Traci Tyne Hilton - Mitzi Neuhaus 04 - Frozen Assets (2 page)

 
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The following morning was also cold, and the house was still small. But rather than worry over it, Mitzy sat cross-legged on the floor in front of Alonzo’s recliner, enjoying his warm legs against her back as she worked. Her laptop was open, and she was plotting how to sell an expensive older house fast. The house on Concord had listed two days ago, but no one had called for a showing yet.

Almost one year after their wedding, two years after the housing bubble burst, there really hadn’t been an uptick in the market. While the house she was trying to sell would have fetched a couple million dollars in about a week in 2006, now in 2011, finding a buyer at less than half that would be a serious challenge.

The house needed tweaking—little improvements here and there—but the owner had lived in it since it was built as a custom home. Staging the house would be a hard sell. Mitzy clicked through the pictures. Cluttered office. Tile in the kitchen instead of granite. Carpet in the main living areas. Without the top-of-the-line finishes like hardwoods and natural stone, the house would have to be staged to perfection.

Mitzy stopped at the picture of the master bedroom. A full five-hundred-square-feet of living space, antique French bedroom furniture, a tray ceiling, a chandelier, two walk-in closets: it was every newlywed’s dream room. But it couldn’t make a marriage work.

Mitzy leaned back against Alonzo’s knees. Their bed was shoved into the corner of the smallest room she had ever seen, and she had to use the third bedroom as a closet.

Her client, Karina English, seemed glad to have ended her twenty-year marriage, and now she wanted to unload the house her cheating husband had built for her. If Mitzy had been offered the choice between that life and her own, she would have kept her tiny dwelling and faithful husband, but frankly, she didn’t see why she couldn’t have a great house and a great husband.

She clicked to the outdoor shots. Not a single yard in Portland looked good on December 1st.

Her cell phone vibrated in her pocket. She dragged her mind away from the house and checked the number. It was Karina.

“This is Mitzy. What can I do for you, Karina?”

On the other end of the line, Karina was crying.

Mitzy lowered the tone of her voice. “Karina, I’m here. What is it?” She looked up at Alonzo.

He cocked his head, furrowed his brows, and mouthed, “What happened?”

Karina sobbed and make word-like sounds that Mitzy couldn’t understand.

Mitzy stood up and raised her shoulders. “I don’t know.”

She closeted herself in the bedroom they used as an office/closet. “Whenever you are ready, Karina, or do you want me to come to you? Are you at your house?”

Karina’s crying slowed down. “Yes, please come here. Arnold is dead.” She broke down again as soon as the words were out.

“I’ll be right there, Karina. I can be there in twenty minutes.” Mitzy kept the line live for a few moments longer while she put on her snow boots. When Karina eventually managed a sobbing “thank you,” they both ended the call. Mitzy stuffed her phone into the pocket of her ski jacket.

“Alonzo, will you come up to Concord with me? Arnold English is dead.”

***

The English house was a forty-five-hundred-square-foot 1970s faux Tudor home on Concord Street at the top of the Happy Valley side of Mt. Scott. It was located 1300 feet higher than the small house Mitzy and Alonzo called home. Instead of the slush that mucked up Mitzy’s street, Concord Street was blanketed in several inches of soft, white snow.

The driveway was cordoned off with yellow police tape, and police cars lined the road.

Alonzo parked his truck several houses away. “I don’t know, Mitzy, this looks like something we shouldn’t get mixed up with.”

“Karina is hurting, Al. She needs a friend right now.”

“You’re her Realtor.”

“That doesn’t mean I can’t be her friend.”

“We’ve gone a whole year without getting involved with the police. I would love to turn this car around and take you back home.” Alonzo scowled at the line of police cars.

Mitzy squinted to see if she recognized any of the officers working the crime scene. “I know, but I said I’d come up, so I have to. That doesn’t mean I have to get involved in the investigation or anything. I just have to listen.”

“I’m going to wait in the car. Why don’t you get her to come away from the crime scene?”

Mitzy sighed. She really wanted to connect with the detective in charge and find out what had happened. She turned away from the scene and looked at Alonzo. He was a sickly shade of white.

“Okay. I’ll see if she’ll come out with us. Coffee maybe?”

Alonzo nodded.

Though fresh snow had been falling all morning, the snow on the road was rutted as though cars had been coming and going all day. Mitzy paused at the police tape. An officer in uniform met her there.

“Karina English just called. Can I go in and see her?”

“We’ll get her to come out. We are still looking at the scene.” The officer assessed Mitzy over his wire-rim glasses.

“What happened?” Mitzy asked.

The officer looked towards a knot of men in the grass. “We aren’t sure yet.”

The Tudor-style home was three stories tall with a Juliet balcony at the window in the top gable. Most of the police were working the yard, so the snow there was well-churned.

Mitzy crunched her way down the snow-covered sidewalk, keeping to her side of the police tape. She stopped at the middle of the yard and watched a cluster of officers at one of the windows.

Mitzy held her fingers to her mouth and blew on them. From all of the police activity, it appeared Arnold had been murdered at the house. It was so hard to sell a house after a recent murder.

The officer led Karina out of the house. She wore snow boots and a ski jacket over her flannel pajamas. Her cheeks were blotchy red, and her eyes were swollen.

