Dying for a Change (9 page)

It seemed I was on the phone all evening. First my parents called from Scottsdale. They had heard about Hank. I was no longer surprised. Of course the long arm of the Santa Louisa information network had reached them.

“
Are you all right?” That was my father.

“
I hear you and Dan Dunham had lunch.” Mother had a knack of getting to the important things.

“
How’s your golf game coming?” I asked them both.

Later, Aunt Mary called. “How was lunch?”

“
You mean you don’t know?”

“
Don’t get smart,” I was told. “I went over to see Vera. She’s really in a bad way. Her oldest daughter’s here from New Jersey, and it’s a good thing. Vera’s not coping well. Couldn’t make any decisions about the funeral, the casket, or anything. It was a good thing the church committee was there to take charge.”

I agreed it was indeed a good thing, then, a little slowly because I didn’t want to seem like a ghoul, asked, “So you don’t think Vera was the one?”

“
The one what?” Aunt Mary asked. “Oh. To kill Hank? I never did. That was your theory.”

“
I guess it was, but it sure tied things up neatly.”

“
Tying things up is something you don’t have to worry about. Leave that to Dan. That reminds me, why don’t you two come to dinner Wednesday night?”

“
I’d love to, but I can’t answer for him. Have you called him?”

“
I thought I’d leave that up to you,” she purred. “Let me know.”

“
What’s the matter with all these people?” I asked Jake as I hung up. “They’re practically throwing Dan at me. Or me at him.”

The cat sat on the table and looked at me without answering.

“
And another thing. I wasn’t trying to set Vera up as a murderer, or anybody else. But I found the body; I work with half the suspects. That doesn’t make me curious, does it? It makes me involved.” I stared at the cat, waiting for an answer. He yawned.

The sun streamed in my bedroom window with the tiniest hint of warmth, and there were just enough clouds left over to make the morning interesting. I watched them float slowly by as I sipped my morning coffee, wondering if the day was going to be interesting as well.

I had nothing scheduled at the office, and after yesterday, wasn’t eager to make an appearance. There were still boxes unpacked in my dining room, a task I felt more equal to than real estate, so I concentrated on stacking china plates in the hutch. Brian, suffering from an unexpected attack of guilt, had let me take most of the things I had grown attached to over the years, and I had come away with more than my parents’ old house could hold. Now I had to figure out what to do with some of it.

By the time I had hung a few more pictures, repacked several boxes, stored them in the work shop next to the garage, and put the empty ones out for the trash man, it was after ten. I was out of excuses, so I exchanged jeans and sweatshirt for wool slacks and a sweater and headed for the office.

Sharon looked up as I came in and followed me over to my desk.

“
I understand you are going to list Alice Ives’ old house.”

I nodded, too surprised to say anything. How did everyone know all this stuff?”

“
Have you talked to her about a marketing price?”

“
No,” I admitted. “I have no idea how to go about it.”

“
You might start by going to look at these,” She put several sheets of paper down on my desk. “These are listings of homes a little like Alice’s. They’ll be good comparables.” She walked away.

I can take a hint. I picked up the phone, made an appointment to see each house on the sheets, and left.

I’ll bet Sharon wouldn’t let a little thing like unpacking dishes deter her from working real estate, I thought. She seemed to be doing something constantly. Not that the others didn’t work hard. Everyone was either on the phone or running out the door to an appointment. Once I got the hang of this, it looked like my free time would be gone. I shrugged as I climbed in my car. Sounded good to me.

This is the part of real estate I’m going to like best, I thought, as I pulled up to the first house. The three I had scheduled had all been built during different periods. This one dated back to the late eighteen hundreds. The high ceilings, richly ornate moldings, and long, narrow rooms, one opening on to another transported me back to another time. The people who owned the home had done a marvelous job restoring it. Patterned carpets, cabbage roses on the wallpaper, even the old chandeliers still hung from the ten foot ceilings. The bathrooms had clawfoot tubs with lace shower curtains on round rods above them, but I was amused to note the kitchen stove burned gas, not wood. I stood for a moment, looking at the steep stairs leading up to the bedrooms and down into the basement, and marveled at those women, trailing skirts and petticoats, traveling those treacherous steps many times a day.

