[Cutthroat Business 01.0 - 03.0] Boxed Set

by Jenna Bennett

  “I’m Savannah Martin,” I explained, extending a hand. “I work with Tim Briggs. He asked me to host the open house this afternoon.”

  “I see.” She looked me over from head to toe and back. I waited. My mother dresses with the best of them, and Bradley had expected me to keep up appearances as well, so I wasn’t worried. I may not be able to afford the cream of the runway on the salary I make these days, but I can still dig enough designer duds out of the closet to impress the pickiest of Brentwood matriarchs. Which this woman wasn’t. She couldn’t have been much older than me – either that, or she employed the best plastic surgeon in the country – and she was flashily dressed in purple suede pants and a striped shirt, with Manolo Blahniks on her feet.

  I must have passed muster, for after a thorough look, she took my hand. “I’m Connie Fortunato, and this is my husband Perry.” She indicated the car. I ducked my head to smile at Perry, who was middle aged and non-descript, with curly hair just starting to go thin on top. He didn’t seem to find any fault with my appearance, either; especially the way my blouse gaped open when I bent over to greet him.

  “Nice to meet you both,” I said politely, straightening up. Connie sent a frowning glance at her husband, who immediately looked away and put the car in gear. She slid into the passenger seat. “We’re off to the races. Have fun, Savannah.” She waved a languid hand with purple talons. For just a moment I was reminded of Lila’s long nails with flowers and tiny chips of gemstone, and then it was gone.

  “No doubt,” I said to the tailpipe of the Mercedes. And just for the record, I didn’t envy the Fortunatos their 4,000 square foot McMansion or their Mercedes or their afternoon of leisure. The only thing I envied them was their bank account, but only because my own bottom line was so depressing that if I didn’t sell a house soon, I’d be defaulting not only on the payments on the Volvo, but on my rent, my utility bills, and my Saltines and ketchup. Money can’t buy happiness, something my short marriage to Bradley had brought home with a vengeance, but it can buy a whole lot of other things. Like food on the table and a roof over one’s head.

  But I digress. I waited for the Mercedes to leave the driveway, and then I headed up the wide front stairs and let myself in through the fifteen-foot high doors into a formal foyer with a chandelier that must have cost as much as my car. Off to either side were formal sitting rooms, one with a black lacquered baby grand piano and the other with something I could have sworn was a genuine Georgia O’Keeffe in a frame on the wall. Beyond the entry was a hallway, which culminated in a grandiose family room with a massive stone fireplace that took up one entire 15x15 wall. There were genuine Kashmiri rugs on the floors, genuine art on the walls, and genuine antiques everywhere. If the open house robbers came here, they’d throw their backs out hauling valuables to the truck.

  In both Lila’s and Kieran’s cases, the robbers had waited until the open house was almost over before they appeared. Surely the time when I needed to start worrying, would be around 3:30 or so; not before. Not now. And if there were people here, browsing, when 3:30 rolled around, any hypothetical robbers probably wouldn’t bother coming in at all. They couldn’t tie us all up, after all. And they were probably busy trying to deal with the fallout from Lila’s murder, anyway, whether they’d had anything to do with it or not. For the next hour and a half at least, I ought to be able to relax and do my job without worrying about being tied up and subjected to sweet nothings by a man with a sexy drawl and hot, dark eyes.

  I spent the final five minutes familiarizing myself with the house, just so I’d know what I was talking about when I gave people directions to the master bedroom, game room, or music room, and then I stationed myself at the front door, with an uninterrupted view of the circular drive, and got ready to greet all comers. “Good afternoon. My name is Savannah Martin. Welcome to our open house. There are refreshments in the kitchen, as well as some fliers with information about the house. If you have any questions, please don’t hesitate to ask; it’s what I’m here for. And before you leave, if you wouldn’t mind signing the guest register so I can keep track of how many visitors I have...?”

  For the first hour, hour and a half, traffic was slow but steady, with no less than three people in the house at any time. At around 3:30 it started slowing down, and I was just beginning to think about worrying when a small, dark blue Honda turned into the driveway. I arched my brows.

