I frowned, entirely puzzled. "Did she say what she was excited about?"
"No, but the second message said something like he was going to love her pompoms. Honestly, Lexi, who calls them pompoms?"
"Cheerleaders?"
"He changed his computer password too."
"I know all these things look suspicious but I'm sure there's a reasonable explanation. For security purposes, passwords should be changed from time..."
"Yeah?" Lily cut in. "How did you know Anthony was cheating on you?"
"Ummm... I saw him with someone else."
"And?" she prompted.
"And there were text messages on his phone and he changed his computer password," I admitted. "But that was Anthony, not Jord. Anthony is a horrible, depraved person, and cheating wasn't even the worst thing he did."
"I know. We made a list. A long, long list."
"Have you spoken to Jord?"
"I tried but he just said I was being irrational..."
"Ouch!"
"I know! I am never irrational!" Lily pulled a face. "I'm also not stupid. I don't think my husband would cheat either, even if it looks like that right now; but I know something is going on and I don't know what to do. Jord is lying to me and it hurts. I sometimes wonder if he feels we moved too fast. We only dated two minutes before we got married and now the baby is due. Our relationship has gone faster than fast. It’s more like a turbo relationship."
"Yeah, but unlike many couples, you knew each other for years before you hooked up. You knew everything about each other as well as each other's friends and families. You didn't have to endure all that early relationship stuff most couples do. You got to skip those steps and go straight to the fun stuff."
"I know but maybe we didn't take enough time to know if we wanted to be together, just us, forever. Maybe Jord regrets that, especially now, since it's not just us."
"He wouldn't have married you if he weren't sure. I absolutely believe that."
"If this were a month ago, I would have too. Now I don't know what to believe."
"Do you want me to talk to Jord?" I asked, ready to do exactly that. I was sure it wouldn't be a comfortable conversation but at least, I could offer my help. Whoever Diane was, and whatever was happening with their communications, I felt sure I’d find a reasonable explanation.
"No. I want you to investigate privately and track down the true identity of Diane. If she's my husband's mistress, I want to know before he knows I know. Whatever it is, I want to know why he's lying to me and hiding things now, of all times."
"You want me to follow my brother?"
"No, I want you to find out all about her. And I am really sorry for asking."
"Don't be sorry," I told her, reaching across to give her hand a reassuring squeeze as I resolved to do exactly as she asked. I would find this mystery Diane woman and get the answers. I would clear my unpacking schedule and make sure Lily knew everything before they brought their baby into the world. "I'll find out what's going on, I promise. But I'll tell you now, whatever it is, it's not what you think."
Chapter Three
"In position," I said, pressing my finger to my earbud and looking pointedly at the brooch on my lapel that concealed a transmitting device.
"Take your finger out of your ear," came Solomon's voice, directly into my head.
I took my finger out and scowled as I shut the front door. "Do you have eyes in the building?" I asked.
"Only yours. The client wasn't happy about having surveillance cameras in the show homes."
"Why? What do they think we might catch them doing?"
"You can ask them later," Solomon said, a trace of amusement in his voice.
"I will."
"Take a look around. Tell me what you see."
"I can't talk to myself without looking crazy. Someone might see me."
"Put your cell phone to your ear and pretend you're talking to me."
I pulled out my cell phone and paused in front of the huge mirror above a very expensive glass console table. As per the client's instructions, I looked every bit like one of their realtors from my fitted navy skirt suit to my low-heeled pumps and my hair modestly tied in a bun. If I added a neck scarf, I could have passed as an airline stewardess. The skirt suit really wasn't my thing, being too bland, and too corporate; but it did allow me to fit in and that was the whole point for this open house. Any of my co-investigators would have broadcasted PI in a navy suit. I looked like a cute chick in a navy suit. The ability to blend into places where my co-workers didn't was one of my special skills.
I read the file as Solomon drove me to the huge vacant mansion located on the outskirts of Montgomery. Booth Realty not only sold properties but also managed a substantial number of rentals as well as providing housekeeping services for private residences while their owners were away. Adding to their portfolio was a recent deal to manage the show homes of a well-known building company. They were famous for their large, luxury estates that were far beyond my price range. I was standing in one of the latter's “new build” homes.
The house was nothing short of luxurious. Fronted with columns and a portico at the end of a sweeping carriage driveway, it appeared impressive from the very start. Never mind the cinema room, six bedrooms, enormous eat-in kitchen, fitted out for a professional chef, formal dining room, den, and living room. I was speechless by the time I saw the indoor heated swimming pool and wine cellar.
"Let's move here," I told Solomon as I turned away from the mirror and admired the marble flooring.
"Not enough closet space?" he asked.
"I was thrilled until I saw the size of the master closet here. It's bigger than our bedroom, bathroom, and closet combined."
"You can take the spare room and make that into a closet."
"If only I had enough clothes and shoes to put in it."
"What's your impression so far?"
"I am not keeping this suit. Or the shoes. Could they be any more drab?"
"Not them."
"The house is stunning; and I saw the list price. Any buyer will have to be megabucks loaded. What kind of job do you need to afford something like this?"
