Measure Twice Murder Once Page 2

  “Who’s going to buy a house with such a shady reputation?”

  “Someone who wants to brag to friends about its dodgy past,” I replied half-heartedly. “Or we don’t say anything.”

  We left shortly after that. I’d return the next day to take measurements. “The woman who sold the house? The former owner? Was she the … you know?” I asked once we were back in the pickup.

  “The madam? I guess she could’ve been, although it’s difficult to picture a madam settling into a condo community.”

  “Probably what she had in mind all along while she ran the business. To take care of herself in her later years.”

  “If she even was the madam, that is,” she said. “She could’ve obtained the place through a private sale. Or inherited it. I really need to read that abstract.”

  “You do that,” I told her. “Drop me off at home before you return to the office.”

  “You’re not going with me? We can study these documents together.”

  The enormity of buying a former brothel was still sinking in. During the brief time I’d been assigned to the vice squad, I’d seen the kind of trouble those places generated. Dissatisfied johns sometimes beat up the women. Jealous prostitutes beat each other up. Additionally, given the money exchanged for services, these places were magnets for other types of crime.

  Worried about what we’d gotten ourselves into, I couldn’t think straight enough at the moment to review the blueprints and abstract. I’d have to get back to those shortly, but for now, I needed space from my daughter.

  Jason, my cat, was there to greet me as soon as I entered my door. Jason was a rescue cat Val and I found on our doorstep when we moved into the duplex. Did I mention Val lived in the other half? Our housing arrangement seemed to work well for maintaining our privacy and still be close for mother-daughter discussions or work issues, although we had a small office/warehouse where we did most of our business.

  Jason was of undetermined lineage with medium-length black fur, a white mask and white front paws. We thought he was about seven years old, no longer a kitten and therefore no longer interested in playing with balls of yarn, which we’d kept him entertained with in the early years. But he was still in pretty good health. Getting around was no problem for him, although his preferred activity was napping in different parts of the house. He stayed mainly with me but was fond of Val and would deign to spend time with her when I needed to be away for long hours.

  My return home was the only time of day he liked to thread himself through my legs as I walked into the room. After all this time, this little act of possessiveness disguised as adulation still amazed me. Jason considered himself the man of the house, its owner, if you will. He was merely granting me the privilege of living here with him. For his continued loyalty and guardianship, I was allowed to pet and feed him.

  On this particular day, once I’d refilled his feed dish with his premium cat food and attended to his water dish, he left me alone while he feasted and then took a nap.

  A nap appealed to me also, but this latest challenge to our fledgling business kept me awake. Val meant well. She jumped on what she thought was a bargain in hopes of redeeming herself from her earlier mistake. And I had to admit, aside from the brothel part, which was a huge aside, it was a great candidate for renovation.

  By morning the next day, I’d pretty much lost my mad, although I was still bothered that Val had purchased the property on her own. We needed to get that part straightened out before we were ready for the next house. But since it was a done deal and the house appeared to be in fairly good shape, I was ready to approach the project with as much optimism as I could muster.

  I called Ernie and asked him to meet me at the house. He was waiting when I arrived. A tall, lanky guy with a scraggly beard, Ernie was about ten years my junior. He’d been an instructor in my structural engineering classes, which is where I met him.

  “In my earlier years, I used to hear rumors about a house on this block that was a house of another sort. I never followed through on them, of course, but those rumors wouldn’t happen to have anything to do with this particular location?” he asked.

  He would find out sooner or later. I might as well admit what I suspected now and get it over with. “Maybe. Val read through the abstract last night but couldn’t find much to support my suspicion. I’m waiting to hear what you think after walking through the interior.”

  He shook his head in disbelief. “You guys bought a house you only suspect was a cathouse?”

  “Val came upon a deal she couldn’t resist. Great price, but she had to act immediately. No time even to bring me in on it.”

  “Valerie Kowalski got duped? Hard to believe. Her days at the bank taught her to question everyone’s motives.”

  “Even my daughter can get blindsided when she sees a bargain. And that’s what the purchase of this place appears to be, on the face of it. I’m glad you were able to stop by this soon to help me evaluate whether we got a good deal or got shafted.”

  “What makes you suspect this was a …?”

  “Brothel, my preferred term for it. Other than the deal on the price and the pressure the real estate agent put on Valerie to make up her mind immediately, I won’t tell you the rest until you’ve inspected the house yourself.”

  “I’ll get to the interior shortly. First, I want to check the outside. The exterior isn’t bad, at least from the front. Haven’t walked around the house yet to check the foundation.”

  “I’ll go with you, although I’m not dressed to examine the crawl spaces.”

  “No you won’t. One of my guys will be here soon. I don’t like being under these things without someone to watch my back.”

  When his guy showed up, I excused myself and went into the house. Even though we had blueprints from which to work, I felt more confident taking my own measurements. Once I’d developed a preliminary design plan, I’d need to recheck.

