Double Cross

‘She’s an old one, isn’t she? How long have you had her?’

The elderly woman smiled slightly and replied, ‘Oh, yes. I’ve been in this house since the mid-50s. My husband, Carl, God rest his soul, and I bought it after we got married. So, what does that make it?’ she began counting on her fingers, ‘sixty-three years.’ Chuckling, she added, ‘I guess the house and I are both old.’

Martin ran his hands along the mantle in the large, main living room. Solid oak. Little rabbits carved into the ends and vines and flowers along its face. They don’t make them like this anymore.

‘Why do you want to sell, Mrs. Thurnberg? No offense, but it seems a bit late in life to be packing up and starting over.’

Mrs. Thurnberg tottered over to the sofa and gingerly sat down, shifting a doily on the arm of the couch. ‘Well, with no family and…this house is getting too big for me. The stairs…’ her eyes glanced over to the formidable curved staircase visible from the living room, ‘it’s getting harder to climb them every day.’

Only half listening to her, Martin walked over to the doorway into the foyer and looked up the stairs to the second floor. It was a beautiful staircase. Again, solid, dark-stained oak banister with a carved mermaid as the newel post at the base. Sturdy, well-fit, wide stairs led to the second floor landing. It was dusty and the wood needed a heavy duty lemon oil polish to bring out its true beauty, but there were no broken spindles or any wood rot.

‘I can imagine that taking care of a place this big is difficult. You have no family or friends to help out?’ He really hoped there wasn’t anyone in her life that would complicate negotiations for the sale of the house. It was always easier just dealing with the little old ladies. Their sense of value of their home was always tempered by the perspective of fading time. No sense clinging to material possessions when all you really wanted was good health and a few more years on Earth.

‘Unfortunately, Carl and I never had any children, so we took in boarders to keep us from getting lonely and help with expenses. Most stayed briefly, not really keeping in touch. My kin and all our friends are dead. That just leaves me. I was hoping to get enough money to live comfortably in Boca Raton. There is a lovely retirement community there, all inclusive, that I have been…’

Martin nodded along with her tale, but interrupted her at “all inclusive”. ‘So you won’t be moving your belongings?’

‘Oh, no. Nothing inside. The furniture is so heavy. Maybe I’ll have a garage sale before moving.’

Martin could hardly hold his tongue. He wanted to shout as the top of his lungs with glee. But he forced himself to put on an impassive expression and calmly say, ‘Ah, Mrs. Thurnberg that sounds like a lot of work. You don’t want to spend your last few weeks in the house dragging everything to the curb. I have a friend who does estate sales. He’ll give you an estimate and auction off the whole lot. Just set aside anything you want to take with you to Florida.’

While he explained the auctioning process to her slowly and loudly, his eyes darted about, evaluating the house contents. A cherry armoire, silver candle sticks, a gilded mirror. The contents of this house would sell for a pretty penny. Kamiki, his auctioneer “friend”, would pay Mrs. Thurnberg enough to satisfy her, but nowhere near what it was worth. Kamiki would take the lion’s share of the profits and pay a finder’s fee to Martin. His portion would be enough to pay for any upgrades needed for the house flip and he would still have some cash to celebrate.

‘Are you sure, Mr. Sawyer? I don’t want to be any trouble for you, but that sure would make it easier for me.’

Relief spread across her shriveled, little dried apple of a face as he nodded. Martin couldn’t help but smile. He took her delicate hand in his, patted it and said, ‘It’s no trouble. No trouble at all, Mrs.Thurnberg.

They toured the rest of the house, discussing the electric, plumbing, and the state of the roof. Typical aging of a house this size, in need of a little love to get it back to its former glory. But Martin had been in this game a long time. He knew that the market was up right now. He could put in a bit of fresh landscaping in the front and sell it as is, making at least eight hundred thousand. Or, if he brought it up to code and refreshed some of the essentials, he could ask over a million for it. All he had to do was convince the old lady that her property was more expensive to fix than she could get for it in a sale and he could buy it for a bird’s song. Direct pressure in asking for a price always made them hesitate. He preferred a more subtle approach.

‘Ma’am, this is a lovely home. I would be happy to either sell it for you or buy it myself and refurbish it for a later sale, but I don’t feel comfortable giving you a price off the cuff. If you don’t mind, I would like to have an inspector go over the house, see what may need replaced or repaired, then I would be happy to give you an offer.’ Martin smiled and waited for her response before going in for the kill.

‘Oh, yes, I can understand that. What would an inspector look at?’

Martin pointed toward the ceiling light and said, ‘Electric, to see what it would take to bring it up to code. He would look for water damage, termites…the usual. I am sure it will all be fine. You’re not hiding anything are you?’ He gave her a quick wink in jest.

The old lady faked a gasp and said, ‘Oh, Mr. Sawyer. Don’t tease.’ But then a trace of worry appeared on her face and she asked, ‘Do you know anyone you could recommend for the inspection?’

There it was. He had his hooks in. ‘Of course, I’ll leave you his name and number.’

