Priced to Kill (Cindy York Mysteries Book 2)

by Catherine Bruns

  I debated about how much to tell her. "No. That thought never crossed my mind. I just have some unanswered questions about his death, that's all."

  She sipped her Coke. "That's because in your mind I was never good enough for the Steadman studs. Well, think again."

  My mouth fell open in surprise. "What are you trying to say? Were you sleeping with Paul?"

  "No. Now, his brother, on the other hand…" Melanie smacked her lips. "He knew how to please a lady back then. Bet he still does."

  No way. "Okay, so you expect me to believe that you were fooling around with Ben? Sorry, I can't see it."

  She shot me a bitter smile. "Like I said. You thought you were the only one good enough for them. You and Paul were thick as thieves for years. How long were you carrying on with him?"

  I pressed my lips together in annoyance. "It wasn't like that between us."

  Melanie narrowed her eyes. "Why can't you admit that you had it bad for him? I hate to burst your bubble, but Paul was just like his brother. He had others on the side, if you get my drift. So you see, it wasn't all about you." She slid out of the seat, leaving her dirty dishes on the table. "I need a cigarette before I go back to work. You can tag along if you want."

  In silence, I followed her to the elevator, wondering what exactly her problem was. Was it just a clear cut case of envy for the Steadmans or something else? We took the elevator to the ground floor and then proceeded through the main entrance to the outside parking lot. I sat next to her on the metal bench but put as much space between us as possible. The smoke was making me nauseated.

  Melanie blew a perfect circle right at my head. "You don't look so good, honey. Is that why you came to the doctor today? Is it cancer?"

  Boy, she was something else. There was no way I'd share my menopause concerns with her. "I'm fine. So, how did you know Paul was seeing someone?"

  She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply. "Well, I don't know for sure. But I did overhear him talking to that nurse a couple of days before he died… Old what's-her-face. She worked for Doctor Sanchez until she got sick. Paul had known her since he was a kid. He once mentioned that she previously worked for his family's physician."

  "Mildred Reynolds," I breathed.

  She looked at me in wonder. "That's right. How'd you know? Oh, I forgot. You guys were attached at the hip. He probably told you everything."

  No, not everything. If that had been the case, maybe I could have somehow prevented what happened to him. "What did he say to Mildred?"

  She stubbed the cigarette out on the ground, ignoring the ash receptacle that was only a foot away from her. "I'm not stupid. What are you really after? There's something else going on here."

  Time to come clean, but I was only telling her what was absolutely necessary. "I'm wondering if his death might not have been a suicide."

  Her mouth fell open in amazement, and a swear word popped out. "Are you serious? Why would you think that now, after all these years?"

  "I've just never felt comfortable with that outcome. It might sound crazy, but I need to satisfy my curiosity. So if you heard or saw anything out of the ordinary, I would really appreciate your sharing it with me."

  Melanie glanced at me sharply, obviously wondering if I was leveling with her. Then she shrugged. "I was snooping around. Mildred and Paul were in the back office, talking in hushed voices. He was asking her about male sterility and stuff like that."

  This was the last thing I expected to hear. "What? You must have heard wrong."

  She shook her head and shot me an arrogant smile. "So you see, your little friend wasn't as pure as you thought. He must have been getting some."

  I locked eyes with her. "I told you, we weren't involved in a romantic way. This doesn't make any sense."

  "How so?"

  Damn. I doubted I could trust her, but she had given me a lead to go on. "Paul wrote me a letter the day before he died. He said that he was in love with me. That he always had been."

  "You just told me you weren't involved with him."

  "We weren't a couple. I didn't know about his true feelings until recently. So the conversation doesn't make sense if he was in love with me, like he claimed."

  Melanie looked at me in disbelief. "How long have you been married, honey?"

  I wasn't sure where this was headed. "Eighteen years."

  She tilted her head back and laughed. "And you still don't know anything about men."

  "I'm sorry?"

  With a slight shake of her head, Melanie reached for a match to light another cigarette and then inhaled. "Were you sleeping with Paul?"

  "Good God, for the millionth time, no!"

