Hot Property

by Jenna Bennett

  I nodded. “Lila Vaughn was a friend of mine. If this benefit was important to her, I’d like to help out.”

  “That’s very kind of you,” Connie said.

  “It seems the least I can do. I just can’t believe she’s gone, you know. It’s just a few days since I saw her – Thursday – and she seemed so alive, and happy…”

  “Just goes to show we should be careful what we wish for,” Heather said darkly.

  I looked from one to the other of them. “I guess she told you what happened last Sunday?”

  They both nodded, and Connie said, “I imagine she told everyone she knew. The way she went on about this man, he must have been a veritable Greek god.”

  I nodded, and then stopped myself. “He certainly sounds that way. Of course, he may not have been her killer.”

  Heather glanced at me, and something came and went in her eyes, but she didn’t speak. Connie snorted in polite disbelief. “Who else could it be?”

  I shrugged. “I haven’t known her very long, so I don’t know a whole lot about her. She doesn’t – didn’t – have a boyfriend that I know of, but there was an ex-husband, at least.”

  Lila and I had shared divorce stories over coffee one night at school. She had gotten married fairly young, like me, but unlike Bradley, who had cheated on me with Shelby and then married her once our divorce was final, Lila’s husband had been devoted to the point of obsession, always accusing her of sleeping around on him. He didn’t want her talking to other men, didn’t want her looking at other men, didn’t want her leaving the house, cut her off from watching TV because she was watching other men. When she threatened to leave, he beat her senseless and told her he’d kill her if she tried. One of the neighbors called 911 once, when things got especially bad, and that’s when she finally got rid of the guy. Arrest warrant, restraining order, the whole nine yards.

  Heather nodded. “Bastard,” she said succinctly. “But you know, that’s not a bad idea. I wonder if the police are looking into that nasty piece of dog doo-doo.” (She used a stronger word, one of the sort my mother had warned me would make me sound common. I won’t repeat it.)

  “I’m sure they are,” I answered. “When someone is murdered, the husband or wife or significant other is always high on the suspect list. I’ll…”

  I stopped on the verge of saying that I would ask Detective Grimaldi the next time I spoke to her. It might make Connie and Heather feel uncomfortable to know that I was in pretty regular communication with the police. People tend to be a little leery of folks who can rat them out to the law, even when they don’t have anything to hide.

  “How long did you two know Lila?” I asked instead, looking from one to the other of them.

  “Only a couple of months,” Connie said. Heather nodded. “Since the planning for the Eye Ball started in July.”

  “The Eye Ball?”

  Heather giggled. “That’s the nickname for this event. The Vanderbilt Optometry Department’s Benefit Gala. An Eye Ball.”

  “Funny,” I said. “I guess you wouldn’t know much about the men in her life, then, if you haven’t known her long.”

  They exchanged a look. “Other than this guy on Sunday, she’s mentioned very few,” Heather said. “We always go – used to go – out somewhere for drinks after the meetings on Monday nights, and she was very pretty, you know…”

  “And not attached, like me and Heather,” Connie shot in. Heather nodded. So did I. Lila had been very pretty. A brief impression of her face in the picture Detective Grimaldi had shown me flashed in front of my eyes, and I swallowed hard and forced my attention back to the conversation. Heather continued.

  “She wasn’t above flirting with some of the men who caught her eye, but I don’t remember her ever leaving with any of them.”

  “And she never mentioned any of them again,” Connie added. “I‘d ask once in a while – did so-and-so ever call? – but she never said anything about getting together with any of them later. And she wasn’t promiscuous. Her husband was crazy; she didn’t cheat on him.”

  “I’ve never heard her rave about anyone the way she did about this burglar,” Heather said.

  Connie nodded. “By the way, Savannah, that boyfriend of yours wasn’t exactly hard on the eyes, either.”

  “He’s not my boyfriend,” I began.

  “He said he was her bodyguard,” Connie explained to Heather, “and seeing the way he was looking at it, I think he was telling the truth.”

