Priced to Kill (Cindy York Mysteries Book 2)

by Catherine Bruns

  She smiled. "No, that's me and my sister when we were younger. I never married and have no children. My sister's gone, too, so I don't have any family left either."

  How sad to be so alone in the world. "I was wondering if we could ask you a few questions about the Steadman boys."

  Her forehead creased with wrinkles. "Steadman. Let's see, Peter and Len, correct?"

  I shook my head. "Paul and Ben. You worked for their physician for several years. Doctor Barrows, wasn't it?"

  Her face lit up at the mention of the name. "Oh my, yes. He was a wonderful man. I stayed with him for over twenty years. When he retired, I found a job at Burbank Hospital. It was all right but nothing like working for a doctor in private practice. The doctors these days though—"

  She prattled on, and I didn't have the heart to interrupt her. Restless, Jacques shifted in his seat as she continued to speak about Doctor Barrows' widow and his children. Poor thing. She probably didn't get many—if any—visitors. I hoped Jacques would not let his impatience get the best of him.

  He held up his hand. "Miss Reynolds, the Steadman boys had been coming to Doctor Barrows since they were little, correct?"

  She nodded. "Oh, yes. He delivered both boys. What a lovely family. Terrible shame what happened to the younger child. Why, that Pete was just the nicest boy."

  I winced. "Paul. Um, do you remember when he started volunteering at the hospital, a few weeks before he died?"

  "Such a nice boy." Then she peered at me closely through her bifocals. "You look familiar. Were you his girlfriend?"

  "No, but I was a friend of his," I said. "Sometimes I'd stop by the hospital when he was working there on weekends. We'd grab lunch together."

  She gave me a somber look. "That must be why you seem familiar. I'm so much better with faces instead of names. You must miss him, dear."

  I swallowed hard. "Yes, I do. What type of job did you have at the hospital back then?"

  Well, I worked in the emergency room," she said. "I was actually on duty the day Pete—err, Paul—was brought in. Right after he killed himself." She clucked her tongue against the roof of her mouth in dismay. "Such a waste. Terrible tragedy. And we'd been having such a nice chat the day before, too."

  Jacques leaned forward eagerly. "Was he upset about something, Miss Reynolds?"

  "Call me Mildred, dear." She smiled at him. "My, if I was only a few years younger." She winked at him.

  Jacques smiled politely at her, but his face flushed crimson. I bit into my lower lip to keep from laughing.

  "It's so hard for me to remember certain things lately. Don't ever get old, dear." She reached over to pat my hand. Her hand was fragile looking, with plentiful blue veins, and it was similar to touching an ice cube. "Let me think. We had a nice talk the day before he died. What was it he wanted to know? Oh, yes. It was odd. He was asking me questions about sterility in men." She leaned forward. "I think he might have had a little problem in that department, if you know what I mean."

  I tried hard not to roll my eyes. "Did he mention if he was involved with someone?"

  She blinked. "Well, dear, if he had a problem of that nature, I'm almost sure of it."

  Good grief, this was embarrassing. "Did you ever see him with a woman? Besides me, that is?"

  "Oh, goodness, I don't know," she laughed. "Earlier that day, a young lady was looking for him. Blonde hair, very pretty. He had just gone home, and she seemed upset to have missed him. I assumed it was his girlfriend. She'd been around a couple of times."

  My heart thumped inside my chest. The description fit Rachel Kennedy. She was next on my list to visit.

  "Why would he be asking about male…um, problems?"

  "If I remember correctly, he had the mumps as a child," Mildred said. "That can lead to sterility in men."

  "I don't remember him having the mumps."

  "He may have had them as a baby, dear."

  Jacques cleared his throat, obviously uncomfortable with the choice of topic. "You said you were there when they brought his body in?"

  Mildred sighed. "Oh my, yes. What a terrible day. He had a faint heartbeat, so they thought maybe there was a chance but sadly, no. He died minutes afterward. I was holding his hand at the time." She frowned and gazed off into the distance. "What was it about his hand?"

