Traci Tyne Hilton - Mitzi Neuhaus 03 - Buyer's Remorse (20 page)

“Absolutely.”

“Don’t you think you could have caught Fiona without your little road trip?” Carmella asked.

“Maybe yes, maybe no.
It certainly didn’t hurt. The cops were more than happy to have our pictures of the little nursery in the woods. Anyway, if I had spent one more night in the inn I would have drunk my poison coffee.”

“Except I washed the cup.”

“True that. So…I don’t know. But I’m glad I took the trip to
Idaho
,” she draped her fingers over Alonzo’s tan fist on the table. Being already married to Alonzo was a sweet reward for a very hard week.

“And in the end?
Fiona killed Lara because of what she knew.” Carmella took a bite of her supper.

“And because Lara was blackmailing Fiona with what she knew.” Mitzy drew an M in her sauce with her fork. She scratched it out and drew an N.

“And Fiona pulled that weasel
Pierre
into it to keep her hands clean,” Alonzo added.

“Even her pet David didn’t know or he wouldn’t still be alive, I’d say.” Mitzy twirled her fork in the spaghetti noodles.

“I bet he knew about the drugs. He didn’t get in trouble because he was willing to take what was offered and not demand more.” Alonzo had finished the last bite of his spaghetti and was mopping up the sauce with his garlic bread.

“It’s a pity they had to tear the brick facade off the condo,” Carmella said.

“Not you too.”
Mitzy rolled her eyes.

“What?”

“It was a murder. There was no pity at all about the building. A determined, hardworking young woman lost her life.” It astonished Mitzy how people could care so much about the trivial parts of the case.

“The bricks don’t match now,” Alonzo said.

“For the love.”

“I’m kidding.
Sometimes, when things are difficult, Miramontes’s joke around.
You’ll have to learn deal with it, Miramontes.”

“Mitzy Miramontes?” Carmella asked, her voice rising at the last syllable.

Mitzy smiled. “We’ll see about that.”

“You eloped. You are not married in the eyes of the church and you aren’t taking his name? Mama’s going to love this,” Carmella said, with a wicked grin.

“What mamma loves isn’t the point.” Alonzo leaned to the side and kissed Mitzy on the cheek. He looked at her with a sly grin and a twinkle in his eye. Then he laid a kiss on her the likes of which she’d never had.
At least not in public.

“What are you going to do about that condo now?” Carmella asked.

Mitzy pulled away from Alonzo’s embrace, “I guess I’ll just relist it. I know I don’t want to live in it anymore.”

“I wonder if it will take long to sell,” Carmella said.

“We can let the news of the murder settle down. I don’t have to rush.”

“She won’t list it until we get back from our lengthy honeymoon.”

“When and where will that be?” Carmella asked.

“That’s on a need to know basis.”

“I think I might need to know,” Mitzy responded.

“Just as soon as that community center project is done, baby.
I promise.”

Alonzo piled the dishes in the sink and began to scrub them. He tossed a plate from the rinse water to the drying rack where it landed with a clatter and cracked.

“In a hurry to get somewhere?”
Carmella laughed.

“As a matter of fact…” Mitzy pulled the dishrag away from Alonzo and grabbed his hand. She led him out of the kitchen.

“What?” he walked close behind her, his breath tickling her neck.

She just smiled. She dropped his hand and ran upstairs

Alonzo grinned and took the stairs two at a time. He caught up with her and took her in his arms, “Now?” he asked, breathlessly.

Mitzy kissed him quickly on the lips then turned in his arms and pulled away. He kept his hands on her waist and they made it to her room at the same time. He opened the door for her, with one hand still on her waist.

She hesitated before she went in, her mouth opened a little—she wanted to say something: “thank you,” or “my love,” or “Yippee!” but nothing came out.

“Don’t stop here,” Alonzo whispered. He lifted her hand to his mouth and kissed her palm. “It isn’t good for a man to be alone…” He smiled, his whole face lit from within.

Tonight Alonzo didn’t have to kick Mitzy out of his bed.

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There had been a storm in the night and twigs and blossoms littered the long sweep of concrete front steps at the hundred-year-old stone mansion the Crawford family called home. Jane Adler had two hours to get the six-thousand square foot house whipped into shape. Then she was off to her next client to do the same thing. Jane was alone on the cool spring morning. The neighborhood was a quiet, haven of sunshine and fresh green gardens. She wished she could trade jobs with the gardener today, just so she could stay outside and enjoy the long-awaited sunshine.

On her way back to the front door she watered the early hyacinth and late crocus in the mossy urns that lined the steps. She fished the errant petals out of the bubbling fountain, and gave the brass fish that leapt out of the splashing water a quick polish.

