Appraisal for Murder (17 page)

I assumed he was talking about Kenner, but all I did was shrug. “We all have our special talents,” I said. Then, I couldn’t resist. “I see that innuendo is one of yours.” He left.

The house I was appraising that morning had had two separate additions, done under different owners, neither of whom appeared to take special pride in how the additions blended with the original exterior. While the bright purple paint with lavender trim obviously appealed to whoever had offered the contract, it did little to hide the architectural hodge podge.

The interior was nicely done. Wallpaper can hide a world of blemishes. However, when I got to the large great room off the kitchen in the back of the house, the first of the two additions, I sensed a definite downward slope. I would have to take careful measurements. This did not bode well for the seller’s asking price.

Back in the office, I relayed my thoughts to Harry, and said I was concerned that I wouldn’t be able to support the price. This especially troubled me because it was Lester Argrow’s sale, and I had hoped he would get over his past funk with Harry and bring us more business. He was very popular with the popsicle district crowd and there were a lot of sales there.

I spent much of the afternoon embellishing the value of some of the house’s better features—a hot tub in the new master bedroom (second addition), maintenance-free lawn (read gravel) and hardwood floors in the living room and dining room (original to the house, in need of refinishing). Harry’s attitude was that if the house appeared structurally sound, I should merely mention the slope and see what I could do to reach the $154,000 selling price.

Eventually I got the numbers to work without totally compromising my integrity. I wouldn’t buy the sucker for $120,000. Who was I kidding? Thanks to Robby, I couldn’t get a loan for $10,000.

It was a lot of work for $200, almost all day. I reminded myself that a lot of people make minimum wage, but it didn’t help much. When you’ve had a beautiful apartment and the ability to eat out at the best restaurants without considering the impact on your budget, it’s hard to go home to a single room and a budget that doesn’t include too much dining out. Thank goodness I like pasta and chocolate.

I had my car since I’d been all over town that day, and I pulled into Aunt Madge’s next to a shiny Toyota sedan. It still had new tags, though the sticker had been taken out of the window and was in the back seat. Turned over, so I couldn’t read the price. I hadn’t realized Aunt Madge was getting a new guest.

Michael Riordan was sitting on the couch in Aunt Madge’s great room with Jazz on his lap and Mister Rogers and Miss Piggy at his feet.

“How did you get her to stay off the fridge?” I asked as I sat across from him.

He grinned. “Your aunt had a theory that you were transmitting your fear about the dogs eating Jazz to dear old Jazz here. Since I have no such trepidations, Madge brought her down to me, and we’ve been sitting here for about half an hour.”

Aunt Madge, animal psychologist. I gave him a half smile. “Where is Aunt Madge?”

“She insisted on going to the market to get some butter.” He nodded to a paper bag on the counter. “I brought a couple dozen crabs.”

“Aren’t you supposed to be in jail or something?”

“I suppose that could still happen, but after yesterday I think it’s less likely.” He shrugged. “I wanted to celebrate, and since my dad’s already gone and half the town won’t talk to me, I came over here.”

“That prosecuting attorney is really a bastard.” He placed Jazz on the seat next to him, and she didn’t seem inclined to run. Mister Rogers and Miss Piggy were lying on the floor below her. “I did make a point of telling your twin brother George about it, in case he cares to mention that I’ve reduced expenses.”

I let that pass.

“By the way,” he added, “Kenner thinks you’re a real jerk.”

“He wrote a biased story,” I said. “All he did was talk to Winters, and maybe one of the cops. All those people in Houston probably think you killed her.”

I like crab meat a lot, but I hate to pick through the crab looking for it. Many people say they don’t like eating crabs because it’s tiresome or they get little cuts from the sharp shell, but I think of all that poking around for meat as a major invasion of the crab’s privacy. However, all that aside, I decided I’d rather spend time with Michael than have him leave. He was growing on me.

I hadn’t realized I’d been quiet for at least several seconds, long for me if I was trying to get my way, and flushed. Luckily he couldn’t read my mind. “I’ll give it a rest.” For now, I thought.

Aunt Madge returned with a pound of butter and I teased her about clogging her arteries. “I know,” she said. “But there’s just no substitute for real butter when you have crab.”

She instructed me to place newspaper on the table, which I knew was the only way to go when you shell crabs, and told me she’d moved the nut crackers and picks to a lower drawer. I found them and poured three large tumblers of ice water while she warmed the butter and transferred it to an old fondue pot to keep it melted.

Michael was sitting on the floor with Jazz in his lap. He would occasionally lift her to one of the dogs, she would smell them and they her, and he would gently put her back in his lap. However, when Aunt Madge called him to the table she did not want to be left on the couch but ran to a chair and jumped from there to the top of a bookcase. Now that the dogs had had a good sniff of her, they did not follow.

“Did you hear any more from my favorite cop about the guy who was bothering you?” Michael asked as he dug into his second crab.

