Right now, all I wanted was to get the inspections over with and head home to my children.
I grabbed my briefcase and hurried toward the front door. As I stepped into the entranceway, I stared in shock at the surroundings.
The Steadmans had wasted no time. From what I could see, all of the furniture had been removed. There were a couple of chairs left in the drawing room, probably as a courtesy for the buyers. A coffee pot and mugs had been set out on a small folding table next to it.
Tricia was standing next to the staircase, talking to her buyers. As if on cue, they all turned and looked at me, and I noticed the smiles vanish from their faces in a hurry.
With trepidation, I glanced down at my skirt. What was wrong this time? I had dressed in a hurry that morning. No, everything seemed to be in place clothing wise. Oh, cripes. They were looking at my face. Along with everything else, I'd been sick again that morning. Maybe Helen had heard me retching, and that's why she'd been nice to me afterward. Or perhaps because she hoped I was dying.
"Hi there," I greeted them. "Sorry I'm late."
Tricia gave a toss of her stringy, dishwater blonde hair. I knew that gesture well. It was her disparaging way of indicating that my presence didn't matter.
"I thought Jacques would be here," she said snidely. "But then again, he's always on time."
Ah yes, she was anything but subtle.
The two owners of Safety First Inspections walked out from the kitchen, and I greeted them, happy for a distraction. I'd worked with brothers Fred and Bob Gilson several times before. They were perhaps the most reputable team of home inspectors in our area.
"We're going outside to check the condition of the roof, if you'd like to tag along," Fred said to the buyers.
The Whitakers looked at Tricia, who gestured for them to go ahead. "I'll be right along. I need to speak with Cindy for a moment."
Great. Here it comes.
She waited until the four of them had disappeared and then glared at me. "I guess a seven-figure sale means nothing to you because you have so many of them, right?"
I folded my arms across my chest. I was in no mood for a lecture from her right now. "Tricia, I was ten minutes late. I had car trouble, plus I was sick this morning. So sue me."
She snickered and took a step back. "Well, I hope it's not contagious, because you look like a pile of dog poo." She paused as Michelle started down the staircase toward us. "Now there's a woman with class and beauty. One we should all aspire to be like."
"Ah, you're such a phony," I muttered. "Go babysit your clients. I need to talk to Michelle. Alone."
Her mouth fell open as she regarded me in amazement. I'd rendered her speechless, something that didn't happen often. I never spoke to other agents that way, but I was tired of Tricia's high-and-mighty attitude. Michelle caught the tail end of our conversation and also stared at me in surprise.
"Well, really," Tricia huffed. "I can't wait to tell Jacques about your unprofessional attitude. You're a disgrace to the business."
I shrugged. "Feel free. But you need to go outside. Now."
Both of them observed me in silence for a moment, and then Tricia turned on her heel. "You haven't heard the last from me, Mrs. York."
"Does anyone?" I called after her.
I turned my attention to Michelle. She was dressed casually in white shorts and a pink lace tank top, her blonde hair in a single braid down her back, making her appear more youthful-looking than usual. Her tanned legs were slender, and she accentuated them with white stiletto Manolo Blahniks. Yes, Michelle was perfect as always. In my crumpled outfit next to her, I felt like a leftover on the bargain shelf of life.
"Hi, Cindy," she said casually. "I didn't know if you would show up or Jacques."
"It's my listing, Michelle. Of course I'd be here." My tone was like acid.
She stared at me sheepishly. "Look, I'm sorry about the clothes. But I like Darcy. She's a good kid. I thought she deserved to have them."
I pressed my lips together. "She's not your child, so it's really not for you to decide if she should have them or not. And I would have appreciated if you'd asked me first. Now I'm the bad guy in her eyes."
She sighed. "My apologies. I didn't mean to interfere. Now if you'll excuse me, I need to finish a few things for the movers. They'll be coming by this afternoon for the remaining items. I'll be leaving to meet Ben in Bermuda tonight."
Michelle turned to go back up the stairs, but I reached out and touched her arm. She whirled around in surprise.
"We're not finished," I said through clenched teeth.
A flicker of annoyance passed over her face. "Look, I said I was sorry. What else do you want?"
I fought hard to control the anger raging within me. "How dare you say those things to my daughter about Paul. Darcy never knew him, and it's not exactly like he has a chance to defend himself."
Michelle's face reddened. "Okay, Cindy. I know how fond you were of Paul, but maybe it's about time you let this crazy harebrained scheme of yours go."
I blew out a breath. "It's not crazy, and I think you know that too."
She frowned. "Whatever. He's been gone twenty-five years. If you want to waste your time on this so-called theory, that's your problem. But I won't have you making Ben upset about it. He feels guilty enough."
"Why does he feel guilty? Because he was always jealous of his brother? Or maybe because he had something to do with his death?"
Her emerald eyes shot daggers at me. "You really should watch what you say, Mrs. York. Perhaps you don't want this listing after all."
"You're under contract. You can't do anything about it unless you want to cancel the whole sale, and I really doubt you'd do that at this stage, Mrs. Steadman."
