I blinked. Michelle had never given me the time of day in high school. I hated to ask for favors, but when it came to my children, their happiness was my priority. "I know you have a great deal of experience with cheerleading and choreography."
She sipped her drink. "I don't work for the Jets anymore, but I'd be happy to ask promotions about tickets for a game for you. I still have connections. How many do you need?"
I laughed. "That's not what I was after, thanks. My daughter, Darcy, is trying out for the varsity cheerleading squad at her high school this year. She'd love some pointers. If you have time, of course."
Her eyes gleamed. "Why, I'd love to! Is it Burbank High?"
I blew out a sigh of relief. "Yes, our alma mater. And thank you. She's so worried about making the team this year. I guess there's a lot of competition."
Michelle nodded soberly. "Those girls work so hard. And they don't get near the respect they deserve. Some of them even work harder than the football players. It's not all about looks, like people think."
I smiled but didn't reply. That was exactly what I'd thought of Michelle back then.
Michelle picked up her phone and scrolled the screen. "Let's see. I have some free time this Tuesday afternoon. Why don't I meet her over at the football field for the Valley Dogs? Ben and I are corporate sponsors, and they allow us to use the facilities whenever we like. How about four o'clock? I believe they finish their practices around two."
I smiled. "She'll be there. It's wonderful of you to do this. Darcy will be absolutely thrilled."
She waved her hand dismissively. "Oh, please. I'll enjoy it too. I miss the sport so much."
"Excuse me. I just wanted to say good-bye, Mom."
I glanced up to see a striking young blonde woman standing by the French doors with a small suitcase in her hand.
Michelle rose to her feet as the young woman crossed over to the chrome-and-glass table where we were seated. She kissed her on the cheek and then beamed at me. "Cindy, this is our daughter, Paula. I wasn't sure if you'd ever met her."
I stood to shake Paula's hand. She was almost an exact replica of her mother only taller, with the same emerald eyes, a tiny nose, and fine hair so blonde it was almost white.
Paula smiled politely at me. "It's very nice to meet you. I believe mom said you were the real estate agent?"
I nodded. "That's right."
"Well, I know that mom is anxious for dad to retire so they can enjoy their condo in Bermuda," Paula said. "I hope you're able to sell the house quickly."
"I'll do everything I can to make your parents happy."
Michelle flashed a perfect smile. "We have no doubt about that."
"Will you be moving with your parents?" I asked.
Paula shook her head. "I'll visit, of course, but I have my own life in New York City. I'm a massage therapist there. I love the glamour and the craziness of the big city. Bermuda's too tame by my standards."
"Ah, sweetheart." Ben appeared in the doorway with Jacques next to him. "I was afraid I might have missed you."
She walked over to her father and hugged him tightly. "I never would have left without saying good-bye, Daddy. You know that." She smiled at Jacques as a horn sounded from out front. "That's my ride. I'll see you in a couple of weeks."
"Do be careful, darling." Michelle blew her daughter a kiss.
When she had departed, Jacques and Ben seated themselves at the table. Michelle offered Jacques coffee, but he refused.
Michelle watched her husband. "So what's the verdict?"
Ben waved the contract. "It's official. Jacques said the sign will go up tomorrow morning."
"Marvelous." Michelle sipped her mimosa. "The sooner we can leave this state, the better. I really don't understand my daughter's zest for city life. I can barely tolerate it here, and our estate is private. Plus, I detest the cold weather."
I smiled. "I can certainly understand that. Although it is a little hard to imagine on a day like today." That was an understatement. There was a light breeze, but the heat was still oppressive, and I could feel another headache coming on.
Michelle laughed. "Oh, I love this type of weather. The hotter, the better." She drained her glass and reached for the pitcher to refill it. "Would you like one, Jacques?"
"No, thank you," Jacques murmured.
Ben cleared his throat. "There is one thing I'd like to ask about the sale of the house."
"Of course. Anything," Jacques said.
