Hot Property

by Jenna Bennett

  We both looked at him.

  “That’s true,” Detective Grimaldi admitted. “He’s tall, too. Not as muscular as I expected from the witness descriptions, but in padded coveralls, possibly muscular enough. Although, if Lila recognized him, do you think she’d have described him accurately?”

  “I guess that depends on how much she wanted to keep him out of jail,” I said. “Or how afraid she was of him. Kieran Greene saw him too, and the descriptions match.”

  Tamara Grimaldi nodded. “I think I’ll have another talk with Mr. Rodgers. Find out if he has an alibi for either robbery. If he has a history of spousal abuse, that’s going to count against him. By the way, the medical examiner estimates time of death between eleven and midnight. Your boyfriend doesn’t have an alibi.”

  “My boyfriend,” I said sourly, “doesn’t need one. If you’re talking about Rafe, he’s not my boyfriend. And he didn’t kill Lila. Come on, Detective. You’ve met him. Do you really think he has it in him to rape and then strangle someone?”

  “They don’t pay me to think,” Detective Grimaldi said, and relented, “It doesn’t matter what I think, because on the evidence, he does. He has a conviction for assault and battery, and he’s been a suspect in quite a few other violent and non-violent crimes. Just because he wasn’t charged, doesn’t mean he didn’t do them.”

  “It doesn’t mean he did, either.”

  She looked at me for a second. “I try very hard not to arrest the wrong person, Ms. Martin. It looks bad, and opens us up for nasty lawsuits. If I arrest Mr. Collier, it will be because there is compelling evidence against him.”

  “I’m not sure that’s helpful,” I muttered. She shrugged. “So is there compelling evidence against him?”

  Her voice and face were smooth, giving nothing away. “As of right now, not enough. He fits the description of one of the burglars, and he has no alibi for the time of the murder, or for the time of the robberies. His background indicates that this is something he might be involved with. He has a rudimentary understanding of the real estate business – that would be through you, Ms. Martin – and it certainly wouldn’t surprise me to hear that someone had suggested that he tie her up and have his way with her. However, it’s all circumstantial. And whereas I could probably get permission to arrest and charge him, based on circumstantial evidence, I probably wouldn’t get a conviction.”

  “Good to know,” I said. And then added, repentantly, “I’m sorry you’re not making progress as fast as you’d like. We all want you to get whoever this guy is off the streets.”

  “No problem. I’ll find him. And when I do...” Her smile was so cold I could hear the ice cubes clinking together, and I felt a chill creep down my back. Tennessee is still a death-penalty state, and I knew that when she caught him, she’d recommend he swing. Or fry. Or die by lethal injection, which I guess is the way they do it these days.

  She added, looking around, “I don’t see Mr. Collier.”

  I looked around too, automatically. “Did you expect him to be here?”

  “He was at Mrs. Puckett’s funeral.”

  “That was mostly because he wanted to talk to me, I think. He was still trying to find his grandmother then, and he might have been hoping that she’d be there.”

  While showing up here would only reinforce the idea that he’d had a connection to Lila, and he was much too smart to do that.

  “Why, hello, Detective!” a syrupy voice said, tearing me out of my reverie. “And Savannah, too. How... surprising, to find the two of you together again.”

  I turned my head and saw Tim, who was standing in front of us, bouncing on the balls of his feet and beaming. Without the calming influence of Walker to remind him to dress down for the occasion, he was kitted out in skin-tight pants, a shimmery satin shirt open halfway down his beautifully tanned chest, and a blazer. All of it was unrelieved black, and it set off his coiffed blond hair and veneers wonderfully, but of course it was hideously inappropriate, even so. As was his demeanor, not that there was anything unusual in that.

  Heidi Hoppenfeldt was standing behind him, with a plate piled high with hors d’oeuvres in one hand and a glass of punch in the other, chewing. “Hello, Heidi,” I said politely. “I didn’t expect to see you here. I didn’t think you knew Lila.”

  Heidi shrugged, causing her voluminous tent-dress to sway. She had probably come for the food.

