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

by Traci Tyne Hilton

  “You must be too young to remember the Cold War. If you had had family behind the Iron Curtain you would know the kind of help they might need.”

  “That is serious.” Mitzy took a sip of her tea. “Your husband must be very important if he was able to get people out of that tyranny.” She took a stab at the kind of help a stateside family member might have offered.

  Evy gave Mitzy a sharp look. “I suppose those days are gone now, but there was a time when one couldn’t speak of these things in such specific terms.”

  “Do you keep in touch with anyone that your husband helped?” Mitzy asked.

  Evy added cream to her tea cup and didn’t look up again for a moment. When she did, her face was grim. “Goodness no. We don’t keep up with the kind of people who lose their homes to foreclosure. That is irresponsible. Especially after all the help they were given to get here.”

  Mitzy and Sabrina exchanged a meaningful look.

  “Was Princess Irena beautiful?” Sabrina asked, ready as ever to soothe a tense moment.

  The rest of the tea was spent looking at pictures of the Simonite women who had longed for their jewels.

  Mitzy and Sabrina left with the impression that a great lady felt she had done the poor children a favor and that they ought not to expect to be invited again.

  As they drove away they discussed the conversation. Both wondered: When Mrs. Wilber referred to ‘new money,’ and ‘the kind of people who have lost their homes to foreclosure,’ was she referring to the Baltimore house going into foreclosure? Was she telling them that Laurence Mills was her family from the old country? Were the Mikhaylichenko-Romanov jewels Mills’ family heirlooms as well as Mrs. Wilber’s?

  Alonzo couldn’t believe what he had been hearing on the radio. Brett Neuhaus’ work load must be suffering from the economic crisis like everyone else. Imagine that big shot political hopeful trying a case on the radio. That was all he was doing. Throwing around his political and legal weight, with no real possibility of setting precedent.

  Mitzy had talked the lawsuit up like she was going to change the world and then Sabrina was mugged. Today he could hear a change in her voice. She was wearing thin. She didn’t have the oomph inside her to tackle the whole economy single handedly. She didn’t even have the energy to fight one specific and nefarious enemy, as it appeared she suddenly had.

  If Mitzy didn’t realize the attack on Sabrina was directly related to her own big mouth, she was a bigger fool than he had thought before.

  While trying to decide if Mitzy was dumber than most blondes, Bruce called.

  Mitzy had gotten Sabrina back to the office, but it hadn’t helped anyone feel better.

  Sabrina was glum and Ben was acting weird. Getting beat down by a middle-aged ceramics painting enthusiast had put him in a terrible mood.

  “Can I delete the security pictures yet?” Sabrina asked as she scrolled through the pictures on her phone.

  “Sure,” Mitzy said.

  “What security pictures?” Ben asked with an edge to his voice.

  “From Aerin’s office,” Sabrina said.

  “Why do you have security pictures from Aerin’s office?” Ben leaned forward to look at Sabrina’s phone with her.

  “It seemed like a good idea at the time,” Mitzy said.

  “A good idea for what?” Ben asked. “Are those museum security camera shots?”

  “Yes.”

  “How did you get those?”

  “We went to visit Aerin, okay?” Mitzy didn’t appreciate the insolent interrogation.

  “And she thought it was a good idea for you to take pictures of what? The robbery?” He squinted at the blurry images of the masked man.

  “We didn’t ask,” Sabrina said, as she hit delete.

  “How did you get classified pics without asking?”

  “I don’t think you want to know.” Mitzy closed her email and turned to look at Ben.

  “If you were playing spy, I hope no one saw you.” Ben shook his head.

  “Do you think that one guy knew what we were doing?” Sabrina asked Mitzy.

  “Why would he?” Mitzy tapped her fingers on her knee, a nervous gesture that didn’t help her calm down.

  “He saw us. He saw the camera. Maybe he guessed.”

