Occasionally she’d nod, but mainly she quietly sat, folded and puckered, looking as if young Brett were taxing her patience.
He was certainly taxing mine.
After another minute of him clarifying who was who in the case, I’d learned that Cecilia Tomlin had an elderly mother with Alzheimer’s, who had been duped into signing over some valuable commercial real estate holdings to Cecilia’s ex-husband.
“My mother thought she was signing some documents necessary to sell the buildings—that this was about his sales commission of all things,” Ms. Tomlin said through clenched teeth. “She trusted Derek. Forgot that I’d divorced the lying bastard three years ago.”
True. Plenty of anger wrapped around the truth but nothing there that didn’t pass my sniff test.
Brett rifled through his notes. “And the buildings are located …”
She exhaled, exercising her mounting frustration with enough volume for a fire-breathing dragon. “On 1st Street. The Mayhew building and a warehouse.”
“Is that the building where Mayhew Furniture used to be?” I asked.
Brett tapped his pen and shot me a sideways glance of irritation.
Excuse me for making a point of clarification.
Ignoring him, she met my gaze. “My mom bought the store from her father, Carter Mayhew, back in the sixties. Then after the mill closed and business slowed to a trickle, she had to shut it down.”
“I see.” Brett pulled out a photo of the old furniture store from the file and laid it next to the stack of papers in front of him. “And the most recent assessed value of the property is?”
“With the warehouse across the street the combined value is over half a million dollars. Could be a lot more with some improvements.”
Wow. No wonder this had become a criminal case.
I leaned closer to Junior so that I could see the photo and noticed a partial sign on the newer-looking building next door. “What about this building with the wood shingles?” I put my finger next to the sign in the photo. “Is that also your mother’s?”
Cecilia Tomlin gave the picture a cool glance. “No, that’s a gallery that’s owned by Tucker Benoit.”
Whoa! Part of the property Lance Greenwood had proposed for the performing arts center had been obtained in a fraudulent land-grab?
Her puckered lips tightened. “If he hadn’t listed his property with Mirabelle Realty I might not have heard about the deal Derek and his cousin were up to.”
Again, true, but buried beneath the anger I sensed something else smoldering. I wanted to dig deeper and uncover whatever it was she was holding back, but I also needed to know if these two men were somehow connected to Lance Greenwood.
I turned to Brett. “You already know about this cousin, right?” Because if he did, I wanted to read everything he had on the guy.
He rifled through his papers again. “The listing agent, right?”
“Kip Tomlin. Handles commercial real estate for Mirabelle. I told you this last time,” Cecilia said, her cheeks flushed as she raised her voice. “I always knew something was shady about him. Always trying to impress Derek with his big deals.”
That sounded more like twenty-twenty hindsight, but with what her ex-husband did to her mother, I figured Cecilia Tomlin was entitled to bend the truth.
“And how exactly did you hear about this deal as you put it?” Brett asked.
“Kip’s wife was bragging to her hairdresser about all the money they’d be coming into if they could land the right buyers for the three properties.” Her lips curled in satisfaction. “And we share the same hairdresser.”
I sensed there was more to it than that. “That’s it? You only found out about this because your hairdresser told you about it?”
“Yes.”
Lie. No, she was a smart woman, so there was definitely more to this story. Maybe that was what Ben had sensed when he first met this woman.
“Seems that Derek planned to cut Kip in for a generous portion of the proceeds,” she added, inspecting her manicured nails.
What a guy. “Giving him all the more reason to find the right buyer.” Or group of buyers.
Cecilia Tomlin’s gaze hardened. “Exactly.”
“Your mother’s properties laid vacant for a number of years.” Thanks to Duke and Stanley, I could sound like I knew what I was talking about. “As a salesman paid on commission, Kip certainly would have approached her about them on occasion.”
She blinked. “He did, and she was always adamant about not selling. She thought the real estate market would improve and she’d get a better price. At least she did before she was diagnosed last year with a stroke.”
