t ask me,” Alonzo said shrugging, but smiling at her warmly. “If you’re supposed to rely on God to take care of you, you can’t ask me for the answers. You have to ask Him.”

  “Enid said that at some point I would need to give up the furniture.” Mitzy said.

  Alonzo paused for a moment before he spoke, “She was right.”

  “But we needed the money, right? Or was I wrong?” Mitzy asked.

  “We counted on the money. But did we really need it? Not if there’s a different plan in action.”

  “I hate being wrong,” Mitzy said.

  “I know. Just pray about it. And eat some ravioli.” He led her to his mother’s table by the elbow.

  Mitzy sat down next to Teresa, looked at the full table with a hungry eye, and burst out laughing. There were three spoons next to her plate, one in her water glass and the rest of her spoons were in the dinner that was about to be served.

  Teresa looked from Mitzy to the table where Mitzy was staring. “What is this nonsense?” She asked.

  Alonzo laughed as well, “Just a joke for Mitzy. I said something kind of rude the other day…” he coughed into his fist, “And then I stole all of Mitzy’s spoons. I thought I’d give them back.”

  “Thanks, babe,” Mitzy said. “How are you enjoying that Spoons book?” she asked.

  “What book?” Teresa asked.

  “A book for children,” Alonzo said. “About how to be a grown up in a relationship. Obviously Mitzy doesn’t need it. I could probably use the advice though.”

  “Nonsense,” Teresa said, “You’re a wonderful man.”

  “That’s the truth,” Mitzy said, smiling gently at Alonzo. “I don’t think you need the book at all.”

  “I’m sure there’s a book I could use out there somewhere,” Alonzo said.

  “Eat your dinner,” Teresa said.

  Mitzy bowed her head and said a silent prayer of thanksgiving for Alonzo’s sense of humor, for Teresa’s good food, and for God continuing to give her a chance despite her shortcomings.

  Teresa and Alonzo bowed their heads as well, made the sign of the cross, and began to eat.

  Alonzo obediently began to serve the dinner and continued talking, “But I don’t need a book to tell me how to treat you. I do what I know how to do. All I can do this time is say I’m sorry. I was teasing you about something that wasn’t a joke.” He looked at his water cup, his jaw tensing.

  “Its okay, Alonzo. Don’t mention it anymore,” Mitzy said.

  “I don’t see what you could have done that you need to apologize for,” Teresa said, shaking her head.

  “Mitzy…” Alonzo cleared his throat again. Then he took a drink of water. “I take you seriously Mitzy. I don’t mean those things that I said. About marriage.” He took another drink of water.

  “You’re going to give your mother a heart attack,” Mitzy said.

  “I don’t know what you are talking about. You two are talking a bunch of nonsense, I’d say. Al, go in the kitchen and get some forks, for heaven’s sake.”

  Alonzo gave Mitzy a long and meaningful look, only turning to the kitchen when she began to blush.

  After dinner Alonzo washed the dishes for his mom while Mitzy packaged the leftovers for Alonzo to take home. He laid Mitzy’s spoons in a careful stack on a towel. Not tonight, he thought. But soon. Sooner would be much better than later.

  Teresa kissed Mitzy lightly on both cheeks, “Goodbye my dear,” she said. Then she wrapped her arms tightly around her son. “Good night Alonzo. You be a good boy.” She leaned in close, standing on her toes and whispered loudly near his ear, “You don’t make any hasty decisions. You have a long life ahead of you.”

  Alonzo game his mom an extra squeeze. “I don’t do anything lightly, mom.” Alonzo helped Mitzy into her coat and took her arm as they left. Mitzy turned her head ever so slightly so she could watch his face as they walked to the car. He was ruminating. Their relationship seemed to be moving forward after all.

  At the office on Monday the first thing Mitzy did was have the deposits on the furniture wired back to the consignment store in New York and the set shop in LA. Then she called Detective Backman and gave her the shipping companies name and address, and the names and contact information for the two shops who were expecting to receive the furniture. Then she sent emails to the two business owners explaining the situation. She couldn’t call. She just didn’t have the nerve to tell them over the phone that she had been on the wrong side of this issue, now that the right side seemed so obvious.

  She spent the rest of her day at the inn.

  It was late afternoon when Carmella called.

  “Could you send Diego Jr. home?” Carmella asked, calling from next door.

  “Is he still over here?” Mitzy asked.