  Blushing, I explained, “He’s a friend of mine. Because of the robberies and Lila’s murder, my boss suggested that we all be extra careful this weekend.”

  Connie added, “If Lila’s guy looked anything like Savannah’s guy, I don’t blame Lila one bit for asking him to take advantage of her. This guy could take advantage of me any time he wanted.”

  “A pity he’s spoken for,” Heather remarked, with a glance at me.

  “Oh, yes,” Connie said, “they made that very clear. Both of them.”

  She winked. I blushed. But before I could say anything the meeting was called to order. We took our seats around the table, and the conversation was shelved as centerpieces, napkins, and tablecloths took over as the main topics of conversation.

  The house near Potsdam Street that we visited on Tuesday afternoon didn’t turn out to be Gary Lee and Charlene’s dream home, either. They went inside and spent a good, long time there, but when they came back outside, they told me that no, this wasn’t it.

  “OK,” I said, figuratively taking the bull by the horns. “Maybe it’s time we set some parameters. You’ve seen a few houses by now. Are you able to narrow down what you’re looking for just a little bit? Is it a certain style of house? A certain age? A certain area? Are there special features you’re looking for, like a fireplace or a Jacuzzi tub?”

  They exchanged a look. “Not really…”

  “How will you know you’ve found it?”

  “Um…” They looked at each other again.

  “I guess,” Charlene said, “we’ll know when we see it. Or experience being in it.”

  Gary Lee nodded. “We’re looking for something that’ll blow Charlene’s skirt up.”

  I arched my brows. “I see. OK, then. If you can’t give me anything more definite, I guess we’ll just continue the way we’ve been going. I can’t show you anything tomorrow – I’ll be in Sweetwater in the morning, and then I have a memorial service to go to in the afternoon – but I’m sure you have something you want to see on Thursday?”

  “Um…” They glanced at each other and then down, sheepishly. “Not really.”

  “I see,” I said, breathing through the nose. After all this, they were just going to fall off the map? I was going to have wasted all of this time for no commission?

  “I think we need to… um… reassess where we stand,” Gary Lee spoke up. “Process what we’ve learned. Decide on the next logical step.”

  It seemed to me that the next logical step was to make an offer on a house they wanted to buy, but of course I didn’t say so. “Fine,” I said instead, my voice strained. “You have my number. When you’ve reassessed where you stand and decided what you want to do, give me a call.”

  They said they would and scurried into their car, peeling rubber pulling away from the curb, as if they couldn’t get away from me fast enough. I allowed myself the satisfaction of kicking the steps of the house, with nothing to show for it but bruised toes.

  Chapter 11

  Because of Gary Lee and Charlene and the totally wasted hour I spent with them, I got a late start on the drive to Sweetwater, and ended up in the worst crush of rush-hour drivers, speeding home to the southern suburbs from their jobs in the city. That slowed me down even more, and then there was the three-car pile-up just before the off-ramp at Peytonsville Road. I didn’t have time to stop by the house on my way, and as it was, I arrived at the Wayside Inn ten minutes late, to find Todd drumming his fingers on the tabletop and watching the door. Mother and S
heriff Satterfield were already halfway through their meal, and I stopped beside their table on my way to say hello. The sheriff stood up to greet me, and leaned in to peck me on the cheek. “Evening, missy. Having a bite with my boy, are you?”

  “I am, Sheriff. If that’s OK with you.”

  “Course, darlin’. Course. Couldn’t be happier.” He sank back down at the table. Mother beamed.

  “It looks like he’s waiting, so I guess I should get over there. Enjoy your meal. What’s left of it.”

  “Oh, we’ll be outta here in just a few minutes,” the sheriff promised. “Don’t wanna interrupt the boy’s plans.” He winked at me. I smiled back, politely, while my heart sank all the way down to the floor.

  Todd looked very handsome in his dark suit and tasteful tie, and I found myself wishing I’d taken the time to change into something different myself, even if it would have made me even later than I already was. Not that there was anything wrong with what I was wearing. If there had been, mother would have let me know. My outfit of tangerine top and pale blue skirt was flattering and appropriate, although I suppose it could have been less wrinkled. I had, after all, been wearing it all day. I had spent the downtime on the road touching up my make-up in the rearview mirror, however, so at least my face looked dewy-fresh.