She started to say something else but must have thought better of it. "You can let yourself out. Have Jacques call us after the closing next week. I'd prefer to not have to deal with you again."
"Likewise," I said, as she trotted up the stairs in her four-inch heels. My phone buzzed from my purse. "Yes," I said, in an irritated tone.
"Cindy?" Jacques worried voice floated through the line. "Why did you call me earlier? Is everything okay?"
"It's fine," I assured him. "The inspectors are outside now with the buyers and Tricia. I was just having a little chat with Michelle."
"Something's wrong. I can tell by your voice. Should I come over?"
I shook my head at the phone and tried to calm myself. "No. We had words. She said some things about Paul that were hurtful. And my car window was shattered last night. Definitely no accident." I told him about the note.
"Oh my God. It's the same person who did it before. Rachel."
"I'm not so sure." I then went on to fill him in about the call from Aaron last night. "She can't be the killer because she has a police record."
"Who else could have known about your car windshield back then?"
I tried to think. "Well, I think everyone knew. I couldn't afford to get it fixed right away and didn't have coverage. After a few days, Paul had someone repair it without even telling me. I was upset at first and wanted to pay him back, but he wouldn't let me."
"Cin, you should have called the police."
"I didn't want Helen or the kids to know what really happened. It's probably fixed by now, but I did take some pictures with my phone earlier. I'll go over to the station this afternoon."
"You should have called them last night when it happened. Look, you're going through so much right now. Let me come over."
"No. The inspectors should only be another hour or so. I can handle this on my own."
"Are they doing radon or just termite and structural?"
"Radon as well, but it hardly seems necessary. I can't foresee any problems. It looks like everything is a go, so stop worrying."
"I can't thank you enough for agreeing to take the listing," Jacques said quietly. "I know how difficult this has been for you. And that's why I want you to be a co-lister on that other m
ansion I landed yesterday."
I gasped. "You don't have to do that."
"Well, I want to. Um, have you—have you talked to Greg about, you know? Your little bundle of joy?"
"Not yet. When he comes home tonight." I sat down on the stairs. "Jacques, I'm scared."
His voice was soft. "Look, darling. It's not like you got yourself into this mess alone. Gregory will have to take his share of responsibility. Besides, he'll learn to love the idea in time. How about you? Are you feeling better about it now?"
I decided to be honest. "I want to be happy about the baby, but I just can't. God, I feel like a monster."
"I'm sure this is all normal. And in nine months—well, a little less—you're going to be a happy and proud mother. I know you. And Gregory will be a doting papa. I personally guarantee it."
"I hope you're right."
"Of course I am. Listen, you'd better get outside, and see what's going on. By the way, Tricia called me a little while ago and said you were behaving unprofessionally. What was that all about?"
"I wouldn't grovel at her feet."
"Good for you. I've got a client coming into the office around noon to sign some papers. Stop by when you're done, and we'll have lunch."
I really wanted a nap, not food. "Okay. I'll let you know when I can break away."
He disconnected, and I walked outside with a more optimistic attitude than I'd had before. Somehow, Jacques always succeeded in making me feel better about everything. Then again, that's what best friends were for. The world needed more people like him, and less of those like Tricia.
For the next hour or so I made small talk with the buyers and tried to avoid Tricia's hateful glare. Shortly after eleven, the inspectors printed a copy of the report for the Steadmans and one for the Whitakers. I exchanged good-byes and got ready to make my exit. Michelle had failed to reappear. I left her copy of the report on the folding table and made a hasty departure.
I sat in my mother-in-law's car for a minute, debating about what to do next. My phone buzzed, and I looked down at the screen. A chill ran through me when I saw who it was. Ben.
"Hello?"
"Hi, Cindy. I've been trying to phone Michelle, but she's not answering my calls. I was wondering how the inspections went."
"They went fine. You're free and clear," I said dryly.
"Is something wrong?"
"No. Where are you?"
"Bermuda. I just arrived this morning."
I tried to choose my words carefully. "Where were you yesterday morning?"
There was a beat of silence. "I had to fly to Florida to meet with a client. I told you this before. What's with the inquisition?"
"Remember Mildred, the nurse?"
"What about her?"
"She's dead, Ben. Someone strangled her to death."
He gasped on the other end of the line. "Oh my God, that's terrible. Was it a robbery? Who would do such a thing?"
"Well, that's what I'd like to know. When I went to see her, she said that Paul had something in his hand the day he was brought into the hospital. Remember how I told you about it?" Big mistake on my part. "Then Mildred called and said she remembered something. She wanted me to come over yesterday. But before we arrived, someone killed her. Kind of convenient, isn't it? Especially since you knew I was going to see her in the first place."
"Are you suggesting I had something to do with that poor woman's death? Who the hell do you think you are?"
"Well, what information did she have for me? She had a conversation with Paul about male sterility the day before he died. She said there was a name on a piece of paper in his hand. Whose name was it?"
"Maybe he did have a fling with Rachel," Ben said. "I don't understand why he would be talking to Mildred about something of such a personal nature. Did Paul think he couldn't father children?"
"Mildred said he had the mumps as a child."
"We both did. What does that have to do with anything?"
"I didn't know you had them too."