  “He went straight there after school to help his dad. Haven’t you seen him?”

  “I’ve been up in the attics. But I can find him, I’m sure. Hold on a second.” Mitzy stood up, stretched her cramped legs and then ran down two flights of stairs to find Diego and his son. Diego’s roofing crew was cleaning the worksite.

  “Where’s the boss?” Mitzy asked.

  “Al?”

  “Diego. Have you seen him or Diego Jr.?”

  “Nah,” replied the foreman. “Diego left about two hours ago.”

  “Okay. Thanks. Did you get that Carmella?” Mitzy asked. “Diego left two hours ago. Do you think Diego Jr. is still around?”

  “Do you mind checking the woods? He likes to play back there,” Carmella said.

  “Sure thing.” Mitzy ran to the back of the lot. If she were an eleven year old boy she’d be in the woods too. There were plenty of climbing trees back there and some fruit trees if you felt like having a snack. She stamped through the light underbrush and called out for Diego Jr.

  “I don’t see him back here,” Mitzy said. She listened for crashing noises boys usually made when they had their pick of sticks and trees and things. “He’s not here, Carmella. Where else could he be?”

  “He’s got to be there, Mitzy. He was under strict orders to help his dad and then come home. He’s not here, so he must be there.”

  Home was right next door so Mitzy figured Carmella had a point. There wasn’t much between the two places to distract a boy.

  “I’m coming over. He’s there somewhere.”

  Mitzy stood in the woods and looked around. From the center of things she couldn’t see the inn or the back fence. She knew both were close at hand, but the thick fall foliage, turning the expected colors, had not fallen yet and the underbrush had never been cleared. Mitzy looked down; she was no tracker, but she could try. It was mostly moss and packed dirt under her feet, an animal path. The maidenhair ferns brushed the knees of her Sevens as she kicked aside the thin airy branches to see the forest floor beneath. Trillium that grew rampant under the forest umbrella had turned to seed, she watched the seeds fall as she disturbed the plants. Under one apple tree, she saw a sword fern that had been trampled. It was thoroughly smashed, like someone had jumped on it from the sturdy branch above. “If he got out of the tree here,” Mitzy thought, “Where did he go next?” She turned in a circle from her spot, looking for something else. The ground was intersected with small trails that small animals used, but nothing looked as though a boy had damaged it.

  Diego Jr. sat in the high-backed kitchen chair, drinking coke from a small glass bottle. It wasn’t his fault he hadn’t come home. He hoped his mom wouldn’t be mad.

  Mitzy ran back to the house and found the job foreman, “Walkie the guys and tell them to all get over here,” she said.

  “Sure,” Reggie said, and then did it.

  It seemed like the men took their time to gather, but they had joined Mitzy and the rest of the roofers before Carmella had arrived from next door. Carmella came running up as Mitzy was talking to the guys.

  “Did any of you see Diego Jr. this afternoon?” Mitzy asked.

  Heads shook, but no one spoke.
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  “Really? Because he was here!” Carmella said, gasping for breath.

  “Hey,” Mitzy said, placing her hand on Carmella’s shoulder with a gentle touch. Carmella jerked away from Mitzy’s hand.

  “Did anyone see Diego leave this afternoon?” Mitzy asked.

  “Sure, I did,” Trent, one of the roofers, said. “I had to ask him about checking the repair so I stopped his car as he was leaving.”

  “But Diego Jr. wasn’t with him?” Carmella asked, choking a sob.

  “No. Diego was alone.”

  “Who else was here this afternoon?” Mitzy asked the group.

  She got many questioning looks and a few tentatively raised hands in response.

  “I’m sorry. I mean did anyone else drop by this afternoon? I’ve been up in the attics since before lunch. I have no idea who has come and gone.”

  “Didn’t that kid from your office find you?” Reggie asked.

  “Ben? Was he here?”

  “Yeah. He came by around three. He parked over by your car. He asked where you were so I sent him in. I saw him go inside. And about twenty minutes later I saw him drive away. I didn’t notice him coming out. I figured he did what he needed to do and didn’t worry about it.”

  “Okay. Anything else? Anyone else?” Mitzy asked. Silence and shaking heads responded. “Thanks guys, that’s all.”

  “Are you sure he came here after school?” Mitzy asked.

  “He was supposed to. I’ll call Diego and see what he says.” Carmella slipped her racing red phone out of her pocket and dialed her husband. She turned away from Mitzy, with her finger in her other ear.