Junior glared at me. “It doesn’t matter. She didn’t sell it to him. Moving on …”
I raised a finger. “Not just yet.” He needed to give me a minute to get to what she had yet to reveal about this deal between her ex and his cousin. “Ms. Tomlin, do you have Power of Attorney so that you can handle your mother’s finances?”
A crease formed between her dark brows. “Yes, but I don’t understand what that has to do—”
“You said that she was diagnosed last year. When exactly did you officially take over your mother’s affairs?”
“January of this year.”
“And when did your ex-husband get your mom to sign over her property to him?”
Sucking in her lower lip, she stared at me for several seconds as if I’d asked her a multiple choice question and she couldn’t decide upon the correct answer, or perhaps more accurately, the most advantageous answer for this case.
I pointed at the stack of papers in front of Junior. “It’s a matter of record, isn’t it?” Please have the answer in there somewhere.
She heaved a sigh as Brett scanned his notes. “He visited her a few days before Christmas. Brought her a tin of peanut brittle to sweeten the deal, the bastard.”
“Interesting timing, don’t you think?” I sure did.
I received a frosty stare from the other side of the table.
Brett was staring at me, too, and I didn’t care. “It was probably just a couple of weeks before you could have signed with Kip to sell the property legally.”
Cecilia Tomlin folded her arms against her thin frame. “I hadn’t yet made that decision.”
Sure you hadn’t.
By now even Junior should have picked up on the more accurate version of the truth. “Since Kip is one of the most successful commercial realtors in town and he’d expressed interest in the properties, I imagine you would have mentioned that you’d soon be able to act on your mother’s behalf.”
She pressed her thin lips together, wearing the same expression as my ex whenever I told him we needed to talk.
And just like my ex she didn’t respond aside from looking like she wanted to grind me under her heel. “And from what you said, he probably would have bragged to his cousin about it, don’t you think?”
Staring down at the table top, Cecilia Tomlin slowly blew out a breath. “That property has belonged to my family since 1922. Derek had no right to steal it right out from under me. I want him prosecuted. I want both of those bastards prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law.”
I had absolutely no doubt of that.
“It’s a strong case. Not only of fraud but of elder abuse,” Brett assured her. “If everything goes as we expect it will, your mother will get her properties back.”
And then, if the price were right, Cecilia could turn around and sell the Mayhew building to Lance Greenwood’s investment group, so this case changed nothing except for the players pocketing the cash. Still, the timing of his business proposal to my mother seemed more and more fishy. In fact, now that I knew that this case was coming to trial in two weeks, it stunk more than three-day-old salmon.
She shifted her gaze to Brett. “Are we finished?”
After he asked her a few more questions, he escorted her down the hall and I hightailed it back to my desk to see if I could find any conne
ction between the Tomlin boys and Lance Greenwood.
Entering their last names along with real estate into my internet search, I retrieved over thirty-six million results.
“Give me a break,” I muttered under my breath.
I changed my search to Tomlin, Lance Greenwood and artist to see if that would create a more manageable list. It did, but I still had over four thousand results to crawl through.
Since I didn’t know exactly what I was looking for, I scanned the headings on the first page. After wading through results that included a Lance Greenwood from Tomlin, New Jersey, as well as one in his fifties who went to Tomlin Middle School in Florida, I eventually landed on a Seattle newspaper story from last year in which Lance Greenwood and Derek Tomlin were quoted.
Bingo!
After waiting an interminable length of time for the advertising pop-ups to finish loading, I paged down to read the first paragraph of the news story.
“Holy crap!”
Chapter Twenty-One
I pulled out my cell phone and selected Steve’s number. Since it immediately went to voice mail I figured he had forwarded his phone. “Call me,” I said as I grabbed my tote and headed down the hall. “Better yet, meet me at Kelsey’s shop as soon as you can.”
