Foreclosed: A Mitzy Neuhaus Mystery (A Mitzy Neuhaus Mystery, a Cozy Christian Collection) (14 page)

Bruce was running across the parking lot about as fast as a man who lifted rocks for a living could be expected to.

He had his cell phone to his ears.

Sabrina hoped he was on the phone with the cops.

He stopped, panting for breath, when he got to Sabrina.

“Are you okay?” He grabbed her by the shoulders and sort of shook her as he took a good look at her.

“I—I’m not sure.” She wished he wouldn’t shake her. Her head really hurt. She put her hands up to her head and he seemed to get the point.

“I called the cops, do you need an ambulance?”

“My head, where he hit me…and my wrist.” She held up her wrist which was red from the twisting.

He put his thick, strong, arm around her shoulders and led her down to the office in the shop. “Come on, kiddo,” he said, even though they were about the same age. You need to sit down.”

She sat in the stoneworks office, drank the glass of water he gave her and waited, trying desperately to think of a description for the attacker. She pictured herself jabbing at him with her key, but all she could see was his fist twisting her arm.

She remembered his shoe as she stomped on it and his back as he ran away. It wasn’t much.

After she made her report, Bruce took her to the urgent care clinic and hung out with her until she had her pain pills and orders to rest at home. Then he took her home.

She lay down on the couch and Bruce stayed with her, pacing awkwardly in the kitchen until her dad showed up. He wasn’t going to see her left alone. He shook hands with her father, accepted his thanks and left with very few words.

Sabrina stayed home the next morning. The office was quiet without her. Her innocuous chatter and constant typing were sorely missed as Ben and Mitzy considered the newest problem.

They sat with their own thoughts, only interrupted by the phone calls from radio listeners, which were few this morning. People had been disturbed, disheartened to hear about Sabrina’s incident.

Sad, low down Mitzy on the radio was not the crowd pleaser that up beat or on fire Mitzy was. And there was no way around it—her friend getting mugged for a laptop behind the office made her sad.

After a long measure of silence she spoke again. “But what possible use would someone have for Sabrina’s laptop? And how would they know she had it?” She held her coffee cup up to her mouth and let the warmth attempt to comfort her.

“Tweekers,” Ben said.

“Really?”

“Probably. Homeless drug users down by the river. They just grabbed the first thing they saw. She doesn’t need to bring her laptop here anyway. I don’t know why she does it.” Ben was slouching in his chair, doing nothing.

“She didn’t think he was homeless,” Mitzy said.

“She didn’t really get a good look at him. ‘He’ could have been a ‘her’ for all Sabrina knows. I shouldn’t have gone home at lunch. She would never have stayed so late if I had been here to kick her butt out of her chair.”

“Don’t beat yourself up. How could we know she’d stay late? And why should we have expected someone to be lurking around? Tabby has never been messed with, neither have I, or the receptionist at the music studio.”

“I’d like to see the man who’d mess with you or Denise at Music Mania.” Ben snorted. He was a good four inches shorter than Mitzy. And Denise was a woman that no one would mess with, in general. She’d have made a great school secretary.

“Do you think it might not be a coincidence?” Mitzy kept an eye on the front window, looking for any sign of trouble on her busy street.

“Do you have a crack pot theory?” Ben asked in return.

“Not crack pot. But someone broke into Brett’s house, the museum, and this office. Someone burnt up my rental, and now Sabrina has been mugged.”

“Who did you insult at that gala, girl? If that’s all related, you’ve been causing some trouble.”

“I didn’t insult anybody. But I have been threatening Laurence Mills on the radio. What if he’s behind all of this?”

“And what if he’s the missing cash buyer?”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

“Why not? It’s kept you distracted, hasn’t it? You want to get a hold of that guy but when was the last time you had any time to do serious spy work? Between missing buyers, talking to cops and your little foray into HGTV land.”

Ben was making fun of her, but he was also making her think. And at the moment she thought he was stupid.

“Yes, Laurence Mills who can’t afford to keep his own house has gotten me a gig on House Hunters so that I won’t have time to um…get him a good price on the property he needs to unload? Interesting theory.”

“Or, he has been putting extra effort into keeping you from finding him and making a precedent of his case, getting him hefty fines and possibly jail time into the bargain. I’m sure selling his house from under him only adds insult to the injury.”

“Okay, so I haven’t been acting with a completely generous spirit. I still wonder how well he knew the folks he bought the house from. That Maxim fellow. He seems much more likely to have a hand in this.” She had been chewing on the link between the previous owner and the missing jewelry for a while now. A name like Mikhaylichenko showing up twice couldn’t be an accident.

“Are you making a comment about Russians, Mitzy?”

“I’m making a comment about someone who has the same last name as some famous and now stolen jewels.”

