Love for Sale

someone lives above you, you hear every step they take. Every flush of the toilet. Every door closing or opening. I really didn’t want to know that much about a renter.
    “He suggested that I divide the downstairs and he’d put a lot of air space and horsehair in the barrier to solve the problem, as well as putting one of the ‘front’ doors on the side. I’d always lived in far less space than I have, and it cost so much less that I did it his way.“
    “That all sounds very sensible,“ Lily said.
    “I have to admit, too, that Millicent Langston isn’t really a friend. She’s an employee. We seldom even see each other. She leaves the designs on her table. I convert them on mine. I also handle the selling.”
    She smiled. “I suppose you already know that she’s a great teacher, but doesn’t have the gift of getting along well with adults. She does live in the other part of the house. She has her own entrance and“—Miss Jurgen gestured to the other end of the room—“she has her own door to the studio. We each have our privacy and both like it that way. We hardly ever even see each other.“
    “So you probably won’t be able to answer the question I came to ask you,“ Lily said. “Mrs. Tarkington sent a letter to her asking how she was doing and when she hoped to return. It came back undeliverable at the address she’d given as her family home. Do you happen to have a newer address?“
    “I’ve never had any other address for her. I didn’t even know she had a family. She never talks about one. I guess I always assumed she was orphaned young. I didn’t really want to be chummy with her. When she said she was going home for this surgery, it surprised me. As I say, she’s not very sociable.“
    “I wonder—well, if she is coming back?“
    “I suppose so. She stands to lose her teaching job and this job if she doesn’t. The school won’t have trouble replacing her. As for her job here, I’ve been doing this work long enough, I could certainly do it all myself by now and not have to pay anyone part of the profits. It was always hard to convert her artwork to grids. If I made more money, I could probably get my car fixed. It hasn’t worked for two months and I could find myself needing to go somewhere I can’t walk.”
    They chatted a little bit longer about how the work was done, and Miss Jurgen showed some of her current projects after they finished the coffee and rolls.
    “I must be getting back home. I’ve taken up far too much of your valuable time,“ Lily said. “I’ve enjoyed our visit. I’m glad to have met you and admire your skills. And your entertaining.“
    “I’ve enjoyed it, too. You must come back. I seldom have company, as much as I’d like to.”
    On the way to the front door, Miss Jurgen showed Lily a few of the pieces she’d actually done herself. They were on pillows and pillowcases and were exquisitely produced.
    “Could you consider teaching me the basics?“ Lily asked. “I could never do this as well as you do, but I’d like to learn.“
    “I’d love to. After the holidays is my slow time of year. We could plan a regular time and day. And I can try out some new recipes for you.”
    Lily went away smiling. She liked this woman and needed a good friend here in Voorburg.

Chapter 16

    On the same day Lily met Miss Jurgen, Chief Walker decided it was time to visit the Institute. He drove up the river road early in the morning and crossed the bridge over the Hudson, wondering all the while if everyone had already cleared out. When he found the place, he saw that it was housed in one of the old mansions but was set back from a river view.
    What had served as the home base of the Institute of Divine Intervention was a big sprawling house and probably dated from the late part of the previous century. He parked the police car in the circular drive and tried the front door, which was open. The large, neglected entry hall was eerily silent except for the tap of a distant typewriter being used somewhere upstairs. He glanced around and decided he’d explore a bit before he hunted down the typist.
    A large room, probably a former parlor, to the left, had been tarted up to serve as Pottinger’s office. The once-beautiful tapestry wallpaper had been covered with pictures of Brother Goodheart preaching, or shaking hands with celebrities who supported him, or showing off the downtrodden he had claimed to help out. The desk was huge and had obviously been chosen