So, we can talk about my problems but not his?
“Not a word. I figure if Pedone doesn’t want to be found it may take awhile.”

He paused in his wrestling with a crab claw and looked at me. Luckily, I did not need to feign innocence. I had not asked her to question Michael.

“I’ve thought a lot about that, of course. Winona says it’s the only really damning thing they’ve got.”

“Were you missing any pills?” she continued.

He shook his head. “Unfortunately, I take them so rarely I can’t say. She, Winona, counted the pills left in the bottle and she insists I should remember when I took the ones that are gone, but mostly I can’t.” He popped the piece of crab in his mouth. “Had 'em almost a year. It’s not like I got them the week before…she died.”

“Maybe you should try harder,” I offered. Not helpful, I guess, as he just looked at me.

“Who else goes in the house?” Aunt Madge asked.

“Of course, I don’t know all Mother’s friends any more. She occasionally had people over for coffee, and then there was Elsie, the maid. She comes every week. More lately, just to see if Mom’s OK.”

“So, have Winona ask everyone your mom knew,” I said.

He seemed to be tiring of the questions, as his voice assumed the tone one reserves for talking to cantankerous children. “Winona wants to, but I told her to wait until after the judge’s ruling. If he doesn’t think there’s enough evidence to go ahead, there’s no point in getting people riled up.”

“It’s a murder charge,” Aunt Madge said. “They can reopen it any time they want to. Those old people will die. She should talk to them now.”

Since Aunt Madge rarely butted into people’s business, he seemed to be considering her point. “I hadn’t thought of that.”

Aunt Madge could tell he’d had enough, so she asked him how he liked his new car. He clearly preferred this topic.

I looked down and noticed Jazz sitting by my foot. Apparently the smell of crabmeat was enough to get her off the bookcase. The guys were napping on the great room rug. I gave her a piece. Probably because we had company, Aunt Madge did not scold me.

MICHAEL MIGHT NOT want to pursue much before the judge’s ruling, but I did. After all, I had been somewhat implicated in Winters’ stupid article. I did not sense that Morehouse thought I was involved in Mrs. Riordan’s death. That was fortunate, as I had enough problems looking over my shoulder for Pedone all day.

When I checked with Harry on Wednesday, he had no houses, but he had had several calls. Apparently the agents were getting used to working with him and did not hold it against him that his sole stringer was bandied about as a friend of Michael Riordan’s.
Thank heavens for small favors
.

My lack of work left me with too much free time to think about my problems – especially the one who wore patent leather shoes – so I decided to focus on Michael’s. I decided to talk to Ruth Riordan’s friends. I really didn’t want to talk to Mrs. Jasper, whom I did not believe was all that close to Ruth anyway. I knew I would have to eventually, and stalled by going to visit Ramona.

Today’s quote was, “A collision at sea can ruin your entire day.” Thucydides. I stared at this for a few seconds, and decided this was Ramona’s way of telling the world to keep things in perspective.

Scoobie was standing near the entrance inspecting the prices on some steno pads. “Hey,” I said. Sorry I ran off the other day. I still want to sit and talk.”

He seemed preoccupied. “Good, good.” He selected a pad. “I’m on a writing binge. Gotta go.” He walked toward the cash register. I had many good memories of hanging out with Scoobie, and felt bad that I’d hurried away from him when we were having coffee. I hoped that wasn’t why he was unwilling to talk to me.

I looked for Ramona, and saw her in the back of the store talking to someone in a tie, so I figured he was the manager. As she nodded in response to whatever they were discussing her large hoop earrings bobbed. They finished their conversation, and when she came toward me I said, “I just came by to chat.”

She nodded, “That’s OK, but we need to look like I’m showing you something.” She nodded toward the side wall. “How about the graph paper?”

“Uh, sure. Graph paper?”

“People from Jennifer’s office sometimes buy it,” she said.

This woman was much smarter than her loose-fitting, greenish, tie-dyed long dress and orange beret let on. “They must have some folks who like to draw to scale when they work,” I said.

“Not too often. Mostly before her big New Year’s Day open house. She bought the invitations here, and Roland ordered special napkins for her.”

“He was trying to think of a name and he heard some kids say that old rhyme. You know,” she said, sensing my perplexity, “I never saw a purple cow, I never hope to see one. But I can tell you anyhow I’d rather see than be one." She looked at me closely. “The rhyme by Gelett Burgess.”

I stared at her for several seconds. Obviously, my childhood had missed something. “And that’s why he picked the name?”

“Oh, yes. He said he’d always liked the rhyme and he was glad he heard them say it before he picked some silly name, like ‘Ocean Alley Office Supplies.’”

Heaven forbid.

This got her into some deep thinking. “I don’t think so. She liked your Aunt Madge, I know. I saw them Christmas shopping in Lakewood one time.”

Aunt Madge went to Lakewood every year to do her shopping, and when my parents still lived there, my mother would meet her at the mall. I had no idea that she’d partnered with Ruth Riordan after my parents moved.
The things I don’t know.