The House of Seven Mabels

disarray, as if she’d been trying to tear bits of it out.
    “Wait till you get a look at this.“ She unrolled the old floor plans as the house had been originally on Jane’s kitchen table, and kept them from snapping back into a roll with a salt-and-pepper shaker.
    Then she flipped open her notebook. She pointed to the total dimensions of the back of the house on the second floor in the plans. Then she showed Jane her own figures.
    “It’s a foot and half off. Where did we go wrong?“ Jane asked.
    “Jane, get a grip. We didn’t go wrong. You can’t have already forgotten how obsessively precise I was upstairs, could you?“
    “I’ll never forget.“
    “Didn’t Bitsy say this was done by an architectural engineer?“
    “I seem to remember that she did.“
    “Do you see the name of the firm anywhere on this paper? Much less an individual’s name?“
    Jane stared. “Who really did this? Not Bitsy. She wouldn’t even take the time to fake this up, however incompetently.“
    “Now look at the finished plan for the first floor,“ Shelley said, removing the salt-and-pepper shaker and replacing the old plan with the new plan and anchoring them down the same way.
    Jane read the dimensions, then consulted Shelley’s notebook. “It’s even farther off what we measured. Nearly three feet just across the back. And no name on this one, either.“
    “So we figure Bitsy didn’t do this herself, right? So who did?“
    “Sandy,“ Jane said firmly.
    “Sandra, or some amateur friend of Sandra’s, maybe,“ Shelley qualified. “One of her feminist gang, I’m willing to bet. Maybe she has a daughter studying architecture.“
    “Shelley, we really should tell Bitsy this. She’s not one of my favorite people, but I hate to see her being made a fool of.“
    “You bet we will.“
    Jane thought for a moment, then said, “Shouldn’t we just bow out and let them fumble through it themselves?“
    “Jane, I’ve never heard you say a single cowardly thing,“ Shelley exclaimed.
    “Oh, of course you have,“ Jane said with a laugh.
    “Maybe once or twice,“ Shelley admitted. “But this is serious. Someone’s ripping off a stupid woman. One, I admit, who never should have taken on something she knew so little about, but still, neither of us would ever feel good about ourselves again if we didn’t at least try to warn Bitsy.“
    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