  “Lamont, Briggs and Associates wanted to be supportive,” Tim said smoothly, “so we came out in force.”

  “Lamont, Briggs and Associates?”

  He smirked. “Walker agreed that a name-change was in order. Under the circumstances, it seemed like a good idea. I’ve already notified the NAR, the TAR, and the GNAR.”

  “Great,” I muttered. It had been just over a month since I’d received my first batch of business cards with ‘Walker Lamont Realty’ on them, and now I’d have to toss them all in the trash and start over.

  “And how have you been, Detective?” Tim turned his 200 watt smile on Tamara Grimaldi, who smiled back, though not as brightly.

  “Very well, thank you, Mr. Briggs.”

  “I suppose you’re here in your official capacity? Lila’s misfortune was your gain, so to speak, in that you get paid to find her murderer.” Tim’s baby-blue eyes were bright and malicious. Detective Grimaldi’s official capacity didn’t seem to worry him overmuch, or at least not so much that he curbed his tongue. However, Tamara Grimaldi wasn’t the gal to take any of Tim’s nonsense lying down.

  “Much the same way Mrs. Puckett’s and Mrs. Webster’s misfortunes were your gain, Mr. Briggs,” she answered smoothly. “I wasn’t aware that you knew Ms. Vaughn. It appears I’ve been amiss. Would you mind if I asked you a few questions?”

  Tim looked like he minded, but under the circumstances, there wasn’t a whole lot he could do. He had clearly let himself in for the extra attention. I made my excuses and left them alone, resisting the urge to pat Detective Grimaldi on the back to congratulate her on a superb job of getting under Tim’s skin.

  Heidi drifted back to the buffet table, and I continued my circuit of the room, saying hello to people I knew and offering my condolences to people who looked like they had known Lila. About halfway around I came across Kieran Greene, who was conversing with the vice-president of the local association of Realtors. Unlike Tim, Kieran was somberly dressed in a beautiful, charcoal gray suit and pale pink ascot, and he was clearly in an absolute tizzy over something. When I came closer, I saw that he had buttonholed the vice-president to tell her that but for the grace of God, it could have been him lying on a cold slab in the morgue. Or rather, by now, six feet under in Detroit. The vice-president looked haunted, and I took pity on her and cut Kieran smoothly off in mid-sentence. The vice-president escaped, with a grateful nod at me, and I turned to Kieran. “How are you?”

  That simple query turned the torrent of words on me instead, and I smiled politely and let them wash over me, like water off a duck’s back. I’ve spent many an interminable hour sitting through less scintillating conversation, with my back straight and an expression on my face that said I was hanging on every word. My mother had made sure I could do it in my sleep. I could also mouth the appropriate platitudes without even thinking about what to say. “I know what you’re going through, Kieran. I blame myself too. But she has gone to a better place.”

  Kieran lowered his voice. “I saw you talking to the detective, and now she’s talking to Tim Briggs. Does he know something about what happened?”

  “As far as I know, nothing at all,” I answered. Kieran looked disappointed. I was just about to explain that Tim and Detective Grimaldi had gotten off on the wrong foot during the investigation of Brenda Puckett’s murder, when someone else spoke.

  “Hi, Savannah. I didn’t realize you knew Kieran.”

  It was Heather Price, who stuck her arm familiarly through Kieran’s and kissed him on the cheek.

  “I didn’t realize you knew Kieran,” I answered.<
br />
  “Oh, sure.” She grinned. “He’s kind enough to send me business once in a while. I return the favor when I can, although it’s not often. His clients sometimes have use for my services, but my clients usually come to me with a real estate agent already attached.”

  “Although Heather’s boyfriend has been quite helpful in decorating my humble abode,” Kieran said, smiling demurely.

  “I’m sorry,” I apologized. “I don’t know what you do. Are you involved in some aspect of real estate, too?”

