Foreclosed: A Mitzy Neuhaus Mystery (A Mitzy Neuhaus Mystery, a Cozy Christian Collection)

by Traci Tyne Hilton

“Again, so what? We couldn’t prevent it and it wouldn’t harm us,” Sabrina said.

  “Doesn’t crime harm us all? And the amount of money we are talking about…well…we could talk to a few people if we honestly thought there was something wrong with the transaction. Why couldn’t we? What are Attorney Generals for? Or is that District Attorneys? We could talk to my brother, actually, if we felt like we needed legal advice. Which I don’t feel. We do cash transactions sometimes.” Mitzy was torn between supporting the absolute right and closing her eyes with the hope that the sale was completely legit.

  “Money laundering was just one thing it could be. It could be identity theft,” Joan said.

  “How on earth could it be identity theft?” Sabrina asked

  “Apparently Sabrina has left her imagination at the door. Someone could have stolen an identity and be clearing out that bank account by buying a house for cash.” Joan lifted an eyebrow. She seemed to be enjoying her theories now.

  “That would leave one easy to follow paper trail. Do you realize how many places those forms have to be signed and how quickly the person would realize that their hundreds of thousands of dollars were gone? The house would immediately go back to the bank. The bank would have to pay all of the money back. The person trying to perpetrate the crime would be snapped up—there are cameras all over banks. We would know exactly what the person looked like. Ridiculous.” The women sat in silence for just a moment. It was just long enough for Mitzy to wonder again what the man sitting behind her looked like. But when she turned to peek, the chair behind her was empty.

  They brought the remains of the pastry feast to the office with them. “Thanks a million,” said Ben, helping himself to a bear claw.

  “Any calls?” Mitzy asked.

  “Nope,” Ben said.

  “Good package, thanks,” Mitzy said, flipping through the papers on her desk. “Why don’t you take tomorrow off, Ben? Things are awfully quiet.”

  “Thanks, Mitz. I could use it. Is there anything at all I can do for you guys today?”

  “You could run to the dry cleaners and pick up the order for Homes by Joan,” Joan offered.

  Ben looked up at Mitzy with one eyebrow lifted.

  “If you want.” She looked at her watch. “Okay, Ben, go pick up the drapes and things for Joan and then take the rest of the day off as well as tomorrow. Consider yourself on call and if something urgent comes up be ready to save the day, okay?”

  Ben’s shoulders relaxed. “I can do that. Thanks.” He grabbed the drycleaners slip from Joan and made his way out.

  “One sale is great, but it’s just not enough. Sabrina, go ahead and get back on the First Things proposal. Joan, stay, go, whatever. Your call.” Mitzy waved her hand behind her as she sat down to her desk as though to say, ‘The world is your oyster.’

  Alonzo had been back at work for two days, if you could call it work. Yesterday he had put his staff into rolling lay offs. It made his gut feel like it was filled with rocks to do it, but there was no work coming in.

  No money.

  If they could all take a bit of the hit, they could all stay for the long haul.

  He had one large emergency savings. He tossed around ways he could use his life savings to save his company, but nothing he came up with was big enough to get them through an endless economic depression.

  He did have one idea that would help his business in the short term, and his family in the long run.

  He called his sister. “Hey, sis. I got a proposition for you. Sit down and don’t get all noisy until I’m done. Diego still out of work, right?” His brother-in-law was a roofer, residential. “Yeah, yeah, I know. Business is bad everywhere. But I have an idea for you. You want to run a business?” He listened to his sister explain that running her home was a business and that she was working besides as a tutor at Diego Jr.’s school and on and on. “Alright, so you don’t want to open an inn now? I thought you still wanted to.” That quieted her down. “Yeah, that’s right. My men need work. Your man needs work. Let’s get going on the inn thing. I buy it, I renovate it—yes, yes, to your specs—and I’m a silent partner taking a cut on profit. We’ll work out the papers with a real lawyer. Because I want it to succeed, that’s why a real lawyer. Because you are a smart lady and will do a good job. Because I don’t know anyone else I’d give my money to right now. Just you, sis. Okay. Okay. You go ahead and start looking. When you find the right place call me. Yes, you can buy a house. Well…no one has to know I worked on it. I’m kidding, calm down. Find the perfect old ratty house, we will fix it and make it a first rate destination. Good girl.”