  She sighed. "Too bad you missed out. You've obviously led a sheltered life. Trust me—it's obvious I know much more about men. It doesn't matter if he was in love with you. He had a chance to get a little booty on the side, so he went for it."

  I drew my eyebrows together. "That doesn't sound like Paul's style."

  She waved her hand in an impatient gesture. "Please. That's all men's style. And it was his brother's style too until he was forced to marry Michelle."

  I watched her face closely. "So you did sleep with Ben?"

  Melanie grinned. "Guilty as charged. I don't know about Paul, but if he was anything like his brother in the sack, you really missed out, honey."

  Cripes. This woman was loathsome. And the more I discovered about Ben made me realize I wasn't particularly fond of him either. "Was this an ongoing thing between the two of you?"

  She shook her head. "Afraid not. It only happened once. He and Michelle had a huge fight, and rumor was they'd broken up. Anyhow, I was invited to attend a party at his fraternity by a mutual friend. We started talking, then wound up back in his room. Man, I was sweating bullets for a few days afraid I might turn up pregnant, but thankfully, no."

  "How lucky for you," I murmured. "So how long were you carrying on?"

  "It told you, it was just that one time. The next day, he got back together with Michelle, and before long, she was pregnant." She smiled. "Man, how I longed to tell her the other night, just to see the look on her face. It would have been priceless."

  I cocked my head to the side. "That's the real reason you went to the reunion, isn't it? Because you wanted to rub salt in her wounds?"

  "Maybe." Melanie shrugged. "But I ended up keeping my mouth shut anyway. After our night together, Ben never gave me the time of day again. I went up to him once while he was at a softball game with Michelle. He pretended he didn't even know who I was. They both looked down at me like I was dirt." She gritted her teeth. "No one treats me that way."

  "Do you think Paul could have been involved with Rachel Kennedy?"

  She chuckled. "The cheerleader turned stalker? Damn, she was hot for him. Why would you bring her up now?"

  "I don't know. She's all I can think of."

  "Maybe if Paul was comatose, he'd have let Rachel take advantage of him. He couldn't stand that psycho. She even showed up at the hospital a few times looking for him. Paul used to hide out back and ask me to lie to her that he wasn't working."

  Was there another woman in Paul's life I hadn't known about? Maybe like Ben and Melanie, he'd had a one-time fling with someone? Or could he have been drunk one night, and Rachel managed to catch up with him? Maybe Melanie was right, and I hadn't known him as well as I'd thought.

  Every guy at that age had a one-track mind. Or did they? Paul had never laid a finger on me. I wasn't sure what to think anymore. I didn't like Melanie, but there was a good chance that she was telling the truth. I'd have to talk to Mildred as soon as possible to see what details she could provide.

  Melanie stubbed out her second cigarette on the ground and rose from the bench. "I've got to get back to work."

  "I appreciate your time," I said.

  She studied me carefully. "You know what bugged me about Paul, besides the fact that he thought he was better than everyone else? The guy obsessed about everything. He always wanted to
know who, what, when, and why. Mr. Twenty Questions. Totally annoying."

  "That's what makes for an excellent doctor."

  "Yeah, but maybe it led to his demise too. Think about it. What if he couldn't deal with the pressure of having a stalker, a so-called best friend who wouldn't put out, and was afraid he'd choke at med school?" Melanie tapped her forehead with her finger. "I'm pretty good at all that psychological crap."

  Yeah, it shows. "Thanks for your help."

  She smirked. "Good luck. You're gonna need it, honey."

  I watched as she disappeared through the revolving doors of the entrance. Who the heck was she to call someone else a psycho? As far as I was concerned, Melanie Flowers was borderline nuts herself.

  I grabbed my car keys out of my purse and noticed that I had two missed texts and a phone call from Jacques. The first text was from an hour ago. I'd placed my phone on mute in the doctor's office and forgotten to change it back. Great.

  Tricia Hudson has a client who wants to see the house. Today. In one hour. I know—she pulls this crap on purpose. Ben said it's fine. Meet me there?