  “I’m a stager,” Heather said. A stager, for those of you not in the know, is a special kind of interior decorator who comes on the scene when a house is ready to go on the market and stages it to show to its best advantage. Something like a make-up artist for houses. Some stagers fill empty houses with stylish furniture they keep on hand for the purpose, while others just go through what’s already there and put it together in better ways. Most people have way too many knick-knacks and personal items sitting around, and a stager is adept at cutting through the clutter. Tchotzkes and family photographs disappear into drawers, along with throw-rugs and refrigerator magnets, until what’s left looks like a glossy magazine page.

  “Did you stage Kieran’s clients’ house?” I asked. “The one that got robbed three weeks ago?”

  Heather bit her lip, nodding. “Poor Paul and Simon. They lost all the paintings that Simon’s family had spent so long gathering. I felt so bad for them.”

  “It was terrible,” I agreed. “Although compared with what happened to Lila...”

  “Oh, of course,” Heather said quickly. “Paintings are just things; they can’t compare to someone’s life. Still, it was a terrible loss.”

  “I’m sure.”

  I was gearing up to ask if she had also staged the other house, the Worthington property where Lila had encountered the robbers, when an interruption occurred. This was the first time I had noticed Connie Fortunato being present, but here she was, standing at my elbow, talking past me. “You know, Heather, I’ve been meaning to talk to you about your work. Our house has been on the market for three weeks now, with no offers, and I thought maybe you’d be able to come by and give me some pointers on what to do to make it more appealing.”

  Personally, I had found the Fortunatos’ house plenty appealing, except for the mirrored ceiling in the master bedroom. I also didn’t mention that in a market where average days on the market are one hundred and twenty, three weeks isn’t much at all. Far be it from me to keep another struggling young woman from making a living. Heather lit up. “I’d love to! When?”

  “How about tonight? Perry is going out of town, and I was just planning to open a bottle of wine and take it easy. I’d love some company.”

  Heather hesitated. “Julio and I were planning to get together after he gets off work, but I suppose I could call and cancel...”

  “Oh, no-no-no!” Connie shook her head. “I wouldn’t dream of depriving you of an evening with that handsome Latin boyfriend of yours.” Kieran giggled. “Tomorrow will be fine. Or the next day. I’m not in that much of a hurry.”

  It was Heather’s turn to shake her head. “Julio never wants to stand in the way of my career. Maybe I can meet him early, and then come by your house later.”

  As they started talking about specific times, I excused myself to wander off, leaving the two of them and Kieran together.

  It was just another few steps later that I came across another familiar face. Beau the beautiful house boy was here, in his jeans and leather jacket, although with an Oxford-shirt shielding the rest of his gloriousness from view. He was engaged in an animated conversation with several Realtors – all of them gay men; the profession attracts more than its fair share – and he flashed me a grin and a finger-wave, but didn’t stop discoursing to say hello. I could hardly blame him for the omission; the Realtors were hanging on every word that fell from his delectable lips, and I felt certain he’d pick up more work than he could handle from this appearance. Of course it’s horribly gauche to ply one’s trade at a funeral, but Lila would have approved; had she been alive, she would probably have done the same thing.

  Chapter 13

  The party – excuse me, funeral – broke up shortly thereafter, as all the Realtors – and Beau – ran off to their next appointments. I headed out myself too, although I didn’t have an appointment to go to. Before I went, I looked for Detective Grimaldi, to share what I had just found out about Heather Price, and to suggest that she look into the background of Beau Riggins, whom I knew swung his feather-duster in the house where Kieran had been robbed, and who, considering he’d been present at Lila’s funeral, might have a connection with the Worthington property as well. But the detective was nowhere to be found. When I tried to call her, her voice-mail picked up. I hoped her disappearance meant that she had caught a break in the case and was on her way to arrest someone for Lila’s murder, but in actuality, it probably just meant that someone else had dropped dead, and her focus had shifted from Lila onto some other unfortunate victim. I left my information on the voice mail and went home.

  I didn’t have any plans for the rest of the evening, so once there, I did like Connie Fortunato and made myself comfortable on the sofa with a bodice ripper novel and a glass of white wine. But no sooner had I gotten to the first love scene, than the phone rang. The number on the display was familiar, and I felt my heart start to speed up. It took effort to keep my voice steady. “Hiya, Dix.”