Spring had finally come, and with it, her last term at
Harvest
School
of the Bible. Jane was one semester away from graduation. Then she would fly away to the mission field. There were a few hurdles in front of her still: joining the right organization, fundraising, convincing her parents she was ready to leave the country for good.

Jane dusted the lid of the copper newspaper box and flipped it open. The morning paper was still lying inside.

Had the paperboy been late? Jane leaned around the pillar of the front portico to look down the street. She didn’t see any newspapers lying on the vast front lawns, but odds were most of the homeowners had boxes like the Crawfords’.

Jane turned the other way, but didn’t see the paperboy on his scooter. She expected as much. He had to be sitting in school by nine in the morning.

Jane carried the newspaper around to the back of the house with her broom and her watering can.

The special directions for today’s work would be waiting by the door in the mudroom. She prayed it wouldn’t be a Cinderella day. Cleaning the
rugs,
drapes, and fireplaces would destroy her tight schedule.

Jane swept the back steps, wiped the mildew from the windowsills, and used her rag to polish the brass porch light before she let herself back into the house.

As Jane racked the outdoor broom, her cell phone rang.

Caller id showed it was her roommate, Samantha. She sighed.

“Hey, Sam.”
Jane slipped her Bluetooth around her ear so she could talk and clean at the same time.

“Get soy milk, okay?”

“And when should I do that? At nine tonight when my class gets out?” Jane stared at the bulletin board. The usual slip of paper was missing.

“Oh, are you doing that again?”

“Going to school? Yes.” Jane dropped to her knees and fished under the decorative storage bench for the list of instructions. She couldn’t feel anything so she pulled the bench away from the wall. The scraping sound on the slate floor made her skin crawl. “Was that it?
Milk?”

“Soy milk, Jane.
I’m lactose intolerant.” It sounded like Sam was chomping gum while she spoke. Jane grimaced.

“Did you see the paper this morning?”

“Funny you should mention the paper. It was still in the box when I got here.” Her directions weren’t under the bench, but she’d been cleaning the Crawfords’ home for two years now and knew the Monday schedule like the back of her hand. She knew everything except the special little things that were usually left on the bulletin board.

“Mr. Crawford didn’t have it lying out for all to see this morning?”

“What do you mean? Is he in it?
Or one of his kids?”
Jane shoved the bench back against the wall. She stood up and looked around the room.
Nothing.
If she could get Sam off the phone, she could text Pamela just to be sure there wasn’t something extra she needed to get done.

“Do you have it handy? Turn to the business section.”

Jane carried the newspaper into the kitchen. She hit the lights on the way in and sniffed. Something was missing. She sniffed again.
Coffee.
Had no one made coffee this morning? She twisted the lid off the coffee carafe. Empty. No coffee. No cups in the sink. No signs of life.

Jane gave the carafe lid a tight twist and put it back on the coffee maker. Then she slid onto a stool and opened the newspaper on the kitchen island. “Sorry. Were you still talking? I got distracted.”

“Yes, I was,” Sam said. “I said, get the soy milk on your way
to
school, and you said sure.”

“Not likely.”

“Did you open the paper yet?”

“Umm, hmm.”

“Front page of the business section, below the fold.”

Jane turned to the page. Near the bottom, she found the headline that said, “Big Bob Crawford Bows out of Burger Business.”

“What is this?” Jane ran her eyes across the short article. Bob Crawford was closing the chain of burger restaurants his father had opened in 1950. He apologized for how his family business had contributed to the obesity epidemic in
America
.

“Wow. I knew his heart attack had affected him, but I never expected this.” Jane’s heart sank a little. This meant the end of free dinners on the days she cleaned the Crawford house.

“When you see him, ask him what he’s planning on doing now. Maybe he’ll get into the smoothie business.”

“I can’t ask him that, Sam. It’s none of my business and he’s my boss.”

“You and your boundaries.
If I were in your position, I’d ask.”

“Like you’d ever clean houses for a living.”
Jane scratched at a blemish on the granite top. A dinner spill, maybe. “I bet this is why things are so strange around here this morning.”

“What do you mean?”

“They didn’t leave any directions, or make coffee. All the lights are out. It’s just a little weird. Maybe closing the family business has put them off of their schedule.”

“No coffee?
Poor you.”

“No kidding. Hey, I’m going to let you go. I’ve got to get this house put together before they get back.”

“Fine, but see if you can get Jake to tell you more about this.”

“If I see him, I’ll ask, okay?” Jane couldn’t remember the last time she had seen Jake Crawford and didn’t expect to see him anytime soon. Under those circumstances, it was an easy promise to make.

“Good enough. Get the soy milk, yeah?”

“Nada.
I’ve got work to do.”

