I shrugged, blushing. “I thought maybe you had a message for me, or something. Or maybe Rafe asked you to keep an eye on me while he’s gone.”
“He ain’t gone,” Wendell said.
“What do you mean, he isn’t gone?” I had assumed, once he realized that Julio Melendez would probably give the police his name, he’d be leaving Nashville as quickly as he could.
“The job ain’t done,” Wendell said.
I hesitated. “When you say ‘the job’, I suppose you’re talking about the robberies? The open house robberies?”
Wendell didn’t answer, and his eyes were as flat and uncommunicative as brown pebbles.
I decided not to think too hard about what ‘the job’ might be, or which part of it wasn’t finished. Instead, I returned to what was really, ultimately, the most important thing. In this exchange, anyway. “So Rafe hasn’t left town?”
“Not as of last night,” Wendell answered.
“He’s not in jail, is he? Or in hiding?”
An almost-smile tugged at the corners of Wendell’s mouth. “No, he ain’t hiding. Just goin’ about his business, as usual.”
“I see,” I said. And because I saw that I was asking too many questions about a man I professed to have little interest in, I added, with an attempt at off-handedness which didn’t quite come off, “Well, if you see him, tell him I said hello.”
“Sure thing, Miz Martin.” Wendell inclined his head politely. I did the same. He brushed past me into the store, and I continued down the steps and across the parking lot to the Volvo.
Gary Lee and Charlene were ready and waiting by the time I got to the latest in the long line of houses they wanted to see. It looked like it might be a nice one, too; not too big, not too small, new, but with enough character to blend in with the older homes surrounding it. I opened the door for them, and we all went inside, into the living room/dining room/kitchen combo, where we stopped and looked around at the fireplace, gleaming wood floors, and granite-topped breakfast bar. “Nice place,” Gary Lee commented. Charlene nodded.
“The bedrooms are upstairs,” I said, consulting the MLS-sheet I had brought with me. “There are three of them, although one is pretty small and might be a better music room or study.”
Charlene and Gary Lee exchanged a glance. “Um, Savannah…” Charlene said. “Are you going to follow us around everywhere?”
“Do I have to follow you around everywhere?” I asked, looking from one to the other of them. They both shook their heads. “In that case, I guess not. Have a look around on your own. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do, and if you do, make sure you clean up after yourselves. Perry Fortunato noticed the bed had been used last weekend.”
“OK.” They glanced at each other and started looking around. I watched them walk up the stairs to the second floor before I headed back out to the porch. Out of sight, out of mind, kind of. If they were going to do anything icky, I’d just as soon not know about it. If it hadn’t been for Connie’s murder and the MNPD’s no doubt fine-tooth-combing of the Fortunatos’ bedroom, no one would ever have known what Charlene and Gary Lee had been up to, and I was just fine with that.
They stayed gone for long enough to have managed a quickie, and when they came back out, Charlene’s cheeks were flushed and her hair was messy. So was Gary Lee’s, although it always was, so that wasn’t indicative of anything except a disinclination to comb it.
“We really like it, Savannah!” Charlene burbled.
“Great,” I said, and because I still felt put-upon by the whole thing, I turned to Gary Lee. “And was it good for you, too?”
Gary Lee had the grace to look embarrassed, but he nodded. “We think we might like to live in this house.”
“Really?” If I sounded surprised, it was because I was. I had expected some run-around about waiting and thinking about it, and to be put off and put off until I forgot I’d ever known Gary Lee and Charlene, but maybe there was hope after all. “Are you sure?”
They looked at each other. “Um… pretty much…”
“Great!” I said. “I brought a purchase and sale agreement with me. All we have to do is fill it out. Then you give me an earnest money check, and I’ll call the other Realtor.”
“Oh. Um…” They exchanged another glance.
“Yes?”
“We didn’t bring the checkbook.”
“Oh,” I said. And rallied. “OK. We can go to your place and write the contract there. That way you can get the checkbook.”
“Oh. Um…”
“Yes?”
