Building Blocks of Murder (4 page)

Why did being in his arms have to feel so good? And why did he have to be so very beautiful? Most of all, why should she care about either of those things? Telling Tosh she wasn’t ready for a relationship had almost become a mantra, and yet every time she was near Jason, she lost her head.

Just don’t lose you heart, too,
was the last sleepy warning she gave herself before she finally drifted off to sleep.

The morning brought amnesia until the building inspector called Lacy to confirm their appointment. Then the memory of buying a building, plus her anxiety over the subject, returned full force. She spent a moment in self-recrimination before pulling up her figurative bootstraps. What was done was done; she might as well face the matter head on and figure out what needed to be done next.

She showered, taking the time to blow dry her hair and apply makeup. Perhaps it didn’t make sense, but looking good made her feel more capable and in control of her circumstances. Maybe if she looked like she had it all together someone might believe she actually did.

Her grandfather showed up just as she and her grandmother were finishing breakfast. He waved her grandmother away when she rose to pour him a mug of coffee. Pouring his own coffee, he sat at the table between the two women.

“Seen the paper today?” he asked.

Lacy wasn’t fooled by his bland tone. She was beginning to know him. The more he suppressed his emotions, the more emotional he was feeling. “No, what is it?”

He blew on the coffee, stalling for time, and then he answered. “An old case is being reopened.”

She wondered if it was the same case Jason had referred to. “Jason told me about that, I think.”

Mr. Middleton nodded. “He was the arresting officer.”

“What type of case was it?” Lacy asked.

“Murder,” he answered.

She gasped. “Not…not Barbara Blake’s murder.” She bit her lip and looked uncertainly at her grandmother. Peggy, the woman who had murdered Barbara Blake, had confessed to the crime, sparing them all the horror of a trial.

“No. This is an old murder from a quarter century ago.”

Lacy frowned, puzzled. “But Jason has only been on the force for seven years.” After high school, he received a two year associate’s degree before joining their local sheriff’s department. Most rookies began their careers in the jail, like her friend, Travis, but Jason had shown such promise that he bypassed that step and became a road unit.

“It was an old unsolved case that became solved shortly after he began working there.”

Lacy’s frown deepened. “He was so new; surely reopening the case couldn’t affect him, could it, Gra…” She broke off, stopping herself before she could call him “Grandpa.” A blush rose to warm her cheeks, and she immediately felt awkward for her bumbling mistake. Why couldn’t she just bite the bullet and use the endearment? Though they weren’t biologically related, Lacy was too much like her Grandma Lucinda. They both had trouble expressing their emotions.

Mr. Middleton paused, but Lacy thought it was because he was measuring his words and not because he had noticed any awkwardness on her part. “There are things you don’t know about Jason, Lacy,” he said at last.

“Like what?” she asked.

He took another sip of coffee. “Not my place to say.”

Now it was her turn to sip her coffee, and she did so thoughtfully. As their former principal, Mr. Middleton had access to information about everyone, but what could he know about Jason? By his tone, she guessed it was something bad, but she could never believe anything bad about Jason. His character was unimpeachable. Even if he sometimes ran short on mercy, he retained an overdeveloped sense of justice.

“We should go,” her grandfather said, jarring her out of her brooding thoughts. They both kissed her grandmother’s cheek, and then they were off. The building inspector, Kerry March, was waiting for them, even though they were a few minutes early.

“I like to show up early and begin my inspection of the outside,” he explained when Lacy apologized for arriving after him. She wondered if he would comment about the building, but he didn’t. She felt oddly insulted by his lack of comment on her new building. How exciting must his job be if the sight of the Stakely building did nothing to impress him? On the other hand, maybe he was one of those businessmen who was strictly business while the time clock was ticking.

The trio stood back to survey the outside of the building. It looked good to Lacy, but what did she know? Nothing, which was why her grandfather and Mr. March were there. She ran her hand lovingly over the bricks, remembering with a smile some of the many stories she had created about the old building. A budding sense of happiness began to well in her chest. Maybe her hasty decision wasn’t all bad. After all, she had a true affection for the place. This could be the start of something good.

