Realtors For Sale

by Diane Rapp

  Few things surprised him more than this development. “I’m not a guardian angel yet, but I can ask them if it would be okay. I feel proud you’d want to name your son after me. Thanks so much.”

  “I’ll pray about it myself and assume management lets you protect my boy,” Tamara stated with a firm nod. “I don’t think they’d deny such a small request, after all, he’s your godchild, so to speak.”

  As Jeffrey’s image faded, Tamara heard Paxton singing in the shower. She turned over awkwardly in the bed, enjoying the warm sensation filling her chest. Thinking about the dream, she whispered, “Thanks for loving me, Jeffrey.”

  Paxton walked into the bedroom, rubbing his wet hair with a fluffy towel. “I hope I didn’t wake you with my serenade in the shower,” he joked. “I can’t seem to scrub my hair without singing.”

  Tamara admired his muscular chest and slim hips. “I had a great dream, asked Jeffrey to be little Jeff’s guardian angel.”

  “Oh? Did he agree?” Paxton asked with a wry grin. “I’ll ring a bell to help him get his wings.” He sat on the bed and stroked her firm round belly.

  “You laugh at me, but I feel safer with Jeffrey on his side.” She glanced over to Bentley’s pen and noticed his dark eyes staring at them. “Can you walk Bentley while I take my shower? I want to look pretty for cameras at the courthouse today.”

  “You always look gorgeous, sweetheart. I’ll take him out and meet you downstairs.”

  Aunt Jessica was busy cooking a big breakfast. The smell wafted up the elevator as Tamara descended to the ground floor, making her mouth water. “I smell bacon and eggs, plus pancakes,” she said as she kissed her aunt’s rosy cheek.

  “You need to be well-fed to face those criminals in court today,” Jessica stated emphatically. She patted Tamara’s round belly and said “Hi, Little Jeff. You be good for your mommy.”

  Paxton and Bentley rushed back into the house in time to eat breakfast. Tamara felt happy to have her family surrounding her in the historic home. It was a good decision to live with Jessica after the explosive reaction to the kidnappers’ arrests.

  The feeding frenzy of the press had been a nightmare. Reporters swarmed her at the office, and the most aggressive ones followed her to the carriage house in Montecito. After Paxton confronted reporters with a stern warning, the commotion died down, but Tamara felt safer living here with Aunt Jessica. Since getting pregnant, she only worked part time in real estate. It gave her time to start learning how to run the Brinkerhoff Shadowboxes business. Jessica told Tamara she would inherit the business, so it was time she became more involved.

  Tamara had been surprised about how many people Jessica employed to make her products. It was a thriving cottage industry. Mothers worked their own schedules and teenagers learned valuable skills. She enjoyed working in the business.

  Today would be stressful, but she was happy to finally get the trial started. Obviously, Tamara was the most visible target for reporters to pester, since the other women lived in different cities. Charlotte Baxter had complained in her e-mails that reporters tried to harass her for months in San Francisco. But Charlotte hired security guards for her business and home, deflecting most of the attention.

  Connecting with her four friends, would be fun, although a courthouse was not the most congenial setting for a reunion. As if he read her mind, Paxton explained about arranging for a quiet room the witnesses could use for lunch during the court’s recess.

  The Santa Barbara County courthouse was one of the most beautiful Colonial Spanish-Style buildings in the city. Filling an entire city block, the multi-storied stucco walls were pierced by deep arched windows of various shapes and sizes. Some openings were covered by decorative ironwork and others flanked with shutters.

  A slender clock tower rose above the massive two-story arch which covered the main entrance. Daylight flickered through the deep arch, revealing a beautiful garden on the far side, where outdoor events were often scheduled on the groomed lawn. The façade of the opening was adorned with stone columns and a fountain with statues.

  Butterflies filled Tamara’s stomach as she and Paxton entered the building and approached the ornate wooden door to the courtroom. She peeked inside the room. Murals filled the walls of the entire room, depicting different scenes of the city’s colonial history. Studded leather-covered benches rested on iron legs twisted into an ornate pattern. Decorative squares inset into octagonal red floor tiles created an intricate design, and tall windows were framed by elegant draperies and frescoes. Tamara loved the round iron chandeliers suspended between painted beams across the vaulted ceiling.

