Mark of the Loon (Gen Delacourt Mystery Book 1)

by Molly Greene

  Walking? In that outfit? His black suit and polished, dirt-free shoes weren’t appropriate hiking gear, especially not in this weather. And it was odd that he managed to look so cool in the wretched heat.

  “Look here, Miss. I’ve been tasked with keeping an eye on the place. I came over to ask your intentions. You understand you’re trespassing, don’t you?” His smile did not reach his eyes, and his expression remained too disapproving for the boyish charm of his face.

  She held out her right hand. “Madison Boone. I’m a real estate agent with Sloan Anderson Homes in Santa Rosa. A friend faxed me a notice from a Richmond paper that said this place was scheduled for probate sale. I wanted to take a look. So you caught me doing my job, checking on the property’s condition. I couldn’t find a sale listing or a phone number in the public records, so I didn’t know who to ask for permission.”

  His smile faded, but he recovered and shook her outstretched hand. “Do you have a buyer?”

  “Not really.”

  Madison’s inner radar was tweaking out a staccato beat. Something was off. “Did you know the property was for sale? You seem surprised.” She moved aside and looked over his shoulder. “Where did you say you could see me from? There aren’t any buildings around.”

  Madison looked him straight in the eye and mirrored his tight smile.

  He pulled a business card from his jacket and held it out. “Here’s the contact information for the attorney handling the estate. I thought he’d arranged to have the gate locked to keep out strangers with unwholesome objectives.”

  Her grin disappeared. She accepted the card. “Thank you so much, Reverend Kavanaugh.” Her words held just a tinge of ice. “It was a pleasure to meet you. I apologize for the inconvenience. It won’t happen again.”

  Their eyes met. He bobbed his head in an ever-so-slight nod as she brushed by on her way to the garden path.

  Unwholesome objectives, indeed.

  Madison blamed guilt over her unscrupulous behavior for not standing up to his insinuations.

  She pulled the car door open but hung back, scanning the hills for a path or hiking trail. Nothing but native redbud and thick stands of shrubs and trees.

  Where the heck had he been, anyway?

  A flock of birds rose like a cloud above the distant lake. She shaded her eyes to get a better look. Intent on the sight, she was startled when the Reverend spoke.

  “Something frightened the loons.”

  Chapter Two

  The bray of a telephone greeted Madison as she entered the real estate office through the parking lot door. She winced at the insistent buzz and stopped, searching the deserted room for the agent who should be fulfilling their duties as receptionist.

  “Who’s on floor time?” she called.

  The bathroom door careened open. Owner Christopher Sloan stepped out, smoothing a few remaining hairs across his otherwise bald pate. The obnoxious sound continued.

  “Who’s supposed to be answering phones?”

  Christopher waved toward the front.

  Louder, Madison called, “Heads up! Who’s on the switchboard today?”

  At the opposite end of the building, the office’s street entrance opened into a modest lobby. A conference suite and Christopher’s glass-walled private office were on the left. A compact kitchen, a unisex lavatory, a room housing office machinery, and an exit foyer comprised the rear. Partitioned cubicles filled the middle. Aisles narrowed by boxes and files ran between the rows of workspace.

  Tyler Pope popped his buzz cut up above the chest-high divider at the front of the room. Frantic, he pointed to his headset, then pumped his fingers up and down against his thumb to indicate he was on another call.

  Fresh-out-of-college greenhorn. The kid couldn’t talk and chew gum at the same time.

  Madison stomped to her cube, then picked up the handset and punched the blinking button.

  “Sloan Anderson, Madison Boone.”

  “Why aren’t you answering your cell?”

  Madison checked her bag. “Must have left it in the car. When did you call?” She lowered her voice. “Gabi, I found the cutest Bilbo Baggins house. I’d take you out to see it, but I promised the mean preacher who lives next door I wouldn’t trespass again.”

  Gabrielle Radcliffe’s laugh reminded most people of church bells, but Madison didn’t buy it. She’d been friends with Gab long enough to know there was nothing religious about her.

  “Don’t tell me now. Entertain us at Maud’s. That’s why I’ve been trying to call.”

