Free Be Afraid by Mary Burton Page B

hell of a money pit if you ask me.”
    To the right of the house were three large, freshly cut tree stumps as well as a large, empty construction dumpster. Judging by the size those trees had been at least eighty to one hundred years old.
    “Computer search says that the neighbor, Toby Stewart, is the president of the local historic association. He’s big on keeping the property as is.”
    “She made changes and it looks like she was going to make a whole lot more.”
    They walked around the side of the property into the backyard. Large stakes with orange flags marked a large square area that looked as if it was going to be a deck and maybe even a pool.
    A glance at the back of the house showed five test strips of new paint color: white, gray, sapphire blue, fire engine red, and green. Rick couldn’t imagine the red or blue was a viable choice. Maybe she’d done it to stoke the neighbors who’d given her a hard time for the trees.
    Boxwoods warmed by the sun had released an acrid smell in the air that you either loved or hated. Several were marked with red flags that made him wonder if they would also go the way of the trees.
    They walked back around to the front of the property in time to see a white van pull up in front of the house. A magnetic sign on the side of the front doors read STEWART RENOVATIONS .
    A long, lanky man unfolded himself from the car, pausing long enough to adjust wire-rimmed glasses and straighten a thin, black tie. His gaze slid over Rick’s car and to the detectives as they crossed the yard to him.
    “I’m Toby Stewart.” He spoke with the authority of a man in charge. “I’m president of the historic preservation association. And you are?”
    “Detective Rick Morgan and this is my partner, Jake Bishop.”
    “Did someone finally call the cops on that woman?”
    “That woman?”
    “Diane Smith. What she’s done to this property is a crime.”
    “What’s she done?”
    Eyes widened with surprise. “See the tree stumps? See the tree out front marked for destruction. See the outline of the addition and the pool. She’s totally destroying the historic beauty of this house.” A sneer curled his lip. “She’s an attorney. A real estate attorney. Got it written into her mortgage that she could bypass the historic codes.”
    “She wasn’t breaking any laws.”
    His eyes widened with outrage. “Not technically. But she shouldn’t be changing so much.”
    “You two argue about this?”
    “Several times. Over dinner last week, I told her the landscape architect she hired was a butcher.”
    “Dinner?” Bishop asked, as if he were bored.
    “We’ve been out a few times. I like her. I thought we had an understanding but then she cut down the trees and told me about the addition.”
    Rick looked at the house and shook his head as if he disapproved. “Sounds like you’re mighty steamed.”
    He puffed out his chest as he rested a hand on his hip. “Steamed doesn’t come close. Like I said, what she’s doing is a crime.”
    Is. Not was. “When’s the last time you saw her?”
    “Three days ago, we talked about paint colors.”
    “That was Saturday?”
    “Yes. Early in the morning. I saw the swatches. She threatened to paint the house red.” He shook his head. “Money doesn’t buy history or taste.”
    Rick kicked a rock with his boot. “A woman like that must get a lot of grief from neighbors?”
    “Grief? I gave her plenty. And her landscape architect, Linwood Carter, I told her where to go.”
    “Looks like that tree is biting into the foundation,” Rick said as he scribbled down the name of the landscape architect.
    “Tree comes with lots of history that dates back to the Civil War. To lose it would be losing history.” He cocked his head. “Why’re you asking so many questions about Diane. She in some kind of trouble?”
    “She’s dead,” Bishop said. “Murdered.”
    Stewart’s mouth dropped open and he shook his head as if his brain wrestled with the words.