  A carved wooden jury box stood at the far right of the room, and desks for the lawyers faced the judge’s elegantly carved bench. The bench sat between a United States flag and a California flag on a raised platform three steps up from the main floor. Turned spindles were set into openings in an elaborate carved screen stretching across the back wall.

  Intimidated by the formal ambience of the room, Tamara whispered, “I thought they didn’t use this chamber for trials. Don’t they hold formal meetings and allow tourists to take photos now days?”

  Paxton also spoke in a hushed voice. “You’re right, but this is a high-profile case. The judge decided to hold the proceedings here and the press will be allowed to take a limited number of photos before the proceedings begin.” He glanced at his watch. “We’d better get you sequestered in a waiting room until they call for your testimony.”

  The couple walked down the wide hallway until they reached a private room. Paxton settled her on a padded chair and stroked her cheek lovingly. “Are you feeling okay? If you need anything to drink or start to feel queasy, be sure to tell one of my team.”

  She laughed. “I’m just fine. Women have survived pregnancy for centuries, you know.”

  “The prosecutor plans to call you as one of the first witnesses, and then you’ll be allowed to sit next to me inside the courtroom. When the other ladies are called to testify, the press must leave the room. The judge doesn’t want to air the sensitive nature of their testimony in the newspapers.”

  “It’s a good idea. I’m relieved I don’t need to tell the same kind of story they must divulge.” She felt the baby kick and stiffened in her chair. “It seems like Little Jeff is making a fuss. Here, feel him kick.”

  Paxton sat down and rested his hand on her belly. “He’s practicing to be a football player. Honey, don’t you think we should stop calling him Little Jeff pretty soon? It might become a habit we can’t break when he starts to grow up. Can you imagine a teenager trying to live down a moniker like that?”

  Tamara chuckled at the idea, but said, “Good point. I’ll speak to Aunt Jessica when we get home, and we’ll change the habit now. You’d better get to work before the prosecutor throws a fit about you being late.”

  She watched him stroll through the open doorway into the hall, turning to give her a flirtatious wink before he disappeared down the corridor. Easing herself against the padded chair, she extracted an e-reader from her large purse, and started reading a new mystery novel. Luckily the story had nothing to do with kidnapping or human trafficking.

  A few minutes later, the sound of chains rattling and heavy footsteps drew her attention. A man dressed in an orange prison jumpsuit, flanked by two uniformed guards, moved awkwardly down the corridor. He glanced her direction and squinted through the doorway. She recognized Max Jacobs and cringed. With snake tattoos writhing down his muscular arms and gang ciphers scrawled across a shaved scalp, he looked very dangerous.

  Max called out in a raspy voice, “Hello there, Suzanne! You ready for another date?”

  Tamara fought an urge to run. As he made kissing sounds at her, the two guards jerked him forward. She noticed Max was shackled. A chain wrapped around his waist was attached to more chains running from his wrists to his ankles. The man was no longer a threat to her safety. His gruff laughter echoed down the hall as the guards pushed him along, but Tamara n
o longer felt intimidated.

  Paxton had explained Max pled guilty, not long after his arrest, to four counts of kidnapping. He agreed to testify against Zina and her co-conspirators to get a reduced sentence. Tamara hoped Max would still enjoy a long prison term. The other guards at the farmhouse already pled out to lesser charges months ago.

  Paula and Shirley entered the waiting room together. They plopped down on either side of Tamara. “Paxton sent us with soothing refreshments,” Paula said as she handed her a steaming paper cup filled with chai tea.

  Tamara inhaled the spicy steam with pleasure. “You arrived just in time. I saw Max Jacobs walk by and needed something to calm my nerves.”

  Shirley sat up straighter. “Sorry, we should’ve been here sooner, didn’t realize the door was left open. The trial just started with the lawyers giving their opening statements. Paxton says we should escort you into the courtroom in about fifteen minutes.”

  Tamara’s nerves spiked, but she calmly slid her e-reader back into her bag and sipped more tea. Paula patted her shoulder and said, “There is nothing to worry about, and we’ll be with you for moral support.”