  “Do you want the bad news or the worse news first?” my brother answered.

  I arched my brows. “I’m not sure. If you’re telling me both, I don’t suppose it matters.”

  “And it isn’t like you care what anybody says about Collier anyway,” Dix said.

  I pretended I couldn’t hear the sarcasm. “I prefer to make up my own mind. So you’ve spoken to Cletus?”

  “I’ve listened to Cletus,” Dix corrected. “Cletus spoke to me.”

  “I see,” I said.

  “No,” Dix told me, “you don’t. I called him and said I wanted to check up on a story that Todd Satterfield had told me about Rafe Collier, and that was all I got out, because Cletus started raving. Is it true that Cletus’s ex-wife is living with Collier?”

  “She’s taking care of Rafe’s grandmother,” I said. “They needed a nurse, she needed a job, and I don’t think Rafe’s there a whole lot, so I guess she has to live in. At least that was how he explained it to me.”

  “It isn’t how Cletus explained it to me,” Dix said.

  “Marquita is 300 pounds and has all the cuddliness of a Rottweiler. I’m sure Rafe can control himself.”

  Dix didn’t answer. “He went on and on for hours – at least that’s what it felt like – but eventually he cooled down enough that I could ask him about Elspeth Caulfield.”

  “And?”

  “And he confirmed that there was something between them in high school.”

  “Between Elspeth and Rafe?” Stupid question – the answer was obvious – but it gave me a few extra seconds to think.

  “Of course between Elspeth and Rafe.”

  “Damn,” I said. “Darn, I mean. I didn’t want it to be true.”

  “Sis...” Dix began, and his voice was worried, like he was waiting for the other shoe to drop.

  “Oh, get real, Dix. How often do I have to tell you I’m not interested in him that way?”

  And even if I were, what he was doing twelve or fourteen years ago wouldn’t be any of my business anyway.

  “But,” I added, “it’s awfully difficult to imagine Elspeth having anything to do with him, isn’t it? He’s not so bad now, but back then, he was nothing but trouble, and if I remember correctly, Elspeth was a prim and proper preacher’s kid.”

  “So you’re thinking that if something happened between them, she was forced?”

  “Maybe not forced, exactly. I don’t think he would force himself on anyone. Coerced, maybe. Prevailed upon.” Teenage boys can be very persuasive
when they want to be, and Rafe could probably be more persuasive than most. “Didn’t Cletus tell you what happened? According to Todd, he was there when whatever it was, did.”

  But Dix said that Cletus hadn’t gone into detail. “All he said was, there was something between them back then. It was during his and Collier’s last year at Columbia High – your first year, my third. The next fall, her parents took her out of school and she never came back.”

  “Rafe was in jail by then,” I said. “That fight with Billy Scruggs happened during the summer.”

  “And that didn’t have anything to do with it?”

  Not as far as I knew. “Rafe said Billy Scruggs had beaten LaDonna black and blue, and when she refused to report him, Rafe decided to show Billy how it felt. He didn’t say a word about anyone else being involved.”

  “In that case,” Dix said, “I’m sure no one else was. Elspeth could have been four or maybe even five months pregnant by August or September, which would put whatever it was back to April or May.”

  “If she was pregnant at all,” I reminded him. “And the only person who’d know that, is Elspeth.”

  “And Collier,” Dix said.

  I shook my head, even though he couldn’t see me. “He’d know whether she’d had the opportunity to have gotten pregnant, at least by him, but she’s the only one who’d know if she did. He’d only know if she told him. And that is if she told him the truth.”

  Dix conceded my point. “So what does that mean? You’ll have to talk to Elspeth?”

  I grimaced. “It may come to that. My main concern isn’t actually with whether she was pregnant or not. That’s personal, and none of my business. Although if she did have a baby and it’s out there somewhere, Rafe ought to know.”

  “But surely it isn’t your place to tell him,” Dix protested.

  He was probably right. Although someone should. “Todd intimated that whatever had happened back then, didn’t reflect well on Rafe, and if she can accuse him of rape, that’s not going to help his case with Detective Grimaldi at all.”