Jill Churchill - The House of Seven Mabels

Jane sighed. "You're right. Damn."

Seven

Jane and Shelley showed up early the next morning, ready to pull poor Bitsy aside and point out the errors in the drawing. This time the street in front was even more crowded. As they got out of Shelley's van, a siren screamed and an ambulance pulled into the front yard.

"What's happened?" Jane asked, realizing it was a stupid question to ask Shelley, who was as surprised and alarmed as she was.

Bitsy and Sandra were standing on the sidewalk, wringing their hands. Sandra looked confused and was clutching her ever-present purse to her chest. Bitsy was clearly angry.

"What's going on?" Shelley asked as Jane caught a glimpse of two well-dressed middle-aged women she'd never seen bending over and vomiting in what the plans had shown as a bank of azaleas that would be in front of the porch.

"Since it's a chilly morning, our furnace guy tried out the system and within moments there was the most awful smell," Bitsy said.

"I have to go tend to your friends Dorothea and Wendy," Sandra said, indicating the women who were where the azaleas would someday make their appearance. They were now being tended by the ambulance attendants. A breeze sprang up and suddenly Jane and Shelley could smell it as well. Something terribly rotten and utterly disgusting made them hold their hands over their noses and mouths.

When the wind changed direction, Jane said to Bitsy, "Your furnace guy? I thought all the workers were women."

"Not quite all. But Wesley Woodley's an exception. He works for a company run by a woman. Ms. Betty Stanley. You may have heard of her. She's in a lot of civic organizations."

"Did I hear my name being used in vain?" a very tall young man asked.

"Wesley!" Bitsy yelped. "What is that smell?"

Wesley shrugged. "I couldn't go in the house to tell. Mrs. Stanley's bringing some breathing apparatus so I can find out. Did anyone have the wits to turn off the furnace?"

"I didn't," Bitsy admitted.

"That's the first thing I need to do. Second, you need to rent some powerful fans to clear the odor out."

"Where do you rent fans?" Bitsy asked.

"Ask your contractor," he replied. Jane thought there was a hint of a sneer in his remark, but couldn't be sure. Unless he had had a run-in with

Bitsy before, it was a logical question for an ordinary person to ask. Jane herself would have had to ask.

The ambulance people had moved the women who were ill away from the house and put them on blankets on the ground with damp cloths over their faces, and were taking their blood pressures.

Jane approached Sandra and asked, "How are they? And who are they?"

"Friends of Bitsy's she wanted to show the house to," Sandra said with irritation, fidgeting with the strap of her purse. "I wish she'd picked any other day. The nurse in the van says since they didn't ingest anything and it only smelled like something rotten, not chemical, they'll probably be okay. But someone has to drive them to the hospital to confirm whether it was dangerous fumes."

Jane knew what Sandra really meant. That she and Shelley had nothing better to do. "Weren't other people in the house? And they might have felt like gagging, but no one else is sick, are they?"

"I don't imagine you're free to…?"

"No. Shelley and I were on our way to an appointment." After a moment's thought, she added, "To see an attorney about Bitsy's contract. I suppose since they're Bitsy's friends, hauling them to the hospital is her job," Jane said.

"I guess so. But she really needs to be here."

"Who needs to be here, Sandy?" Bitsy asked, approaching the two.

Jane got as far from them as fast as she could. "Shelley, let's hide out for a bit," she said, grabbing Shelley's arm. "Sandra and Bitsy are trying to figure out how they can shove the responsibility for taking those two women to the hospital on us."

"I'm not letting strangers I didn't invite over here, and probably stink for a number of reasons, ride in my van," Shelley said. Jane's first thought was how callous this sounded, but she realized that quite honestly, she'd feel the same way.

"Let's" go and have breakfast somewhere if you're up to it. I need a cup of coffee to get the smell out of my head."

There was a pricey coffeehouse a block or two away, and as they sat down with their cups and the pastries they couldn't resist, Shelley said, "I guess we'd better wait awhile to hit Bitsy with more bad news."

"I don't know," Jane said with a wicked grin. "It might be interesting to see how much she can take before she crumbles."

Shelley laughed so hard, she almost snorted coffee up her nose.

When she'd recovered, Jane asked, "What do you think caused that odor?"

"One thing it isn't is a body," Shelley said. "It wouldn't fit in a furnace or a duct. It could be just a dead animal that already was awfully ripe, and turning on the blower created a crisis."

They dawdled just long enough to be present at the renovation site when Wesley, in protective gear and what looked like a World War I-era gas mask unearthed from Mrs. Stanley's attic, reappeared with a heavyweight plastic bag at the front door. He removed the gas mask.

"Someone shoved a wad of frozen shrimp way back into one of the ducts," he shouted across the yard at Bitsy. "You're going to have to find a way of disposing of it."

"Put it in the Dumpster," Bitsy yelled back. She had already either delivered her friends home or forced someone else to do so. Come to think of it, Jane decided, the ambulance people should have taken them along to the hospital. Apparently the women didn't want to make any more fuss.

"No, the bag will probably explode." Wesley set it down on the lawn and came over to them. Jane and Shelley got close enough to overhear the conversation, but not so close that they could smell him. Sandra and Bitsy moved around a bit to get Wesley downwind of them.

"I had to tear a lot of the duct work out to find it," Wesley complained. "And the smell is just as bad as ever. You'll have to call in someone to deodorize the whole house."

"There are people who do that?" Bitsy said with awe. "What will that cost?"

"I have no idea," Wesley said. This time the contempt in his voice was clear. "And those fans

that are coming off that truck next door aren't strong enough. You must air the house out thoroughly first. The stench is in the wood and the Sheetrock. It'll all have to be treated. While it's being done, you need to secure the property."

"Secure the property?" Bitsy was at sea. Apparently she thought this was a financial term. "What will that cost me?"

"It means put new locks on the doors and replace the crumbling plywood in the open windows." Wesley was openly sneering now. "Anyone could, and has, gotten in here to commit this act of vandalism."

Standing where they were on the sidewalk, Jane and Shelley heard the purr of a car and turned to see an enormous black stretch limo stop in front with no regard to the fact that it was blocking traffic. The chauffeur came around and opened the back door, and an extremely well-dressed middle-aged man with a full and beautifully cut head of pure white hair stepped out.

He approached, saying, "Bitsy, dear, I was doing some business in the neighborhood and saw everyone standing outside. What's going on?" He would have been quite handsome if he hadn't been smirking.

Bitsy's face hardened. "Neville. How coincidental that you are here. Something tells me you know exactly what's going on."

The man looked genuinely surprised. Or maybe it was a good act, Jane thought.

"How would I know what you're up to? Is this a picnic of some sort?"

"Neville, go away. You're not welcome here," Bitsy said and turned her back on him.