  Todd rose as I approached – he has beautiful manners – and kissed my hand. “Good evening, Savannah.” He handed me into my chair and walked back around the table to his own.

  “I’m sorry I’m late. I hit traffic, and then there was an accident...”

  Todd waved his hand dismissively. “I’m just glad you could make it. Drink?”

  “Please.”

  “White wine?”

  I nodded, and Todd turned to the waiter and ordered a glass of Sauvignon Blanc for me, and a glass of Merlot for himself. The waiter withdrew, and Todd turned back to me. “I hope your open house on Sunday went well?”

  “Very well, thank you,” I said. “Seventeen visitors – no, eighteen – and no robbers. Or at least none that made themselves known to me.”

  “That’s good,” Todd said. He glanced around, over at our parents, who were now enjoying dessert. “And how did your committee meeting go yesterday?”

  “Fine, thank you. We decided on using the waterfall design for the folded napkins, and since the event is taking place just a few days before Halloween, we’re discussing the idea of a costume ball. I met a couple of women who knew Lila, although they didn’t seem to know anything about what happened to her. Other than what was in the paper, I mean.”

  Todd nodded. He slid another glance in the direction of our parents.

  “Is something the matter?” I asked.

  He turned back to me. “Pardon?”

  “Are you worried that your father is going to fall prey to my mother’s gold-digging charms, or something?”

  “Of course not,” Todd said, his fair skin flushing all the way to the roots of his blond hair. “I’m just... um... it’s difficult to talk about anything important while they’re there.”

  “We have all night,” I said kindly, and then wished I hadn’t. “I mean, until dinner is over. Or even later, if you wanted to take a drive or something afterwards.”

  “I suppose,” Todd said, but he lapsed into silence and didn’t come out again until the waiter arrived with our drinks. Then he roused himself for long enough to ask me what I wanted for dinner, and to order for both of us, before he lapsed back into insignificant small talk.

  When our parents walked out of the restaurant about halfway through our meal, he thawed a little bit, but it wasn’t until the waiter had removed our plates and Todd had ordered dessert – cheesecake for him, black coffee for me – that he deigned to get to the reason for asking me to meet him.

  “I wanted to talk to you about something, Savannah.”

  “OK,” I said.

  “Something important.”

  “All right.”

  “Just a moment. I have something to show you.” He avoided my eyes as he bent over to rummage in the briefcase leaning against his chair leg. My heart started beating faster.

  I expected him to surface with a small jeweler’s box, or maybe just a ring, but he didn’t. What he held, was a plain manila envelope. It didn’t bulge, and I started breathing easier. Until he removed a stiff piece of paper and glanced at it for a moment before sliding it across the table to me. I picked it up, and so unprepared was I, that it took me a second to realize what – or whom – I was looking at. But then all the blood left my face and pooled somewhere in the vicinity of my stomach; or at least it felt that way.

  “Where did you get this?” My voice was uneven, and deteriorated further when I added, incredulously, “Are you having me followed?”

  Todd hesitated. I wish I could say I thought he was quailing under the onslaught of my righteous indignation, but I’m afraid not. He was just weighing his options and deciding how much to tell me. “Not you,” he said finally. “Him.”

  I had to take a breath before I could continue. “Why is the district attorney’s office interested in Rafe Collier?”

  “They’re not,” Todd said. And added ominously, “Yet.”

  “So you’re doing this on your own? Why?”

  Todd glanced again at the photograph I was holding, and seemed to draw some sort of strength from it, because he met my eyes straight on. “Isn’t it obvious? Look at yourself, Savannah! Look at the way you’re looking at him. Can you blame me for worrying about you?”

  I looked down at the photograph again. And it was mostly to avoid Todd’s accusing eyes, not because I wanted to inspect it in any more detail. Because, believe me, I’d seen enough.

