Book Clubbed (A Booktown Mystery) Page 17

  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.”

  Angelica’s eyes narrowed and her smile widened. “This will go a long way toward repaying the money Betsy stole from the Chamber.”

  “You can’t take that,” Tricia protested.

  “You heard Karen. These boxes are considered trash. They’re going to throw them in a Dumpster. You finding this envelope is no different than the Dumpster diving you did with Ginny and her friends a couple of years ago.”

  “These boxes haven’t yet been thrown out as trash. As of this moment, they still belong to Nigela Ricita Associates.”

  Angelica opened her mouth to protest, but must have thought better of it. She sighed. “What do you suggest we do?”

  “Call Antonio. He’s the NRA representative here in Stoneham.”

  “Of course, you’re right.” Angelica opened her purse and took out her cell phone, hit the speed dial, and waited. “Antonio? It’s Angelica.” She paused. “Angelica Miles. Head of the Chamber of Commerce. Owner of the Cookery—” She paused again. “Yes, that Angelica. You’re hysterical, you know that?” she deadpanned.

  While she explained the situation, Tricia dug through the box, looking for more cash. What could Betsy have been thinking when she stashed the money in the box? Had she forgotten she’d done so when she’d decided not to pay the rent on the house? Was it possible there was even more cash to be found?

  Finally Angelica hung up. “He’ll be here in ten minutes.”

  It was almost seven o’clock. “I’ll bet Ginny won’t be thrilled by that.”

  “It’s in his company’s best interests,” Angelica pointed out. “What should we do in the meantime?”

  “Start looking through the rest of the boxes. Who knows what we might find.”

  Angelica’s expression soured. “I wish I’d brought a big bottle of hand sanitizer. If this stuff is as dirty as the crap in Betsy’s house, we’ll probably catch some dreadful—and lethal—disease.” She shrugged out of her coat. “Hand me your coat and hat and I’ll put them in the kitchen. At least it’s cleaner there than in here.”

  Tricia handed over her coat and went back to work emptying the box.

  A knock at the door came some ten or so minutes later, and Angelica opened it to admit not only Antonio, but Ginny, too. “Welcome to the treasure hunt,” Angelica said, sounding anything but enthusiastic.

  “May I see the envelope of cash?” Antonio asked.

  With reluctance, Angelica surrendered the envelope. The three women watched as Antonio counted the cash. “Five thousand dollars exactly,” he said, sounding astonished.

  “There could be a lot more,” Tricia said.

  “Or there could be nothing,” Ginny said, sounding discouraged as she took in the room and those beyond, all filled with boxes. “What are we going to do?”

  “Betsy Dittmeyer stole from the Chamber of Commerce. They deserve to be the recipient of this windfall,” Angelica said.

  “And what would Nigela Ricita have to say about that?” Tricia asked.

  Antonio looked uncomfortable. He looked down at the cash in his hand, and then back to Angelica. “I will have to ask her. And that is the first thing I intend to do tomorrow morning.”

  “And what do we do in the meantime?” Tricia asked.

  Antonio sighed. “I think it would be prudent for us to go through all the boxes.”

  “Us who?” Ginny asked, sounding appalled.

  “I don’t think we should tell anyone about this until we know what we’re dealing with,” Angelica advised.

  “The first thing you should probably do is talk to a lawyer. If nothing else, there might be some tax liability,” Tricia advised.

  “I am not worried about paying taxes on a paltry five thousand dollars,” Antonio said, “though I agree in principle. But first, I will talk with Ms. Ricita.”

  “I hope you were kidding about us going through all these boxes,” Ginny said, sounding resolute.

  “No, I was not,” Antonio said. “There may be other valuables that can be sold. The cost of renovation will not be cheap. And Ms. Ricita has not decided what to do with the property yet.”

  “She’s renting it to me,” Angelica said firmly. “I just signed a one-year lease.”

  “Yes,” Antonio said, nodding, “the plan was to leave it as is—with a few enhancements—for a short time, but ultimately the house will be razed and we will rebuild in much the same way we did for the Dog-Eared Page. In the long run, it will be a much more substant
ial investment.”

  “Do I have to be part of this project?” Ginny asked resentfully.

  “You are a member of the NRA team,” Angelica pointed out. After all, Nigela Ricita Associates owned the store Ginny managed.

  Antonio’s smile was beguiling. “I am sure our employer will reward you handsomely.”