“How much does an earnest money check have to be for?”
“Enough to show you’re serious about making the offer. That’s why they call it earnest money.”
“Oh. Um…”
“Yes?”
“We think we need to talk about this before we do anything.”
“OK,” I said, giving up. I should have known it was too good to be true. “Give me a call, then, when you’ve finished talking. Hopefully the house will still be on the market.”
“Right.” They didn’t look at each other, or at me, when they said their goodbyes and headed for the car. I locked up and got into my own car, grumbling.
Chapter 18
Todd rang the doorbell promptly at six, and handed me a big bunch of roses. They were interspersed with tiny sprigs of baby’s breath, like a wedding bouquet. Had they been red, I would have been worried. As it was, they were yellow, so I decided I had no cause for concern. At least not tonight.
I had gotten dressed up for the occasion in one of my nicest cocktail-dresses, bright blue with little beads along the décolletage, and Todd was very complimentary. “You look absolutely stunning, Savannah,” he said sincerely, looking deeply into my eyes across the table in Fidelio’s Restaurant. I preened.
Both the maitre d’ and the waiter had greeted me familiarly when we arrived. I’d been there so many times over the past couple of weeks, I guess I was becoming something of a regular. Maybe they were as heartily sick of seeing me as I was of being here.
We were seated at our usual table, in the darkly romantic section of the restaurant, screened by ferny plants and surrounded by tinkling fountains to drown out private conversation. Not that there was anything to drown out tonight; Todd had taken my warning to heart, and was careful not to mention Rafe by name or in any other way. Not even obliquely. It was wonderful not to have to watch my every word, nor to keep looking for hidden meanings in everything Todd said. It brought me back to my sophomore year in high school, when life had been simple and Todd and I had been an item. He and I, along with Dix and my best friend Charlotte, had gone everywhere together that year. Football games, swimming, ice skating, the prom…
“Have you seen Charlotte recently?” Todd wanted to know, as if he’d been reading my mind.
I shook my head. Charlotte had married a cosmetic surgeon after college, and had moved to – of all places – Charlotte, North Carolina. The last time I’d seen her was four years earlier, at my wedding to Bradley. “She calls me every so often, just to talk, but I haven’t heard from her for a couple of months. I guess she’s busy.”
I took a dainty bite of chicken and rosemary stuffed ravioli and chewed.
“That’s a shame,” Todd said, picking at his veal piccata. “You two were such good friends in high school.”
I shrugged. “It’s what happens when people move away. You lose contact. And we’re in different places in our lives. She’s still married with a husband and children. I’m not.”
“That could change, though,” Todd said. I swallowed too quickly, and had to take a sip of wine to stop coughing, totally ruining my intention of changing the subject before he could say anything else about it. But then he didn’t. Or not directly. “Did you hear about old Mr. Patton?”
I shook my head. I didn’t even know who old Mr. Patton was, let alone what had happened to him. The name was vaguely familiar, but that was all.
“He owned that b
ig farmhouse down by the river, near where we used to go swimming in the summer,” Todd said. “You know the place. White house, a barn or two, flagpole…”
“Oh, yes.” I remembered Mr. Patton. “What about him?”
“He passed away recently.”
“Really?” Why did Todd think I might be interested in curmudgeonly old Mr. Patton’s passing?
Todd forked up a piece of veal. “Dix is handling the estate. He says they’ll probably end up selling the house once they’ve gotten through probate. The old man didn’t have any children, and his sister’s children and grandchildren don’t want to move back to Sweetwater.”
“I see,” I said.
“I’ve always thought it would make a great place to live and raise a family.”
It seemed to me he already had a great place to live – with his father in the house on the square – but I decided to let it lie. “Well, of course it would. Nice, old house, lots of land, beautiful view, and that private stretch of river…”
Todd grinned. “We had some fun, didn’t we, Savannah?”
I smiled back. “Yes, we did.”