Thirty seconds later, bright sunshine warmed my skin as I ran toward the parking lot, the absolute last thing I needed since I was already sweating.
I pulled up my mother’s name on my contact list and pressed call. Again, the call went straight to voice mail. “Why won’t anybody answer their phone?” I shouted, waiting for the end of her southern-fried invitation to leave her a message. “Call me as soon as you get this. And if you planned to see Lance today, don’t do it until you talk to me first. Okay?” Please, Mom.
Firing up the Jag, I peeled down the hill toward Main Street and took the left on 4th so that I could park on the street in the first available space behind Hot Shots.
By the time I dashed across the street and the Feathered Nest’s buzzer announced my arrival, I was sucking down oxygen as if I’d sprinted the six blocks to get there.
I scanned the two rooms and saw only Kelsey behind the counter and a couple of tourists browsing the jewelry aisle. By Kelsey’s curt nod I could see she wasn’t any more pleased to see me than last time. Probably because she assumed I wanted to ask the same questions about her father’s boat that Steve had asked. Fair assumption. Until I stumbled upon that news story, she would have been absolutely right.
“I need to talk to you,” I whispered to her when the two women wandered over to the far wall displaying several dreamcatchers similar to what I had seen on the Lucky Charm and Kelsey’s father’s boat.
“Char, I have customers,” she said, glancing in their direction.
“I know. I’m sorry but it can’t wait.”
She scowled at me. “If you’re here to ask me more questions about Friday night, I suggest you talk to Steve. I already told him everything and I’m not going to go through that embarrassment twice today.”
“No, there’s something I need to tell you. Better yet, show you.”
“Oh, miss,” one of the ladies said, waving Kelsey over.
Kelsey painted a warm smile on her face. “Be right there.” Turning back to me, she lowered her voice. “Not now.”
I saw that she had a laptop on the counter next to her cash register. “I’m going to use your computer a minute.”
“Do whatever you want. I just don’t want to hear a peep out of you while I have customers in the store. Do you understand?”
Marching toward the back wall, Kelsey didn’t wait for an answer, which was fine with me. I didn’t want to tell her this story. She needed to read it for herself.
Her internet connection was slower than at the courthouse, but in less than a minute I had the news story up and ready for her. While I waited I called Steve. Once again I went straight to voice mail, but this time I told him to check out the news story I’d found and provided him the web address. “And get over to Kelsey’s as soon as you can.”
Kelsey glared at me from the other side of the room.
Sorry. I had to peep.
While I was willing the two ladies to hurry up and buy something, the buzzer sounded, announcing another customer’s arrival to the Feathered Nest.
Shit! Lance Greenwood’s smiling face was heading straight toward me.
My heart thudding like an alarm in my chest, I lowered the cover of Kelsey’s laptop. “Howdy!” I said an octave higher than normal.
“What are you doing back there?” he asked with a glance at the laptop. “Aren’t they keeping you busy enough at the county?”
I jutted my chin at him in an effort to exude more confidence than I felt. “Actually, I stopped by with the hope of whisking Kelsey away to lunch. I was just looking at the online menu when you walked in.”
“Oh, really. What a coincidence. I’m here for the same exact reason. Maybe we could make it a threesome.”
Despite his polite demeanor, his fake smile told me I was in no danger from him wanting to break bread with me.
He pointed at the laptop. “What did you find? Anything tasty?”
“Nothing I’d recommend. Since it’s a gorgeous day I thought we might grab some sandwiches and eat by the water.”
Lance’s dark eyes narrowed. “Hmmmm … we should be able to do better than that, don’t you think?” He extended his hand toward the laptop. “May I?”
Just as beads of sweat broke out on my upper lip, my cell phone started to ring. With any luck I could use the call as a diversion. “Excuse me a minute.”
I prayed the caller ID would display Steve’s name, but I saw Marietta’s instead. “Hi, Mom.”
“I just got your message.”
“Uh-huh.” My mind raced, trying to come up with a good excuse to make a quick exit from the store.