“Oh, dear Jesus,” Mitzy whispered. “Forgive me for thinking about selling the house, and help me listen to her with compassion.”

When Karina was closer, Mitzy held her hands out to her.

Karina took Mitzy’s hands and squeezed them tight.

“Ms. English is free to leave the house, but she has to leave her phone on and cannot leave the state,” the officer said.

“Of course,” Mitzy said. “We’ll just stop at the bottom of the hill for some coffee.”

Karina dropped Mitzy’s hands. She and Mitzy walked to the place where the sidewalk met the driveway with the police tape still between them.

“Thank you for coming for me.” Karina’s voice was low, and she watched the ground as she walked.

“What happened?” Mitzy could have kicked herself. Of course she wanted to know what had happened, but now was probably not the best time to ask. She tried to think of something encouraging to say. “How are you holding up?”

“I’m not. I’m not holding up at all. I was standing at my window in the kitchen making breakfast when a weird shadow caught my eye. I turned and, and…” She choked back a sob.

“You saw Arnold?”

Karina’s eyes were wide as though she was seeing it again. “The top of his head… I saw the top of his head first. Then the spikes of the fence.”

“I’m sorry, what?” Mitzy stopped and looked back at the officers in front of the window. They were clustered around the flowerbed.

“He was stuck there, on the fence around the flowers.” Karina pointed to the short, decorative, wrought iron fence that surrounded the flowerbed in front of her home. “Those points, those black arrows poking out of his back.” Karina dipped her head and pressed the heel of her hand into her eye. “I’ll never forget those black points.”

Another corpse flashed into Mitzy’s mind, one with a smashed-in skull. She understood, at least a little, what Karina must be feeling. Mitzy began to walk again, leading Karina away from the house.

“What did you do?” Mitzy asked when they had reached the end of the sidewalk.

“I ran out of the kitchen. I ran back to my bedroom, and I called 911.”

Mitzy led Karina to the truck where Alonzo was waiting and opened the door to the front seat. She gave Karina her arm to help her in.

“Karina, this is Alonzo. I let him drive me because of the snow. He’s going to take us to that café at the bottom of the hill, okay?”

Karina nodded.

“What happened when the police arrived?” Mitzy asked.

“I stayed inside, and they talked to me. They asked me hundreds of questions about Arnold. About our marriage and the divorce.”

When they arrived at the coffee shop, Mitzy led Karina to a quiet table in the corner. The shop smelled safe and familiar, like hot brewed coffee and fresh coffee cake. Jazzy Christmas music played in the background. “Why did they ask you all of that?”

“Because I didn’t know why Arnold was there. I don’t know why he was here this morning. What could he have been doing here, Mitzy?”

Mitzy tried to think of a reason. Ex-husband, house for sale, early morning, impaled on a fence. She was at a loss. Why
had
Arnold been there?

Alonzo stood in line to buy their coffee, so she couldn’t ask his opinion.

“What did they do with, with Arnold?” Mitzy asked.

“I don’t know. I couldn’t look. I hope he is gone. I don’t want to go back until he is gone. I can stay away, can’t I?” Karina pulled the sleeve of her flannel pajama shirt out of the cuff of her coat. She wrapped it over her fingers and dabbed at her eyes.

“It’s okay. We won’t make you go back yet.”

Alonzo set the coffees down and then leaned over to whisper to Mitzy, “I’m going to wait in the truck.” He kissed her on the top of her head and slunk away.

“Did they tell you what they thought happened?”

Karina dabbed her eye again. “They saw a lot of footprints in the yard and on the balcony. They were all over. They think he fell off of the balcony.” Karina closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “But I was asleep. I was asleep in that room when it happened.”

“But didn’t you hear anything?” Mitzy’s heart was racing. She took a deep breath to calm down.

“They asked me that, but I didn’t. I take sleeping pills, and I just slept through it all.” Karina looked lost, her eyes still in shock, her face pale. She hadn’t touched her cup of coffee yet.

“What can I do for you?” Mitzy pushed the paper cup closer to Karina, hoping she would pick it up.

“Just stay with me for a little while. You were so good to come. I don’t know why I called you first, but thank you for coming.”

“Do they think he was alone, or that you were involved?”

“No, they can’t think I did it. I didn’t have any reason to. He may have left me, but I got the house. But, Mitzy, I don’t know why he was here.” Karina rested her forehead on her clenched fist and looked down at the glossy tabletop.

“Have you called the rest of the family yet?”

Karina nodded, eyes still down.

“Then just sit back and rest for a moment.”

Mitzy held her paper cup of coffee up and let the steam warm her cold lips. Karina was five feet, two inches, and a hundred pounds soaking wet. She was an aging socialite and do-gooder, not an athlete. Without her makeup on, Karina looked older than she had when they had last met. Her cheeks were hollow and deep lines radiated from her eyes and around her mouth.

She couldn’t have pushed a big man like Arnold off the balcony.

Nonetheless, someone had killed Arnold, and Karina was going to pay for it—not with jail time, Mitzy was sure—but with a lengthy and horrible delay to her plans to get on with her post-divorce life.

“I couldn’t reach Zachary. He’ll be devastated.”

“Who is Zachary?”

“Arnold’s oldest boy. I know he’s going to be crushed.”

“You didn’t leave a message?”

“No. How could I? What could I say about this in a message?”