Moving Can Be Murder (16 page)

Chapter 17

My favorite shade of nail polish is Starter
Wife.

“A show house? Are you kidding?” I said in
astonishment. “You mean turn our house into something that people
would buy tickets to tour? I’ve heard about these things, but I’ve
never been to one.”

I sat back in my chair so our waitress could
serve us our lunch. Yum. It smelled delicious. I was feeling better
already. Mary Alice was right, as usual. Food always gets me in a
better mood. Unfortunately, as my ever tightening waist band kept
reminding me, I needed to find another stress buster soon or go up
another size in my clothes.

“OK,” I said, my mouth full of risotto, “how
does a show house work? And how can I convince Jim that this is a
good idea?”

Mary Alice interjected a comment before
Nancy had a chance to answer. “I went to a show house a few years
ago that benefitted the hospital. One of the volunteers told me
that it took two years to pull the whole thing together. How do you
expect to get it organized in such a short period of time, Nancy?
Carol and Jim” -- she looked at me apologetically – “well, forgive
my bluntness, but you guys are desperate. You don’t have time to
fool around with this.”

Nancy shot Mary Alice a look. “You ought to
know that I wouldn’t suggest anything this radical unless all the
pieces were already in place to pull it off successfully. Give me a
little credit, please.”

Mary Alice rolled her eyes.

Nancy turned to me and continued. “Here’s
the deal. Dream Homes Realty and Superior Interiors have partnered
with Sally’s Place, the local domestic violence program, to do a
show house as a fundraiser for them. A lot of people, especially
Marcia, have been working on the project for quite a while. We’ve
been keeping everything quiet until all the designers were chosen.
Then we’d start a huge publicity blitz.”

She paused and took a quick bite of her
lunch.

“First, we had to find the perfect property
– something large and jazzy, but which could use a major facelift.
We had a house all set, and Marcia put out a call for interior
designers to come, preview the property, and bid on a room to
re-design. Things were moving along great, and then the home owner
backed out of the deal. He decided to sell the property privately
to a family member. We couldn’t believe it! All that work down the
drain. We’ve been on hold for the past week, and the office has
been going crazy trying to find another property.

“Your house is perfect, Carol. It’s an
antique in Fairport’s historic district. You know how people always
want to see what the inside of those houses look like, especially
during the annual Christmas stroll. And your house is completely
empty now. Marcia says that one of the biggest hurdles in putting
together a show house is moving out all the owner’s furniture and
putting it into storage. But we wouldn’t have to do that with your
house, because you and Jim have already moved out.

“Don’t you see what a perfect fit this is?
It’s absolutely brilliant.”

“It’s really a good idea,” Mary Alice
admitted grudgingly. “I’ve heard about Sally’s Place. They do
terrific things to help families in crisis. I’ve seen some domestic
abuse victims when they’ve come to the hospital for treatment. You
wouldn’t believe some of the things that go on behind closed doors
in this town. Domestic violence is one of life’s dirty little
secrets.”

“Sally’s Place is a wonderful organization,”
Nancy said, warming to the subject even more. “It offers counseling
and support services for families in crisis, and provides temporary
safe housing for victims of domestic violence. And it runs a thrift
shop in Fairport as another way to raise funds.”

“A thrift shop?” This surprised me. I didn’t
think there was a shopping opportunity in all of Fairfield County,
Connecticut, that I hadn’t heard about. And patronized. Often.

Nancy nodded her head. “Yes, Sally’s Closet.
It’s on Sanborn Street, right near the train station. Marcia took
me there a few weeks ago and I was amazed at the great
bargains.”

I shook my head. “You both know how much I
love to shop. But I can’t imagine wearing something that someone
else owned and then got rid of. Too icky for words.”

“Boy, and I thought I was a snob,” Nancy
said. “First of all, when you’re shopping in one of the local
department stores, how do you know who’s already tried on that
gorgeous little black dress you simply must have? Or, even worse,
actually put the tags inside, wore the dress, then returned it?
Now, that, my friend, is icky.”

She held up her Coach purse. “I got this at
Sally’s Place for only thirty-five bucks. With the original price
ticket still on it. Which read ‘one hundred and sixty-five
dollars.’ Have I convinced you yet?”

“Wow, that’s incredible.” My eyes glazed
over at the thought of all those bargains waiting to be snapped up.
“I’ll have to go and check it out. Jim couldn’t object to my
spending a little money at a thrift shop, even though cash flow is
tight right now.”

“How do you think Jim will react to this
show house idea?” Mary Alice asked, bringing me back to reality
with a thud.

“He’s going to jump at the chance,” said
Nancy. “To sweeten the deal, I convinced my boss at Dream Homes
Realty to pay all of your furniture storage fees for the duration
of the show house. And the rent for your temporary apartment. We
need your house.

“Plus…” she paused dramatically. “Plus,
we’re going to try and get you an in-kind tax write-off for this.
How could Jim refuse?

“Of course, the yellow ‘scene of the crime’
tape would have to be removed before the official opening.”

I dawdled at Maria’s for another half hour
after Mary Alice and Nancy left. Nancy had left me with some
printed information on show houses to peruse – including a contract
– so I amused myself by reading some of the material.