  Oh, it wasn’t that I looked bad. Quite the opposite, in fact. I looked pretty darned good, if I do say so myself. Maybe even a little too good. Usually, I’m not crazy about the way I look in photographs. The extra ten pounds the camera adds, coupled with the extra ten I’m carrying myself, tend to make me look tubbier than I like. In this case, however, I had no cause for complaint. I looked great. My eyes sparkled, my skin glowed, my smile was radiant, and my cheeks were becomingly flushed. Even my hair looked good. My only consolation was that I was not, in fact, doing what Todd was accusing me of. “What do you mean?” I demanded. “I’m looking down, not up at Rafe.”

  “But you’re smiling,” Todd said coldly. “And blushing. And flirting.”

  “I’m not flirting. He’s the one who was flirting!” That’s why I’d been blushing.

  “But you don’t look like you minded,” Todd shot back, accurately. I could feel another blush creep into my cheeks, and thanked the Lord it was dark in the restaurant. Maybe Todd would mistake my heightened color for temper rather than embarrassment or residual memory.

  “What did you expect me to do,” I demanded, “slap his face?” And what a photograph that would have made!

  The idea of it made me smile, and allowed me to calm down sufficiently to add reasonably, “You’re being silly, Todd. Rafe flirts with everyone, even Timothy Briggs. It doesn’t mean anything.”

  “He doesn’t have to flirt with you!” Todd said petulantly.

  I shrugged. “Well, of course he doesn’t have to.” Although flirting seems to come as naturally to Rafe as breathing, so maybe he did have to. It wasn’t something I planned to put to the test, since his flirtation didn’t bother me the same way it did Todd. For the most part I enjoyed it. I didn’t want it to go any further than it had, but I didn’t mind what he’d done so far.

  Thankfully, the waiter chose this moment to appear with Todd’s cheesecake and my coffee, and by the time he had left, I had gathered myself enough to be able to ask, quite calmly, “So is this it, or do you have any other pictures in that envelope?”

  Todd nodded. “Plenty. Have a look.” He pushed the envelope across the table toward me. I reached in and pulled out a sheaf of other photographs, starting with Rafe outside Police Plaza at 1:20 pm Sunday afternoon, in the process of putting on
his sunglasses. Then there was Rafe and I talking to Connie Fortunato on her front steps at 4:13 pm. He had a proprietary arm around my shoulders, and I didn’t look as uncomfortable as I thought I had. Then Perry Fortunato and Rafe squaring off at 4:16. I hadn’t noticed it at the time, but they were almost of a height, both tall and dark, although Perry was a good ten years older and fleshy rather than muscular. He did his best to make up for it by looking at Rafe down the length of his Roman nose, but the attempt failed because Rafe had him beat by an inch or so in height. Perry had to tilt his head back, which rather ruined the effect.

  Then there was a shot of Rafe grinning at the waitress and another close-up of me at the table in the Shortstop, with a half-eaten hamburger in my hand and my mouth open. Not so flattering to me, that one. After that came one of Rafe and his friend talking at the table, and another of all four of them in conversation over by the pool tables. The light was nice and sharp over there – the better to see the all-important game of pool – and the pictures were crystal clear and detailed. It was followed by close-ups of all three men.

  Todd had been watching me across the table. “Those are criminals,” he said.

  I glanced up. “How do you know?”

  “The investigator I hired told me. The information is written on the back. They’ve all been arrested several times, for things like burglary, check fraud, grand theft auto...”

  “Nice,” I muttered, reading the back of the photographs. Ishmael Jackson, A. J. Davies, and Antoine Kent, and their assorted crimes, beginning in their teens and carrying through to now. Todd allowed himself a tiny smirk. Usually, he has an appealing smile, one that crinkles the corners of his gray-blue eyes and shows off his even, white teeth. Not now. At this moment he just looked smug and self-satisfied. The temptation to knock him off his high horse was almost irresistible. “So what did your tame P.I. have to say about Rafe? Anything I haven’t heard already?”

  Rafe’s criminal history wasn’t written on the back of the photo, and I had a nagging feeling that it might be because it was too extensive to fit.