  A minute later the Honda’s doors opened, and Gary Lee and Charlene Hodges came up the stairs, clinging to each other and giggling. “Hi,” I said brightly. “Welcome to our open house. How are you?”

  Gary Lee allowed as how they were fine. “Since we couldn’t go look at that house we wanted to see today, we figured we’d just come see this one instead.”

  I nodded. “No reason why not; that’s what an open house is for.” I used to go to them all the time before I got my real estate license, just to see what they were like. It’s fun, pretending to be living in someone else’s house. Especially when one’s own house, and one’s own life, isn’t so great.

  Charlene giggled. “So where’s everything at, Savannah? You know, bedrooms, bathrooms, kitchen... master suite?”

  I pointed out the locations of the various highlights, and watched the two of them walk down the hall as closely entwined as Siamese twins.

  Another five or ten minutes went by, as I wandered into the kitchen to count entries on the log to see how many visitors I’d had so far. With Gary Lee and Charlene there were seventeen; Tim ought to be pleased with the turnout. Idly, I wondered if Lila and Kieran had kept track of the people who had visited their open houses, and if so, if the police had taken charge of the lists, just in case someone had noticed anyone hanging around outside, waiting for everyone else to leave, or perhaps if even one of the robbers had stopped by earlier to case the place.

  I was still in the kitchen, looking at my list of names, when I heard the sound of an engine pulling up outside. The oven clock said 3:50 right on the dot, and my heart started beating faster. The rumbling was replaced by silence, and then I heard the sound of heavy boots on the flagstone steps. The door knob turned just as I hurried into the front foyer. The door opened and a man came in. He was tall and dark, with broad shoulders under a black leather jacket, and long legs encased in faded denim. His skin was the color of coffee with plenty of milk, a warm golden tan, and the eyes that scanned the room before landing on me, were as dark and melting as those on a Cocker Spaniel, and surrounded by a thick fringe of long, sooty lashes. They were also rimmed by a smudgy bruise of fatigue, a mute testament to a long and mostly sleepless night. When I didn’t say anything for a second, just stared at him, he flashed a grin. “Cat got your tongue, darlin’?”

  My vocal chords were galvanized into cooperating as my cheeks turned pink. “You took your time getting back to me.”

  He quirked a brow. “I didn’t know you’d called.”

  “I didn’t call,” I said. “I left word with Marquita.”

  “I ain’t been over there for a while.” He wandered closer to me, assessing the O’Keeffe, the baby grand, and the antiques along the way. “Your kind of place, ain’t it? All this old stuff.”

  I shook my head. “The house is too modern. When you grow up in an 1839 mansion on the Antebellum Trail, a brand new house, no matter how ostentatious, just doesn’t cut it.”

  Rafe didn’t answer, but he smiled. I flushed, feeling stupid. He had spent his childhood in a trailer in the Bog, surrounded by leaning walls and a leaking roof, so this place probably looked like a palace.

  Then again, Mrs. Jenkins’s house on Potsdam Street, where he lived now – at least from time to time – wasn’t anything to sneeze at, either. Circa 1889, it was a three-story Victorian with a ballroom on the third floor and a circular tower on the southeast corner. It needed a ton of work, some of which he had done, some which he hadn’t gotten around to yet, but it had all the personality this cookie-cutter McMansion lacked.

  “So what’s
been going on,” I asked, “that you haven’t been over to see your grandmother lately?”

  “I spent the night with Tammy Grimaldi.” His voice was so even that it took a moment for the words to sink in. Just as the realization of what he’d said sucker-punched me in the stomach, he added, “So what is it you want, darlin’?”

  “Want?” I repeated blankly.

  “If you went toe to toe with Marquita, you gotta want something. What is it?”

  “Oh. Right. Sorry.” I grimaced. “I wanted to tell you that Lila Vaughn was dead. But if you spent the night with Tamara Grimaldi, I guess you already know that.”

  His eyes were opaque. “The subject came up, yeah.”

  “Pillow talk?”