  The next text was from five minutes ago. We're all here. You're not. Get here. Now.

  Ugh. If I screwed this up, Jacques would hate me forever. I made a wild sprint for my car, dashing off a quick On my way text as I ran. I drove over the speed limit, something I never did, but with the lunch hour traffic, it still took me almost twenty minutes to arrive at the Steadman mansion. I pulled up in the driveway and spotted Jacques' convertible, Tricia's Audi, and a BMW I assumed belonged to the potential buyers. My beat-up Honda looked sadly out of place.

  I smoothed out my skirt, grateful that I hadn't worn jeans to the doctor's office, and ran up the steps. The front door was unlocked, and I hurried down the hallway, still not seeing anyone. Muffled voices could be heard from above, so I climbed the stairway. When I reached the top, I was perspiring, and my stomach felt like a dead weight. Menopausal and out of shape. What a wonderful combo.

  Jacques, Tricia, and a couple about my age were standing in the master bathroom. The room was done in a powder-blue marble stone and had a sunken glass bathtub with skylights above it. I'd never seen anything like this before. The tub was situated over the lake that ran behind the mansion. One felt like they were bathing among the tree tops. I almost had to restrain myself from jumping in to cool off my overheated, hot flash-filled body.

  They all turned at once in my direction, and I saw their faces register with alarm. Was something showing? How bad did I look?

  Tricia faked a smile. "Hello, Cindy. Allow me to present Jonah and Julie Whitaker. He's a movie producer." She spoke in a manner that suggested I should be impressed with that fact. "They're very interested in Ben and Michelle's home."

  I extended my hand to both of them. "It's very nice to meet you. I'm sorry. I had an appointment on the other side of town and got here as quickly as I could."

  They smiled politely and then walked past me back into the bedroom. After a sharp glance at me, Jacques followed, and I heard him say something about the lighting. The four of them chattered on. From the doorway of the bathroom, I watched them as they continued talking, aware that I'd been a temporary distraction, like a fly on the wall.

  Um, hello, who does this listing belong to again?

  At that particular moment, the irritation in my stomach turned into something else. I covered my hand with my mouth and swallowed the bile that was rapidly rising in my throat. Not now. Please, not now.

  Tricia was asking Jacques about the age of the roof, and he responded, but his cautious eyes kept darting back to me. Finally, he cleared his throat nervously. "Why don't the three of you go out to the terrace, and we'll meet you there in a minute? I need to speak to Cindy about a closing this afternoon."

  Tricia's phony smile lit up the room. "Of course."

  Without even a backward glance at me, Tricia and her clients departed the room. Jacques waited until they were out of earshot and could be heard descending the stairs. Then he grabbed my arm. "What the heck is the matter? You're bright green. You're doing a fabulous imitation of the Wicked Witch of the West, darling."

  "I…oh." I made a wild dash back into the bathroom. I couldn't reach the toilet in time but did manage to miss the floor and throw up in the marvelous glass tub instead.

  Jacques knelt beside me and held my head while I retched uncontrollably for a few more minutes. I remained suspended over the side, my head resting against the cold glass, waiting for all to be right with my world again. When I looked up, Jacques carefully applied a cold, wet washcloth to my forehead. He gently lowered me to the floor and then found a bath towel in the cabinet that he rolled up and placed behind my head.

  "Lie still, dear," he murmured. "I'll be back in a few minutes."

  I shut my eyes and must have drifted off for a minute, because I remembered nothing until another cool cloth was being dabbed against my cheeks. I opened my eyes to see Jacques bending over me.

  "How are we feeling, love?"

  "Better." With his help, I managed to struggle into a sitting position.

  Jacques took his jacket off and rolled up his shirt up at the elbows. He glanced at me anxiously while he cleaned out the tub. "I'm really worried about you."

  "I'm sorry. I got here as fast as I could. I was at the hospital."

  His expression was grim while he dried his hands. "Are you sick? Is it cancer? Tell me the truth."

  "Calm down. The doctor ran some tests. I still think it's the change, but he said there's a very good chance I might have an ulcer."