“Wow! I never realized all there was to
putting together a show house before,” I said aloud. Then, I
stopped myself. Under normal circumstances, I’d be sharing this
with Lucy and Ethel. But I knew patrons of Maria’s would look at me
funny if I carried on a conversation with myself.

I had hoped to catch up with Maria while I
was here, but since the restaurant had become such a hit in town, I
knew she was spending more time doing off-premise special events
catering than running the Trattoria.

Come to think of it, it was funny that I
wanted to catch up with Maria. When she was teaching Mark or Jenny,
I used to dread those back-to-school nights. She was a tough
teacher, and even the parents – me included – were intimidated by
her.

But now, Maria had become what I call an
“unexpected friend.” Someone whom I initially disliked – yes, even
misjudged – but when I got to know her better, was a real sweetie.
I’d like to think every person has people in their life like that,
but maybe I’m the only one.

Anyway, I was in no hurry to go anywhere,
particularly back to our tiny rental and have The Conversation with
Jim. Nancy had promised to stop by later and give us more of the
particulars. I dreaded telling My Beloved that the house sale was
off. Although he’d probably figured that out for himself. He’s no
dummy, after all, and if the buyer is – well, dead – that tends to
put a damper on the sale.

But a show house. Convincing him to go along
with that idea would be an entirely different matter, despite the
potential tax write-off and free storage. If I knew him – and after
all these years of marriage, I certainly did -- he’d just want to
slap a little paint on the walls and put the house right back on
the market.

In my brief and stressful visit home this
morning for my “interrogation,” I couldn’t help but notice, now
that all the pictures were off the walls and the furniture was
gone, how many places there were in the house that needed a
touch-up. Well, if I was honest, all the rooms needed to be
completely painted.

Jim likes to take charge of those projects
himself. He’s pretty adamant about color choice – neutrals like
“Autumn Wheat” are the only thing he’ll consider unless I really
kick up a fuss. God, when I remember the fight we had about
painting the kitchen, it makes me cringe. (I won, though. We
painted the walls light yellow and even My Beloved admitted –
finally – that they looked good.)

Mark and Jenny used to kid their father all
the time about painting the outside of the house, too. In his
younger days, that was his personal warm weather project, and he
only did one side a year. I always had my heart set on a white
house. Thank God the house we bought was already white, and not
some off-beat color like sage green or red.

Thinking about the kids made me decide to
try and reach Mike myself and fill him in on what had happened. Not
that I didn’t trust Claire, of course. But sometimes a “child”
needs to hear a parent’s voice. Or, maybe, the other way
around.

I punched his number in my cell phone
address book – I hope you’re all impressed with the fact that I’ve
become such a techie – and listened to 4, 5, 6 rings. Then, voice
mail came on, and the automated response said, “Mail box full.
Please try again later.”

That was odd. Like most members of the
twenty-something generation, Mike lived by his phone, Blackberry,
iPhone – you name it. He never failed to pick up messages
immediately. Hmm.

I pushed that little tremor of worry out of
my mind that mothers always get when they can’t reach their
offspring, no matter how old they are. He’s absolutely fine, I told
myself. Probably just extra busy with Cosmo’s and hasn’t had a
chance to check his messages today. Claire will see him today and
e-mail or call later. Or he will.

I couldn’t sit at this table much longer.
The restaurant staff was starting to set the tables for the dinner
shift.

What you need, Carol, is a little retail
therapy. Consider it helping a worthy cause.

I decided to check out Sally’s Closet on my
way back to the apartment.

I must have driven by the thrift shop
hundreds of times on my way to and from the train station. Funny,
I’d never noticed it before. On-street parking is always a
challenge in Fairport, but luckily we still had our parking sticker
for the railroad commuter lot. And, even luckier, there actually
was a choice of spots today. I took that as a good sign that my
luck was changing.

I stopped to check out the thrift shop
windows. I’d already made up my mind that if I didn’t find anything
attractive in the window, I wouldn’t go in. I mean, Nancy’s Coach
purse was an incredible bargain, but I was sure that kind of thing
didn’t happen very often.

I had to admit that the place looked
inviting from the outside. Housed in a white colonial-type building
so favored in Connecticut, Sally’s Closet advertised “gently loved
clothing for women and children.” Most of the window displays
featured up-to-date merchandise that…wait a minute! Did I see a
Lilly Pulitzer dress in the window? Well. Sally’s Closet just might
be selling that beauty to me.

I knew finding that parking space was a good
omen.

The bell on the front door tinkled
discreetly as I entered. First, I gave the interior the “sniff
test.” You know what I mean. Some shops that feature “antique” or
“gently used” goods have a distinctive musty odor that makes me
gag. I’m outta those in a skinny second.

Sally’s Closet had a lovely hint of
lavender. One of my favorite scents. Score one point. Two women –
probably volunteers – were unloading a cart full of merchandise. I
noticed they were wearing lavender aprons. I liked that too. A
uniform look, so customers would know to ask them for help if
needed. Score another point, for professionalism.

Now, on to the important stuff – the
merchandise itself.