  “She’d better,” Ginny groused, then let out a resigned sigh. “Okay, what’s the plan of attack?”

  They all looked at Tricia for guidance.

  “There’s no way we can make a dent in this tonight—”

  “I still think we should try,” Angelica said.

  Ginny sighed. “We can’t just dump it all on the floor. That would make sorting too difficult.”

  “I could retrieve my car and go to the convenience store up by the highway and buy out all their heavy-duty trash bags,” Angelica said.

  Antonio shook his head. “I would not feel comfortable letting you go on your own at this time of night.”

  It wasn’t all that late, Tricia reflected.

  “If you ladies don’t mind starting the work, I will get the trash bags and be back in fifteen minutes. With four of us going through the boxes, we may be able to clear out at least this living room tonight.” He looked hopefully at Tricia. “Are we in agreement?”

  Never one to turn down a chance to dig for clues, and this time literally, she nodded.

  Antonio kissed Ginny good-bye and took off.

  “Where do we start?” Angelica asked.

  “Let’s section off the room,” Tricia said, taking charge.

  “And how do we do that?” Ginny asked.

  “We’ll each work in a corner and dump an entire box. That would seem the easiest approach. Then we’ll refill the boxes with whatever looks like salvageable material. Perhaps we can even donate some of it to various charities—like the Clothes Closet.”

  Angelica and Ginny nodded, chose a corner, and set off to work.

  Unfortunately, soon the piles of trash far outweighed the salvageable materials. As an irrational hoarder, Betsy collected the oddest array of what seemed to Tricia to be nothing more than junk—most of which was absolutely worthless. They soon came up with a system: stuff to be tossed, stuff that could be used again, and paper to be recycled.

  Angelica was the first to come up with another envelope full of cash. This time it was only a hundred one-dollar bills—no more, no less. Did Betsy only save money in one-hundred-bill increments? Was the number one hundred somehow sacred to her?

  By the time Antonio returned from the convenience store, the women had found envelopes full of fives and tens—again, each with one hundred bills.

  “We have to keep looking,” Tricia said as Antonio scooped trash into the bags. Ginny used Angelica’s author signing pen to mark the boxes with what to keep, sell, and recycle.

  They worked silently—each of them concentrating on the task at hand. By midnight, they’d found $44,600 in cash and had nearly filled a large peanut butter jar (which Angelica had found under the kitchen sink) with loose change. And to think they’d only gone through what amounted to about a quarter of the boxes in the house.

  Antonio leaned against one of the piles of boxes, his face drawn. “I can ask the employees at the Brookview Inn to volunteer to help us go through the rest of these boxes tomorrow,” he offered, but the women voted him down.

  “It’s not that I don’t trust them,” Ginny said, “but why lead them to temptation?”

  “I agree,” Angelica said. “It might take the four of us the rest of the week, but I think we can do this more efficiently. That is, if the Dumpster Antonio ordered is delivered by tomorrow.”

  “And who takes charge of the money?” Tricia asked.

  “Me,” Antonio said adamantly. “Under the terms of the sale of this property, all of this now belongs to my employer.”

  “I thought she was your stepmother,” Tricia said.

  “She is the only mother I have left. And everything in this house now belongs to her,” Antonio stressed. “I will take care of it for her.”

  “Of course you will,” Angelica said and stepped up to rest a hand on Antonio’s shoulder. He turned and gave her a wan smile.

  “Then it’s agreed. We’ll meet here again tomorrow night to continue searching,” Tricia said.

  The others nodded.

  “I will call the waste management company and see to it that they deliver a recycling container, as well,” Antonio said.

  “Can we borrow the inn’s shredder? There are financial papers here that really should be shredded,” Tricia said.

  “That’s a real time sink. We could box up everything of that nature and send it to a commercial shredder. The money we found will more than take care of that,” Angelica said.

  “How could Betsy have just walked away from all that money?” an exasperated Ginny asked.

  Tricia shook her head. “Talk about being absentminded.”

  “That wasn’t how I’d have described Betsy,” Angelica said. “The woman had a mind like a steel trap.”

  “With all the junk she collected over a lifetime, she probably mislaid it.”

  “If we find as much cash upstairs, NRA will have acquired the property for free,” Antonio remarked with irony.

  “Please don’t make me empty any more boxes tonight,” Ginny pleaded.

