Hot Property

by Jenna Bennett

  “I’m hardly everyone,” Dix said reasonably. “I’m your brother, and his best friend; it’s only natural that he would confide in me.”

  I had to concede his point. Not because I wanted to. “Maybe so. What’s not natural, however, is that none of you believe me when I say I’m not seeing Rafe. I don’t understand why everyone believes Todd, but you won’t believe me.”

  “We know you,” Dix said. I resisted the temptation to stick my tongue out at the phone and then decided that since he couldn’t see me anyway, I might as well.

  “What do you mean?” I said self-righteously when my tongue was back inside my mouth. “I don’t usually lie; everyone knows that.”

  “Only because you’re the worst liar in the world,” Dix retorted. “You blush, you fidget, you play with your hair... Everyone can see right through you, and you know it, so you don’t even bother to try anymore.”

  “But you figure that since you can’t see me now, I’m lying to you? Todd could see me when he asked. Why doesn’t he believe me?”

  “He’s jealous,” Dix said. “He was in love with you in high school, but then you married that jerk Ferguson in college, and Todd married Jolynn because she reminded him of you. Then Ferguson divorced you, and Todd divorced Jolynn, and now he wants to be with you again. But he’s afraid that after what happened with Ferguson, you’re feeling so undesirable and unwanted that you’ll let yourself be swept off your feet by some slick operator like Rafael Collier, who’s only after one thing.”

  I wasn’t sure whether to laugh or swear. “Todd actually said that?”

  “I read between the lines,” Dix answered. “We’re guys, sis. We don’t talk like that.”

  “Right. For the record, I was the one who divorced Bradley, not vice versa. You know that. I’m sure he would have gotten around to it eventually, considering how quickly he tied the knot with Shelby after our divorce was final, but at the time, he seemed perfectly content to be married and sleeping around on me. You may want to reacquaint Todd with that fact. And I don’t actually feel that undesirable. Between Todd gearing up to propose and Rafe doing his best to talk me into bed, I’m feeling wanted all over the place.”

  “He’s doing what?” Dix said.

  “Todd is thinking about proposing and Rafe is trying to talk me into bed.”

  “The bastard!”

  I hid a smile. “Bob and Pauline Satterfield were legally married when Todd was born.”

  “Funny,” Dix grumbled. “I’m not talking about Todd, as you very well know. And you can’t say the same thing for your other boyfriend, can you?”

  “He’s not my boyfriend. Neither of them is. But no, I can’t.”

  Like every other girl in Sweetwater, I had grown up hearing the story of LaDonna Collier. My mother, a delicate Southern beauty who could trace her antecedents back to the War Between the States and beyond – that’s the Civil War to those of you born north of the Mason-Dixon Line – had lowered her voice when she spoke of it. “That poor girl. Just fourteen when it happened.”

  “When what happened?”

  Mother leaned closer to me. “She got herself in the family way. By a colored boy.”

  “Oh,” I’d said, disappointed. I had envisioned something more titillating than a mere pregnancy.

  Mother had nodded, and added pensively, “I knew LaDonna slightly. She was a few years younger than me, of course, and common as dirt, so we didn’t associate.” She’d smoothed a manicured hand over her impeccably styled, blonde hair.

  “Of course not,” I’d agreed. In the throes of that romantic stage every girl goes through in her teens, I must admit I had harbored sneaking sympathy for LaDonna Collier. In my juvenile mind, the story had a hint of Romeo and Juliet about it, and although I’m sure it hadn’t been romantic for LaDonna, pregnant at fourteen with a baby whose father was nowhere to be found, I hadn’t known any better.

  “It wasn’t Tyrell Jenkins’s fault that he was shot before he could get around to marrying LaDonna,” I said now. “And Rafe can’t help who his parents were any more than you or I or Todd can.”

  “He can help that he’s thinking of nailing my sister!” Dix said in a muted roar. I suppressed a giggle. My brother is always so perfectly proper – a true Southern gentleman, as mother would say – that it was fun to listen to him lose his cool. Nevertheless, I felt I had to set him straight.

  “He’s a man, Dix. Of course he’s thinking of – as you so elegantly put it – nailing your sister. It’s what men do. Todd’s probably thinking about it, too; he’s just not ill-bred enough to come right out and say so.”

  “So you agree that he’s ill-bred?”

  “Of course he’s ill-bred,” I said. “He grew up in the Bog, for God’s sake. How could he not be? And it’s not like I’m thinking of agreeing to it, you know.”

  “So you’re not involved with him? Not even a little?”

  “No, of course not. I’m not in love with him. I’m not sleeping with him. And I’ve only kissed him once, and don’t want to do it again.”

  “That’s good,” Dix said, in a strangled voice. I hid another grin. “But it was him you were waiting for to call, wasn’t it?”

  Busted. “Yes, it was.”

  “Why?”

  I took a steadying breath. “A friend of mine died yesterday. Lila Vaughn; the girl who was on the news last week, after that second open house robbery.”

  “Todd told me,” Dix said. “What’s her connection with Collier?”

