"No, not if you've already signed the contract and only her name is on it." I shook my head in disbelief. "Mrs. Hunter, Tiffany will be stopping by to see you. She's going to void that contract. I'll be back tomorrow with a new one for you to sign."
"Well, all right, dear. That is, as long as Tiffany doesn't mind." She folded her glasses and tucked them back into her pocket.
A huge knot formed in the pit of my stomach. "I'll see to it personally that she doesn't mind." My heart softened as the old lady stared at me, obviously disoriented. It wasn't her fault that she'd been duped by the most dishonest agent alive.
I clutched my briefcase tightly and stood. "I have to go now. I'm meeting some—some friends for lunch."
"Well, now isn't that lovely." Mrs. Hunter smiled. "Please be sure and say hello to that nice lady Tiffany for me."
Oh, I'd say something all right.
A well-fed, black cat with a large spot of white on her enormous chest was stationed by the front door, blocking my escape. Madame Puss had six toes on each paw and bore more than a slight resemblance to Bigfoot.
The last time I'd called to say I was coming over, Mrs. Hunter asked if I wouldn't mind stopping at the grocery store to pick up some canned salmon for her precious kitty. Madame Puss ate a can of it every day, and apparently, the cupboard was bare. When I'd dared to suggest Madame Puss should eat dry food like my cat, Mrs. Hunter gasped so loudly on the other end of the phone that I was afraid she'd been in acute pain.
Madame Puss observed me eagerly, probably hoping to sneak out at my expense again. I tried to open the door around her, but she refused to budge. Already late and angered by Tiffany's audacity, I glowered at the robust cat. "Move."
Madame Puss continued to sit there, staring at me as if I was the stupidest human on the face of the earth. She brought her paw to her mouth and started to clean it carefully, daring me to interrupt her.
I scooped up the cat with both hands, fearing for my other nine fingers and ignoring her meows of protest. Once I handed Madame Puss to Mrs. Hunter, she continued to glare at me from her owner's arms.
"I'll have Tiffany call you tonight after we sort things out." I straightened my blazer and brushed tiny, black Madame Puss hairs off of it.
Mrs. Hunter nodded. "That would be nice, dear. Why don't both of you stop by for tea tomorrow? I could use a ride to the grocery store too."
I opened my mouth to say something, thought better of it, and nodded. "I'll see what I can do." I managed a quick smile for Mrs. Hunter, disregarded the hiss Madame Puss directed at me, and quickly closed the front door.
Why me? Why can't I ever have one sale go off without a hitch?
Tears of frustration started to fall as I backed my car out of Mrs. Hunter's driveway. My contact lenses clouded over, and before I reached the end of the street, I started sobbing, almost hitting a large orange cat that looked like it could have been Garfield's brother.
I took a left at the end of the street and then an immediate right to get on the highway, heading toward my open house. My face burned as I grabbed a tissue from my purse to blow my nose and wipe my eyes. Good old Tiffany had tried to put one over on me again. Damn her. How could she do this to me?
Yet I knew very well how.
Tiffany Roberts was arguably one of the most successful real estate agents in New York State. A gorgeous blonde with a perfect size-four figure, she was commonly referred to as a "dirty agent" by her fellow colleagues, which meant she lied to potential buyers about the homes they were going to purchase. If the buyer called six months later, crying because water was leaking into their basement, she'd claim she knew nothing about it and blame the inspector, other agent, or anyone else easy for her to manipulate. Somehow she always managed to win, charming client after client while she let them think their happiness was her first priority. What a crock.
If another agent had already secured a listing on a home, that didn't stop Tiffany from trying to pry it away from them. Although the practice was deemed unethical, she'd find a way to worm her way into the house or conveniently run into the sellers at the supermarket or just happen to stop by while they were having a garage sale and convince them to tell their current agent they'd had a sudden change of heart. A couple of weeks later, the previous agent would see their former listing reappear under the sales category in the MLS (Multiple Listing Service) with Tiffany's name as the broker.
I'd been the victim of Tiffany's underhanded dealings before. I'd thought about taking her to court but couldn't prove anything. A client had called me one day and claimed he'd changed his mind about selling, so I'd released him from the contract. A week later, Tiffany happened to be going door to door in the neighborhood and re-convinced him to sell. At least, that was her explanation. Considering it was a very rural neighborhood and the middle of winter, it made perfect sense that she'd be taking a stroll through the countryside on a day that hit minus fifteen degrees. But the seller stuck to his story, and I had been the one left out in the cold.
She's not going to get away with it this time. I blew out a sharp breath, pushed aside my long, dark hair, and inserted the Bluetooth into my right ear. When I reached a red light, I searched my contacts section and angrily clicked on Tiffany's number.
After one ring, it went directly to her voice mail. "Hi, this is Tiffany Roberts with Hospitable Homes. I'm sorry I can't take your call right now as I'm in the middle of a real estate transaction. Please leave your name and number at the tone, and I'll call you back as soon as I can. Remember, make it a great day."
There was a huge lump in my throat, and I choked back tears, my voice hoarse and tight, barely above a whisper. "Tiffany, it's Cindy. I'd like to talk to you about Six Partridge Lane. You know, the Hunter house. Call me back soon. Unless you want to die young."
With that, I disconnected, never dreaming that my message would come back to haunt me later.
KILLER TRANSACTION
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Burned to a Crisp (Cookies & Chance Mysteries Book 3) Page 22