“Do you remember that time I bet Dix he couldn’t hoist Charlotte’s pom-poms to the top of Mr. Patton’s flagpole without the old man seeing him, and he did it?”
I nodded. Who could forget something like that?
The conversation lingered in the past all the way through dessert. It was nice and comfortable, like a familiar place after a long absence. And I’m not talking about the past so much as Todd’s and my relationship. Until he came back to Sweetwater and started giving me a hard time about Rafe, I’d always felt very comfortable with him. He’d been my brother’s best friend growing up, so I’d known him practically my whole life, and although our going steady in high school had been more about making my parents – and Dix - happy than because I was so much in love with Todd, we’d always been friendly. When he didn’t hassle me, he was good company, very charming and considerate, with the old-fashioned manners of a true Southern gentleman. We had a lot in common. If he hadn’t left Sweetwater to go to law school, and I hadn’t gone to Nashville and met Bradley while he was gone, I might have ended up becoming Mrs. Todd Satterfield.
In its way, it was a seductive, comfortable fantasy. It was what I had signed on for when I married Bradley. But then fate – and Shelby – had intervened, and the perfect life I had envisioned – the perfect life I had been led to believe I’d have if I did everything correctly – had fallen apart. Instead of being the safe, cherished, protected wife of a successful attorney, with a townhouse in Green Hills and no worries, I was single, celibate, and hustling to try to make a success of myself in one of the most competitive businesses in the country, before the savings account ran dry and I started defaulting on my rent and my bills.
But that’s neither here nor there. Todd and I talked about old times, and people we both knew, and his father, and my mother, and Dix and Sheila, and interests we shared, like theatre and art. Anything and everything except Rafe Collier, or any subject remotely related to him. No crimes – murders, rapes or robberies – marred the conversation, and by the time dinner was over and we were on our way back to my place, I was relaxed and mellow and feeling more kindly towards Todd than I had in a while. When he took me in his arms outside the door, I was pliant enough that the kiss developed into an embrace more passionate than I was comfortable with in the hallway outside my apartment.
All in all I have to say I was relieved when he let me go and stepped back. My voice sounded funny when I thanked him for dinner, and so did his when he answered. It was husky and low. “You’re welcome. Any time. Good night, Savannah.”
“Good night, Todd,” I said, and I didn’t look up until he had turned around and was walking away from me down the hallway toward the stairs.
Gary Lee and Charlene did not call me on Sunday morning, and neither did Beau Riggins. Beau I could forgive – he was probably sleeping in, after his no doubt exhausting night with his Latin spitfire – but I was seriously put out with the Hodgeses. Their behavior was totally inappropriate and disgusting, and I felt foolish for letting them con me again. They’d probably had themselves one last quickie under the mirrored ceiling while I was standing on the front porch waiting for them finish, and now I’d never see them again. Maybe everyone who’d warned me about getting into real estate had been right. Maybe I really wasn’t cut out for it. Surely Tim would have caught on much sooner than I had – especially considering how sex-fixated he was – and I wouldn’t be surprised if Rafe had had his suspicions last weekend, too, at the Fortunatos’ house. There had been something in his voice and his eyes at the time, that I had taken for just the usual amusement, but in retrospect, I thought he had probably been having a good, if silent, laugh at my expense.
And where the hell was he, anyway? Wendell had assured me that he was still in town, so why didn’t he get in touch? I could understand why he’d want to stay away from Detective Grimaldi, who’d probably lock him up if she saw him, but surely he could spare the time to give me a call? Especially after the conversation we’d had in the car on Thursday, and the way we’d been interrupted.
Or maybe that had all been an act, too. As gullible as I seemed to be, an accomplished liar like Rafe could probably play me like a violin. Which just went to show that I should just give up trying to make my own way in the world, and when Todd proposed again, which he was bound to do sooner or later, I could say yes and put all this aggravation behind me. I wouldn’t have to worry about making ends meet, or converting prospects to clients, or making sales… I could just marry someone who’d take care of me, and be the perfect wife and, in a year or two, the mother that my mother taught me to be.