  Try as I might – and I wasn’t trying that hard – my voice came out sounding snippier than I wanted it to. His lips curved.

  “Never mind,” I added, with what little dignity I could muster. Goodness, how humiliating! I wouldn’t blame him for thinking I was jealous.

  His voice was easy. “You’re giving me too much credit, darlin’. Women like Tammy Grimaldi don’t look twice at somebody like me.”

  “You haven’t heard the way she asks questions about you,” I answered.

  He laughed. “That ain’t cause she likes me, darlin’. She probably thinks I’m doing something I shouldn’t be.”

  “And are you?” The words just fell out of my mouth without conscious thought, and Rafe chuckled.

  “I’m sure I’m doing plenty of stuff I shouldn’t be.”

  “Like what?”

  “You sure you wanna know, darlin’?”

  I hesitated. For just long enough to make it difficult to say yes. “You said you had things to do this afternoon,” I said instead. “What happened?”

  He shrugged. “Change of plans.”

  “Well, if you didn’t speak to Marquita and get my message, how did you know I wanted to talk to you?”

  That was easy, he didn’t.

  “So what are you doing here?” I asked.

  “Maybe I just came by to pick up where we left off last week.” He grinned, and I took an immediate step back, fetching up against the nearest piece of antique furniture with a bump that sent the elegant console-table knocking against the wall. He laughed. “Relax, darlin’. After Tammy told me what’d happened to Lila, I wanted to make sure you were all right.”

  “I see,” I said. “That’s really quite nice of you, to take time out to check on me. Do you want to go back to her, now that you’ve seen that I’m all right?”

  He laughed. “What exactly d’you think we were doing, darlin’? I spent the night in jail. She hauled me in for questioning around 8 o’clock yesterday, kept at me till one in the morning, let me sleep for five hours, and came back to work at seven. Then we kept going in circles till one, when she finally let me leave. I had to tell her you were waiting for me before she’d let me out of her sight. She’s probably outside right now, making sure I’m doing what I said I was gonna do.”

  “So you’re only here because you told her you would be?”

  He shrugged, looking around. “You alone?”

  “No, actually. There’s a young couple around somewhere. They went back that way, to look at the master suite...” I pointed, “it must be ten minutes ago now.”

  And they hadn’t come back yet.

  Maybe Gary Lee and Charlene had overheard our conversation and decided to make themselves scarce until we had finished. Or maybe they’d exited from the master suite out onto the deck, and had gone around the house to their car that way. Maybe I really was alone. Except for Rafe, who was making me feel just a touch apprehensive. “Why do you ask?”

  “Just wondering. Busy day?”

  “Not too bad. Seventeen visitors, eighteen with you. I’ve seen worse.”

  “You sure you shouldn’t check up on your couple? If you ain’t heard a noise for ten minutes, they could be up to all sorts of trouble. Going through the medicine cabinets, pocketing the silverware, strangling one another...”

  I shook my head. “They’re nice kids. Newlyweds looking for their first house. I met them two weeks ago at your grandmother’s open house, and I’ve shown them a couple of homes since then. They have another they want to see tomorrow. They’re not doing anything wrong.”

  “It’s almost time to close up, though. You don’t wanna leave nobody behind.”

  I glanced at my watch. “If they’re not out here in two minutes, I’ll go look for them. Just out of curiosity, why are you being so helpful? You don’t have a moving truck on standby outside, do you?”

  “After what happened to Lila? No, darlin’. I ain’t that stupid.”

  “Good to know,” I said, wondering whether he really had just admitted that he’d been involved in the open house robberies or if my imagination was running away with me.

  “Course, if you’ve got a hankering for being tied up, I could oblige just to make you happy.”

  “After what happened to Lila?” I said. “No, thanks. I’m not that stupid.”

  “Good to know,” Rafe said with a grin, which faded when he added, “I’m sorry about your friend. You all right?” His dark eyes were probing.

  I could feel tears prickling at the back of my own eyes, and deliberately made my voice crisp to keep them at bay. “As well as I can expect to be. We hadn’t known each other long, but I liked her a lot. I hope they catch whoever did it.”

