Moving Can Be Murder (18 page)

She turned and looked me squarely in my baby
blues.

“Remember this morning, when you were
grilling me about Jack’s death and you wanted to know if Mark could
find out any information about the police investigation?”

I nodded my head. “But you reminded me that
he couldn’t, because you and he are, well…I think the expression
you used was just that …you and he are.”

“Well, guess what?” Jenny said, her voice
quavering. “He and I aren’t now. We had a huge fight and broke up
this afternoon. So now he’ll probably be assigned to this case, and
you can pump him for information all you want. You shouldn’t, of
course. It’s probably against the law. But I’m sure you’ll try
anyway.”

Wow. Coming from Jenny, that really stung.
Even if it was true.

Nancy jumped up and said, “I shouldn’t be
here now. This is family talk.”

“No, stay,” said Jenny. “I want you to hear
this, too. The reason we had a fight is because Mark made a crack
about our family.”

Her tears were gone now. Replaced by
anger.

“He reminded me that there’ve been only two
suspicious deaths around here within the past year. And said it was
very interesting that my parents were involved in both of them. He
called you two ‘a personal local crime wave.’ When he said it, he
laughed, like he was making a joke. What a jerk.

“I didn’t think it was funny. And I told him
so. One thing led to another, and that’s that.”

“I’m sure Mark didn’t mean it the way it
sounded,” I said, wondering at the same time if he did. Or if, like
a lot of men I know, he just said something stupid without thinking
first.

“Maybe not,” said Jenny. “I admit that
sometimes I overreact, too. It’s an inherited trait.” She looked
pointedly at me.

Moi? Overreact? Well, yes. Sometimes. OK.
Often.

“Anyway, this will give us a little cooling
off period. Maybe it’s not a permanent break-up. We’ll see how it
works out. At least this time I have my own place, so nobody has to
move out. I guess I have learned some life lessons.”

“Speaking of places to live,” Nancy said,
“we need to talk about a battle plan.”

“Before we get into that, how are you doing,
Carol?” My Beloved asked. “I know last night was a nightmare for
you, and this morning, being cross-examined by that idiot
detective, wasn’t any picnic, either. Are you up to talking about
the house sale?”

What Jim was really saying, of course, was
that he was sorry he snapped at me when I got back to the
apartment, and that he didn’t mean to jump down my throat the
minute I walked in the door.

I gave him a peck on the cheek. I wanted him
to know I appreciated his support and all was forgiven. This
time.

“I’m doing better now, thanks,” I said. “And
on the way back here, I drove by our house again. I couldn’t
believe what was going on. There were T.V. trucks all over the
place, and Phyllis and Bill Stevens were being interviewed by a
bunch of reporters. It looked like a media circus. I got out of
there as fast as I could.”

“Carol, I’m sure you’re exaggerating,” said
My Beloved. “How many reporters were really there? I doubt it was a
media circus. I mean, after all, poor Jack Cartwright died, but
people die every day. Why would reporters care?”

This from my husband, the public relations
expert.

“I think I can answer that,” said Jenny.
“Before Mark and I had our big fight this afternoon, I checked out
a few Internet sites to see if there was anything posted about
Jack’s death. That’s what started our argument.”

She looked at her father. “You’re not going
to like this, Dad. That interview you did with the college reporter
is on YouTube. And parts of it have been picked up by some national
media sites.”

Jim stiffened. “What? That little twit put
me on YouTube? Without my permission? I’ll sue the pants off
him.”

“It’s in the public domain, Dad,” Jenny
said. “You were interviewed for a news show. You didn’t have to
sign a waiver or anything.”

Nancy interrupted and asked, “Let’s try to
stick to the point here, OK? What was said in the interview?
Anything we can use to help sell the house now?”

“Not exactly,” said Jenny. “The tag line was
‘Death House.’ People are dying to live there.”

Chapter 19

Q: Does your husband help you around the
house?

A: He’s very handy with a corkscrew,
especially on weekends.

This called for drastic measures. I needed
to lighten the mood. Fortunately, I had a handy solution in our
tiny refrigerator.

Anticipating a festive night of celebration
with My Beloved after the house closing, I had purchased two
bottles of expensive champagne. One of them was chilling here at
the rental, and I had left the other in our home refrigerator with
a note welcoming the Cartwrights to their new home.

I guess they wouldn’t be drinking that
one.

Anyway, between my discovering the dead body
of our buyer, being interrogated by Detective Paul, Jenny and Mark
breaking up, Jim’s YouTube appearance, the house deal falling
through, and let’s not forget my re-connecting with Sister Rose, it
had been a day I’d just as soon forget. I didn’t know about anybody
else, but I sure needed a glass of the bubbly to pick up my
spirits.

Plus, I remembered hearing some New Age guru
on television talk about the power of positive thinking. Visualize
what you want, and it will happen. Throw in a glass of champagne
and everything would look better.

I started humming “The sun’ll come out
tomorrow,” and everyone looked at me like I was nuts.

I ignored them and started rummaging through
a cardboard box until I found 4 plastic glasses. Not the Waterford
crystal flutes I would have preferred, but at this point, who
cared?

“This is to toast a new beginning for all of
us,” I announced. “Just wait a minute. I’ve got a surprise.”