Ben looked directly at me. "Is it necessary to divulge what happened to Paul here? I mean, I know that there are people in town who remember, of course, but say we get an out-of-town buyer, which Jacques told me might be the case. Do they have to be told in advance?"
"No," I answered. "We are not required to tell potential buyers that someone died here. Of course, if a client were to ask me directly, I hope you understand that I would feel obligated to give them an honest response. But in answer to your question, New York agents do not have to disclose it on the listing."
Jacques caught my eye and winked in approval.
Ben nodded. "Good to hear. People are funny about things like that sometimes, you know?"
We were all silent for a moment, while I watched Jacques' face. He knew what I was about to say next and nodded slightly, as if encouraging me to proceed.
I took a sip of my ice water. "There's something I'd like to discuss with both of you, and I'm afraid it's going to come as a bit of a shock."
Ben and Michelle exchanged confused glances.
"Of course, Cindy," Ben said. "Please continue."
I swallowed nervously. "Last night, at the reunion, there was an envelope from Paul in the time capsule. I went ahead and opened it. I'm sorry, I should have checked with you first."
Ben smiled. "That's all right. But I would like to see it. As you know, we never found a suicide note, so this may have been the last letter he ever wrote."
"Yes," Michelle said. "I'd love to see it too."
Doubtful, I reached into my purse. "It actually was a note to me."
Ben extended his hand forward. "I would still like to see it."
Ugh. "This is a bit embarrassing for me," I confessed. "It has nothing to do with his suicide, I assure you. Actually, it's quite the opposite. It's a love letter to me—of sorts."
Ben's mouth fell open in surprise. "I had no idea you two were involved in a romantic manner back then. But it does make sense."
Heat warmed my face to the point I thought I might suffocate from embarrassment. "No. You misunderstand me. We were friends. That's all. He was confiding his true feelings to me for the first time."
"How beautiful." Michelle studied my face. "So, did you refuse him? Is that why he—"
I shook my head vigorously. "No. It wasn't like that."
"Cindy, dear," Jacques said quietly. "Just let them see the letter."
With a sigh, I passed the envelope to Ben. He removed the sheet and read silently as Michelle leaned over his shoulder. When they finished, they exchanged a glance, and then their gazes came to rest on me.
"Wow," Ben said. "That's quite an admission. I had no idea. I thought he was involved with that other girl. You remember, Michelle. She was a cheerleader with you. Long blonde hair, big mouth, equally big chest."
Michelle glared at her husband. "Really, Ben. Is that all you men ever see?"
Jacques bent his head slightly so no one could see the smile forming at the corners of his mouth.
"Rachel Kennedy," Michelle said. "I know she had the hots for Paul back then. Everyone knew it. But apparently he didn't reciprocate her feelings." She arched one well-groomed eyebrow at me.
My face was hot underneath my fingertips. "I had no idea of Paul's true feelings."
"So, he didn't kill himself because you rejected him?" Ben asked.
They clearly weren't getting it. I struggled to maintain my composure. "No. But there is something more to this. Don't you see?"
They both shrugged. "Please explain," Ben said.
/>
Out with it. "I'm convinced Paul didn't commit suicide. I believe he was murdered."
Michelle gasped and covered her mouth with her hands. Ben remained frozen in his chair, his eyes transfixed on me. Jacques reached for my hand and squeezed it in encouragement. I waited for Ben to start screaming, tear up the contract, or ask us to leave the premises.
He didn't do any of those things. Instead, he shifted his weight and grasped the arms of his chair. "I think you're right."
"You do?" Michelle and I both said simultaneously.
Ben nodded. "It never seemed to fit. I mean, he just wasn't the sort. He'd been acting a bit strange that morning, I'll grant you. Said he needed to talk to me about something, but I told him I didn't have the time." He lowered his head and stared into his lap. "I never told anyone this. But maybe if I'd made time for him, things could have been different. Your theory—it fits."
I breathed a sigh of relief. "Thank goodness. I was afraid you might think I was crazy."