  Carmella went on, effusively thanking him and giving quality time to her hard knocks for a bit longer before she let him go. Probably to call Ma and tell her all about it.

  It was really a last ditch idea. He’d probably never see any of his money again. He might bankrupt himself, in fact. But it would keep his crew and their families fed for a while if the place she found was ratty enough.

  He sat down at his desk to begin his plans. Rolling lay offs would probably go on for the next two months. Who could take the hit the best? He began to list his crew by age and family size so he could work out a pro rata that kept the most people fed the longest. In the back of his mind he wished that someone would make a list like this that included him. “God, just get us all through this,” he mumbled as he wrote.

  It hadn’t been even an hour since Mitzy had sent Ben home for the day and she already had work for him. She received the specs for artwork they would need for the gala.

  All Mitzy had to do was have her artist send the Neuhaus logos and artwork to the printers and the Arts Council would take care of the rest. She’d be meeting with the Director of Development to firm up the donation itself. In the meantime, and to show she meant business, she made an electronic deposit of the first $5000 at their website.

  When Ben arrived with the drapes and other non-washables for Joan, Mitzy followed him to his desk, firing directions at him. “It has to be top notch, professional. This is a whole new clientele. I like what you do, Ben, I really do, but you have to work on a whole new level this time, and you only have until Monday to get it done. At that it’s a rush job, the gala is on Friday evening. That is just not a lot of time.”

  Ben made a charade of consulting his completely empty schedule. “I think I can fit it in.” In reality he was like a dog with a new bone. His energy was palpable. He had a real job to do and one that she wanted done well. His specialty.

  Now that it was settled and really happening, Sabrina and Mitzy left to buy dresses.

  “Going together?” Joan asked as she walked out with them.

  “Yes.” Mitzy sighed. Sabrina was fun, but it rankled to not have a date. It had been a while but she still remembered that real dates were fun.

  “Well, there might be recently divorced, very rich men there. Try to dress like you are looking for men. You know, if you are.”

  Mitzy groaned. She took Sabrina’s arm and veered away from Joan. She had to look like a woman with a mansion to sell. That was the goal of this event.

  The next morning Ben had an impressive selection of artwork to choose from. It did his days at Rhode Island School of Design proud. But Mitzy was no closer to figuring out how to get her hands on Laurence Mills. During the night she had thought through her current goals:

  1. Save the radio station, one Neuhaus New Homes segment at a time

  2. Break into her television career

  3. Survive a gala event

  4. Find the perfect buyer for the Victorian (i.e. justice for James at Portland Granite and Stone)

  5. Get Laurence Mills

  ‘Get Laurence Mills’ was the most exciting line item. Mills had begun to represent the unscrupulous, the criminal, and in general the element in society that caused the economic downturn in the first place. She had found herself unable to sleep these nights as she dreamed up ways of taking him to justice. By morning, her consuming vision
was of this man shackled in an orange jumpsuit facing the judge. He’d get his. But how?

  She nodded her head absently as Ben showed her his design concepts and explained the benefits of each. She pointed at the one with the lavender background. “That’s fine.” She was scribbling (literally) all over a legal pad, a thousand miles from the office.

  “Are you sure? I mean, I like it. But it isn’t the strongest of the designs. I think this one with the black borders has a more professional feel.” Ben put the black bordered option on top.

  “Oh, you’re right.” Mitzy kept scribbling.

  “Hello—Mitzy? Are you there?” Sabrina waved a coffee in her boss’s general direction.

  “They’re all fantastic, Ben. Give me ten minutes and then I’ll pay attention and pick the best one. Sabrina, put the coffee down before you soak us all.” She peeled her eyes off of her scribbled paper. “How are we going to catch this rat?” she said, through her clenched teeth.