“God, I hope you haven’t discovered another
dead body,” My Beloved quipped.

“Nope. Much better than that. Ta da!”

I turned and held up the champagne.

Jenny started to laugh. Then she started to
cry. Then she started to laugh again and grabbed for the champagne
bottle.

“I’ll open it, Mom. It always explodes when
you try.”

“And while you’re doing that,” Nancy said,
“let’s talk about our next real estate move. No pun intended.” She
looked at me. “Have you had a chance…?”

I shook my head and telegraphed, “It’ll be a
better idea coming from you.”

Best friend that she is, Nancy immediately
got the message and switched gears into professional Realtor mode.
Isn’t it amazing how women always know what other women are
thinking, while men flail around clueless?

But I digress.

“All right,” Nancy said. “I think it’s clear
that we have to do some creative marketing to dilute the negative
spin the media’s putting on the house sale. Are we all agreed?”

Not giving anyone a chance to respond, Nancy
plunged ahead.

“Jim, you’re the marketing expert here. Do
you have any ideas?”

I looked at Nancy in shock. What the heck
was she doing? Didn’t she already have a plan?

My Beloved took a sip of the champagne and
looked thoughtful. “Good question, Nancy,” he said. “It has to be
something pretty spectacular to offset YouTube. Who knew I’d become
an Internet star at my age?” He allowed himself a small smile.

I relaxed a little. Jim was starting to
mellow. Must be the champagne.

“If this was a campaign you were drafting
for a client,” Nancy went on, “what advice would you give
them?”

She paused, then added, “Wouldn’t you
suggest that the best way to counter negative publicity is through
positive publicity? I know I’ve heard you say that often.”

Jim nodded his head and started to speak,
but Nancy didn’t give him a chance. “You and I both know that the
YouTube clip will fade into oblivion once some celebrity gets
arrested for drunken driving or checks into rehab. We need to take
advantage of the publicity while we have it. Isn’t the phrase you
public relations professionals use, ‘put a positive spin’ on
it?”

Jim nodded again. “That’s exactly it,
Nancy.”

“But how to do it?” she asked, furrowing her
brow slightly so as not to add any wrinkles.

“Of course, the chief consumer in every
family is the woman,” said Jim, shooting me a look. I sipped my
champagne and smiled at him.

Jenny chimed in, “So we have to come up with
a marketing strategy to appeal to women,” she said.

“Exactly,” said Nancy. “We need a fresh
approach. Something so the house won’t look like a tired old
listing.”

“With a dead buyer,” I added.

Jim and Nancy frowned at me. Oops. Shut up,
Carol, and let Nancy handle this.

And handle it, she did. Brilliantly. First,
she talked about the popularity of home and garden television shows
these days. “Women love to peek at other people’s homes and get
decorating ideas,” she said. “I know Carol and I do.”

Then she gave Jim a roadmap of issues that
women care about -- breast cancer, hunger and homelessness, abused
children, and, finally domestic violence.

“You’re talking about cause marketing,” Jim
said. “If we could find a marketing strategy for the house that hit
on one of these issues, I think we’d hit a home run.” Poor guy. He
fell right into the trap Nancy had so cleverly set for him.

“You’re right, Jim,” she beamed at him.
“That’s a brilliant idea. And something’s just occurred to me. But
before I tell you about it, I need to make a quick call to the
office. I’ll do it outside.”

I counted to 60. Then, Nancy was back, with
a big smile on her face. “You’re going to love this idea. My office
wants to use your home as the show house to benefit Sally’s Place,
the domestic violence program in Fairport. It’s the perfect project
to counter all this negative publicity. You’ll come out looking
like heroes, and you’ll get the house decorated for free. I bet
that people will be fighting to buy it.

“Plus, you could get a tax write-off, and my
office will pay for your rental and any storage fees while the show
house is going on. It’s going to be great, you’ll see.”

She threw her arms around Jim and gave him a
smooch on the cheek. “Jim, you’re the best public relations person
I ever met. And you just may have saved my job.”

Well, what could the poor guy do after that
but say yes?

It’s wonderful what a little champagne can
do.

“Are you sure you’re OK with this show house
idea?” I asked Jim as I served out a portion of the fish and chips
we’d ordered from Seafood Sandy’s for our dinner. I hadn’t been
able to find enough pots and pans to cook a meal myself – well, I
didn’t really look too hard. And after the trauma of the past 24
hours, I didn’t feel like cooking, anyway. Tomorrow, I promised
myself, I’d get organized, unpack a few boxes, and do some food
shopping.

We were alone now, except for Lucy and
Ethel, of course. Nancy had done a super sales job about the event,
but there were a few other hot button issues Jim and I still had to
discuss. Like carrying two mortgages at the same time, for
example.

My super fiscal conservative husband was
bound to have a fit about that once the reality of our situation
sunk in. But even after 30-plus years of marriage, My Beloved can
still surprise me. In a good way.

“Now, Carol,” Jim said, “I know you’re
really worried about our finances. I have to admit, once I found
out that you were all right after the horrible ordeal you’d been
through, that was my next thought. How are we going to manage
this?”

He paused, took a sip of his
no-longer-bubbly champagne, and grimaced. “This is warm now. Time
to switch to water.”