"Hard to say but you'll have to take a good look at every single person who comes to this open house. Our analysis indicates it'll be one of today's viewers. Fingerprints might help prove it so watch what the clients touch."
"I know, I know, and we'll find out which one has been breaking into the show homes. I still don't get why they don't just beef up their security. It's probably kids."
"What kind of kids leave bottles of champagne in the pool and high-end lingerie in the bathtub?"
"That’s too easy… Rich kids."
"Noted. I'm getting a phone call and you've got an incoming. Radio silent."
"Radio silent," I nodded as I dropped my phone into my bag next to my mini fingerprint kit, ready to answer the door the moment the bell sounded.
"Good morning!" I beamed to the couple on the doorstop. "Welcome to Meadow View. Please come in. I can't wait to show you what could be your future home," I trilled, in exactly the same tone that greeted me from my co-host just an hour before. Taylor McDowell took one look at me and swiftly adjusted my collar. Then she suggested I make myself familiar with the house while she set out the cupcakes in the kitchen. I barely finished my tour and hadn't any time to pump her for more information. I was hoping she might know something that might help me identify the person responsible for the continuous break-ins. Instead, I had to work blind, evaluating every single person that entered.
The woman took a long, slow look at me from head to toe and back again. I had the burning urge to apologize for the dull suit but restrained it. Instead, I replied, "This way please. We're anxious for you to see the kitchen, which boasts integrated appliances, marble countertops and... units." In my ear, I overheard someone laugh. "You try remembering the spiel," I hissed.
"Pardon?" said the man.
"Wait until you see the cheese whee
l," I hastily retorted. Closing the door behind them, I indicated they should follow me. We walked through the airy, double-height entryway to the rear of the house where Taylor, the official realtor and part-time collar adjuster, waited with two other couples.
"I'm so glad you could join us, Mr. Wright! Mrs. Wright, your vacation home looked sensational in At Home magazine. I hope you have your designer on speed dial for this house," Taylor laughed, like she just made a hilarious joke. "Have you met the Luis and the Newmans?" she asked.
"We thought this was a private tour," growled Mr. Wright, glancing between the couples as an annoyed frown deepened on his forehead.
"I'm sure you'll all enjoy each other's company and maybe even bounce off a few design ideas," said Taylor, "The Luis own a textile firm. And you've met our newest associate, Alexandra? Alexandra will be my assistant today and she can help you with any questions," she added, indicating me. I sincerely hoped no one asked me anything. "Why don't we start our tour? I'm afraid we’re on a strict schedule and our next tour starts exactly in one hour for this very much in-demand home. Okay, let's begin..."
Taylor conducted the tour as if she lived in the house. She knew every single room, and led the way without faltering. Concealed fittings, light switches and remote controls were all expertly activated without a single fumble, and she knew the answer to every question the couples posed, from the square footage of each room to the house's eco credentials.
While she captivated the couples' attention, I inspected the last couple to join the open house. The Wrights were the oldest of all three couples, both appearing to be in their late sixties. The Luis were a little younger than them, although I put Mr. Lui approximately ten years older than his wife. The Newmans were the youngest of all except the large age difference between them left me a bit unsure as to whether they were married or father and daughter. However, I noticed the young woman was sporting what looked like a six-month pregnancy bump and had an enormous diamond on her ring finger, so I figured she was probably his wife. Or he was a really generous dad. When they linked hands in the master bedroom and gazed into each other's eyes while Taylor gushed over the virtues of queen-sized beds and the gorgeous views over the formal lawn, I concluded the Newmans probably were a couple.
In terms of fashion, all three twosomes were vastly different. The Luis wore suits in complementing shades of gray and blue. Mr. Wright looked like he just left the golf course and his wife wore a beige twinset with pearls. Mrs. Newman seemed to have thrown on every label she could find before adding a quilted Chanel bag, almost as an afterthought. Meanwhile, her husband wore jeans and a plain sweater with a loud ball cap that seemed more like his wife's taste than his.
After identifying their fashion tastes, I couldn't form any reasonable assumption that any of them would want to break into unoccupied homes for parties or any other purpose. The Wrights were too old for raucous partying, the Luis too boring, and the Newmans too pregnant.
By the time we reached the lobby, I was pretty sure I could rule out all three couples. That left several other potential candidates who were scheduled throughout the day.
"I think the Newmans will make an offer," said Taylor as we shut the door on the departing pairs.
"But not the others?"
"No, the Wrights just sold their private jet, presumably to satisfy their ecological consciences but I think they're just feeling the economic pinch so I don't see either of them buying a house like this. The Luis might, but I have another property I think they would probably prefer. Mrs. Newman is desperate for this house and Mr. Newman will buy it for her. I think they'll make a bid before the day is over."
"You seem really sure."
"After being in the high-end realty business for nine years, I know my clients."
"I don't see any of them breaking into the unoccupied houses," I told her. "Was that your impression too?"
Taylor pulled a "What do I know?" face. "My problem is: I don't see any of our clients breaking in. Before we enter into any sales agreement, we discreetly do a background check for all our potential buyers to ensure that only the most suitable clients purchase one of our properties."