“What
evs
. You’re a rotten roommate.” Sam hung up.

Jane frowned at her phone. Sam’s attitude problem was nothing new, but losing Roly Burgers was quite a blow. Jane’s stomach grumbled. Free burgers had been a great perk.

Jane tied a pink bandana around her head to keep her wispy brown hair from shedding while she worked.
Fast and thorough.
She would try to make life for the Crawford family as easy as possible in the face of massive changes, but get in, get clean, and get out was her main goal.

Jane folded the newspaper back up. She set it on the kitchen desk, next to the charger station. She wondered what her dad would say when he found out about the end of the Burger with the Roly-Poly Bun. Running a Roly Burger franchise had made her parents’ early retirement possible

The Crawford family home in the exclusive Laurelhurst neighborhood of
Portland
and all of the lavish lifestyle that went with it was entirely thanks to the second-generation burger chain.

Jane stared out the front window. How many people would lose their jobs when the restaurants went dark? She closed her eyes and said a silent prayer for them all.
Portland
did not need more layoffs.

After his heart attack, Bob Crawford had been morose.
Depressed even.
He had spent weeks on end huddled in his office, unshaven and wearing a bathrobe. Eventually he had cheered up, and it occurred to Jane that his new lease on life was probably due to the decision to quit making burgers.

Jane tried to shake off her own morose thoughts. If Bob didn’t want to make burgers any more God must have something else in store for the people who relied on him. She felt a catch in her throat. It might be true, but it was hard to believe. God let a lot of people suffer more than even the poorest of Portlanders. While she believed that God had his hand on the Roly Burger family of employees, she still felt a little sick about their impending loss of work.

Jane needed to get her mind out of the shadows. She recited the beatitudes as she made her way upstairs, in an effort to get her own attitude in order. “Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.” She pulled out a rag and dusted the deeply-carved wooden frames that lined the staircase. “Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted.” She turned back and ran the rag down the banister. “Blessed are the meek, for they will inherit the Earth.”

She tried not to hurry as she rubbed the dust off the stair-rail spindles. Pamela Crawford always noticed dust on the mahogany. “Blessed are those who clean others’ dirt for they will be able to pay for their schoolbooks.”

Jane tucked her lemon-Pledge-soaked dust rag back in her apron pocket and moved on to the laundry room, the chemical citrus wafting away with her. She needed to strip the beds and get the laundry going if she was going to get out to her next house on time. On her way past the laundry room, she grabbed a hamper.

Then she stopped. Monday was laundry day.
Laundry day and
payday
.
The envelope full of cash was always pinned to the bulletin board with her directions. That envelope was supposed to buy her books today. Standing still with the hamper on her hip she debated. Stop now, call Pam, and ask for directions and money, or just keep working? The laundry would take two hours, whether she was paid or not, so she moved to the master bedroom. She could call Pamela after she had the first load in the machine.

Jane pushed open the bedroom door with her hip.

In a smooth set of motions perfected over her two years as a housekeeper, she set the hamper down, grabbed the end of the comforter and pulled all of the bedding off the bed. Then she looked up to grab the pillows.

Bob was still in bed.

“I am so sorry!” she whispered. She backed away from the bed.

Bob hadn’t seemed to notice her.

Heat rose to Jane’s face. What a complete moron! She should have knocked. She could have given him the chance to wake up a little. She looked away from the bed, waiting for him to speak.

He didn’t say anything.

In fact, Bob hadn’t moved a muscle when his covers had
come
flying off him. Surely, if a big guy like him had moved, she would have noticed.

She stepped back to the bed.

Bob was very still, and his face was pasty.

Jane’s heart thumped against her ribs, like a small, hard fist.

Bob was not well.

Her feet felt like bricks as she pulled herself across the Persian rug to the side of Bob’s bed.

He was wearing an A-line tank top—a wife-beater. His huge shoulders were covered in brown wiry hair. She had never seen Bob’s naked shoulders.

Jane placed two shaking fingertips under his jaw, and turned away.

She couldn’t feel a pulse. She moved her fingers across his thick neck, trying to find even the faint hint of life, but it wasn’t there.

Jane shoved her hand into the pocket of her jeans and yanked out her phone.
911. Must call 911.

 
“Ambulance, Police, or Fire Department?”
The voice of the 911 operator was steady, solid.

“Ambulance, please!”

“Where are you located?”

Jane gave the operator the address of the Crawford home.

“An ambulance will be right there. Can you stay on the line with me?”

“No, I can’t. I’ve got to call his wife.”

“I understand. We’ll be right there.”

Jane ended the call and began scrolling through her phone for Pamela’s number.

Pamela could be at the gym right now, or at the salon, or with the board of directors dealing with the business. She could be anywhere.