***

Martin waved Stottlemeyer over to the table in the corner where he and Kamiki were already nursing beers and picking at a plate of chili cheese fries. The third man plopped down in the chair so hard that Marin was afraid the spindle legs would give out under his weight.

‘What ya got, Sawyer?’

Martin smiled, but it was insincere. He preferred Kamiki’s nervous and prissy demeanor to Stottlemeyer’s sloppy aggressiveness. Still it was hard to find someone in this business that was brutally unscrupulous and could keep his mouth shut.

‘It’s a large Victorian on Watermont Avenue. Intact, original plaster, no half-ass additions or tacky updates. I’m pretty sure all the flooring is original oak. No laminate. Owner is in her 80’s and looking to go to some geezer Disneyland in Florida. I told her I could pay cash, after an “independent” inspection, of course.’ Martin used finger air quotes when he said the word independent, then paused, took a drink of his beer, and looked at Stottlemeyer for a response.

The man was shoving chili fries in his mouth as he listened. Getting as much food in as he could for free, thought Martin. Typical. Kamiki withdrew his hands from the table top and wiped his pursed lips with his napkin. Clearly, his appetite for the shared food had evaporated in Stottlemeyer’s presence. Disgusting bastard.

‘I can do my inspection Thursday, provided the old lady calls. What’s her name?’

‘Thurnberg. Bonnie Thurnberg.’

Stottlemeyer’s face scrunched up like he was deep in thought. Martin was pretty sure Stottlemeyer didn’t have deep thoughts. Maybe he was passing gas.

‘That name rings a bell. There was a guy that managed the old feed mill with that name. Her husband?’

Martin shrugged. ‘Could be. Doesn’t matter. He’s dead and she is the sole owner of the house. That’s all I care about.’

Stottlemeyer shifted his girth in the chair and waved to the barman for a beer. ‘Yeah, but I seem to recall there was something weird about Thurnberg’s death. Might affect the resale.’

Martin stared at Stottlemeyer in warning. The fat man flinched. ‘Or not. I’ll make quiet inquiries. Relax. I’m not going to mess up your flip. Nothing in it for me.’

The barman brought a draft to the table, placed a cardboard coaster, and set the pint down. Stottlemeyer snagged the beer and drank a third of it down without breathing. Kamiki stared at him with his lips pressed together in disapproval. Stottlemeyer put the glass down beside the coaster, burped, and asked, ‘What’s Kamiki got in it?’

Martin was cautious not to give too much information. Additional money on the table would make his grubby associate seek a larger cut. He was about to spin a tale of another job, when Kamiki interjected, ‘The old woman has an armoire she wants to remove before the sale. I’m going to give her a deal on it and maybe a few more things in the house.’

Stottlemeyer snorted and said, ‘I bet.’

The three of them finished their drinks, made arrangements for their business dealings, and parted ways. Outside the bar, Kamiki waved Martin over for a last word, after Stottlemeyer had ambled to his truck and left. ‘I hate to agree with our unsavory friend, but he’s right about there being something off about the Thurnberg death. You need to find out if it will affect the sale, before you buy the house. I wouldn’t put it past Stot-pot to collect his money, blab about Thurnberg, and then you get left holding the bag. You know he isn’t subtle. If he starts poking around, stirs something up…’

Martin held up his hand to silence Kamiki. ‘You’re right. It’s better to get ahead of it. See what you can find out. You have better connections with the locals and are more discrete than Stottlemeyer.’

The antiques dealer nodded his head. ‘I’ll be in touch.’

***

‘I was out at the house this afternoon.’

‘Thurnberg’s?’ Martin asked the man on the other end of the phone. Stottlemeyer always assumed you could pick up on what he was talking about with no point if reference. That or he was too lazy to have a normal conversation. The Thunberg house wasn’t the only one they were working on together; there was a brick split-level in the works as well. It wasn’t immediately evident which one he was referring to.

‘Yeah, she rang me a couple days ago. I looked at all the necessary things – boiler, roof, electric – you know. The electric isn’t up to code, but she said she did some upgrades in the 90s that will grandfather it in. The roof is intact. No water damage. All in all, I think you just have to do something about the boiler. What do you want me to tell her is wrong with the house? What price point are you trying to get her too?’

Martin wanted to profit at least four hundred thousand on the flip. The market was running high now, but he knew the fall was coming and sales slowed as the weather cooled. If he got four hundred, he could spend the winter in Mexico living well and have enough in the spring to start his next flip. ‘Tell her the electric isn’t up to code, the eaves are rotting, and the boiler needs replaced. That it would take about thirty grand to get it market ready. I’ll offer her four hundred for it and maybe end up paying out four fifty. That should get the house where I want it.’ He rubbed his free hand through his hair and added, ‘and Stottlemeyer, do you have a boiler that would fit that house.’ He could almost hear the fat man’s smile spread in the pause before he answered.

‘Of course. It’ll add fifteen hundred to my cut, but the good news is that I can have it ready to install as soon as the sale is final.’

God, he hated that tubby bastard sometimes.

After he got off the phone with Stottlemeyer, Martin made an appointment with Mrs. Thurnberg. He made sure she would get the inspection report and have time to fret over it, but not enough time to get a second evaluation. Feeling pretty good about the progression of the upcoming sale, Martin called Kamiki.