  Before anyone could give her a proper answer, the phone rang.

  “Good morning, Neuhaus New Homes, this is Sabrina speaking, how can I help you?” Pause. “They haven’t?” Pause. “Yes, I know. It’s ten o’clock. Okay. I’ll give her the message. Thank you.” Sabrina hung up the phone.

  “The buyer was a no show,” she said, her voice full of disappointment.

  “The cash buyer?” Ben asked.

  “It’s the only one we have. Or don’t have,” Sabrina replied.

  “A no show? Really?” Mitzy sighed. She wanted to track down a criminal, not a lousy Realtor. “I’ll call the buyer’s rep and see what’s going on.” She pulled her phone out of the Birken bag and scrolled through the numbers. She hit send.

  She waited.

  “What?” She hung up and laid her phone on the desk. “It says the number has been disconnected. You have got to be kidding me.” Mitzy’s voice was clipped and strained.

  “So it was all a hoax?” Ben asked.

  “I have all the proper papers right here. I have the buyer’s name, the Realtor’s name and the contact number. I guess I’d better start calling around. This is not what I want to do today.” Mitzy pulled a file folder off of the top of the ‘active status’ box and shuffled through her papers. She dialed 411 and began her contact number search.

  “I knew that was too good to be true yesterday.” Sabrina sighed into her coffee.

  “Um, yeah, I think it was Joan who knew it was too good to be true,” Ben said.

  “Even if I didn’t say it, it felt too good to be true. No one has cash anymore. We won’t see cash again this decade.” Sabrina had been hopeful yesterday and today was back down in the dumps with the rest of the world.

  “Mitzy has cash,” Ben said.

  “Mitzy is smart. No one else has cash. You don’t have cash,” Sabrina said.

  “Neither do you.” Ben turned back to his computer.

  “Duh. Of course not. Only Mitzy does. I’m going to see if the Victorian is listed yet.” She booted up her computer and logged onto the multiple listing service. “Here it is, guys. Listed for almost one hundred thousand less than Mr. Mills bought it for.”

  “The bank deserves to take the hit. So I didn’t save it in time for the stoneworks guys? Foreclosed already?” Mitzy slumped a little in her chair.

  “Foreclosed in a day? Never. It’s listed as a potential short sale, upon bank’s approval.” Sabrina clicked through the photo tour as she talked. “It’s in pretty rough shape. I wonder if anyone was even living in it.”

  “Short sale? Then it’s not too late. A short sale makes it harder for me to get a solid offer on it. If I can find someone interested—if I make a good connection at the dinner, I might be able to approach the Realtor with it and get it unlisted, etc. I think we could make this still work. Complicated, yes, but possible. And speaking of Realtors, here is another listing for the 72nd house’s buyer’s rep. I think I’ll try to reach her again.” She picked up her phone and dialed the new number.

  She got a voicemail. “Interesting. That’s a home number, or maybe a cell. No mention of being a Realtor. Just the pre-recorded message—you know, that computer voice that comes with your phone.” Mitzy tapped one manicured nail on her cell phone screen.

  “That’s not very professional. What do you think could be going on?” Sabrina was leaning back in her ergonomic chair, arms crossed over her chest.

  “I think we were about to be conned, but the buyer chickened.” Mitzy tapped her pencil on her legal pad full of scribbles. “It might be just what Joan was talking about yesterday. A potential identity theft situation but the criminal got scared. Or maybe it was some kind of money laundering but the boss found out. I don’t know. But it seems like something wasn’t right.”

  “It feels like anarchy in our industry right now. Thieves in the night, and everything,” Sabrina said.

  “Desperados,” Ben volunteered.

  “Thanks for that. But it does feel out of control. I bet the Realtor had one last chance and when the buyer was a no show, she just gave up. I hate to think of people quitting. It’s not the time to quit; it’s the time to keep moving forward. Keep trying. Keep active.” Mitzy gazed out the front window of her quiet business office to the equally quiet street that was steel gray, with misty rain and looked like Disappointment Illustrated.