  Rafe opened his mouth to speak, but just then Gary Lee and Charlene appeared, hand in hand and giggling, and he closed it again. “Sorry, Savannah,” Gary Lee said. “We got... um... tied up.”

  I grimaced. Bad choice of words under the circumstances, but of course they didn’t know that. “No problem. If it was just us, I’d let you stay as long as you wanted, but the owners will be back soon, and we should be gone by then.”

  “Sure.” They nodded, glancing curiously from Rafe, standing in front of the O’Keeffe, hands in his pockets and face inscrutable, to me. Charlene contemplated him with her head tilted, much the same way he contemplated the O’Keeffe; like a connoisseur assessing a work of art. Gary Lee was watching me. “Um... Savannah?”

  I nodded.

  “You OK?”

  “Fine,” I said. “Why...?”

  He glanced over at Rafe.

  “Oh,” I added, as I realized that he was worried about me. “This is Rafael Collier. He’s an... um... old friend.”

  Rafe’s lips curved. Charlene giggled.

  “Right,” Gary Lee said. “None of my business. C’mon, babe.” He steered Charlene toward the door, telling me over his shoulder, “We’ll see you tomorrow.”

  “I’ll be there,” I promised. “Three-thirty.”

  “If you can’t make it, just call,” Charlene said. “If, like, something comes up.” She giggled.

  I grimaced. Gary Lee looked embarrassed.

  “Comes up,” Charlene added. “Get it? Comes up!”

  I nodded. “I got it. Thanks, Charlene. If I can’t make it, I’ll definitely call.” Although I knew, as she obviously didn’t, that the chances of something coming up, in the way she meant, were slim indeed. Or rather, if something did come up, it wouldn’t make me late for our appointment. Whatever came up would come down on its own, with no help from me, and that was all there was to it.

  Chapter Eight

  “So,” Rafe said when they’d left, “that’s the happy couple.”

  I nodded. “Aren’t they cute? I remember being that young and happy once. Then I married Bradley.”

  “I didn’t peg you for a cynic.” He started wandering again, looking around.

  “Who, me?” I followed, wondering where he was headed. “Only when it comes to marriage. Or remarriage. Todd was telling me the other night that I need a husband, and I felt like he had punched me in the stomach.”

  “Depends on the husband, don’t it?” He peered into the dining room, with its custom-made chandelier and glass topped table.

  “I
imagine it might,” I admitted. “In this case, I think Todd was thinking of himself.”

  Rafe took time away from his inspection of a Japanese vase to glance at me. “Proposed, did he?”

  I shook my head. “Not exactly. He just hinted. Although I suppose he might have come out and said something specific if I’d given him some encouragement.”

  “Something to remember for next time.”

  Rafe moved on, in the direction of the kitchen. My heart started beating faster as he slipped through the door. This could be it. I could be on my way to being tied to one of the chairs, like Kieran and Lila.

  “You know,” I said, lingering in the doorway, “Todd’s still going on about how dangerous you are, and how I need to stay away from you. I keep asking him what you’ve done that’s so bad, but he just makes ominous noises and says there are things about you I don’t know.”

  “No kidding?” He zeroed in on the breakfast bar with its four leather-topped bar stools. I kept an eye on his hands, just in case he planned to pull a coil of rope out from under his jacket and lasso me.

  “No. So what is it about you I don’t know?”

  “Most everything, I’d say.” He stopped behind the bar, where I’d placed the informative brochures and a guest register. I wondered if he was waiting for me to sit down across from him, and that’s when he’d be whipping out the rope.

  “Why don’t you tell me something, then.” I stayed right where I was, at a safe distance both from him and the chairs. Connie and Perry wouldn’t find me trussed like a turkey when they came home.

  He squinted at me, twirling the pen between his fingers. “Something...?”

  “Something about you. Like, you secretly read poetry. Or you’re a Cordon Bleu cook. Or you make your living as a motorcycle mechanic. Or you’ve got an ex-wife and four kids somewhere.”