He ignored my statement. "Maybe Rachel came to him and lied that she was knocked up. Who knows? He was acting really weird those last couple of days. I noticed it when I came to the hospital for my test earlier that week."
"What type of test?"
He paused. "Um, Paul was aware I needed money and said he knew of a clinic that was paying top dollar for—you know…male donations."
"What are you talking about?"
"Come on Cindy. Don't make me spell it out for you. You know. Women that wanted children but needed a little help in making them. Now do you get it?"
Ew. "No offense but why would you need the money? Your family was rich."
His voice was low, almost monotone. "I needed it more than you might think. I had a bit of a gambling problem back then. I'd just returned from a weekend in Vegas where I'd squandered ten grand. My father was furious and cut me off for a while. So this seemed like a good idea—you know, an easy way to get cash. I was hesitant, but when I got to the hospital Paul gave me a vial and assured me he'd take care of everything else. Said he'd bring it to the clinic himself and then let me know how to go about getting my money. Turns out, I never did get paid for the sample. When he died, I forgot all about it. Maybe he never got a chance to turn it in."
Something here wasn't adding up. "This makes no sense. I can't picture Paul asking you for a—um, specimen. Was he a donor too? Is that how he found out he was sterile?"
"I have no idea. He never mentioned that to me. But as you know, he was going to medical school, so I'm sure he needed cash too."
"But Paul wasn't a doctor. Why would you let him arrange all of this? Didn't it seem fishy to you?"
His voice was defensive. "I was a kid and needed the money. How the hell would I know what he had access to or not? And I know what you're thinking. Paul's death worked out well for me. The prodigal son became the favorite one. My parents were so grief-stricken that I got everything I'd ever wanted. But I never would have hurt my own brother. I loved him. Honest to God."
I wanted to believe Ben but wasn't convinced. "I'm not ruling anyone out right now." Another thought crossed my mind, and the words poured out of my mouth before I could stop them. "How's Paula doing?"
"She's well, thanks. She's hoping to fly down next week to see us when we're settled in the condo."
"Ah. She's a beautiful girl, Ben. Looks just like her mother."
He chuckled. "I know. She's nothing like me."
"How come you guys never had any more children?"
There was a long, deafening silence on the other end of the phone. "It just never happened. I would have loved more, believe me, but it wasn't in the cards for us."
I clutched the phone tightly to my ear. "So, you and Michelle have no medical issues to speak of?"
His voice was so sharp it could have cut glass. "What are you implying, Cindy? Just spit it out."
Did I have the nerve to go through with this? "Ben, I'm wondering if you've ever considered the fact that Paula might not be your daughter."
Like an obscene caller, Ben's heavy breathing filled the phone. "You sick, twisted bitch."
I swallowed the bile that was rapidly rising in my throat. "I'm not saying this to be hurtful. But it does fit. Maybe that's why Paul wanted you to—to give a specimen. Maybe he suspected the baby wasn't yours. Paul loved experiments."
"Are you saying that Michelle might have slept with my brother? They never would have done something like that to me."
There was no turning back now. "She was carrying on with Carl Williams about the same time that she was sleeping with you."
"You're a liar," he rasped out.
I started talking fast, afraid he might disconnect. "Paul caught them together. I'm sure he figured you wouldn't believe him, so he wanted some type of proof to show you that the baby might not be yours. Maybe Michelle was hoping to trap you with another man's baby. Did you ever have a paternity test done?"
The rage in his voice sent crystal
s of ice raining through my body. He muttered a four-letter obscenity at me. "You're way out of line. I want your name off the listing immediately."
"It's a little too late for that."
Ben swore again. "Your whole claim about helping Paul get justice is bull. You're jealous of my wife and trying to stir up trouble. Don't go near her, and don't step foot in our house ever again. We deal with Jacques from now on, or the deal is cancelled. We don't need the money that badly."
My stomach was waging World War III, but I continued. "I think you do. Especially since you had to hand over some serious bucks to that intern of yours because of the whole statutory-rape issue."
"I don't know where you get your stories from, but that's a lie too. And I won't hesitate to sue you for slander. Stay away from my family, unless you'd like something unfortunate to happen to yours."
I blew out a sharp breath. "I'm sorry, Ben. My only wish was to find out what really happened to Paul."
"You should be careful what you wish for, Cindy."
He disconnected without another word.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
I thought about going directly to the police station but decided to swing home first and check on the kids. Hopefully, I could also exchange my mother-in-law's car for my own, provided that the glass had been repaired. After I made sure everything was all right and changed my clothes, I'd ask Helen to stay a little longer while I headed over to chat with our city's finest about a case they weren't even aware still existed.
Did Ben kill his brother? Had he known for years that Paula might not be his child? Or had he been purposely kept in the dark? How would I learn the truth? It wasn't like I could force Paula, Ben, and Carl to all take paternity tests.
As I pulled into the driveway, thoughts turned to my own baby. With a sigh, I placed a hand over my stomach. How had I not seen the signs? And how was I going to tell Greg? I needed to lie down and think for a while.
Priced to Kill (Cindy York Mysteries Book 2) Page 17