  “Us?” Madison tucked the receiver between her shoulder and chin and searched her purse for the missing phone.

  The pale walls of the workplace were cool after the afternoon heat and felt peaceful against her frayed nerves. If it wasn’t for the phones, she might be able to relax.

  The thought made her chuckle. She was still nervous nearly an hour after almost getting caught by a priest climbing out the window of a house she had no business being in. Sounded like a high school prank.

  “What’s so funny?” Gabi asked. “Anyway, Gen drove up so Anna is taking the night off.”

  “Didn’t you say Dilbert was coming this weekend?”

  “Stuck on location in Hawaii.” Gabi was trying to sound breezy. “Filming ran over schedule. Everyone’s in lockdown so they can finish.”

  Nice try. Madison could hear the disappointment in her voice.

  Gabrielle’s husband of twelve years, B-list actor Dillon Michael Radcliffe, had asked for a trial separation and was staying alone in their Marina Del Rey condo.

  The couple met on a soap opera, and Gabi – stage name Elle Delacourt – had fallen hard. Madison did not adore Mr. Radcliffe the way Gabrielle did.

  But when they wanted a hideout from Tinseltown, Madison helped them buy a home in the wine country. Last year, the family had relocated for good. She wondered if letting his wife and twelve-year-old daughter make the move was Dillon’s way of easing spouse number one out and someone else in.

  They’d all find out soon enough.

  Either way, Dill the Pill was a jerk.

  Worst of all, the about-face had unhinged Gabi. She seemed to be lost. Madison felt sorry for her, but was furious that successful, elegant Elle Delacourt had ever allowed a man like Dillon Radcliffe to be her compass.

  “Meet us in an hour,” Gabi demanded.

  “I won’t turn you down and you know it,” Madison said. “But I’ll be wearing a sweaty old muumuu and tennis shoes with no socks.”

  “What’s new?” Gabrielle replied. “Can’t wait to see you. Bye.”

  The minute she hung up, Tyler spoke, this time with his voice next to her ear. Madison jumped, then raised crossed fingers and hissed, half laughing and half serious, “Back, boy, back.”

  He reversed position. “Where’ve you been, Madison? Showing property? Working with a buyer?”

  “Any messages for me, Tyler?”

  “Dude called about twenty minutes ago asking if you worked here. Secret admirer?”

  “Maybe. You get a number?”

  “Nope, he hung up when I said yes. Oh, and a lady called about your house today. I made an appointment to show it Sunday. Is that awesome or what? She saw the website pictures and gushed about how it was in the perfect area. Said if the vibe was right, she’d take it. Well, those weren’t her exact words. But it’s a great lead, huh?”

  She shrugged her shoulders. “Ehhhh.”

  Madison’s chic Santa Rosa home had been listed for three days. She’d poured heart and soul into the property for the past two years, slaving to turn the shabby place into a top-of-the-line remodel that would appeal to a wide variety of buyers. Intuition told her it would sell quickly, even though prices were down and the market was bottom-heavy with foreclosures and short sales.

  Actually, all the great deals made her drool with anticipation. She was ready to move on. The timing was perfect to buy another house and flip it. The fly in the ointment? Packing. The idea of b
oxes and strapping tape made her want to crawl under her duvet with a bowl of pasta.

  She thought of the property she’d seen today and imagined restoring the acreage, with its fruit trees and oodles of garden. The outcome might be more gorgeous than her current house, her best renovation so far.

  “Don’t waste my time with a penniless looky-loo.” Madison returned to the present with a snap and a renewed sense of purpose. “Call Rich at Priority Financial and get her prequalified before you write an offer, or I’ll just counter. Remember, buyers are liars. And you can’t spend your commission until the transaction closes and the check is in your hand.”

  “Yes ma’am.” Tyler bolted to his desk and shuffled a stack of business cards. The telephone jingled again. He grabbed it on the second ring, answering with a seriousness that belied his age.

  “Sloan Anderson Homes. Tyler Pope here.”

  Chapter Three

  At five o’clock, Madison returned to the 4Runner and tore the car apart. She found a pair of sandals hidden beneath a floor mat, three pens, a dozen paperclips, and a couple of crumpled protein bar wrappers stuffed into the molded pocket of the door panel.