  “Everybody buy war bonds. Uncle Sam wants you—to buy and sell Real Estate,” Ben said.

  “Sarcastic,” said Sabrina.

  “Let’s not get down on each other, guys. We have work to do, real work. Ben, get back on the artwork, get all of the sizes and formats they requested ready and get our photos—all of us—over to the printer before lunch. Sabrina, have the proposal for the television show on my desk right after lunch—“

  “No fair,” Ben interjected.

  “Ben.”

  “Just kidding.”

  “I am going to hit the road. I have a list of Victorians for sale in town—there are only five right now in the Eastside and none at all on the West. There is one in Northeast. I’m going to go visit them all and check them out. I’ll see you both back here at two pm. Of course, if I sell a house while I’m out I’ll call.” Mitzy shrugged on her faithful purple blazer with the Neuhaus logo embroidered on the pocket and headed out. Research was legitimate busywork. She really just needed to get out of the office and be around houses for sale. It was almost as good as being around people buying houses.

  She packed all of the folders from the active file into her Birken bag (a gift to herself after she had her first million dollar profit year) and left. The gray day was wet with spring rain, so she hit the road with her top up. She headed to her Victorian first.

  “This is the one you want?” Alonzo asked his sister Carmella.

  “Yes. It’s perfect.”

  “How on earth is it perfect? It’s a dump.” He was completely unimpressed with the property she had brought him to. But he had been impressed by her quick decision making. Very rare. Apparently she had had her eye on it for a while.

  “It has good bones, Al. It is the right size, plenty of bedrooms and room enough to add more baths. Can you imagine? A huge kitchen, a sun porch. It’s still got an acre and a half of its own property.”

  “It’s blocks off the main road, needs a complete renovation. It’s nowhere near any tourist attractions. It is on a street of boring residential homes. Nothing about this place says bed and breakfast.” Alonzo tromped through the muddy driveway. Working with his sister always gave him a headache.

  “Do I have to spell it out for you, Alonzo? I can’t believe you can’t see this. First, it is set back a romantic distance from the street with a tree-lined roundabout drive. Second, there’s room for a gazebo in the back and the property is edged on three sides with a bit of a forest for seclusion. And honestly did you not see what I saw when we turned on Baltimore?”

  “Apparently not.”

  “Historic Old Church.”

  “Historic Old Church?”

>   “Yes.”

  He turned his head to the intersection of Baltimore and Smith Blvd. He could see the corner of the old stone building with its modest parking lot. He couldn’t quite see the steeple because of the many trees. “Okay, what about the church?”

  “Weddings. And wedding nights. I think all they do over there anymore are weddings and anniversary parties and that stuff. Maybe they have church there, I wouldn’t know,” Carmella said.

  His mind was working quickly now. He bounded around to the back to view the property better. “You said there’s a gazebo back here?” he hollered to his sister.

  “What?”

  “A gazebo?”

  “What?”

  “Get back here and talk to me!”

  She huffed her way to the back of the property. “Yes. A gazebo back here. And we could trim up the trees. We could make this a real park back here.”

  “Yes. I see.” He scanned the property making mental adjustments. “We could dig a pond right over there.” He pointed off towards the corner of the lot.

  “That would be fabulous. Now you are seeing it. You get married at Old Church and we can give you a discount on pictures in the back yard. Book your honeymoon night here and you can have the location for your photo sessions for free. We could even work out special deals with photographers,” Carmella said.

  “Brilliant.” Alonzo pulled a notepad out of his pocket and began scribbling notes. “What’s the asking price?”

  “That’s the best part. It’s a short sale. So…” She told him the price, a little red faced and embarrassed with pride. She knew it would seal the deal for him.

  “Short sale. Hmmm.” He wrote a few numbers down on his pad. “Short sale isn’t good. It could take a year to get this going if we try to go a short sale. You know, this property is worth almost twice that price as a business. Let me check out the zoning and talk to the listing agent. We might be able to offer a price good enough to get moving on this faster.” Alonzo heard a car pull up into the gravel drive. He paused, listening.