‘Have you been over to see the old lady about the house contents?’

‘Well, hello to you too. No reason to forget about common courtesy.’

Martin sighed. Kamiki could be so pretentious. ‘Hello, Kamiki. Have you been over to the old lady’s house?’

He heard paper rustling and then Kamiki said, ‘Your delightful elderly friend has about thirty thousand in antiques and that doesn’t include the little trinkets all around the place. If she is willing to part with some of those crystal nic-nacks and the two paintings in the upstairs guest room, I could get another eight.'

'That sounds like a lot for crap she bought in the 50s.'

'Not really. A lot of post-war youth started their household with handed down belongings from aging and dying relatives, things that were from mid-last century. They have increased in value, as long as they are in good condition. Ms. Bonnie has taken great care of her things.'

‘Bonnie? You on a first name basis with the old bird?’

Kamiki chuckled a bit and replied, ‘She is a lovely little imp. Quite the story teller, too. She is edgier than her sweet grandma exterior belies. Oh, and I asked the old gossips down at the auction house about Old Man Thurnberg. They said back in the mid 70’s he ran off with one of the Thurnbergs’ boarders. A hot young red-head. Mrs. Thurnberg apparently didn’t want the shame or pity of being abandoned, so she told everyone that he died. Even had a funeral for him. It was quite the talk of the town at the time, because she paid Shaffer’s Funeral Home to bury an empty casket.’

Martin should have felt some degree of relief that there was nothing major tainting the sale of the house, but now he was worried about Old Man Thurnberg coming out of the wood work to lay claim to the house. Sighing, he asked, ‘What are the chances that bastard will pop back up?’

‘Next to zero. He was a bit older than the missus. He would be nearly ninety now. Even if he showed back up, wait a week and the grim reaper will claim him.’

Kamiki must have thought his comment was amusing, because there was a hint of humor in his voice. Martin felt better about his prospects of getting the house without a hitch. Now all he had to do was wait for Mrs. Thurnberg to stew a little over all the “repairs” that her house needed and he would sweep in and save her.

***

‘Kamiki get everything cleaned out?’ Stottlemeyer asked as he lugged the boiler into the entryway.

‘Yep, Removed everything last week. Already sold most of it.’

‘Did he make much from the auction?’

Martin wasn’t sure if Stottlemeyer asked because he wanted to know who got the better deal, him or Kamiki, or if he asked out of general curiosity. Erring on the side of caution, he replied, ‘I don’t know how he’ll do in the end. He paid the old lady up front, so she could put a deposit on the retirement condo. I assume he’ll break even.’ That was a lie. Martin knew Kamiki made a hefty profit. He’d already paid him the finder’s fee of ten thousand in cash and didn’t complain. It’d be a while before they had an easy score like this again.

‘I might have to dig up the basement floor a bit. That old boiler is anchored deeper than the level I will set this one.’

‘Ah, it’s an earth floor. That won’t be difficult to fix. Just don’t hit any pipes. Flooding comes out of your pocket.’

‘Yeah, yeah.’

***

Stottlemeyer and his cousin, Frank, drug the boiler down the basement stairs. Martin could hear them banging around as he moved through the house with a note pad, marking off the things that had been done and making notes on what remained. Floors polished. Check. Drapes vacuumed. Check. Patch plaster in kitchen. Marked down for Wednesday morning. That would be dry and painted over before the showing next week. He already had five prospective buyers interested. At least two were serious. He might even get a bidding war going. One of them was coming all the way from New York, looking for a second home near Chicago. This flip was probably his best yet.

‘Martin! You’d better get down here!’

***

‘How long is the house going to be inaccessible?’

The police officer raised an eyebrow and looked up from his paperwork. Putting down his pen he sat back in the chair and said, ‘Mr. Sawyer, Crime Scene could take weeks. This many bodies, all the evidence in the house, it has to be done by the book.’ The officer flipped through the paperwork and continued, ‘We’re talking twelve victims…so far. We’ve identified the suspect’s husband and a woman, who were buried together. But there are ten other people; we don’t have any idea who they are. You would want us to do everything possible to ID them, notify their families, wouldn’t you?’

Martin didn’t give a damn about the dead people in the house’s basement, but he nodded slowly, playing the good citizen. ‘Of course. I want them to be identified. It’s just…I just wanted to sell the house.’

The officer tilted his head slightly and a look of pity slid across his face. ‘Yeah, well, that might not happen. I don’t know who would buy that house now. Bad juju, you know what I mean?’

Martin felt the blood draining from his face. He was going to lose his shirt on this deal. ‘Can’t I get my money back from Thurnberg, when you catch her? She’ll go to jail anyway. Why should I be penalized? Make her give me my money back.’

The policeman collected the paperwork together and slid it into a folder. ‘Mr. Sawyer. Mrs. Thurnberg, if that really is her name, has disappeared. She didn’t show up in Boca Raton and, since you paid her in cash, we haven’t been able to pick up a trace of her.’ He paused for a moment and said with a sympathetic tone, ‘You may just be Bloody Bonnie’s last victim.’