The next two places were closer in age and style to Alice’s, built just after the turn of the century. Larger rooms, wider stairs, much better kitchens, but still no closet space. Neither of them was kept as well as Aunt Mary’s or mine. I wondered what I would find at Alice’s.

By now I was hungry, so I stopped at Kenny’s market for some lunch. My mother had always shopped there, and my mouth watered at the thought of homemade breads, mile high sandwiches, and Mrs. Kenny’s lemon pie. The deli counter had given way to prepackaged meats, the fresh bread smell had disappeared behind plastic wrap, and the only pie was in the freezer. I had to content myself with something on a Styrofoam tray and a carton of milk.

Sighing, I returned to the office to munch my greasy tuna and work on my presentation for Alice, but my mind kept drifting away from real estate and onto other matters.

Finally, I grabbed the telephone book, wrote down two addresses, gathered my things together, and said to Dottie, “If anyone needs me, I can be reached at home later.”

“
Alright.” She looked up at me intently. “Ellen...”

I stopped expectantly and waited.

“
Oh, nothing.” She dropped her eyes to the desk again and her voice died away.

I hesitated, not wanting to walk out on her. “I’m in no hurry. If there’s something I can do...?”

“
No, it’s just that...”

She broke off as Ray appeared at her desk and dropped a couple of files on top of her other work. “Here’s two more listings.” He puffed out his chest a little. “Two in one day, not bad. We need to get these in the computer right away.”

Dottie ducked her head and said nothing. Ray turned toward me.

“
It won’t be long, Ellen, and you’ll be doing a lot of business too. Maybe not as much as I do, but a lot.”

Now there was a man who knew how to give a compliment.

“
You got an appointment?” he went on, striding toward the door, holding it open for me. I glanced back at Dottie, who had her eyes glued onto her desk. Oh, well.

“
You might say that,” I told Ray, and, head held high, walked out the door.

I drove slowly up in front of the Sawyers’ house and parked. This isn’t a good idea, I told myself. However, my father used to play golf with Hank, my aunt was on the church committee with Vera, it was my duty to pay a condolence call. Wasn’t it?

I stared at the house for a moment, trying to decide. The house surprised me. Hank was supposed to be the most successful builder in town, and I had expected a home that would show off his skills, also his financial condition. This house was nice enough, but hardly prestigious. A rambling ranch style with the shake roof and diamond pattern windows popular years ago, it showed a lot of loving care in its neatly mowed lawn and trimmed bushes. Still, it spoke gently of middle age. A few winter pansies poked their heads out of wine barrels on the front porch, and the camellias and azaleas banked against the front of the house looked as if they were trying to beat spring and bloom early.

There were several cars parked in the driveway and in front of the house. As I watched, the front door opened. A woman came down the front steps and another, younger one said, “Thank you again.” She paused, looked at me sitting in the car, then slowly went back inside and closed the door.

No more decisions. I’d been spotted, and it would be the ultimate insult to the bereaved if I didn’t go inside. Too bad I didn’t have an offering. I’d forgotten the small town custom about funerals. You take two things to the family, sympathy and food. By now the Sawyer kitchen would be filled with more hams, platters of fried chicken, casseroles, Jell-O salads, and chocolate cakes than the family would be able to eat in a month. However, since the entire town would be stopping by tomorrow after the service, leftovers wouldn’t be a problem.

I rang the bell and the same young woman answered. She was in her early twenties and probably usually very pretty. Now she looked drawn and tired, her long, dark hair pulled back carelessly and fastened with a large barrette.

“
Yes?” She looked at me uncertainly, not sure if she should know me.