  I took another breath. Dix is absolutely correct regarding my talent for prevarication. Or my lack thereof. I’m a bad liar, and this was coming too close to lying for comfort. “I believe they... um... met once, and I wanted to tell him about it before he read it in the paper. I left a message for him yesterday afternoon, but he hasn’t gotten in touch yet. When the phone rang, I assumed it was him.”

  “Sorry,” Dix said, not too sincerely. I gathered he didn’t think Rafe’s feelings were worth sparing.

  “No problem. I’m always happy to hear from my favorite brother.”

  “I’m your only brother.”

  “That’s probably why you’re my favorite. Incidentally, did mom hear what Todd told you? Or did he have enough sense to tell you in private, so she wouldn’t have a heart attack?”

  “You’re off the hook,” Dix said, and added ominously, “for now. It was just him and me when he blurted it out. Although I wouldn’t count on that lasting. If Todd thinks that telling mom will make her lean on you, he’s not above using her. He knows we all rush to obey when mom speaks.”

  “I would have thought, in your boys-together sort of way, you’d stick up for Todd and chew me out.”

  “It doesn’t sound like you’ve done anything I can chew you out for,” Dix said, a little grudgingly. “I’d prefer that you had no association with Collier whatsoever, but if you’re not sleeping with him, or in love with him, there’s not much I can do. I’m not your keeper. I can’t lock you in your room and refuse to let you out until you agree to marry the suitor I choose. Believe it or not, sis, all I want – all we all want – is for you to be safe and happy.”

  “Thanks, Dix,” I said, touched, “that’s so sweet.”

  “Of course, I think you’d have a much better chance of both happiness and safety if you chose someone like Todd, who wouldn’t lie and cheat and break your heart, but that’s up to you.”

  “Don’t worry,” I said, “after Bradley, the last thing I want is another liar and cheat. Next time I pick a boyfriend, if there is a next time, I’ll make sure that he’s the faithful sort, at least.”

  “That’s good to know,” Dix said. “I guess I should go.”

  “That might not be a bad idea. I’m hosting an open house at 2 o’clock, and I have to get ready.”

  “You’ll be careful, won’t you?”

  “Of course I will,” I said. “I’m sure the open house robbers have more important things on their minds today than robbing another house, b
ut even if they do show up, I’m pretty sure I don’t have anything to fear from them.”

  “They killed your friend Lila,” Dix said.

  “No, they didn’t.”

  “I read the paper. The police are clear about the connection.”

  “Nevertheless, I don’t believe they did. I just... don’t.”

  Dix’s voice radiated disbelief. “Well, be careful anyway, sis. OK?”

  I promised I would, and we hung up.

  Chapter 7

  When I left my apartment an hour later, I was dressed, made up, and blow-dried to the max, presenting to the world the very image of the polished, professional Realtor. I fully expected to find Rafe lounging against my front fender when I got down to the parking lot, but I was wrong. He also wasn’t inside the car, nor anywhere on the street. I inserted myself into the Volvo and pulled out of the lot lamenting my bad luck or more accurately, bad judgment. Obviously I had overestimated the impact my threats had had on Marquita. She couldn’t be trusted to pass my message on to Rafe after all.

  You may wonder why I didn’t just call and leave another message with Wendell. It had worked last time, after all. Well, the reason is really very simple. If Rafe was involved in the robberies – or the murder, although I didn’t really believe that – then chances were that Wendell was involved as well. That would explain the changing identities of the businesses he ran, from car lot to pawn shop to storage place. I’d only met him once, and he’d seemed to be practically personality-less, but I hadn’t been too chatty that evening myself. Rafe had sent him to pick me up for that date-that-wasn’t-a-date last week, instead of coming to get me on his Harley-Davidson, and I’d been nervous about having dinner with Rafe and nervous about going anywhere with Wendell and just plain nervous in general because two of my coworkers had been murdered in the span of a week... and to make a long story short, I hadn’t taken the opportunity to get to know Wendell. Now I wished I had. But anyway, under the circumstances I thought it was better not to call his number looking for Rafe. By now Rafe had probably heard the news about Lila on his own, at any rate.

  The house that Tim had assigned to me was located a whole quarter mile from the house where Lila had been robbed – in the same subdivision, no less – and no more than a half mile from Kieran’s listing, in a development just up the road. I was so close to both that I had to resist the temptation to stop in and have a look around. But I didn’t really have the time, and both were occupied, anyway, so if I wanted to go inside, I’d have to schedule appointments first, to give the owners time to clear out. I made a mental note to do so tomorrow, since I didn’t have anything else to do until I met Charlene and Gary Lee at 3:30.

  Who knew, maybe I’d pick up on some connection the police had missed.

  Like both the other two, my open house was a typical McMansion, built sometime within the past five years by someone with delusions of grandeur and the money to indulge their whims. It was a pseudo-French Chateau in honey-colored stucco, on a postage-stamp sized lot in the middle of an upscale development of similar houses. A black Mercedes SUV was idling in the circular drive, and just as I pulled in behind it, a woman came out of the house and down the stairs. When she saw me, she slowed. “Can I help you?”

  “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 ins
tead.”

  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’?”