“So now all Russians are thieves?” he asked, baiting her.

“I think I preferred the deafening silence, thank you.” It was a good thing Ben was a talented graphic designer, because in all other respects, he was a real pain.

They sat in silence for quite a bit longer, Mitzy mindlessly scrolling through the multiple listing service and thinking about her troubles and Ben playing minesweeper.

Mitzy saw Bruce through the front window. She waved him in.

“Hey,” he said.

“It’s good to see you, Bruce.” She had never thought of Bruce as a gentle giant before, but after yesterday he seemed something of that sort. A gentle giant meets Clint Eastwood’s silent Man with No Name. “I don’t know what we would have all done if you hadn’t heard Sabrina yesterday. I really can’t thank you enough for saving her like that.”

“No prob.”

“I know her parents were really grateful as well. They called me this morning and told me the whole story.” 

Mitzy knew she was gushing but she felt that way, so that’s the way it was.

“So,” Bruce began but took his time getting the rest of the thought out. “I’ve seen this guy around. I think I know who he is.”

“You do?!” Mitzy was amazed.

“Yeah.” 

Ben even turned in his chair to join the conversation.

“I’m going down to the station to do an ID. But I don’t think they’ve got him.”

“Why don’t you think so?” Ben asked.

Bruce shrugged, then said, “Just call over if you see a black Nissan pickup parked around here. If you girls are alone, and you see the pickup, just call down to us, okay?”

Mitzy nodded her head vigorously. “Thanks, Bruce, really. Is there anything else I should know? Who do you think it is?”

Bruce shrugged again and left.

Ben swiveled back to his computer, his manhood wounded by the idea that he wasn’t man enough to protect the office. He’d be watching monster trucks tonight, that was for sure.

And now Mitzy had to wonder, why did Bruce know who the attacker was and she didn’t? She felt as though she was getting careless.

The rest of the day was long and tense. She couldn’t find anyone interested in buying a house on House Hunters. What she really needed was someone just a couple of weeks from closing on their house who’d go on TV and pick it again. Someone who owed her something.

She was back to the cash buyers.

She wondered how they would feel about going on TV. She called the contact numbers for the Realtor and got the busy signal, again and again and again.

Ridiculous.

She Googled the Realtor’s name with ‘complaints’ and got nothing.

Maybe it was time for someone to make a complaint about this lady. The Realtor had very little web presence, but she did find a local White Pages listing with her name. Mitzy wrote the address down and decided it was time to go for a drive.

The address she had found was across town, but traffic was good. She drove fast and made good time. She wasn’t familiar with this side of town so she paid close attention to the Google map she had printed. She meandered through a mixed use neighborhood.

There were a number of apartment buildings and some very rundown ranch homes. She drove past two half empty and dreadfully dilapidated mini-malls. One boasted an off brand cigarette and beer type ‘grocery store’ as an anchor and the other was lacking an anchor all together, but had a payday loan place and an ‘adult and family’ movie rental place. Not the best part of the city. Not where a successful Realtor would be living.

She began to feel sorry for her professional peer instead of mad at her. She ought to help her out of her misery, teach her a few things. She couldn’t help it if her client was a flake, or a fraud or a criminal. But someone ought to help her learn how to tell the difference.

Mitzy was on the right street now. It wasn’t a completely worthless neighborhood. The homes were probably fairly nice about twenty years ago. They had just had fallen into the rental trap. There were too many cars parked per home and an air of temporary about them all. More than one home had sheets in the windows instead of curtains and two had for rent signs out front. Mitzy pulled her little Miata into the home with the right house number.

The rain had turned into a soaking mist, but she got out of the car, stood on the unsheltered front step and gave the knocker a few hard raps.

A very small, elderly woman answered the door. She looked sweet.

“Is Helen Berry available?” Mitzy asked gently.

“This is she,” the sweet little lady chirped.

“I see.” Mitzy tried to keep smiling. “I don’t suppose you are Helen Berry, the Realtor I spoke to recently?”

“Goodness no,” the sweet little lady said.

“You wouldn’t happen to have a daughter who is in real estate?” she asked, grasping for straws.

“No, my dear, I do not. Is there anything else I can do for you? It’s a bit drafty in the door.” The poor lady was shivering in a house coat and slippers.

“Not at all. Thank you for your time. I’m sorry for bothering you.” Mitzy nodded goodbye and returned to her car. Obviously she had the wrong Helen Berry, but had there ever been another one?

Before she drove off, Mitzy used her Blackberry to Google Helen Berry in
Portland
and again, this address was the only one which came up.

The whole thing was giving her a headache.

Curt liked the idea. Buying a house for cash was kind of fun and unusual. Viewers also liked watching families with new babies find their perfect house. He was all over it, in fact, and got a hold of the elusive Helen Berry himself.