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Authors: Nancy J. Cohen
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monopolize her daughter's attention.
“I don't know if Torrie had a will or what it says. I haven't spoken to Jill since her wedding. Now that it's Monday, I presume she and Arnie are back to work, unless she's taking time off. Scott's the one who will be making funeral arrangements after his wife's body is released, although Jill might have offered to help him.”
It sounded so horrible to speak of a person she'd known that way. Poor Torrie. She hadn't warranted such a brutal death, no matter how badly she'd provoked someone.
“Why do you want information on Jill's cousin?” Anita persisted. “Do you think Kevin has a motive?”
“I just thought I'd ask, since Kate is consulting real estate agents in town. Kevin might have a reputation, that's all. If I heard anything useful, I'd pass it on to Jill or Detective Brody.”
“Could Torrie's death be related to this property issue?”
“Ver vaist?”
Marla replied in Yiddish. “Who knows? Torrie earned her share of enemies.” She glanced at her watch. “Bless my bones, it's after twelve. We'd better grab a bite to eat. I'm supposed to meet the painter at four-thirty in our day spa.”
“Speaking of painters,” Kate said in a bright tone, “Dalton needs you to pick a color.”
“I told him we're going to the florist today to make a final decision.”
“No, he means for the toilets in your new house. Dalton says the plumber is waiting for your selection.”
“Toilets? I should have known.”
Don't tell me I'm marrying Hardware Harry.
“I'll call him later, along with everyone else on my list.” Her cell phone rang, and she answered.
“Marla? It's Jill. We have to talk.”
C HAPTER F IVE
----
Jill came rushing up to Marla on Tuesday in the middle of a furniture delivery at her spa. They hadn't been able to touch base again the day before, no matter how hard Marla tried to free herself. Dalton's mom had insisted on taking the family out to dinner, and Ma's boyfriend, Roger, had joined them. Marla winced when she recalled John's taciturn silence during the meal and Roger's boisterous bellows.
“What's the matter?” she asked Jill, distracted by the furniture mover who brought in a desk shaped like a lima bean. She had chosen wood furniture so the reception area would feel like someone's living room, inducing a comfortable, homey ambiance. A credenza would hold a coffeemaker and a plate of pastries from Arnie's Bagel Busters restaurant next door. The whole idea was to give guests a pleasant experience so they'd want to return.
“It's Scott.” Jill grimaced. She wore her long blond hair in a ponytail, jeans and a sweater for the cooler weather, and ankle-high boots. “My sister isn't even in her grave yet, and he's bugging me to sell our property.”
Marla motioned to a sofa, letting her aesthetician direct the delivery guy. Facing Jill, she took a seat in an armchair. The smell of fresh paint entered her nose. Their massage rooms were on the painter's agenda today.
“Who owns Torrie's share now?” she said.
“He does, the jerk. Torrie and I were on the deed as tenants-in-common, meaning we can leave our share to our heirs. Apparently, Torrie has a will naming Scott.”
“Have you seen it?”
“No. Scott says Uncle Eddy has the original.”
“Isn't Eddy a real estate attorney?”
“He handles family stuff sometimes. What am I going to do?”
Clasping her hands, Marla leaned forward without voicing her opinion. Why had Jill come to her instead of Arnie? “I thought your cousin Kevin was hunting for a new tenant.”
“He is.” Jill blinked, her lashes heavily darkened. “He sent letters to his company contacts, including banks, since that other fellow had mentioned getting a bank building on the site.”
“You mean the real estate guy who first alerted you?”
“Yep. We could get a decent income by renting to a new tenant, better than the old lease. Whereas if we sell, we'll have to pay commissions and capital gains taxes and
“I don't know if Torrie had a will or what it says. I haven't spoken to Jill since her wedding. Now that it's Monday, I presume she and Arnie are back to work, unless she's taking time off. Scott's the one who will be making funeral arrangements after his wife's body is released, although Jill might have offered to help him.”
It sounded so horrible to speak of a person she'd known that way. Poor Torrie. She hadn't warranted such a brutal death, no matter how badly she'd provoked someone.
“Why do you want information on Jill's cousin?” Anita persisted. “Do you think Kevin has a motive?”
“I just thought I'd ask, since Kate is consulting real estate agents in town. Kevin might have a reputation, that's all. If I heard anything useful, I'd pass it on to Jill or Detective Brody.”
“Could Torrie's death be related to this property issue?”
“Ver vaist?”
Marla replied in Yiddish. “Who knows? Torrie earned her share of enemies.” She glanced at her watch. “Bless my bones, it's after twelve. We'd better grab a bite to eat. I'm supposed to meet the painter at four-thirty in our day spa.”
“Speaking of painters,” Kate said in a bright tone, “Dalton needs you to pick a color.”
“I told him we're going to the florist today to make a final decision.”
“No, he means for the toilets in your new house. Dalton says the plumber is waiting for your selection.”
“Toilets? I should have known.”
Don't tell me I'm marrying Hardware Harry.
“I'll call him later, along with everyone else on my list.” Her cell phone rang, and she answered.
“Marla? It's Jill. We have to talk.”
C HAPTER F IVE
----
Jill came rushing up to Marla on Tuesday in the middle of a furniture delivery at her spa. They hadn't been able to touch base again the day before, no matter how hard Marla tried to free herself. Dalton's mom had insisted on taking the family out to dinner, and Ma's boyfriend, Roger, had joined them. Marla winced when she recalled John's taciturn silence during the meal and Roger's boisterous bellows.
“What's the matter?” she asked Jill, distracted by the furniture mover who brought in a desk shaped like a lima bean. She had chosen wood furniture so the reception area would feel like someone's living room, inducing a comfortable, homey ambiance. A credenza would hold a coffeemaker and a plate of pastries from Arnie's Bagel Busters restaurant next door. The whole idea was to give guests a pleasant experience so they'd want to return.
“It's Scott.” Jill grimaced. She wore her long blond hair in a ponytail, jeans and a sweater for the cooler weather, and ankle-high boots. “My sister isn't even in her grave yet, and he's bugging me to sell our property.”
Marla motioned to a sofa, letting her aesthetician direct the delivery guy. Facing Jill, she took a seat in an armchair. The smell of fresh paint entered her nose. Their massage rooms were on the painter's agenda today.
“Who owns Torrie's share now?” she said.
“He does, the jerk. Torrie and I were on the deed as tenants-in-common, meaning we can leave our share to our heirs. Apparently, Torrie has a will naming Scott.”
“Have you seen it?”
“No. Scott says Uncle Eddy has the original.”
“Isn't Eddy a real estate attorney?”
“He handles family stuff sometimes. What am I going to do?”
Clasping her hands, Marla leaned forward without voicing her opinion. Why had Jill come to her instead of Arnie? “I thought your cousin Kevin was hunting for a new tenant.”
“He is.” Jill blinked, her lashes heavily darkened. “He sent letters to his company contacts, including banks, since that other fellow had mentioned getting a bank building on the site.”
“You mean the real estate guy who first alerted you?”
“Yep. We could get a decent income by renting to a new tenant, better than the old lease. Whereas if we sell, we'll have to pay commissions and capital gains taxes and
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