“
I’m Ellen McKenzie. I stopped by to see Mrs. Sawyer and offer my condolences.” I was feeling more uncomfortable by the minute. Why on earth had I thought this a good idea? “This is probably a bad time. If you would tell her I stopped by and how sorry I am, I’d be grateful.”

I started to back away from the door in preparation for a cowardly flight back to my car.

“
Oh, no.” She opened the door wide. “I’m sure Gran would want to see you. Please come in.”

Escape now impossible, I stepped into the small entryway. I could hear the low murmur of voices coming from what was plainly the kitchen. A woman about my age came through the door into the entry hall where we were standing.

“
Ellen Page, how good of you to come. Only it’s McKenzie now, isn’t it. I’m Violet. You probably don’t remember me. I was a senior when you were a freshman. Come into the living room, please. Mother’s in there.”

She was right. I didn’t remember her, and I felt more and more that coming was a mistake.

I’m not sure I had a mental picture of Vera, but if I had, it wasn’t this small, slightly plump woman sitting in the overstuffed rocker, her feet barely touching the floor. Her salt and pepper hair looked as if it had been smartly styled a few days ago, but hardly combed today. The room was quite warm, but she had the cardigan sweater she wore pulled tightly around her. Eyes red rimmed, face gray, she seemed consumed with grief and shock. She looked up when we came in, but I thought she was only partly conscious of our presence.

“
Mother, Ellen McKenzie has come to see you. You remember her, don’t you? She’s a Page.” The daughter turned to me with a sad try of a smile. “Will you excuse me? I have to get back to the kitchen. Thank you again for coming.”

I stood for a moment, at a complete loss for words. Every ounce of my being wanted to turn and run. Suddenly, Vera looked up at me and said, “Sit down, Ellen. It was thoughtful of you to come. I remember your parents, of course. I heard they moved away somewhere.”

I murmured, “Yes, Scottsdale. The weather, you know.” It was obvious Vera wasn’t interested in where my parents had gone, or why.

“
Dan told us you found my husband,” she went on, her tone flat. “I’m so sorry. It must have been horrible for you.” Then she broke off, her whole body appeared to shudder, and she was still again.

Not as horrible as this, I thought, while I heard myself say, “I’m so sorry, Mrs. Sawyer. Such a terrible thing. My parents send their deepest sympathy.”

“
Thank them for me. Your father and Hank used to...” She took a deep breath and seemed to stare off into space.

“
If it’s any consolation,” I said, wondering how soon I could escape, “everyone I talk with says what a good man Hank was, fun to be with, a good friend.”

“
And a wonderful, loving husband and father.” She said this almost defensively, looking at a picture of a tall, handsome, blond man standing with his arm around the young girl who had opened the front door for me. She was in graduation cap and gown and both were smiling at the camera. It was easy to see how Hank made so many conquests. He looked much younger than Vera, and his charm and good humor almost leapt out of the frame. My expression must have given away my thoughts because for the first time I seemed to have her full attention.

“
He was, you know. A good husband. Oh, I know what people said. They’ve been saying it for years. But it wasn’t true.” He eyes blazed and her voice was a harsh whisper. “He flirted a little, that was all. He liked to laugh, to joke, but it was me he loved. I used to tell him, you’ve got to be careful. People will talk. He’d say, let ‘em. You know I love you, don’t you, Vera. I did know. He loved me.”

Her voice faded. “And now he’s gone. Gone. Just like that...” She sat back in her chair, leaving me and the room we were in behind.

This was not fun, I decided. Books made everything seem so easy, but watching Vera was agonizing. I wanted to ask her a question and now, before I lost my nerve, I blurted it out. “Was Hank planning to meet someone Sunday afternoon? At the new house he was building?”

“
I don’t know.” I could barely hear her words. It was plain I no longer existed.

I got up, murmured vague words, and started into the hallway. The daughter, Violet, appeared.