Part 7 (2/2)
”But not if she doesn't like?”
”I didn't say that. Where are those cookies?”
”We finished them, but there are some cheese-twist things here,” I said, finding another little foil bag from a fancy food store. ”Is this all you eat, gourmet snack food?”
”I have a hard time in grocery stores, they confuse me,” he admitted. ”Delia Westmoreland. She's a strong personality, I would say. And she had strong ties to the previous tenants of your apartment.”
”Yeah, I noticed.”
”You noticed? How so?”
”One of them came by a couple days ago, the Drinan who's a police detective or something?”
”Yes, I know who he is,” Len responded drily.
”Anyway, when he couldn't get in, he stood out in the hall and yelled, and she came out and talked to him. She's pretty ooh la la for a lady her age,” I observed.
”She's fifty, darling, it's the new seventeen,” Len informed me. ”Although 'ooh la la' does cover it. Why did young Mr. Drinan find himself stuck out in the hall yelling in the first place? It was my understanding that neither you nor the Drinans were allowed to change the locks.”
”Where'd you hear that?”
”Everyone in the building is talking about it, Tina. You'll have to get used to it, the walls have ears in a co-op. One of you is going to need a court order at this point to change those locks. You didn't do something foolish, did you?”
”I didn't change the locks, if that's what you mean, I just put in a couple of chains and a spring bolt, so people can't barge in whenever they want.”
”Oh,” said Len, startled at this idea. ”Oh! That's clever. Good for you.”
”He didn't think I was so clever-he was pretty p.i.s.sed off.”
”Well, he's an open wound. You know that legally you're not allowed to forbid them access to the apartment until claim to the t.i.tle is established.”
”I didn't say he couldn't come in, I just don't want him barging in while I'm sleeping there.”
”Well, you put yourself in that situation, darling.”
”My sister put me in it.”
”Oh yes, I see,” he said, raising his eyebrows.
”What?”
”A girl who knows how to put in a spring bolt and two chain guards is hardly a victim, Tina.”
”I didn't say I was a victim.”
”Didn't you? I thought you did.”
”Could we get back to this h.o.r.n.y Westmoreland character who lives on my floor?”
”h.o.r.n.y? Why do you say that?”
”She was coming on to Drinan big-time. She kept trying to get him to come into her apartment and have tea.”
”You're up in my apartment having cappuccino, do you think I have designs on you?”
”No, you have designs on making sure n.o.body bothers your moss.”
”Well, along those same lines, allow me to inform you that Delia Westmoreland does not l.u.s.t after young Mr. Drinan. She l.u.s.ts, but not after human flesh.”
”She said she was mad that Bill didn't offer her all the stuff in the apartment when he started selling everything off,” I remembered. ”But now it's all gone. You've been in the place, there's nothing left for her to want, is there?”
”That's not what she's after,” he told me, eating one of the cheese twists. ”No, darling, she wants the same thing everyone else in New York is pining for: square footage. If she could get her hands on the Livingston Mansion Apartment, she would own the entire eighth floor. Minor renovation, and she's sitting on one of the most spectacular apartments in the city. She's been trying to buy that place for years-she literally hounded Bill about it.”
”She wants to own the whole eighth floor?”
”Of course she does.”
”I thought, I mean, she kind of-doesn't she live alone over there?”
”There's the occasional visit from estranged children, but yes, for the most part she lives alone.”
”Well, how much room does she need?”
”It's never about need when it comes to real estate.” To a girl who last lived in a mobile home in a trailer park, this did not completely make sense, but he was dead serious.
”So if she bought it, she'd have like-how big an apartment would that be?”
”Twelve thousand square feet.”
”That's a lot.”
”With park views and walk-in closets? All those freaks over in 10021 would commit collective suicide out of sheer envy if Delia managed to pull off that coup. A place like that would be worth forty million in any market.”
”So she's like mega-loaded.”
”Not particularly, no.”
”Come on, she's got to have some money, she lives here.”
”She inherited. Her husband's parents bought the apartment she lives in back in the twenties for something ridiculous like thirty-five thousand. They died-that was in the late eighties, just before the market tanked and I managed to grab the roof here, which is a whole different story-anyway, that's how she got in. He was in finance, but he was never a major player, so in some ways they were just sc.r.a.ping by. I think she's got twelve or fifteen million on a good day in the market, apart from the apartment.”
”So she's worth, like, twenty-five million. And that's not loaded?”
”Well, it's certainly not enough to make a grab on 8A unless she leverages her place, which may be her thinking. If she puts up two, let's say, she should be able to find a bank to lend her the rest. Another million goes into the renovation and voila, for the up-front price of three million dollars, she owns an apartment worth forty. But my suspicion is, she hopes to lay her hands on that place for nothing at all.”
”How's that supposed to work?”
<script>