Christmas Carol Murder (A Lucy Stone Mystery) by Leslie Meier Page A

it seemed like a no-brainer. My 401(k) wasn’t growing like I thought it should, certainly not like real estate, so I cashed out, took the penalty and tax hit, and put it all into a building lot. I had about seventy-five thousand and I financed another seventy-five and thought I’d retire a rich man when I got around to selling it.” He chuckled ruefully. “It never occurred to me that I wouldn’t be able to keep up the payments. I had seniority, terrific performance evaluations. What could go wrong?”
    “The stock market took a dive, too,” Lucy said. “Your 401(k) would’ve lost value, too.”
    “That’s what I keep telling myself,” Nelson said. “And I would’ve been okay, really, if I hadn’t had my hours cut.”
    “So you must be pretty mad at the Finance Committee,” Lucy suggested.
    “They were faced with a tough situation, too. Tax revenues were down—what could they do? They had to balance the budget. I don’t blame them.”
    Lucy wondered if he was really telling the truth. “You’re very philosophical,” she said.
    “I don’t know about that. Truth is, I’m better off than a lot of folks. I own my house free and clear, got enough for groceries and bills. I took a loss, sure, but it was a loss I could afford. The ones I feel sorry for are the folks who are losing their houses—they’re the ones who are really hurting. Especially the ones with kids.”
    “You’re right,” Lucy said, putting a question mark next to his name. She suspected Nelson Macmillan might be a lot angrier than he was willing to admit.
    One more call, she decided, and then she’d make herself a cup of tea. She dialed Frankie La Chance, her neighbor on Prudence Path who was a real estate agent. Frankie would be able to tell her how the foreclosures were affecting the local real estate market, as well as the increasingly tight rental market.
    Frankie answered on the first ring, which rather took Lucy by surprise. “You must be sitting by the phone,” she said.
    “You know it,” Frankie said. “Calls are few and far between and I don’t want to miss one.”
    “That bad?” Lucy asked.
    “It’s the worst I’ve ever seen,” Frankie said. “Houses that were going for five or six hundred thousand are on the market for two or three, and nobody’s buying. Believe me, now’s the time to invest. Prices have never been lower, but nobody’s got any capital.”
    “What about rentals?” Lucy asked. “My daughter says rents are going up.”
    “Is Sara looking for a rental?” Frankie asked, quick to sense a possible opportunity. “I’d be happy to help her find one.”
    Lucy chuckled, thinking it wasn’t very long ago that Frankie spurned rentals, saying they were too much trouble for a small commission. “She’d like to get a place of her own but she doesn’t have any money,” Lucy said.
    “She’s not alone, that’s for sure,” Frankie said. “And she’s right—rents are going up a bit, because people have to live somewhere when they lose their homes.” She paused. “Is this for the paper?”
    “Uh, yeah,” Lucy said. “I’m doing a story on foreclosures. Do you mind if I quote you?”
    “Oh, no, I’m grateful. Just be sure to mention my company, La Chance and Raymond Real Estate.”
    “Will do,” Lucy said. “Thanks for your time.” She added her notes from the call to her developing story, then got up to fill the kettle.
    “Put in enough for two,” Phyllis said. “I brought in some cocoa mix. With mini marshmallows.”
    “I better stick to tea,” Lucy said, still not trusting her tummy. She unwrapped a tea bag and dropped it in her cup, tore open a packet of cocoa mix, which she poured into Phyllis’s mug, then went over to the window to check the sky. Snow had been predicted but you wouldn’t know it from the bright blue, cloudless sky. Of course, New England was known for rapid weather changes. If you didn’t like the weather, people said, just wait a few minutes.