  "Well, with the life you lead, that certainly makes sense," he said dryly.

  "I'm so sorry. Please don't be mad at me."

  He rose to his feet and placed both hands on his hips. "Cin, forget about the house for a minute. I just want to make sure that you're okay. You obviously have some kind of health issue going on, and this whole incident with Paul can't be helping either."

  I rose to my feet unsteadily, Jacques' arm supporting me. "Maybe not, but I have to follow through." Then I proceeded to tell him about my meeting with Melanie.

  Jacques handed me an Altoid. "You need about a dozen, but this is all I have right now."

  "Gee, thanks." I popped it into my mouth.

  "So do you think Paul was worried he couldn't have children? Is that why he was discussing the sensitive issue with Mildred?"

  "I haven't the slightest idea. But I want to drive over to her apartment and see if she'll speak to me. It's about an hour away."

  Jacques glanced at his watch. "It's past noon. Let me drive you. We'll drop your car off at your house on the way."

  "Do you have time?" I was secretly thrilled that he had offered, as I wasn't crazy about taking a long drive by myself right now.

  "I'm showing a house to a client at four, but other than that, I'm free. What about your schedule?"

  "Darcy's with the boys, and Greg will be home early, so I'm good to go."

  He frowned. "I mean, what about your clients? How come Barney hasn't been around?"

  "Oh, didn't I tell you? He left me a message last night. He's decided to hold off on buying a house for a while. He wants to wait until the market gets better."

  Jacques gnashed his teeth together. "I knew that guy was a waste of precious space and time. I should send him a bill for that chair. Well, no matter. Tricia's confident that this couple is going to make an offer. I told her to call you, since you're the agent of record. So please make sure to keep your phone close for the next twenty-four hours or so. Even at three in the morning. Place it between you and your man when it's time for bed. You know how that chick operates."

  I blew out a breath. "Consider it done. Gee, that would be awesome if they do make an offer. And I promise, Jacques, I'll be on my game from now on."

  "Darling, how many times do I have to tell you—I'm not worried about that. Okay, well, maybe a little. But I know how much you want this sale too. With a little luck on our side, things wi
ll be in the bag. Nothing can go wrong now."

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Mildred Reynolds was excited when I phoned from the car and asked if we could stop by for a visit. Jacques pulled up in front of a two-story, white, vinyl-sided home with a large wooden front porch and shutters painted light blue. Mildred had relayed to me that she lived on the bottom floor while a young, not terribly friendly couple who played loud rock-and-roll music resided above her.

  As we exited the convertible, I saw one of the curtains move in the lower front window. When we reached the porch, Mildred was already positioned in the doorway, seated in her wheelchair.

  "Are you Candy?" she pointed at me.

  We crossed to the porch, and Jacques waited for me to ascend the steps first. I held out my hand to the elderly woman. "No, Mildred. I'm Cindy. It's very nice to meet you."

  She gave me a wide grin, displaying several crooked teeth. Mildred was little more than a stick figure, with gray hair gathered in an untidy bun and sunken cheeks in a well-lined face. Her brown eyes sparkled as they fixed on Jacques. "And who is this handsome young man? Your husband?"

  Sheesh. What was with everyone thinking Jacques and I were a couple lately?

  Jacques reached for her hand. "Hello, Mrs. Reynolds. I'm Jacques Forte, a friend of Cindy's. It's wonderful to meet you."

  Mildred flushed with pride. "Such lovely manners." She rolled the chair backward so that we could enter the house. "You just missed Louise. She's my aide and comes in everyday to see if I need anything. She does my grocery shopping too, which is a huge help. Tomorrow, Louise will come early in the morning and help me bathe. You two want something to drink?"

  Jacques and I both shook our heads. "We can't stay long," I said.

  She pushed her chair next to the small loveseat and patted its arm. "Come sit down next to me. Right here."

  We sat side by side on the plush couch, and I glanced around. The room was small but tidy. The television was tuned in to a soap opera that I recognized immediately as Days of Our Lives. There were some family photos on the coffee table and on the wall. I pointed at one of two little girls. "Are they yours?"