  “Wait a second. Dude. Someone saw you all hanging over Aerin’s desk with a camera? Do you know who it was?”

  “No. We didn’t know him and he didn’t know us,” Mitzy said.

  “Can you be sure?” Ben asked.

  “Why would it matter? Why should we worry about the janitor?” Sabrina’s eyes were huge.

  “You did just get your laptop stolen. We were wondering why someone was after your computer.” Ben sat back. He shook his head in frustration. “There is a chance that sneaking around stealing pictures of a robbery would make someone want to get their hands on your electronics.”

  “Are you saying the mugging was my fault?” The blood rushed to Mitzy’s cheeks.

  “I’m not saying anything, Mitzy.” Ben’s voice had a snide edge that spoke volumes.

  Mitzy clipped Gilbert’s leash on his little blue collar and left the office. She was angry with Ben, but much angrier at herself.

  She had imagined learning a little more about the robbery would keep them safe, not get her best friend hurt.

  She got in her car, but then didn’t know what to do. Would further spy-like action put them in more danger or help them out of the mess they were in?

  Mitzy reached over and patted Gilbert’s head. He was so small and dependent. She hadn’t yet been able to leave him alone anywhere. She just couldn’t. And she couldn’t get a hold of Joan.

  The rain drummed on the soft top of the Miata. The pressure was like a heavy blanket draped over Mitzy.

  Her head and the sky were thundering. Her stomach was boiling. Her jaw was clenched like a vise. As the spring rain pounded over her she watched a pool of water collect at a seam on the roof. The developing leak fascinated her eyes, but didn’t register with her mind.

  If there was a connection between the robbery at the museum and Sabrina’s mugging, then there was a connection between the burnt-out rental, Laurence Mills, the attack, and the missing cash buyers—all of it. The whole tangled affair hinged on one thing, if only she could suss out what that was.

  In the back of her mind a voice nagged that Alonzo was behind it. Tears filled her eyes, hot and burning. Why was he torturing her? She was sure things would be different after she had seen him at church on Sunday. A man like that…he shouldn’t be able to torture her like this.

  She drove to her Baltimore rental and stared at the singed walls of her rental property. Her renters—her friends—were displaced now.

  In business she was keen. She had to be that way now. Sharp and attentive. All she had been trying to do for the last week and a half was sell the Victorian on Baltimore. What had happened instead?

  First, Alonzo and Carmella decided to try and buy the house and turn it into a commercial property.

  Then she had hosted the gala in hopes of finding her own buyer for the house. While there she had seen the now infamous Romanov pendant.

  There had also been a handful of crimes: a burglary at the museum and Brett and Aerin’s house, and a break-in at the office. Sabrina mugged, but doing fine. The fire at the rental, still being investigated for arson.

  There was a bit of real-estate business, the on again-off again buyers and the House Hunters gig.

  Then there was Gilbert.

  She needed to figure out which pieces fit this puzzle. Despite what she wanted to believe, not all of this could be related.

  At the gala, Aerin had won the pendant and then lost it again, which was obviously why both her home and the museum were burgled. They shared the name Neuhaus with Mitzy which could explain the break-in at the office.

  But more likely that the break-in and the mugging were about the pictures she and Sabrina took at the museum. Which meant the man in the hat wa
s somebody important.

  Maybe Laurence Mills himself.

  Tea with Mrs. Wilber had neatly tied the house and the jewelry together. Princess Irena had lived in the Baltimore house with a collection of jewelry and then given much of it away. It was likely that the house had remained ‘in the family’ up until it went into foreclosure.

  But what did Mitzy know about the family? What did she need to know about the family? Were Alonzo and Carmella related to the Romanov-Mikhaylichenko family?

  Mitzy broke from her reverie and started her car. It was time to hit the historical society reading room.