  No cell phone.

  Exasperated, she fired up the car and headed across town.

  Maud’s Tavern was a local hangout that catered to a white collar clientele. Friday evening Happy Hours featured a live band and a middle-aged TGIF crowd looking for a good time. Madison signaled the hostess she was headed for the bar, then laughed as she caught sight of three manicured hands waving from a table at the far edge of the packed saloon.

  Tonight the throng was buying drinks for the musicians as a bribe to play old rock tunes. The guitar player lit up his amp with the opening licks of one of Jim Morrison’s all-time hits. The prospect of an evening with friends lightened her mood. She grinned and threaded her way among the tables, then dropped into the empty chair.

  “My FI-YAH!” the four sang in unison.

  They knew each other well.

  “Sorry I’m late.” Madison blew a kiss at Genevieve Delacourt, still dressed in a courtroom appropriate Ralph Lauren suit. She looked like a gorgeous plus-size model posing for a Harvard Law recruiting campaign. Her thick, wavy brown hair was twisted into a chignon. Her eyes twinkled with joie de vivre.

  “Hello, Madame Counselor,” Madison said. “I told Gab I’d be underdressed but I see that was optimistic.”

  Genevieve laughed. Several nearby faces swiveled toward the sound, smiling. “It gave us time to complain about how you look so good in those castoffs you wear.”

  Los Angeles-born fraternal twins Genevieve and Gabrielle Delacourt were the look-alike offspring of two showbiz success stories: An agent mother and a French stage actor dad. Gen was a larger, more outgoing version of Gabi. Madison and the sisters met when they were all enrolled in a beginning ballet class. Their interest in dance did not last, but the friendship flourished.

  Madison made a face and turned to Anna Nesbitt. “When does school start?”

  “Next week,” she replied, nodding. Her black corkscrew curls bounced against her shoulders with the movement.

  “What’s it like to be back in college after all these years?”

  “I like it. I’m glad I waited.”

  “I still don’t see how you can juggle bartending in this madhouse with schoolwork.”

  “It’s easier to study now. I’m more focused.”

  “You mean less distracted by all the cute guys,” Gen said.

  “Same thing.”

  “Hey,” Gabi said. “Tell us about the preacher.” Gabrielle wore stilettos with skinny jeans and a fitted leather jacket. A two carat diamond wedding ring sparkled on her finger.

  “Okay,” Madison said. “This afternoon I went to look at the place Gen found in the newspaper–”

  “Is that what this is about?” Genevieve sipped at a double shot of Maker’s Mark. “Don’t tell me it was interesting. Someone left the legal section behind on the train, and I was bored and willing to read anything.”

  “I loved the place,” Madison replied. “But why was a Sonoma County sale advertised in a San Francisco paper? It had to be a mistake. The right buyers wouldn’t find it.”

  “Maybe. I just faxed it up so you’d know I was thinking about you.” Gen batted her long, mascara-enhanced lashes. “Even when I don’t call.”

  “Now that I’ve seen it, I hope they don’t run the ad in our local rag,” Madison replied. “By the way, ever heard of email?”

  Genny inspected Madison’s jewelry-free hands. “No broken fingers,” she said. “Looks like you can type, too. But your nails could use some help, girl.”

  Madison slid her hands into her lap.

  “We could all stay in touch better,” Gabrielle added.

  “Gab.” Madison paused. “You’re getting so thin. You won’t fit into your size two’s if you keep it up.”

  “I already don’t.” Gabi tossed her hair and smoothed her high-end denim leggings. “I haven’t had an appetite lately. But Dillon is flying up next week, so I’ll stock up on junk food.”

  Madison frowned and shook her head. She was about to say more, but caught the warning look on Gen’s face and squelched it.

  “Tell the story,” Gen urged.

  “Well, it turns out the property is north of Healdsburg by Lake Sonoma. I love the neighborhood, and it’s close enough to the office to make it a possibility. Freaky secluded, though. I cruised back and forth for half an hour before I found the driveway–” She stopped when a cocktail waitress thumped a Corona down in front of her.

