“Because local zoning ordinances won’t allow you to build those extra stories.”
“And why is that?”
“Because. You can’t build an apartment block in this neighborhood—you just can’t.”
“Says who?”
“Says the zoning laws!”
“I’m afraid Chase is right, Ma,” said Mom. “You can’t build apartments here. It’s not allowed.”
“I don’t get it. It’s our land. Why can’t we build whatever we want to build on it?”
“Because you just can’t, all right!” Dad exploded.
“It’s to do with urban planning,” Odelia explained for her grandmother’s sake. “If everybody just built whatever they wanted, things would quickly look a mess. This is a neighborhood of family homes, and an apartment block will stick out like a sore thumb.”
“And our neighbors would complain it blocks their view,” Mom added. “Or that the sewage system or electric grid or the water supply wasn’t built for all those extra units. And so it needs to stay the way it was originally planned by the zoning commission.”
Gran’s face had taken on a mulish look, and she said, “We’ll see about that.”
“No, we won’t,” said Dad. “I don’t want to live in an apartment. I want to live in my own house, and not have to deal with a bunch of tenants.”
“What you’re really saying is that you don’t like money, Tex,” Gran pointed out.
“I don’t want to be a landlord!”
“See? You don’t like money. But I do, and I think I can make this happen.”
Dad made a scoffing sound and returned to reading his newspaper.
“No, I think I can. It’s all about making the impossible possible, and that’s what I’m all about.” She took another bite from her toast then dropped it on her plate. “I’m going golfing, and while I’m at it I’m going to be networking the hell out of all of those movers and shakers. I’m bound to hit on someone on that zoning thing who’ll be only too happy to give me the permit I need.” She wagged her finger in her son-in-law’s face. “I’m gonna be winning friends and influencing the hell out of those people. Just you wait and see.”
The moment she was gone, the four remaining members of the Poole family all shared startled looks.
“You don’t really think she’ll do it, do you?” asked Dad.
“I’m afraid she just might,” said Mom.
“But I don’t want to own a bunch of apartments,” said Dad. “I just want to have my own home back, just the way it was before it got destroyed.”
“And you will,” said Mom. “No way is she going to get permission to build an extra couple of floors. And besides, even if she did, we’re the owners, honey. My mother can’t apply for a permit without our permission.” She cast an uncertain look at her daughter. “Can she?”
“I’m not sure,” said Odelia. “She’s not a co-owner, is she?”
“No, she’s not,” said Dad decidedly. “She may live with us, but we never signed anything over to her. We’re the owners, so she doesn’t have a say in this—none.”
“I’m sure it’ll be fine,” said Chase, always the voice of reason in any family crisis. “First off, she’ll never get permission, not without the say-so of the owners of the house, and not without the council breaking its own zoning laws, and secondly, if by some small miracle she does manage to get a permit somehow, you’ll simply put a stop to it as soon as she does.” He shrugged. “Who’s paying the bills for this renovation? You or she?”
“Why, we are, of course,” said Dad, looking a little less glum already.
“See? Problem solved. It’s the person who controls the purse strings who decides.”
“Though it would be nice to make some extra money,” said Mom suddenly, causing her husband to give her a startled look.
“Not you too!” he cried.
Mom smiled and patted her husband on the arm. “Don’t worry, honey. I’m kidding!”
Dad put his hand to his heart and said, “I think I just had a heart palpitation.”
“Do you want me to get you a doctor, Dad?” Chase quipped.
But Dad wasn’t smiling. In fact he looked like he always did when Gran came up with another one of her cockamamie ideas. And somehow Odelia had a feeling the fever hadn’t yet passed. And it wouldn’t pass until the house that Mom and Dad were building had actually been built—which hopefully would be very soon!
Chapter Three
We were in Odelia’s office, far removed from the hubbub that tends to engulf the Poole family. Usually Harriet and Brutus were also in there with us, but unfortunately the white Persian and her black mate had left us for calmer climes in the form of the home of Marge and Tex’s next-door neighbors the Trappers, and now resided with them—or at least I think they did, as I hadn’t seen much of our two friends since they’d moved on.
Odelia was slaving away at her computer as usual, working on some article for the Hampton Cove Gazette, and Dooley and I were resting peacefully in a corner of the office, where Odelia had organized a fun cozy little nook for us to do what we do best: nap!
Suddenly the door to the office opened and a woman entered whom I’d never seen before. She was stylishly dressed, stylishly coiffed, and was also very tall, with long legs clad in nylon stockings under a short black skirt. All in all she reminded me of a model.
Odelia looked up from her computer and gave her new visitor a smile. “Hi, there. What can I do for you?”
“I’m not sure,” said the woman, and laughed an uncertain laugh, then took a seat at the desk. “A friend of mine says you’re the person to see when you find yourself in some kind of big trouble—and I’m definitely in big trouble.”
“What trouble would that be, Mrs…”
“Barn. Erica Barn, though for the last three years I’ve gone through life as Erica Strauss.”
Odelia blinked. “Strauss as in…”
The woman nodded. “I’m Carl Strauss’s wife.”
“He’s a golfer,” I whispered for Dooley’s sake.
“A golfer? You mean like Gran?”
“Exactly like Gran. Though I don’t think Gran is in Carl Strauss’s league. Mr. Strauss is a professional golfer, which means he plays golf for a living.”
“Is he any good?”
“He’s the best. At least when he’s not running around cheating on the woman he happens to be married to at the moment.”
We both turned to Mrs. Erica Barn, who appeared to be the latest Mrs. Strauss—or rather the soon-to-be ex-Mrs. Strauss if I interpreted her words correctly.
“I want to divorce Carl,” said Erica Barn, “only he doesn’t want to.”
“Your husband doesn’t want a divorce?” asked Odelia, obviously surprised.
“He says he still loves me and wants to give our marriage another chance. Only I don’t want to give it another chance. As far as I’m concerned I’ve given it too many chances already, and every time Carl has let me down. So I’ve decided that enough is enough.”
“I think if you really want to divorce Carl there’s nothing he can do to stop you.”
“He can make it very difficult for me,” said Erica, “and that’s exactly what he’s doing. He told me he’ll fight me every inch of the way.”
“Look, if you want out, you get out. It’s that simple. Nobody can force you to stay married against your will.”
“I know, but at what cost? He’ll try and drag my name through the mud. He’s going to destroy my career if I let him. And then he’ll take me to the cleaners and make sure I’m left with absolutely nothing. I’ll leave the marriage with only the clothes on my back.”
“What do you do for a living?”
“I’m a model,” said Mrs. Barn. “Only I haven’t modeled since I married Carl, and I’m not getting any younger, so if I want back in, it’s going to be tough going. And with Carl talking every modeling agency into blackballing me, it’s going to be even harder.”
“I see,” said Odelia. “I’m very sorry about that, Mrs. Barn.”