“Shall we?” Mr. March asked. Some of Lacy’s enthusiasm dimmed when he handed a construction helmet to her before passing one to her grandfather.

“Is the building unsafe?” she asked, taking a timid glance at the structure.

“You never know, but it’s over a hundred years old. Better safe than sorry until we know what we’re working with,” he replied as she donned the ugly hat.

The electricity wasn’t on inside the building, but it had several large windows and it was a sunny day. Along with Mr. March’s industrial-strength flashlight, there wouldn’t be much they couldn’t see, unless there was a basement. If there was a basement, Lacy wasn’t sure she wanted to find out. What had looked promising outside now looked menacing inside. Everything looked worn, as if it truly were in danger of collapsing on their heads. And spider webs were everywhere, the kind that
Hollywood
set designers created for haunted houses in the movies. Moving closer to Mr. Middleton, she finally gave up trying to be brave and hooked her arm through his elbow. He gave her arm a light squeeze, and she felt reassured by his presence.

They followed slowly behind Mr. March as he stopped at various points, got down on his knees, and made notes on his pad. Lacy never had any idea what he was looking at. After a few minutes, she gave up trying to figure out if his grunts meant good news, bad news, or arthritis in his joints. Instead she amused herself by looking around the space. As soon as she was able to get over the initial dumpy appearance, she began to see the potential.

The first two floors were joined together and open to make one huge space, ideal for the marketplace her grandparents had talked about. The second floor only had a walkway, leaving the middle open, almost like some modern malls she had seen. From above, anyone could see down below, and vice versa, but there were still two floors of store space. If she closed her eyes, she could almost hear the bustle of activity. The architectural details didn’t stop on the outside—they were everywhere. Crown molding, stone gargoyles, buttresses, and arches abounded the interior. Perhaps the style was eclectic, but it suited Lacy whose own decorating style was somewhat schizophrenic.

After the grandeur of the first two floors, the third floor was boring in comparison. There was a long corridor with five offices lining each side of the hallway for a total of ten offices. Inside, each office was spacious and equipped with its own bathroom. If she had to guess, she would say at some point someone had tried to remodel this floor to make it useable. Some of the décor in the bathrooms smacked of the 1970’s.

The fourth floor was just one huge space. There were support beams scattered throughout, but there were no interior walls. The windows were floor to ceiling, and light streamed in, revealing hardwood floors. Lacy’s imagination ran away with her as she imagined a ballroom with happy dancing couples floating by.

The inspection took almost three hours. By the time it was finished, Lacy and Mr. Middleton were flagging. They cleared a space in the middle of the first floor by overturning some empty crates, and then they sat down to wait for the final results.

Lacy nervously nibbled her thumb before remembering she had touched all manner of germs in this mausoleum. If the scrabbling of tiny rodent paws was any indication, she could probably give herself the hanta virus by putting her hands in her mouth.

Mr. March came into view and Lacy jumped to her feet. “How bad is it? Is it going to fall down? I saw some rotting boards…” She trailed off and waited for his professional assessment.

“Not bad,” he said, surprising her. “This is a grand old place. The exterior needs some brick work, but the frame is solid steel; it’s not going anywhere. I doubt a twister could take this place down. There is some dry rot and termite damage, so a lot of the floors will need to be replaced. The plumbing is a mess and needs a complete overhaul. The heating systems are also antiquated and should be replaced. You’ll need a new roof—it’s about to collapse--not to mention the wiring. Between the circuit overload and the dry wood, this place is a tinderbox.”

“But you said it wasn’t bad,” she reminded him, overwhelmed by his list.

He shrugged. “I’ve seen worse. It needs work, but the foundation is in great shape. That means a lot in a building this old. Basically all it needs is some TLC, and it’s good to go.”

“How much do you think it would cost to make the renovations?”

“I’m not a contractor, and I don’t give estimates,” he said. By his careful tone, she wondered if she had stepped on some professional ethics.