  Being a regular patron had its perks.

  Madison drank some of the beer. “I’ve been craving this all day. The heat is crazy. Anyway, when I finally stumbled across the address, I went in and found this jungle. And a house.” She drew on the bottle again. “A stone cottage, right out of a fairytale.”

  “Old or new?” Anna asked.

  “Built in the 1940’s,” Madison replied. “Lots of character. And the birds! It’s a paradise. But I practically had to use a machete to get from the front door to the patio.”

  She laced her fingers behind her head and leaned back.

  “So what happened?” Genny prompted.

  “Temptation got the better of me. My bad-self took control and forced me to climb in a window.” Madison tried not to smile. “I couldn’t help it.”

  Genny hooted. “That’s my girl. What was it like inside?”

  “The living room is like an English movie set from a silent film, but with lots of old furniture that looked handmade. But I didn’t get to see it all because someone came and I had to rush back out–”

  Madison’s lids flew open so wide the whites of her eyes were visible. Her face paled. “Oh, crap. That’s where my phone is.”

  She hunched over and fingered the pocket of her dress. “I stuck it I here, but I bet I lost it when I climbed out the window. What if I dropped it inside? I should have been more careful.”

  She rolled her eyes and took a long drag on her beer.

  Gabi sighed. “Well, drama queen, that explains why you didn’t answer my calls.”

  Gen thwacked her sister. “Umm, Mrs. Pot, is that you calling the kettle names?”

  Gabi winced. “Damn, Genevieve. No hitting.” She rubbed her shoulder. “We are not eight years old.”

  “Maybe you didn’t have it with you when you went in,” Anna said. “Did you dump out your purse and look under the car seats?”

  “Searched everywhere,” Madison said. “I remember checking the time, then I dropped it in my pocket. It’s out there all right. I’m dead meat.” She signaled the waitress for another round.

  “Hey, let’s go back, I’ll sneak in with you,” Genevieve said. “I want to see if the place is anywhere near as cool as you make it sound.”

  “Oh, perfect. As usual, you’re ready to misbehave,” Madison said. “Well, I guess that way I’d have my lawyer on hand when I got busted again.”

  �
�What’re the chances of getting caught twice?” Gen asked. “You said it was secluded.”

  Madison scowled. “Apparently there’s a church retreat next door and the head parson watches the property. He saw my car and came down to give me what-for. He was pretty stern about it, too. I told him I wouldn’t go in again without permission.”

  “The head parson?” Gabi chuckled. “Is that his official title?”

  “Well, he was acting all Charles in Charge, you know?” Madison pointed her index finger and raised her thumb to resemble a gun. “The long arm of the law.”

  “Chicken,” Gen said. “I want to go. It takes something major to get you so excited.”

  “Can’t you just call the man and explain?”

  “Anna, I didn’t exactly ask for his number.”

  “Time for a covert operation,” Gen whispered. She pulled an imaginary hood over her head. “You know, like when we used to climb over the wall of the drive-in after dark. We can park the car up the street if you’re afraid he’ll see it.”

  The hostess beckoned from the doorway, indicating it was time to go in for dinner.

  Gabi stood and picked up her bag, a cocktail napkin, and a glass of pinot grigio. “Like I said, Gen, you’re an attorney, not an eight year old. You can’t get into mischief like a kid anymore.”

  “The property is for sale.” Genevieve spoke in her professional voice. “An interested party would have a certain right to assess its value.”

  In a normal tone she added, “If we get in a jam, we’ll make that argument.”

  Madison reached for her bottle and purse. “I should just buy a new phone,” she said. “That would be the simplest solution.”

  “Come on,” Genevieve replied. “Where’s your sense of adventure? It’s not like we’d be breaking and entering. Well, not really.” She leaped from her seat so quickly the chair almost fell. “I’ll drive. My car is black, perfect for a night mission. Who would suspect a bunch of thirty-something women in a BMW?”

  “Searching for a cell phone in a jungle with a flashlight,” Gabi said. “Count me out. But I promise to spring you from the slammer.” She breezed toward the dining room.