  While I waited for Ernie to finish with the foundation, I walked through the first floor, envisioning what could be. One of those three bathrooms could remain as a downstairs powder room, and one of the bedrooms could become an office. If we could knock down the other walls, we’d have a fairly nice open-concept living room.

  The kitchen also showed promise. Like we’d discussed the day before, we could remove the wall between the kitchen and the pantry to expand the kitchen. Hopefully, there’d be room for an island, which is what so many homebuyers were seeking these days.

  Before I evaluated the second floor, I couldn’t resist checking out that alcove in the backyard. Had the awning survived the night? Seeing it was still there, I couldn’t help thinking, “Enjoy the rest of your time there, awning, because you’re comin’ down soon.” God, I was talking to awnings now. I needed to get a grip.

  I was finished with the first floor by the time Ernie entered the house.

  “What’s the verdict?” I asked.

  He rubbed his chin. “From what I’ve seen so far, you guys got lucky. The foundation is still in good shape. Let’s hope these interior walls hold up the same.”

  I shared my hopes of removing as many walls as possible. To my relief, on our walk-through he decided that all but three of the walls, one on the first floor and two on the second, could come down. The one separating the kitchen from the pantry would also be on the demo list. Thus far, a successful morning.

  I locked the door as soon as he left, went back upstairs and continued my task. About fifteen minutes later, there was a loud knocking at the door. As I went to answer it, I wondered if there was a doorbell. Something we should add if there wasn’t.

  A woman with shoulder-length black hair stood on the other side of the door. She forced a smile. “Hello. Rumor has it you bought this house.”

  “Rumor is correct for once. Are you a neighbor?”

  She shook her head, her dangly black bead earrings jangling as she did. “No, I live in another part of town these days. I got a call from a friend that this place had been sold. I didn’t even know it was on the market.”

  “It wasn’t. My partner heard it was about to be listed and asked to see it first. She decided it would be a good investment, so we snapped it up right away.”

  She closed her eyes briefly. “I wish I’d known.”

  “Why? Would you have put in a bid yourself?”

  “I had no idea Janine was ready to sell,” she said, avoiding a response to my question.

  “Janine? She was the owner?”

  She narrowed her eyes. “Yes. You didn’t know?”

  “We went through the agent. We’re in the process of reviewing the abstract. You’re that much ahead of us in that department. How do you know her?”

  “I, uh, worked with her at one time.”

  Little bells went off inside my head. Had this woman been one of the house’s occupants? She appeared to be about forty. Still quite attractive with her dark hair. She could’ve been one of the ladies. But for all I knew, she hadn’t had anything to do with working here. I’d let my imagination run away from me. Me, the confirmed realist.

  “I don’t suppose you’d let me take a look around?” she asked, inching forward.

  I planted myself even more firmly in front of her. “There’s not much to see at the moment. You’re welcome to return after we put the house on the market. Maybe you’d even like to put in a bid then.”

  “Thank you. I’ll consider that. But I’d like to see it today. It’s safe, isn’t it?”

  Why was she pushing? What was there about the house she wanted to see? “I’m sorry. I can’t afford to take the liability if anything happens to you. My engineer has only done a quick once-over. I can’t guarantee the security of the floors or the steps or any other part of the structure.”

  She frowned, revealing more wrinkles than I’d originally noticed. “I’m sorry to hear that. I don’t think it would be that big a deal. But I’ll go along with your concerns.” She swiveled and sashayed away.

  For a second I considered changing my mind but in the end held my ground. I had to put the company’s best interests first. It wasn’t until I was back upstairs resuming my measurements that I got to wondering why she’d turned up. How had she known the house had been sold? Had she talked to the former owner, Janine? Had Janine sent her to spy on me? When I noticed the last measurement I’d written down was 120 feet, I had to stop, remeasure and dismiss these idle speculations, because they were negatively affecting my work.

  I spent the next two hours focused on the job at hand, actually redoing a couple of other measurements in case my mind had been wandering when I recorded them as well. Finally, satisfied my work was accurate, I locked the house behind me and set off for my car.

  “You’d better not be planning to continue Janine Foster’s business, missy.”

  I hadn’t seen the woman approach. By now, I’d stepped off the curb and was standing in the street. Clothed in a loose-fitting housedress and wearing fuzzy slippers, she’d planted herself on the sidewalk. Hands on hips, she was a short, dumpy woman with straggly gray hair and a scowl that dominated her face.

  Better sense told me not to engage, but my curiosity had been piqued. “Am I supposed to know you? Because I don’t.”

  She harrumphed. “I’m not surprised that floozy failed to mention all the neighbors she’s angered over the years. I take it you’re the new owner of that place?”

  She was a neighbor. And apparently her interactions with Janine or whoever hadn’t been positive. It behooved me to make nice with her, if possible, so I could learn as much as possible about the house. “My company plans to renovate it. I take it your experience with the previous owner was less than positive. I hope you’ll give us a chance to show you we mean you no harm.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “If you plan to have people, men, coming here at all hours of the day for I hesitate to think what, you can forget about our getting along. Things calmed down the last few years. I assumed those days were over.”