  At the reading room, she hunched over her microfiche machine, scanning through property deeds from a hundred years ago. She was looking for the first papers to the land on what is now Baltimore Street and Smith Blvd. It was a long slow process. The deeds were handwritten and Baltic looked like Baltimore as did Marlborough and many other things that could only be read by application of a strong looking glass. She didn’t keep one in her purse, but the archivist had one she could borrow.

  She had twelve months’ worth of records at her station as well as some newspapers to scan through. She searched for the name Romanov and Mikhaylichenko together or otherwise.

  When she thought she couldn’t take another minute of sitting crouched over the low desk she found her first clue.

  The parcel of land that the map would confirm as the one in question was originally deeded to a Mr.…it looked like it might be McCutcheun, but she was just guessing.

  The record she had found was a bill of sale. McCutcheun sold it to Mr. Harry Something-or-Other and his wife Mrs. Harry Romanov-Something-or-other in 1899. This was the last thing she had expected to find, but worth noting. She ordered a print of the record.

  Since she had a name and a date she to moved on to Google and USGenweb for a little census search.

  When did the Romanov-Something-or-Others get to Portland and how long had they been here? And what was the Something-or-Other name in reality? The best she could make of it was Simlington, but that just didn’t sound like a name.

  She wore out the search and find function on the census record without finding anyone called Simlington or Siml* in her county. They had to have been there of course, she just had the name wrong. So with an aching neck, she moved her hunt to the card catalogue.

  The card catalogue was as useful as it had been in high school. She immediately found an article in Antiquities and Antiques about the missing Romanov jewels.

  After the revolution, a great deal of looting had been done and there was a lengthy catalogue of missing pieces. Adventurers, displaced heirs, and the filthy rich had spent decades trying to find the lost treasures. Of course, many pieces such as the Romanov-Mikhaylichenko piece were legitimately owned by museums. But despite the impeccable, ephemera, these pieces were sought after by collectors of Russian antiques on behalf of the current government of Russia.

  They were even more hotly pursued by displaced royalty descended from people who had happened to be out of the country during the revolution.

  The Romanov-Mikhaylichenko collection was a little famous in its own way. It had remained in the possession of Princess Irena Mikhaylichenko, a distant relation of the Romanovs who lived in the US. It was thought that she had pieced out the collection as gifts in her old age. The last known piece was the necklace given to the museum by a nephew of Princess Irena.

  However, a few living relatives remembered Irena was supposed to have only given away a small part of her family collection. Princess Irena had ended her days in this town living with her niece, on the Romanov side.

  Living in the Baltimore Victorian.

  Another article came up on the Romanov connection. This one was a local Architectural Magazine from the 1980s. It seemed the Baltimore Victorian had been the baby of a very wealthy Indian Scout who had settled down after the war with his own…princess.

  Of course.

  His own distant relation to the then royal family of Russia.

  They had designed their home to reflect their disparate passions. It had been a showpiece to some and a design disaster to others. At any rate it was eventually forgotten and left to disrepair and old age. This article was written by a local historian with an eye to rehabilitate local landmarks. Other buildings of interest were also discussed. A few of the homes written about Mitzy knew had been made landmarks and restored.

  Who knew about Mitzy’s rental and her desire to protect its value by getting a family into the empty mansion? Who knew about the jewels and the winning auction bid by Aerin? Who would have been doing a title search and learning about the history of the Victorian? Who was going out of his way to purchase the Victorian even though there were a million places on the market right now? She knew all of that.

  And so did Alonzo Miramontes.

  He was after the house to find the missing jewels.

  She was as sure of it as if she were after them herself. She couldn’t put her finger on why he wanted them so badly, but business was bad everywhere and everyone needed money. He must have heard about the jewels from his aunt and uncle well before the auction. And now he was determined to have them.

  The key to the jewels that were still missing from the infamous collection was hiding somewhere in the house.

  She had to figure it out before he did.

  After the attack on Sabrina, she was sure there were no measures he would not take.

  Aerin’s necklace was gone, and so was Mitzy’s rental. Alonzo had to be stopped.