“I don’t understand your message about not seeing Lance,” she said, sounding all too loud and clear.
I could only hope that he hadn’t heard her. “You and Gram want to go out to lunch?”
“What?”
“Okay, sounds good. I’ll be there soon.” I hit End and shrugged. “Well, it looks like my plans just changed.”
He stepped around the counter. “But mine haven’t so maybe I should take a look at that menu.” Gripping me by the wrist he pulled me away from Kelsey’s laptop. “Especially since your mother said nothing about lunch.”
Shit, shit, shit!
He opened the cover and closed the internet browser three seconds later, his mouth a grim line when he turned to face me. “I’ll take that phone.” He held out his hand.
A lot of good my cell phone had been doing me since Steve hadn’t taken my last two calls. Still, I felt like I was losing my safety net when I dropped it into his palm.
He slipped it into the front pocket of his jeans. “Let’s step outside, shall we? And do it quietly or I swear I will do more than twist your wrist.”
Not on his life, and if I wanted to continue breathing, definitely not on mine. “Ow! What are you doing? You’re hurting me!” I shouted, doubling over as if I’d been punched in the gut. “Kelsey, help!”
Kelsey rushed to my side. “What’s going on?” Wedging herself between me and my would-be assailant, she wrapped her arm around my shoulder. “Are you okay?”
“No. Call the police.” Please.
She helped me to a stool behind the counter and then glared back at Lance. “Explain to me what’s going on and right now, or I will call the police.”
“It’s all an act. I swear I barely touched her.” With Lance staring at me with eyes as cold as death, he eased past Kelsey and me. “I’ve heard about you. Constantly badgering Kelsey with asinine questions, always trying to point the finger of blame at someone for the death of that handyman, and now you come up with this bit of theater.” An evil smile crept over his lips as he headed for the door. “And here I thought there was only one bad actress in your family.”
/>
The second he turned to the two tourists inching their way to the door, I nodded at the cordless phone to the left of the cash register. “Hand me your phone,” I whispered to Kelsey.
She passed it to me behind her back, and I punched in nine-one-one. Without saying a word I dropped the phone in my tote and kicked it to the back wall with my foot. I prayed that I’d pushed it far enough away that he couldn’t hear the operator asking me about my emergency.
“Ladies, allow me to see you out,” he said, bowing slightly at the waist. He locked the door behind them and flipped the sign hanging in the window to Closed.
“Lance, I don’t know what’s going on, but you’re starting to scare me,” Kelsey said, her knuckles a ghostly white as she gripped the counter.
His expression softened as he stepped in our direction. “My dear, I simply want to talk to you without interruption.”
“Are you going to tell her the story about your wife?” I asked with enough volume for the nine-one-one operator to hear. “I’m sure Kelsey would be eager to hear it.”
His eyes darkened. “Shut up.”
“Wife?” Kelsey asked. “You’re married?”
“No, not any longer. She read about my wife’s unfortunate accident and promptly leapt to a ridiculous conclusion, just like she always does.”
Right. “Why don’t you tell her about that accident?”
He sneered at me. “Why don’t you just shut up?”
“Okay, if you insist, I’ll tell her about how you and your wife were out on your boat last year and she mysteriously fell overboard and drowned.”
Backing away as he stepped behind the counter, Kelsey sucked in a shaky breath. “Oh, my God!”
“No.” He reached for her. “She’s taking a very sad event in my life and twisting it to serve some vigilante agenda I will never understand.”
She directed her wide-eyed gaze at me as if it were a silent plea to give her a reason to believe him.
“Think about it, Kelsey. His wife drowned in Puget Sound the same way Russell did here. What are the odds of that happening?”
Lance took her hand, wrapping it in his. “I love you. There isn’t anything I wouldn’t do for you.”
Wendy Delaney - Working Stiffs 02 - Sex, Lies, and Snickerdoodles Page 23