  They waited a few minutes before they slowly walked down the wide corridor. At the carved door, Tamara heard the defense attorney finish his statement. “We will prove my clients were merely conducting business with a foreign associate at the airport when overzealous police attacked them for no cause,” the attorney’s booming voice stated.

  Tamara felt nauseous. How could the defense “prove” any such theory? The three women waited outside the courtroom until the prosecutor stated, “As our first witness the prosecution calls Tamara Owens Johnson to the stand.”

  A guard opened the door. Tamara handed her bag to Shirley and lumbered up the aisle toward the female judge. Her stomach seemed too heavy and her knees felt weak, but Tamara was relieved when she arrived at the witness box without fainting. She raised her hand and swore to tell the truth, grateful she could soon sit down. Turning to sit, Tamara faced the defendants’ table and felt shocked to see such a change in their appearance.

  Zina’s hair was light brown and trimmed in a wispy short cut, a style people once called a pixie cut. She wore a light blue cotton dress with ruffles at the neck, portraying youthful and innocent characteristics. Her two co-defendants appeared much older than Tamara remembered. Dana’s hair hung limply over her shoulders and was streaked with gray. Her eyes looked tired and dejected. Travis Jenkins seemed years older with dark bags under his eyes. An ill-fitting suit hung on a much thinner body.

  Tamara smoothed the fabric of the lilac maternity dress she wore and waited for the first question. The prosecutor, Pamela Williams, was a congenial woman she’d spoken with several times over the past few months. Her friendly grey eyes gave Tamara a sense of comfort and safety.

  As Tamara answered familiar questions about the ordeal, she grew relaxed. She explained about the attempted kidnapping and how she’d escaped with Bentley’s assistance. She finished her testimony about the airport confrontation by describing the way Zina pointed a gun at her, and Bentley’s heroic leap to disarm the woman. When the prosecutor sat down at her table, the defense attorney, Harvey Peters, stomped forward.

  Tamara had seen Harvey Peters on television, giving the press statements about his clients. She remembered a fellow realtor told her that Peters was a bulldog in court and it was smart to hire the man for a minor case. He’d be disqualified from opposing a previous client in any future case.

  Peters was definitely an intimidating figure in person, standing well over six-foot tall, and wearing an expensive Italian suit. He cocked his head as he eyed Tamara for a moment. He abruptly stated, “Mrs. Johnson, I understand you married the lead investigator, Paxton Johnson, just three months after he made the well-publicized arrests in this case.”

  Tamara swallowed and her stomach clenched. “Yes, sir. We met while he was investigating my attempted kidnapping and began dating not long after he made those arrests.”

  Harvey Peters smirked. “Is it just a coincidence you arrived with three other women at the airport in a limousine, accompanied by Paxton Johnson, who was in disguise?”

  “No. We discovered the gang planned to meet a buyer for four women at the airport. The four of us agreed to go with the police to make the arrest.” Tamara lifted her chin in an effort to seem more courageous than she felt.

  “Then why did you hide an attack dog in the back of the limo? Did you order your dog to assault my client and cause her serious harm?” Mutters swept through the courtroom like a wave of accusation.

  “What?” Tamara asked. “That’s ridiculous! Bentley is not an attack dog. He’s a Standard Poodle, trained by professional dog handlers to protect me from being kidnapped.”

  Harvey Peters strolled back to the defense table and picked up several color photographs. “These pictures of my client’s injuries have been marked as exhibits one through three, your Honor.” He shoved the pictures into Tamara’s face. “Your ferocious dog grabbed my client’s arm with his sharp teeth! Previous to this incident, the same dog attacked an employee, who worked for Travis Jenkins, when the man tried to tour your open house.”

  “Well, Bentley bit the man who attempted to kidnap me at my open house. The man tried to stick a hypodermic needle into my arm and knock me unconscious, but Bentley protected me!” Tamara’s face had turned scarlet and her hands trembled in her lap.

  “I object, your Honor, the defense attorney is badgering the witness,” the prosecutor stated.

