Moving Can Be Murder (22 page)

My idea of housework is to sweep the room
with a glance.

When I pulled into the parking lot at the
apartment, I was glad to see that Jim’s car was already there. I
couldn’t wait to tell him about having coffee with Sister Rose.
He’d never believe it.

It was amazing how much calmer I felt about
everything now. Maybe the good sister would be an “unexpected
friend,” like Maria Lesco. Stranger things have happened. (Not that
I ever make snap judgments about people.)

I also felt better because I’d made a real
effort to make our tiny apartment into a cozy retreat. Not a
honeymoon cottage – we were way beyond that. But maybe my life
would be easier with only three rooms to take care of. I was going
to make the best of the situation, no matter what, and I’d start by
cooking a nice dinner for Jim on our minuscule stove.

My good mood evaporated as soon as I opened
the door. I had left a neat apartment. What I was returning to was
slightly less than chaos. Newspapers strewn all over the floor.
Dishes and glasses on the counter and in the sink. The tiny kitchen
table littered with files. The television turned to CNN, blaring
loudly. (I guess the Jim had ordered a cable hookup after all.)

And My Beloved in the only good living room
chair. Sound asleep. And snoring.

Jeez, I’d only been gone two hours.
Hurricanes had nothing on Jim. He could create chaos all on his
own. Probably from overdosing on The Weather Channel.

Should I be ashamed to admit that all
previous worries immediately vanished from my mind, to be replaced
by rage at the scene before me?

Heck, no. I don’t think any wife in America
would have reacted differently. I was livid.

I slammed the grocery bags down on the
floor. Luckily, there were no eggs in either of them. Jim didn’t
even stir.

Clicking off CNN did the trick. Jim came to
and rubbed his eyes.

“Hi Carol. I guess I must have dozed off. I
was researching next week’s column.”

I resisted saying that the column must be
pretty boring if it put him to sleep. Instead, I made an heroic
effort to choose my words carefully.

“I did some food shopping after I unpacked
more boxes,” I said, picking up one of my reusable grocery bags (I
am environmentally sensitive) and putting it on top of Jim’s pile
of papers. “I’ll bet you were surprised when you came back and saw
how nice the apartment looked.” Before you messed it all up.

“Huh?” said My Beloved, glancing around the
room. “Oh, yes, it does look better. I guess I should say, it did
look better, until I spread all my work things around. Sorry,
honey.” He gave me a peck on the cheek. “You know my ‘filing
system.’ I’d planned to have everything put away before you saw
it.”

Well, that was a little better. Jim did
notice my efforts. Maybe men can be trained after all.

I was proud of myself for not lashing out at
him the way I sometimes do. Poor guy. This mess had to be tough on
him, too.

I grabbed a bag and squeezed my way around
the table into the tiny kitchen area. And promptly banged my hip on
an open cabinet drawer.

Ouch!

“Jim,” I yelled, “for heaven’s sake, will
you please make an effort to close doors and drawers! It drives me
crazy.”

I rubbed my well-padded hip to ease the pain
I was feeling. “This time, I really hurt myself. And if we’re going
to be living in such tight quarters for a while, you have to
remember. I don’t think that’s asking too much.”

“You do some things that drive me crazy,
too, Carol,” My Beloved shot back in his defense.

Moi? I had irritating habits? That couldn’t
be possible.

“Oh, yeah?” I said. “Like what?”

“You interrupt me when I’m talking.
And..”

“What do you mean?” I said. “I never
interrupt you.”

Jim waved his index finger at me in triumph.
“You see? You see? You just did it! You don’t even know you do it.
You do it all the time. I bet you interrupt me much more than I
leave doors or drawers open.”

Jeez. He had me there.

We hadn’t gotten on each other’s nerves
(much) in our big antique house. But living in small quarters for
an indefinite period of time might require some adjustments.

After all, nobody’s perfect. Even me.

Jim clipped leashes onto Lucy and Ethel and
announced he was taking them for a walk. I could tell he was still
annoyed with me. And I was equally annoyed with him.

Clearly someone (that would be me) had to
come up with a solution that would be workable and satisfactory to
both of us. As I unpacked the groceries and squeezed them into the
miniscule cabinet space (carefully closing the doors), I thought
about how, when Mike and Jenny were little, I used to be able to
get them to do things they didn’t want to do by making a game out
of it. Like picking up their clothes. Cleaning their rooms. Taking
out the garbage.

That’s when I came up with a great idea. I
could hardly wait for Jim to come back from his walk so I could
spring it on him.

“I admit that I’m not perfect,” I said to My
Beloved when he finally made an appearance. I handed him a glass of
his favorite merlot as a peace offering, and he settled into a
living room chair.

“We’re both stubborn, too. And we like to
have things done our own way.

“So here’s my idea.” I plopped myself down
beside him and gave him a little smooch.