But first, there was Perry Fortunato’s open house to get through. And I was still a Realtor and had an image to uphold, so I dressed in proper business attire – black skirt and pink blouse with high-heeled pumps and pearls in my ears – and set out for Brentwood.
The open house sign had been put in the yard – probably by Perry himself – and he was just leaving when I pulled up into the driveway. When he saw me, he got back out of his car and waited for me to stop mine before he grabbed the door handle and opened my door for me. “Good afternoon, Savannah.”
Considering that his wife had only been dead for a couple of days, and wasn’t even in the ground yet, his gaze was a mite too appreciative. He had dark rings under his eyes, however, and looked like he had lost weight since last week, so I decided to cut him a break. “Good afternoon, Mr. Fortunato. Thank you.”
He smiled. “No problem. Let me get that for you.” He leaned into the car, brushing up against me on the way, and grabbed my bag of paraphernalia – scented candles, sign-in sheets, pens, and so on – from the passenger seat.
“Thank you,” I said again.
“No problem. Let me walk you in.” He started up the stairs, and I had no choice but to follow, although I didn’t really want the company. It’s always recommended that an owner leave his or her open house to the agent, so as not to make any visitors feel uncomfortable, plus, I really didn’t enjoy Perry’s attentions. Bad enough that he’d been paying attention to me in the first place, being a good ten years too old for me and married to boot, but now, with his wife lying on a slab in the morgue…!
However, I needn’t have worried. He opened the door and walked the bag into the kitchen, where he left it on the island and turned to me. “Anything else I can do for you before I go?”
I shook my head. “I’ve been here before, I know where everything is.”
“I put the open house sign in the yard,” Perry said, like a little boy fishing for praise.
“I noticed. Thank you.”
“There are sodas and things in the fridge if you get hungry or thirsty, and of course there’s the bar in the den…”
“I’m on duty,” I said with a smile, “so I’m afraid drinking is out of the question, but thank you.”
He looked around vagu
ely. “Connie had some magazines and such sitting around, in case you get bored. There’s no ad in the paper today, so you may not get a whole lot of visitors.”
“I’m sure it’ll be fine,” I said, wondering why he didn’t just leave. “Thanks for your concern, but I brought a book, just in case.”
Perry stuck his hand into the bag and pulled the book out. It was the same bodice ripper I’d tried to read for the past few days, without luck. I’d figured if I brought it here, where I had nothing else to do, maybe I’d actually get through it. However, when Perry looked at the cover and arched his brows and pursed his lips, I flushed in embarrassment. Like all of Barbara Botticelli’s books, the cover showed a swooning blonde whose blouse was gaping open over her more-than-ample breasts, being leered at by a swarthy and bare-chested rogue. The rogue in this case was a pirate, as evidenced by the sea in the background and the skull-and-crossbones waving in the breeze. The girl was tied to the mast of the pirate ship, and the title, emblazoned in crimson letters across the top half of the book, proclaimed her as ‘Pirate’s Booty’. The double entendre was no doubt intentional.
I waited for Perry to comment, but he didn’t, just dropped the book back into the bag, and asked, “Are you expecting company?”
I wrinkled my brows. That was the point, wasn’t it? For people to show up?
“Your boyfriend,” Perry clarified. “The one who was here last weekend. Are you expecting him again?”
Oh.
“He’s not my boyfriend. And no, I’m not expecting him.” Of course, I hadn’t expected him last week, either, but at least then I’d told him beforehand that I was going to be here. Today, it would take almost supernatural powers to find me. That realization was a little uncomfortable; not because I suspected Perry of anything in particular, other than of trying to flirt with me under circumstances when he really shouldn’t be, but because two women were dead and I didn’t want to end up as third time unlucky.
For a second I thought about asking Perry to stay, but then common sense prevailed. I’d just use the phone to call someone as soon as he left. And if I kept the doors closed, and made sure I didn’t let anyone in who looked the least bit suspicious, I ought to be all right.
Hot Property Page 21