  “Take your tired wife and go home,” Angelica said in a voice that meant business. “We can finish this tomorrow night.”

  Ginny needed no further prodding. She struggled to her feet and headed for the kitchen, where they’d all stashed their coats on the backs of the kitchen chairs.

  “I would ask you ladies not to speak of what we’ve found here tonight,” Antonio said.

  “My lips are sealed,” Angelica said, and to prove it she turned an imaginary key in front of her mouth.

  “What are you going to tell Karen?” Tricia asked.

  “Nothing. At least for now. Now that the property is rented, she doesn’t need to concern herself with it. It is up to me to have the house cleaned and painted,” Antonio said.

  “Are you going to call Chief Baker and tell him what we’ve found?” Tricia asked.

  Antonio shook his head. “I see no reason to do so. When NRA bought the house, it was stipulated that it came as is with all contents. The former owner was adamant—she did not want to go to the trouble or expense to empty it.”

  “Couldn’t Betsy’s heirs press for a share?” Angelica asked.

  “I do not think so. The former owner presented copies of receipts of several registered and certified letters demanding the tenant clear the property. They were signed as having been received. Notice was given. Notice was ignored—much to NRA’s good fortune, it now turns out. However, for your peace of mind, I will consult with our attorney,” he said.

  “I think that’s prudent,” Angelica agreed.

  Ginny arrived, her arms laden with their coats, hats, scarves, and purses. She passed them out and then they all headed for the door, where Angelica surrendered the keys to Antonio. He locked the door behind them.

  “I told Karen she’d have those keys back first thing in the morning.”

  “As I said, I will keep them, and let her know that I have them.”

  “What time will we meet here tomorrow night?” Tricia asked.

  “If you come just after five, I will supply a gourmet take-out dinner from the Brookview Inn,” Antonio promised.

  That seemed like a perfectly reasonable offer.

  “Good night,” Tricia called, and she and Angelica started back down the sidewalk toward their shops and homes.

  “Well, this entire evening was totally unexpected,” Angelica said.

  “It sure was. I never really knew Betsy, but from what we’ve found out about her since she died, she was ev
en stranger than I’d given her credit for.”

  “You and me both,” Angelica agreed.

  They crossed the street and continued down the sidewalk. “I don’t understand her. Why would Betsy walk away from thousands of dollars in cash?”

  “Do you think maybe she was ill? Early onset of Alzheimer’s disease or something?” Angelica asked.

  “Not that I noticed. And anyway, you’d have had a better handle on that.”

  “Yes, I suppose I would. It could just be that she mixed up the boxes she sent for storage at the rental house and the stuff she kept at home. The boxes sure looked the same to me, and none of them were marked.”

  “Or do you think there was something in the rental house she didn’t want found and she was willing to part with everything so that it would never be found?”

  “I’m not sure that makes sense, but in retrospect, nothing Betsy did makes sense.”

  They reached the Cookery and Angelica dug in her pocket for the keys. “Want to come up for a nightcap?”

  “Are you kidding? It’s hours past my bedtime.”

  “Mine, too. And I’ve still got to take Sarge out for one last walk.”

  “Do you want me to hang around until you do?”

  Angelica shook her head. “You aren’t here most other nights, why should this one be different?”

  “Because there’s been yet another death in the village. In your own building,” Tricia reminded her.

  “Yes, but if whoever killed Betsy wanted to come after me, I’m pretty sure they would have already done so,” Angelica said reasonably.

  That didn’t make Tricia feel any better. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

  “Good night,” Angelica said, opened the shop door, and went inside, locking it behind her.

  Tricia walked the ten or so feet to her own store and let herself in. She had a feeling that with all she’d learned that evening, she’d have a hard time drifting off to sleep.

  Damn Betsy Dittmeyer for being such a strange duck. Damn her to hell.

  SIXTEEN

  Tricia dreamed about cash. Piles and piles of it, in every denomination. So much cash she was buried to her waist. Like a child tossing confetti into the air, she joyfully tossed fistfuls of bills, laughing with merriment. That is, until an angry Betsy Dittmeyer appeared, demanding Tricia give her back her money, and not until she’d counted it out in hundred-bill increments. But Tricia had no envelopes or rubber bands to keep the cash together. Betsy was not pleased and berated her, her voice growing shriller and shriller, threating to pummel her until . . .