  “Overruled, the court will allow the questions. Mr. Peters, please speak in a civil tone of voice to this witness.” Celeste Montgomery, the judge, narrowed her eyes at the defense attorney.

  As tears threatened to spill from her eyes, Tamara noticed Paxton leave the courtroom. Her heart sank. Where was he going? She needed his support and suddenly felt abandoned.

  In a conversational tone of voice, Harvey Peters stated, “My clients planned to attend a meeting with an important foreign dignitary to discuss mutual business concerns. They arranged for several attractive ladies to come along and entertain their client, socially. You accompanied ladies of the evening to entrap the dignitary and make false accusations against him. To bolster your case, you brought along a trained attack dog to deliberately assault my client, Zina Jones.”

  “Your Honor, is there a question for the witness or is the defense attorney offering unsworn testimony in this case?” Pamela Williams asked.

  Judge Montgomery pounded her gavel. “Mr. Peters, you will ask the witness properly framed questions and refrain from making unfounded accusations in my court.”

  Smirking, Peters stated, “We are finished with this witness, your Honor.” He sauntered back to his clients with a wide grin across his face.

  “The prosecution would like to ask a follow up question, your Honor.” The judge nodded and Pamela Williams stepped closer to Tamara. She asked, “What exactly happened when you arrived at the airport?”

  “Zina Jones received a briefcase filled with gold coins and the sheik tried to force us to board his jet!” Tamara stuttered. “We all knew we’d be whisked out of the country if we got onboard the jet. The other three women linked arms and dropped onto the floor to prevent being moved, but Zina pointed a gun at my face to threaten me. She also hit me twice in my chest with the briefcase. Suddenly, Bentley arrived and disarmed the dangerous woman.”

  “Thank you Mrs. Johnson.”

  Tamara stepped down from the witness box and rushed to sit next to Paula and Shirley, grateful to be finished with her testimony. When the prosecution called Max Jacobs to the stand, a wave of nausea swept over her.

  Still in handcuffs, Max strolled up the aisle, dressed in a pinstriped suit and cheap red tie. Tamara recognized the suit and wondered if Bentley’s teeth left holes in the sleeve. Prison guards stood watching from the doorway with their hands resting on their guns.

  Max raised a tattooed hand to take the oath before sitting in the
chair Tamara had just occupied. Pamela Williams immediately asked, “You are here to testify against your previous partners under a plea agreement, are you not?”

  “I sure am. My lawyer struck a sweet deal to reduce my sentence for any kidnappings I done for the gang, so I’m prepared to tell you everything I know right now.” He patted the wooden arm of his chair and grinned up at the judge. “You want to know how many women I snatched? Forty-nine in all. If that crazy poodle hadn’t interfered, the total would’ve been an even fifty.” He seemed proud of the accomplishment.

  The courtroom erupted in laughter, and Judge Montgomery pounded her gavel. “We will have order, or I will clear the courtroom!”

  Pamela Williams appeared shocked at the testimony and fumbled through her notes. Finally she asked, “Let me make this clear, Mr. Jacobs. You are testifying, under oath, that you kidnapped forty-nine women?”

  “You bet! I promised to testify about all the women I kidnapped for the gang as part of my deal.” He looked very pleased with himself.

  Judge Montgomery asked, “Ms. Williams, do you have a copy of the plea agreement with this witness for me to review?”

  Pamela thumbed through a stack of papers and produced a document which she handed to the judge. Everyone waited silently as the judge read the agreement. “He’s correct. The plea agreement states the witness must tell the court about all the women he kidnapped in exchange for a reduced sentence on all charges against him. Proceed with your testimony, Mr. Jacobs.”

  “Zina and me, we were partners and split the take fifty-fifty. I grabbed the women and she arranged for buyers. We never asked nobody for a ransom, so it ain’t really kidnapping. It’s just human trafficking, so you can’t give us life in prison.”

  Pamela Williams shook her head and stated, “There were ransom demands made to the realtors’ husbands, so this case is clearly about kidnapping.”

  His eyes grew wide. “I never knew Zina asked for ransom, so I’m not part of no kidnapping deal. No way!” Max cast a murderous stare at Zina. “We had a sweet thing goin’ until Zina got too greedy.”