"Not at all." He stared at Michelle, who smiled and rubbed her palm against the back of his head affectionately. "Perhaps I always knew but didn't want to face the truth."
I nodded. "That's how I feel too. The problem is, where do we go from here?"
We were all silent for a moment.
"Cindy, this happened so long ago," Ben said. "Any clues to prove your theory are probably long gone."
"That's not good enough for me," I replied. "He was my best friend, and I loved him like a brother too. For what it's worth, I'm going to do my damnedest to make sure someone pays for this."
Michelle's green eyes grew large and round. "Where would you even start?"
"Do you remember who might have been in charge of the inquiry?" I asked Ben. "Did they call in an investigator? Was an autopsy performed on Paul?"
Ben shook his head. "I can't be positive, but I don't think there was an autopsy. Mom and Dad were pretty messed up afterward. I remember her crying that she didn't want anyone taking him apart."
I winced at the thought. "Your parents were never the same after his death." In my mind at least, Paul's death had led to the early demise of their mother. She'd passed away from a stroke a year after his death, at the young age of forty-six. Only a couple of years older than I was now. It was unnerving.
I'd been present at Mrs. Steadman's funeral, but when Paul's father died, I'd just given birth to Darcy and been unable to attend, so I'd sent a card with my regrets. "Do you remember the name of any of the policemen involved?"
Ben took a sip from his water glass. "The lead detective was named Connors. Aaron Connors. He retired a few years ago. The only reason I even remember is because I handled divorce proceedings for his wife."
Jacques made a face. "With all due respect, he may not be thrilled about hearing the Steadman name again."
Ben laughed. "It wasn't like that. Both were in complete agreement about the divorce."
I leaned forward. "Would you have an address for him?"
"Not on hand," Ben replied. "But I'll ask my secretary to find it, and I'll send you a text in the morning with his information."
"That would be great. Thanks," I said.
His voice was almost wistful as he stared at me. "I wish you the best of luck, Cindy. And if there's anything Michelle and I can do to help, please let us know."
CHAPTER SIX
Everything was perfect. The hot sun was beating down on my body as Greg and I relaxed in chaise lounges by the turquoise colored water in Bermuda. There was no one around for miles. He leaned over and kissed my ear.
I giggled. "Stop it. I'm too tired."
The kissing became more intense, and he ended up biting my ear. "Ouch! Don't do that!"
Shrieks of laughter pierced my dream. I opened one eye, glanced over my shoulder, and saw Rusty sitting next to me in bed, his tongue working its way across my face.
I pushed the dog away. "Ew, stop!"
The twins were standing in the doorway, laughing so hard I thought they might double over in pain for a split second.
I rubbed my eyes wearily and sat up. "What time is it?"
"Eight o'clock," Seth replied. He jumped on the bed and hugged Rusty to him. "Were you dreaming about Dad, Mom?"
I flung back the covers and reached for my robe at the bottom of the bed. "More or less. Speaking of your father, where is he?"
"Downstairs having coffee," Stevie said. "I think he's leaving for work soon. He gave us cereal and toast when he came back from his jog."
That stopped me in my tracks. I turned around to look at the twins, who were both on my bed now with the dog. "Your father went jogging?"
"Yeah." Stevie reached for the television remote on my nightstand. "Then he said he needed a cold shower."
Oh boy.
I left the twins tussling on my bed and padded my way down the stairs in search of coffee. Greg was sitting at the kitchen table, reading the newspaper.
"Good morning," I said.
He reached out and grabbed me, pulling me onto his lap. "Morning, beautiful."
"You should have woken me earlier."
"You looked so pretty while you were sleeping, I just couldn't bring myself to do it." He pushed my hair back and frowned. "Why is your ear all wet?"
"It was Rusty's turn to show me some love this morning."
Greg grinned and then placed his lips over mine. "Hmm. Let's go away next weekend. I'll make us a reservation at some out-of-the-way hotel by the beach."
I sighed and removed his arm so that I could stand. "Honey, we shouldn't spend the money right now. And this heat is killing me. I really don't feel like doing anything."