“Off the record,” she prodded. “I won’t hold you to your quote. I’m just looking for a ballpark figure here.”

He chewed the inside of his cheek as he thought. “I’d say a million, give or take a few hundred thousand.”

Lacy stared at him, speechless. A million dollars? Granted, she had a million dollars, but she hadn’t planned to spend every penny on an old building she didn’t even want. Fortunately, her grandfather took over the pleasantries with Mr. March. The two men exchanged small talk about what needed to be done to the building, and then Mr. March took his leave.

“What have I gotten myself into?” Lacy muttered when she and Mr. Middleton were alone.

He smiled at her, placing his arm companionably around her shoulders. “C’mon, kiddo. I’ll buy you a coffee and we’ll talk it over.”

They went to the coffee shop where they had first connected. Lacy hadn’t been there since she found out the former cashier had murdered her biological grandmother. Now there was a new cashier, one who looked oddly like Peggy, and Lacy tried to shrug off her uncomfortable feeling. Life went on. The clientele probably appreciated the continuity, even if Lacy found it creepy that nothing significant had changed. They ordered two coffees and sat across from each other at the table where, a few weeks ago, she had first blurted to him the fact that she knew he was her grandfather.

“Now tell me what you want to do with the Stakely building,” her grandfather commanded.

“I guess I want to restore it to its former glory,” Lacy said tentatively. When he didn’t laugh, she continued. “You know, make it a marketplace and center of downtown, like you and Grandma were telling me about.”

He nodded. “Sounds like a good plan.”

She smiled, enjoying the fact that he didn’t point out that she was a stupid kid who had no idea what she was doing. Maybe if he believed she could do something with the old place, then that meant she actually could. Now it was her turn to point out the obvious.

“I have no idea what to do,” she said.

He nodded once, blowing on his coffee. Since he drank his coffee at the boiling point, she thought the action was a habit more than an actual urge to cool his coffee. “I did a little research last night.”

“You did?” He was an intelligent, thoughtful man, and she was keenly interested in any wisdom he might have to impart, especially in light of the fact that she was clueless. “What did you find out?”

“I found out the Stakely building was sort of famous when it was built. Steel-frame construction was something new at the beginning of the industrial revolution. Architects came from neighboring states to admire the design.”

“It is a beautiful building,” she agreed. “I’ve always loved it. I want to do right by it and bring it back to its former glory, but I have no idea how to afford the repairs. Even with my inheritance, it seems like a lot. And I’m not sure I want all of my inheritance to go into such a venture. How could I ever make my money back?”

“There are grants,” he said. “Urban renewal grants. I think you have a compelling case, and I think you would qualify for one of the larger grants.”

“How much is it?” she asked excitedly. What if a grant would take care of all the remodeling costs?

“About a hundred and fifty thousand dollars,” he said.

“Oh.” She sat back, dejected. That much would definitely be helpful, but it wouldn’t begin to cover everything.

“That should just about cover the roof,” he said. “I think you should start there. There are holes that are letting in water and warping the wood even more. Once you have the roof taken care of, you can focus on the plumbing and electrical.” He paused and blew on his coffee again. “How much of my advice do you want, Lacy? I don’t want to be an interfering old fool.”

“You’re not,” she assured him. “I want to hear everything you have to say. If I don’t agree with your advice, then I won’t take it.”

He smiled. “That’s so. If I were you, I would concentrate on the third floor first. I know it’s not as pretty or exciting as the open area, but it could be your bread and butter. People are always looking to rent office space. There’s enough space there for an entire medical complex. Once you have stable renters who are providing income, then you can focus on renovating the first and second floors. Gradually, as you attract renters for that space, it will help fund further renovations or payback what you’ve already spent.”

“What about the fourth floor? What do you think I should do with that?” She pictured the wide, open space.

He shrugged. “Whatever you want. It could be a warehouse, but you’ll have to have the freight elevator fixed. Or it could be storage. The possibilities are unlimited.”