  I didn’t like the idea of discussing the house’s history out here in the open, but this could be my only chance to learn more about our new purchase. “By those days, do you mean …?”

  She snickered. “You know what I mean. How that woman ever got away with goings-on over there is a mystery to me. She must’ve had an in with the police.”

  I bit my tongue. My usual response whenever anyone denigrated the people I used to work with was to fight back, but at the moment, I wanted to learn more, so it might not be the best idea to let her know about my background. “What do you mean by goings-on?”

  “I told you. Men coming and going at all times of the day.”

  “Surely it wasn’t a steady stream? For that matter, she could’ve run many types of businesses from her home. How do you know it was that kind?”

  “Why are you questioning me? Maybe you’re one of her friends or associates or whatever you’re called.”

  “First, I’m not any of those. I’m questioning you because, between the two of us, the former owner has not shared any of the details about the house’s history with us. I think it would be helpful to learn as much as possible about them now to avoid any more confrontations with neighbors like you. Would you like to have coffee with me? My treat, of course.”

  She glanced down at her outfit. “I’m, uh, not exactly dressed to go out. Why don’t you come to my house instead? I’m right across the street.”

  Not the most thrilling idea, if her house was anything like her wardrobe, but the chance to learn more about what might have gone on in that house was too tempting. “Okay. Now?”

  “Sure. I might need to move a few stacks of magazines, but the rest of the place looks fine.”

  And she was right. Maybe it wasn’t exactly up to House Beautiful standards, but the living room she led me to after passing through the enclosed porch was tidy. She excused herself to make the coffee, and I resisted the urge to investigate the furnishings, except for the pile of magazines she’d stacked together and moved to the coffee table. Interesting assortment. A couple of architectural journals, one about sports cars and two on gourmet cuisine.

  “I’m Rowena Summerfield,” I told her when she returned. “I’m a partner in Nailed It Home Renovations.” I held out my hand, hoping she’d take it.

  “Gloria Porter, Rowena.” To my relief, she took my hand in hers. “I’ve read that rehabbing older homes has become a big business. Apparently even here in Shasta.”

  “We’re fairly new. Just starting to make a name for ourselves.”

  She did a double take. “You’ll certainly do that when the word leaks out that you fixed up a house like that one.”

  “I’m hoping that leak won’t come from you, Gloria. At least until my partner and I figure out how to leverage that information to our advantage.”

  She held up a finger, indicating to hold that thought while I presumed she went after our coffee. “I won’t say anything about your getting duped,” she said when she returned. “At least, not until other neighbors start talking. Then it might work to your benefit to have someone on your side to smooth over your situation.”

  “Thank you. Do you think there’s much chance of others making a big deal of it?”

  “Only those who were here when the place was active. Anymore, that’s not so many of us but still a few. There’s not much else happening in most of our lives these days, so your little dilemma will make great conversational fodder.”

  “So happy I can add to everyone’s amusement.”

  “I’d bet money at least one if not all of them saw me talking to you out on the street. Maybe even witnessed your coming with me to the house. It will help if I put in a good word for you, but you might want to consider some way you can get on their good sides yourself.”

  I considered what she’d said. “Any suggestions?”

  She gave my question some thought. “Nothing specific. You’ll have to call them as you see them. Be as up front with everyone as you’ve been with me.”

  As I started to leave, I remembered why I’d suggested we needed privacy. “Before I go, you were about to tell me why you were so sure the place was what we both suspected.”

  She blew out a breath. “This is just between us. Okay?”

  “Okay?”

  “I know what it was because my son, Jonas, went there.”

  CHAPTER 3

  “Your son met up with a prostitute?” I had no idea our discussion would take this turn. Now I had direct proof about the house’s history. Well, secondary proof.

  “Before I go into that, you’ve got to know that it wasn’t always that way with Janine. Once upon a time, when she, her husband and their little girl moved into that house, they were a family like anyone else on this block. The husband had a good job with a local dairy. Paid well enough for her to stay home and take care of the child, Carrie. She wasn’t real active in the community, stayed at home a lot. Didn’t seem to have many hobbies or outside interests, even after Carrie went to school during the day.”

  “Did you become friends?”

  “Not exactly, although we did have coffee a few times. She wasn’t the best conversationalist. I couldn’t tell if she was shy or didn’t have anything to say.”

  “When did she become a … madam?”

  “Several years after they moved in—the girl must’ve been a young teen by then—the husband died of a heart attack at work. The next I heard, Janine had gotten a factory job at Brytton Industries. They manufactured parts for airplanes. I later heard that, once she graduated from high school, Carrie went to work on the line there also.”

  “I seem to remember Brytton Industries being bought out by a larger out-of-town conglomerate.”

  She nodded. “A lot of people in town got laid off, including Janine and Carrie. The next thing I heard, they’d turned to prostitution to keep the house. That was only a rumor at first. Talk amongst the neighbors. Then I started seeing strange cars parked in front day and night and all sorts of men going in and out of the house.”