He stared at me over the rim of his coffee mug. "Are you still feeling sick?"
I didn't want to worry him. "I'm just tired. It will pass."
Greg was silent as he continued to watch me. I picked my cell phone off the counter where I'd left it the night before and scrolled through my messages. Three voicemails. A text from Ben Steadman had arrived with Aaron Connors's home phone number, and there was a text from Jacques as well. Client wants to see the Steadman mansion tomorrow! Score one for us!
"Cin, I think this whole episode with Paul is upsetting you more than you realize. And now that you're selling a house for his brother—well, I don't know if that's a good thing."
I turned around to face him. "You might be right. I've felt so crappy since this whole thing started. But I'd feel even worse if I didn't do anything."
He came over and put his arms around me. "Promise me you'll call your doctor today?"
I nodded. "I will. But I'm dreading the visit. No woman actually wants to hear that she's going through menopause."
Greg wove his fingers through my hair. "It makes no difference. You'll always be beautiful to me."
"How come men don't go through a change?"
He grinned as he kissed me. "We're like fine wine. We just keep improving with age."
"Modesty becomes you," I teased.
After Greg had left, I sat down at the table with my coffee and phone to listen to my voicemails. The first message was from our customer service department, assuring me that the listing was now live. A second message was from Riverview Bank, asking if I would like to do an open house or perhaps a broker's open, and if so, please notify them, and they would be happy to provide refreshments for the occasion. They could accommodate me on very short notice too.
This was a new one. I didn't even think the bank knew I existed. My prior listings had not exactly been ones that qualified for an elite broker's open. These were occasions when a bus or minivan full of real estate agents toured the house for sale, made suggestions, and lined up potential clients for showings.
The third call was from Tricia Hudson of Primer Properties. I grimaced when I heard her squeaky voice on the other end. Tricia and I had been participating agents on another home sale recently, and thanks to my client's antics, it had not gone well. And when my coworker turned up dead, Tricia was one of the first to a
ccuse me of murder in cold blood. She said that she had an out-of-town buyer interested in the Steadman home, and they had a few questions. She asked me, ever so sweetly, to return her call at my earliest convenience.
I tried to contain my excitement, but it was difficult. If I sold this house, our money problems would be over for quite some time. The sale would also be tremendous for Jacques' new brokerage. It would have been perfect and more profitable if Tricia wasn't involved and Jacques and I were representing both the buyer and the seller, but it was rare to work both sides of the deal these days.
I had learned, from over three years in the real estate business, it was rare that things ever went exactly as I wanted them to.
The buzzing of my phone jerked me out of my thoughts, and I stared at the screen. "Yes, boss?"
"How are we feeling this morning, my dear?"
I yawned. "About the usual. Exhausted. I got your text, and Tricia Hudson left me a message. She has a client interested in seeing the Steadman mansion, but it may be a last minute thing. Out of towners, I guess."
Jacques giggled like a schoolgirl. "That isn't all. Susan Redwood of Houses Galore just phoned me as well. She wants to set up a showing for tomorrow."
"Wow. I didn't think there would be so much interest this fast." I raised my legs and extended them over the chair next to mine.
"The house is priced to sell," Jacques said. "Obviously Ben and Michelle are eager to move. They could have easily gone another hundred grand higher on the asking price. So that makes the mansion a virtual steal. Would you call Ben, and see if we can show it tomorrow? Are you available? Did Ben tell you if he wants one of us present at all the showings?"
"Yes, he was insistent upon that. I don't think I have anything going on for tomorrow. What time does Susan want to set up the showing for?"
"Four o'clock," Jacques replied. "And I have a closing tomorrow at two, so I'm not sure if I'll make it in time. If it ends early enough, I will definitely meet you."
"Shoot. I'm supposed to bring Darcy to get some pointers from Michelle for cheerleading. Maybe Michelle wouldn't mind if I dropped her off at the house and they rode over to the field together?"
Priced to Kill (Cindy York Mysteries Book 2) Page 5