  Jacques and I glanced at each other. I was certain Mildred was talking to herself, so I placed a hand on her arm, hoping to divert her attention back to us. "Was there something else you remembered, Mildred?"

  She shut her eyes. "Oh, dear. He had a small piece of paper clutched in his hand. But there was something that struck me as odd about it…"

  I tried to control my excitement. Maybe this was the answer I was looking for. "Take your time. As long as you need. Do you think it was a suicide note?"

  She shook her head, clearly frustrated. "No, because I would have turned that over to the police. The other nurse on duty was new, young, and terribly impatient. Not fit for the job, if you ask me. Anyway, she threw it away when I was out of the room. But I remember that it struck me as odd, though. There was a name on it, I believe."

  "Whose name?" I asked.

  She blinked rapidly. "Sorry, dear. I get tired so easily these days. I should go lie down. Maybe it will come to me later."

  Although disappointed, I figured there was probably nothing I could say that would jar her memory right now. Jacques and I both stood to leave.

  I handed Mildred my business card. "Thank you so much for your time. Please call me if you happen to remember anything else. You can phone me any time of day or night. This is very important."

  Her sharp eyes observed me in a thoughtful manner. "You never said why you wanted the information, dear."

  There was no reason for me not tell her the truth, and I hoped that maybe the admission might help stimulate her memory further. "I don't believe Paul committed suicide. I think he was murdered."

  Mildred gave a small gasp and covered her mouth with both of her hands. "Oh my goodness. Of course I'll let you know if I remember anything."

  We said our good-byes and let ourselves out. As I shut the front door, I noticed Mildred was staring at the floor, transfixed, hands gripping the sides of her wheelchair. Guilt overcame me. I hadn't wanted to scare the poor woman. But I needed answers and prayed that she could provide some.

  Jacques and I made a quick stop at a nearby Starbucks where I wisely ordered an herbal tea instead of my usual coffee, hoping it would help settle my stomach. As we were getting back in his convertible, my phone buzzed. I looked down at the name on the screen and shrieked. "It's Tricia!"

  Jacques' coffee cup went flying out of his hand and across the parking lot. He started waving his arms frantically. "Don't keep her waiting. But play it cool! And for God's sake, don't sound desperate!"

  I'd never seen my friend in such a state before, but I understood his frenzy. If one thing was certain, we were both desperate for this sale. The sooner we could sell this place, the better and in more ways than one.

  I placed my hand at my throat to steady myself. "Hello, this is Cindy. How may I assist you?"

  "Cindy, dear," Tricia cooed into the phone. "I have an offer on the Steadman place. I'd like for you and Jacques to present it to Mr. and Mrs. Steadman. Today, if possible."

  I glanced up to see Jacques standing there with his hands clasped together, eyes pleading. If the situation hadn't been so dire, I might have laughed out loud. "Of course, Tricia. We'll swing by your office in a few minutes to pick the offer up."

  Jacques pumped his fist in the direction of the sky.

  "Wonderful. I look forward to seeing you." She disconnected.

  I smiled at my friend. "I guess I'd better call Ben and tell him we have an offer."

  "Yesss!" Jacques grabbed me around the waist and lifted me off of my feet into the air, swinging me around.

  "Put me down! I'm getting dizzy."

  He released me and kissed the top of my head. "I feel like break dancin
g right here in the parking lot."

  I laughed as I got into the passenger seat. "Come on. I told her we'd be right there. And I'll call Ben and Michelle to see if we can swing by afterward."

  Jacques zoomed off like a maniac while I clutched the door handle for support. He pointed at the phone in my hand. "Call Ariel Jones. She was in the office earlier. Ask her if she can take my four o'clock showing. There're copies of the paperwork on my desk in a file labeled Carter."

  I made the two calls and hit pay dirt with both. Ariel was just getting ready to leave the office and gladly agreed to fill in for Jacques. Ben was at work but assured me he'd phone Michelle, and they could meet us at the house in about half an hour.

  "Hey, my stomach's in knots as it is. Please slow down unless you want me to decorate your upholstery."

  He turned his head and frowned. "Don't even joke about such a thing, darling. Do you have any idea what this car cost me?"