"So, you wouldn't let me buy one?" I asked.
Taylor gave me a quick look and pursed her lips. "No offense, but probably not."
"None taken. I can't afford it anyway. I had to sell my jet too."
Taylor laughed. "Let's get ready for the next round of clients. We've got a dotcom millionaire, a couple who are downsizing..."
"Downsizing? To this?" I waved my hand towards the six-foot chandelier suspended over the lobby.
"Our New York branch sold their mansion. They decided to move because they have a daughter in the area. So, yes, this is downsizing for them. Oh, and we have a gentleman who owns a law firm. Look out; he might hit on you."
"Seriously?"
"Take his card and don't call him," Taylor advised. "No matter what he says."
"I'm engaged."
"Don't tell him that. He'll see it as a challenge."
"Wow."
"Aside from being a sleaze, he's a terrific guy. You'll like him. Everyone does."
"I have no idea what to say."
"He'll probably like that too. Oh hell, no matter what you do, he'll try. He's rich, handsome, and successful. He automatically thinks everyone is into him and expects to get any woman he wants."
"Can he?"
"Usually."
"He sounds like the party type. Could he be stealing keys perchance?"
"I can see him attending the parties, but I can't see him organizing champagne blow-outs. Rumor has it there were hookers at the last illegal party so you can see why my boss wants whoever is behind it shut down before we get a reputation as the go-to realtor for that crowd."
"I can see why."
"We only want that crowd if they actually intend to purchase the house," Taylor clarified. "You know, now that I think about it, the dotcom guy could be your man! He would know how to disable the security cameras and bypass the electronic gates and locks, wouldn't he?"
"It's possible," I agreed. "Have you met him before?"
"A few times. He's attended more than a dozen open houses but he has the nit-pickiest taste. Maybe if I sell him a plot of land and get him an architect, he'll finally be happy."
"I'll bear that in mind."
"I hope you find this person. I could have gotten fired for it."
"I don't follow..."
Taylor leaned in closer and said in a hushed voice. "My keys to the office were the ones that got stolen."
I figured now was not the time to tell her that my boss was listening in on our conversation. Instead, I replied, "That wasn't in the file. We weren't sure how the thief accessed the keys."
"It's not exactly the keys though. They stole the list."
"The list?"
"The master list. Please don't tell my boss."
"I won't," I agreed, but I didn't say anything about not telling Solomon. I couldn't stop him from doing his job if Taylor turned out to be the weak link; but I sincerely hoped common sense told him that Taylor didn't hand over the master list deliberately. "When did you first realize your keys were missing?"
"I don't know exactly. It was more like... I noticed them when they came back. Does that make sense?"
"I'm not sure."
"See, I always keep my personal keys in my purse. When I'm showing a house to a client, I keep my purse stowed in the trunk of my car. But I came out of a house one day and there my keys were. Lying on the ground next to my car like I dropped them."
"Did you?"
"No, I don't think so. But at the time, I did. It was a short tour and we weren't in the house very long so I didn't think much of it. Then a few days later, I saw the access logs for the office. That was when I realized my keys were used to enter the Booth Realty building after hours. It also dawned on me then that whoever is doing this must have gotten the master list. My keys must have been copied along with my access
fob. I think I'm the patsy."
"We'll prove that one way or another," I told her, knowing Solomon was probably already calling our IT guy, Lucas. "What does the master list entail?"
"Every single access code for exterior gates, all the doors, and the security firm that alarms and monitors the properties."
"So you realized they broke into the last property using that list," I concluded, the pieces suddenly clicking into place. Yet Taylor shook her head.
"Not just that one. All of them," she confessed. "All our properties are on that list, even the ones we sold. Whoever took my keys, got the list, which means they can access every single house on our books."
"Why didn't you tell someone?"
"I was thinking about the access logs when my boss told me he was hiring someone to investigate. It was only then that I realized what happened. I'm going to be in so much trouble if they find out. I've been with Booth Realty seven years. I need to sell this house. If I can add Meadow View as my target sale for this month, there's no way they can fire me."
"I'm not going to say anything," I assured her. "Even if the thief used your key to access the building, it wasn't your fault that they stole it from you. It could have happened to any of your co-workers. And it's definitely not your fault that someone was dumb enough to list all the codes on the same master list. I'll recommend a security review."
"Done," said Solomon in my ear, "and your next client just pulled in."
"Let's get ready for the next showing," I told Taylor to divert her attention and allay her guilt about being inadvertently involved. She needed to be her competent self lest she spook any of our suspects. "Ready?"
Taylor plastered on a sunny smile and beamed. "Always!"
As we waited at the open front door, I decided the man who stepped out of the Maserati had to be either the lawyer or the dotcom millionaire. He waved to us before stepping onto the porch. A full head of dark brown hair, graying at the temples, topped a brilliant white smile.
"Remember what I said," whispered Taylor from the side of her mouth, "he's going to flirt."
A Few Good Women (Lexi Graves Mysteries, 9) Page 3