“You know what a Honey-Do List is, right? A
long list of chores to accomplish around the house, like clean out
the attic, mow the lawn, or wash the windows.”

Jim nodded. “I used to dread weekends,
wondering what new jobs you’d come up with for me to do. That’s one
advantage to being in this apartment, I guess. No more lists.”

“Don’t be too sure about that,” I replied.
“My idea is to have a Honey-Don’t List. As in, ‘Honey, when you do
that, you drive me absolutely crazy, so don’t do it!’ We’ll make a
list of the things about each other that get on our nerves. We’ll
cut our list into individual strips and put them into two jars, one
for each of us. Every morning, we’ll draw a strip from the other’s
jar, and that person will have to refrain from that behavior for
the entire day.

“We could even have a prize at the end of
each week for the person who makes the most effort – like going out
to dinner. Or picking which movie to see. What do you think?”

The more I thought about my idea, the better
I liked it. In fact, I was surprised no other wife had come up with
it before.

My list about Jim’s faults would be much
longer than his list about mine, naturally. Oh, well. I’m sure if
he racked his brain he could come up with a few. I’m not perfect, I
know that. But pretty close. Most of the time.

“I think you’re nuts, Carol,” said My
Beloved. “But I’m willing to give it a try. I even know the number
one item I’m putting on your list.”

“I know, too. I shouldn’t interrupt you when
you’re talking.”

“Wrong, Carol,” Jim said.

“Don’t find any more dead bodies.”

Humph.

Over another delicious takeout meal from
Seafood Sandy’s – my desire to cook had evaporated -- I brought Jim
up to date on most of what had happened that day.

I was pleased to see that he was taking
copious notes as I was talking. That meant he was listening to me,
for once.

“So then Sister Rose and I met for coffee at
The Paperback Café,” I said. “She really is very nice. We had quite
a chat.” I omitted telling Jim exactly what the chat was about. I
didn’t want to speculate on Mary Alice with him.

“Jim, what are you writing?” I finally
asked. “I don’t think I’ve said anything that memorable.”

“Making more notes for my Honey-Don’t List,”
My Beloved said. “Do you know how long it takes you to get to the
point of a story?”

Oh, boy. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea
after all.

Then Jim started to laugh. “I’m just teasing
you, Carol.”

“Well, I don’t think you’re very funny,” I
said, my feelings only slightly mollified. “What did you do for the
rest of the day?”

Jim took a healthy swig of wine to fortify
himself. “As a matter of fact, I have some news for you. And you’re
not going to like it. I was waiting for the right moment. But there
really isn’t one, so here goes. And please don’t interrupt me.”

I clamped my lips shut. Get on with it,
already. Nothing My Beloved said could be worse than worrying that
one of my best friends was responsible for someone’s death.

“I took a ride out to Eden’s Grove this
afternoon to check on the progress of our new house,” Jim
continued. “I expected to see some workmen laying the subflooring
by now.

“But there was nobody there.

“I went to the sales office to complain.
After all, we’d given them a deposit a while ago. At the rate
they’re going, we’d be lucky to move into the house by
Christmas.”

“Good for you, Jim. What did you find
out?”

“They have some new salesman in the office
now named Skip Campbell. I didn’t see anyone there I recognized, so
I had to deal with him. At first, he was pretty evasive when I
demanded some action. He wouldn’t give me a straight answer as to
why the work had stopped, or when it was going to start up again. I
wouldn’t let him get away with it.

“Then good old Skip told me that the Eden’s
Grove Homeowners Association had an emergency meeting about us last
night. With all the notoriety about our old house, and the buyer
dying under mysterious circumstances, they don’t want us to move
in.

“Eden’s Grove is voiding the contract and
giving us back our deposit. And there’s not a damn thing we can do
about it.”

My fantasy of two master bedroom suites
vanished.

Poof. All gone.

And I thought the day couldn’t get any
worse.

Chapter 24

When life gets you down, just put on your
big girl undies

and deal with it.

I woke up the next morning after a restless
night. I remembered the terrible dream I’d had about Adam and Eve
chasing Jim and me out of the Garden of Eden with axes and hatchets
in their hands. “And don’t ever come back,” they screamed at us.
“You’re not good enough to live here with us.” It’s funny how I can
never remember the happy dreams. But the bad ones – those are
seared into my brain.

Jim was still sound asleep beside me, with
the dogs curled up on either side. (The rule we had about no dogs
on our bed had been quickly erased once we moved into these
temporary digs.) I eased myself out of bed and headed off to take a
quick shower. I tried to be as quiet as possible, so as not to wake
my sleeping prince.

He looked so peaceful lying there, poor
baby. I knew this ordeal was as hard on him as it was on me. We
just reacted to stress in different ways. I needn’t have worried.
Neither canines nor Jim stirred.