  The convertible came to a screeching halt in front of Tricia's office, and Jacques stared at me with concern. "You still don't look well."

  I leaned my head against the passenger side window. "I am feeling better though. Do you want me to go in?"

  "Nah. She loves me. I'll grab the paperwork and be right back. You rest, dear."

  Sighing, I took a sip of tea and settled back in the seat. My phone buzzed again. I stared down at the screen but didn't recognize the number.

  "This is Cindy. How may I assist you?"

  "Cindy, it's Aaron Connors. I was wondering if you'd gone to see that woman yet."

  "Hi, Aaron. Thank you so much for all the help. I'm going to try to meet with Rachel tomorrow or maybe even tonight."

  He coughed into the phone. "Just be careful. Like I said, the woman has some priors. Apparently she was stalking a woman who dated a former boyfriend of hers. Sounds like she's still up to her old tricks, even after twenty-five years."

  "I'll take Jacques along, if I can convince Rachel to see me, that is. I just spoke with the nurse who was on duty that day at the hospital when Paul's body—" I paused for a moment, as the image of that day once again filled my head. "She was working in the emergency room and said he had a faint heartbeat. Then she commented that there was something strange about Paul's hand. He was holding a piece of paper."

  There was a pause before Aaron spoke. "That seems highly unlikely. We would have taken it for evidence."

  "Mildred said that it was clutched tightly inside, so perhaps you never saw it. She said it wasn't a suicide note or anything like that. And she said the other nurse threw it away when she was out of the room."

  Aaron swore and then apologized. "I never saw a case where so many details got botched up like that one. It's downright embarrassing. Back then, we didn't have DNA to focus on like now. Too bad there's not an item of the kid's clothing or anything else from that day still around. Evidence like that would be instrumental in tracking down a potential killer."

  I nodded absently, half listening to what he was saying, still thinking about what could have been in Paul's hand. Then his words dawned on me. "Oh my God."

  "What is it?"

  Jacques approached the car triumphantly, waving the folder Tricia had given him. I held a finger up to my lips. "I have his hat."

  "Come again?"

  Excitedly, I clutched the phone closer. "He was wearing a New York Mets hat the day he died. His brother gave it to me the other day as a keepsake. Their mother had kept it locked away in the attic for years, and Ben just stumbled across it a few weeks ago. It's still in a plastic bag. I don't think anyone has even opened it since that…day."

  Jacques watched me, his mouth hanging open as the words registered with him.

  "Damn." Aaron breathed heavily on the other end of the line. "If that's true, it looks like you might have found yourself a valuable piece of evidence."

  Now both my heart and my stomach were doing flip flops. "Could that tell us who killed Paul?"

  "It's a little more complicated than that," he said. "If they find DNA on the hat, they might be able to match it with the person you believe shot him. If this person has any type of record on file, that is. Are you sure the hat's never been touched?"

  "I'm not positive but think there's a good chance." Was there some way I could ask Ben? No, better not to tell him anything. "The hat is at my house. Is there any way you could help us get it tested?"

  Aaron was silent on the other end of the line. "I have a friend in the lab who owes me a favor. I don't really like to ask for things like this, but as I told you the other day, this case and the numerous screw-ups have always bothered me. I'd like to learn the truth, as much as you."

  I doubted anyone wanted to know the answer as much as I did but didn't argue. The need to learn what had really happened was consuming to the point where it had started to gnaw at me. "Then you'll help me?"

  "Drop it off at my house tonight."

  Yes. "Jacques and I will drive it over within a couple of hours." I put my hand over the phone and whispered to my friend. "Is that okay?"

  Jacques nodded. "I'm at your disposal for the entire evening, dear."

  "Whenever you get here is fine," Aaron said. "I'll be home all evening and will run it to the lab first thing tomorrow morning. Of course, it depends on what else they have going on, but I'm betting they can get it back to me by Friday."

  I was amazed. "So fast?"

  Aaron chuckled. "Like I said, he owes me a favor. And a big one too. We always take care of our own, little lady." With that, he disconnected.

