Book Clubbed

Tricia gave her sister a penetrating glare. “I thought you weren’t going to rush into signing a lease.”

“Once the place is cleared out, it should be adequate as a short-term solution.” She held her arm out, gesturing for Karen to sit.

Tricia shrugged. “While you negotiate, I’ll just wander around the place. Maybe check out the upstairs bedrooms.”

Angelica wasn’t listening. She grabbed a wad of paper towel from the roll that hung under the cabinet near the sink, dusted off one of the chairs, and sat down.

Tricia climbed the narrow stairway up to the darkened second floor. She fumbled for a light switch, found it, and flipped it. A dim bulb glowed at the top of the stairs. Like the floor below, the bedrooms were stacked with boxes and the floor was covered in dust. The ceiling sloped on both sides, which might have been perfect if the occupants had been children with twin beds. Had a happy family once dwelled within these walls? Tricia’s bedroom in her parents’ home had been the size of this house’s entire second floor, and had been beautifully furnished and decorated. Still, she would have traded that to have felt loved and cherished by her mother.

Don’t start down that road again, Tricia warned herself. She hadn’t dwelled on thoughts of her dead twin in days. She didn’t want to think about the life he’d never had—depriving her of a happy childhood as well.

Between the bedrooms was a tiny, and dingy, bathroom with a miniscule triangular shower. In a house this small it must have seemed like a luxury to the previous inhabitants.

Turning off the light, Tricia headed back downstairs. Angelica and Karen were deep into negotiations by then, and Tricia wandered into the downstairs bedroom, found the light switch, and flipped it. The ceiling globe was missing, leaving a bare bulb in a socket. Whoever had lived in the house must have been a cheapskate. The bulb couldn’t have been more than forty watts. Someone had left a metal crucifix hanging on the wall above where a bed might have gone and where there were now boxes and boxes of stuff stacked.

Tricia wandered back into the living room. The cartons weren’t taped; they’d merely had their top flaps folded so that they interleaved. If the contents were going to be trashed anyway, Tricia figured she might as well open one of the boxes to see what was inside. She chose the top box of the shortest pile and pulled open the flaps. The carton was filled with old magazines, newspaper articles, and recipes clipped from food boxes and jars. She pawed through the contents and found an envelope that seemed to be stuffed with old receipts. She pulled out the wad of folded papers, shuffled through them, and froze when she saw the name of the recipient on the power company’s monthly bill: Elizabeth Dittmeyer.

FIFTEEN

Tricia stared at the name on the utility bill, unsure what she should do next. After a few moments it became obvious—look for more evidence that it was actually Betsy who’d been renting the house to store her treasures.

Tricia shuffled through the bills. Yes, all of them were for Betsy at her Milford address, and they were only two years old—long after the breakup of her marriage—so it wasn’t surprising they were all in her name and not that of her ex.

So what happened? Had Betsy simply run out of space to store her junk and, since she had worked in Stoneham, approached the house’s former owner about using it as a storage facility? Why hadn’t she just rented a conventional self-store unit? There were plenty of them around. Or did she want her trash to be close to her workplace so she could visit it as need be? And why had she stopped paying the rent? From what Tricia had seen on her financial statements, Betsy had had plenty of money.

Tricia set the bills down and investigated the rest of the box. Paper, paper, and more paper. She closed the lid and moved the box to the floor, looking into the carton directly below it. It was filled with dirty stuffed animals. Had Betsy frequented tag sales in the area during her lunch hours and bought them all for small change? What had she intended to do with them? Clean them, find them loving homes with disadvantaged children during the holidays, or just keep them in case she needed the love and adoration of an inanimate object? It all seemed so sad and pointless.

Tricia opened a third box. Sitting on top of more magazines and newspaper clippings was a sealed fat #10 envelope with an equally fat red rubber band around it. It had probably come off a large bunch of celery from the Milford Shaw’s grocery store. She edged her thumbnail under the loose end of the flap and ripped it open a couple of inches, then gasped and stared at the sight of the stack of bills inside. She ripped the envelope a little more and flipped through the money—all well-used fifty-dollar bills. There had to be at least a hundred of them.

Footsteps heralded Angelica and Karen’s arrival into the home’s overstuffed living room, and Tricia shoved the envelope into her coat pocket, trying not to look guilty.

“We’ve struck a deal,” Karen said, smiling broadly.

“Yes,” Angelia said with what sounded like resignation, “we have. The Chamber can move in as soon as the property is cleaned up. A week, two at the most.” She narrowed her gaze, studying Tricia’s face. “And what have you been up to?”

“Nothing much. Just looking through some of these boxes.” She reached for the envelope of old receipts. “It seems Betsy Dittmeyer was the person renting storage space in the house.”

“Oh, no,” Angelica groaned. “Don’t tell me you’re going to report this to Chief Baker and that they’ll impound the house.”

“I don’t see how they can,” Karen said, sounding not quite sure of herself. “Our company bought the house and its contents.” She looked down at the briefcase in her hand. “Oh, darn. I left my purse in the kitchen. Excuse me, will you?”

“Of course,” Angelica said.

Tricia waited until Karen was out of earshot before speaking. “There’s more, but I don’t want to go into it with Karen here. We’ve got to get rid of her.”

Angelica shrugged. “I’ll take care of it,” she whispered, and cleared her throat as Karen reappeared from the kitchen. “Wouldn’t you agree, Trish?”

Tricia blinked, startled, then caught on. “Yes. Completely.”

Angelica turned to Karen. “Tricia has some marvelous ideas about how we should set up the Chamber offices. Do you mind if we hang around for a few minutes and discuss it? We’ve kept you here far too long, but if you’ll leave the keys with me, I promise I’ll get them back to you first thing in the morning,” Angelica said sweetly.

Karen looked unsure of herself, but then forced a smile. After all, the customer was always right. “Of course.” She fastened the buttons on her coat, and then fumbled in her pocket for the house keys, handing them to Angelica. “I’ll say good night, then.”

“Good night,” the sisters chorused.

Angelica watched as Karen headed for the door. “I was thinking, perhaps I should have the Chamber’s file cabinets spray-painted a nice shade of mauve.”

“Oh, that sounds wonderful,” Tricia agreed enthusiastically.

The door closed and Angelica sobered. “This had better be good.”

“Not only did I find Betsy’s old utility receipts, but I found this.” Tricia withdrew the envelope from her pocket and brandished it in front of Angelica.

“Good heavens,” Angelica cried and snatched the envelope. She flipped through the money. “There has to be at least five grand in here. Do you think Betsy was a counterfeiter?”

“Not a chance. Those aren’t new bills. We know she was a hoarder. Looks like she hoarded her money, too—in cash.”