  “She’s going to get herself killed,” Alonzo muttered. “Poor kid.” But she wasn’t a poor kid. She was in vital danger.

  The Victorian had gone into foreclosure before he could get a short sale on it. Since then he had paid close attention to what Mitzy said on the radio.

  The constant threats to Laurence Mills were going to get her in trouble.

  Laurence Mills, for all intents and purposes had disappeared. He had looked into his whereabouts, since Bruce had asked him to, but no luck.

  And with his fairly nondescript appearance, he was hard to find in a city as big as Portland. Mid-height, broadish shoulders, sandy brown to brown hair. A straight nose. A round, or broad face, or maybe not. Forty or fifty years old. He could be almost anybody anywhere. No one seemed to remember seeing him, at least not for certain.

  Ben remembered seeing a man who almost fit that description parked in their parking lot the day the office was ransacked but he couldn’t describe the car. It was champagne colored, or tan. It was a jeep or a ford or something like that. Possibly mid ’90s. But Bruce knew that was all wrong. They were looking for the black pickup truck. If ever a man defied description it was Laurence Mills. It was like he had intended to disappear. Which he had done very well.

  Apparently there was some trouble over the jewelry from the auction as well. Dangerous trouble. Two nights after Mitzy’s sister-in-law had won the piece, the museum where it was held was burgled. All of the jewelry was stolen and all but the Romanov piece were found later, abandoned with an abandoned car. It was all evidence now, at the police station. He had heard that Aerin’s home had been burgled as well. Alonzo figured the two were connected, that the pendant was the object of both break-ins.

  The thing that started him thinking on it this time was Mitzy on the radio. She just wouldn’t let up. Today she was talking again about her little assistant Sabrina who had been attacked on her way home from work.

  It made Alonzo red-faced angry. Sabrina was innocent. Mitzy and Brett were causing all of the fuss on the radio and in the newspaper.

  He had done a title search on the Victorian when he tried to buy it for his sister. It had only had four owners, which was entirely unexpected, considering the age of the place. He assumed that at some point the deed had been transferred to an heir of the same name and it was just recorded incorrectly.

  The second owners were Mr. Harry Simonite and his wife who was called Mrs. Harry Romanov-Simonite. The Simonite fami
ly built the house that was still there. The home remained in the hands of the Simonites until Maxim Mikhaylichenko bought it from them in 1970. And it stayed in Maxim’s name until he sold it to the mysterious Laurence Mills.

  Alonzo had had a headache since his car accident, and he blamed Mitzy. It was time for her charade to end. And the best way to end it was at the source. He’d just have to go to the house and see what it was that everyone wanted so bad.

  Mitzy couldn’t take the wondering any more. All the clues she could dig up pointed to a mystery at the house itself. The only way to get to the bottom of it was to go there. Right now.

  The house had a lockbox and she had a keycode to open it. She was going to find out what was in hiding on Baltimore Street before Alonzo hurt another person.

  She parked in the driveway of her destroyed rental house.

  She crept out of her car as quietly and carefully as a woman in stiletto boots wearing a puppy in a frontpack could.

  Dusk was falling with its promise of shadows. She wasn’t breaking and entering, but she was glad for the coming dark.

  Something in Mitzy expected the lock to stick, the door to groan open, and the floor to collapse under her.

  Instead, the door opened quietly to the restored foyer she had seen through the windows earlier. The floors glowed like gold in the slanting rays from the setting sun.

  The inlaid compass in the center of the floor looked like it was under a spotlight. The entry was as large as some living rooms Mitzy had shown.

  The compass.

  She tilted her head and looked at it again. It was off. Those windows were dead west but the compass showed them as more southwest. Why would someone craft such a perfect thing wrong? She tapped the toe of her boot on the polished wood, and then went North, by the compass’s directions.

  Across the perfect floor, two staircases curved around and met at a second story mezzanine.

  The north arrow led her to what she would have called the front parlor.