  Jacques pulled up into the sprawling driveway of the Steadman mansion, placed the car in park, and turned to face me. "So what's the plan, Hastings?"

  I grinned. "Think we might have time for a visit to see Rachel Kennedy tonight?"

  He smiled. "I told you I'm at your disposal. Do you think we should call first or just show up?"

  "Let's take our chances and show up."

  Jacques nodded in approval. "I think that's a good idea. I mean, why would psycho chick want to talk to you, of all people? She knows you and Paul were best friends, right?"

  I placed the phone back in my purse. "Everyone knew we were friends."

  "Well, there you go. Bet she was jealous of you."

  I pushed the car door open. "That's crazy. There was nothing even going on between the two of us."

  He winked. "Well, maybe nothing on your end, darling, but I believe Paul would have disagreed with you."

  I shut my car door. "You don't quit, do you?"

  "Okay. Let's keep our heads in the game now. No mention of Paul's death. Our only goal for the present is to get them to accept this offer."

  I put out my hand for the folder. "I didn't even look at the price yet."

  "Believe it or not, it's better than I expected from Tricia. That woman lowballs everyone." Jacques handed the folder over and then glanced at my face. "Your color is improving. How's the stomach doing?"

  "I'm fine. The tea helped a lot. And if Michelle and Ben agree to this offer, I have a feeling that I'll want to do some break dancing too."

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Ben answered the front door himself. He was dressed in his usual suit, this time a light gray one with matching silk tie and a gray-and-white striped oxford. "Cindy, Jacques. What perfect timing. I just got home. Please come in."

  I handed him the shopping bag full of clothes that Michelle had bought for Darcy. "This is for Michelle. Darcy phoned her earlier, and she's expecting it."

  He glanced at the bag, momentarily confused, and then passed it to Wesley, who was now standing beside him. "Please take these upstairs. Don't disturb Mrs. Steadman, though."

  Wesley nodded. "Will you be wanting coffee, sir?"

  Ben looked at us, and we both shook our heads. "No, we're fine, Wesley, thank you," he said.

  The man nodded and ascended the stairs with the shopping bag.

  "Let's go out on the terrace." Ben removed his jacket and placed it on a chair. "There's a nice bree
ze, and I could use the air after being tied up in my stuffy office all day."

  He led the way outside, and we followed. I prayed Ben couldn't hear my stomach rumbling, this time from nerves. "Won't Michelle be joining us?"

  Ben waited until we had been seated and then nodded toward the second-floor window that I knew was their bedroom. "Michelle's not feeling well. Migraine. She gets them frequently and asked that I apologize to the both of you. She's fine with me making the decision. I know her thoughts on the subject and how eager she is to move. I'll show her the contract later when she's feeling better. If necessary, I can sign for her as well."

  I had to secretly wonder if Michelle didn't want to face me after I had forced Darcy to phone her earlier and say that she would be returning the clothes. After Darcy had mumbled a quick good-bye to Michelle, she'd turned on me with her usual venomous "I hate you" response and had flown upstairs. This was becoming a daily thing. I had wanted to have a few moments alone with Michelle, but since I didn't want to jeopardize the sale, maybe this was just as well.

  Ben glanced at the folder in Jacques' hand with curiosity. "I have to say, I'm very impressed. The house has only been on the market for three days."

  Jacques flushed with pride. "It doesn't always happen this fast, believe me. But your house was priced to sell, and even in this dismal market, there are people looking in your price range. Tricia Hudson from Primer Properties has an out-of-town client who wanted exactly what your house had to offer."

  Jacques opened the folder, and Ben glanced through the contract Tricia had drawn up, more specifically, at the bottom-line figure her buyers were offering.

  "I know it's fifty grand less than what you were looking for," Jacques said. "We can always refuse or make a counteroffer."

  Ben smiled. "Nope, we're good." He signed his name with a flourish on the line above where it had been printed.

  Jacques and I looked at each other, dumbfounded. Why weren't all of them this easy? My first ever million-dollar sale was going off without a hitch. In the past, I'd had deals for a fraction of this cost that had been nothing but constant headaches. I pinched my upper arm. Was I dreaming?