by Diane Kelly
The house Nick and I would soon own was a one-story Tudor-style model with a two-car, front-entry garage. Mature Bradford pear trees flanked the drive. A row of yellow rosebushes ran along the front and sides, their blooms not only providing a nice splash of color but a pleasant scent as well.
Before we brought anything in, Nick and I took my family on the grand tour. The cleaning crew had left everything spotless and gleaming, the freshly shampooed carpets looking as good as new.
I led my parents and brothers into the living room.
“This is good-sized,” Mom said, stepping over to the windows along the rear wall that looked out onto the covered back patio and shady yard. She took a peek outside. “That yard will be great for the dog and kids, too, once you have ’em.”
We went to the kitchen next. My mother, who loved to cook, inspected the pantry, dishwasher, and oven. “Self-cleaning,” she noted. “That’ll come in handy.”
We proceeded to the dining room. “We’re planning to replace the wallpaper,” I told them. The current paper was out of date.
My mother glanced around. “You know what else would look nice in here? A big, wide mirror in a gold frame. It would make the room look even bigger and reflect the light from the windows.”
“Good idea.”
Mom had always had a knack for decorating.
We headed down the hallway.
“This is the home office,” I said, leading them through the French doors. “Don’t you just love the built-in bookshelves and cabinets?”
Mom dipped her head in agreement. “Sure is nice.”
In the master bedroom, I threw open the doors to the enormous walk-in closet.
“Holy cow!” Mom said. “That closet’s nearly as big as a bedroom itself.”
Finally, my clothes wouldn’t be crammed up against each other anymore. They’d have room to breathe. The built-in shoe racks would also be a plus.
She glanced into the bathroom. “Is that a whirlpool bathtub?”
“It is.” The bubbling tub had been one of my favorite features. I couldn’t wait to relax in it with a good book after a hard day at work.
“You’ll enjoy that,” Mom said.
“I sure will.” Maybe Nick and I would enjoy it together. Hee-hee!
After showing them the other two bedrooms and the second bath, I turned to my parents. “What do you think?”
My mother took one of my hands and one of Nick’s in hers. “I think you two are going to make a lovely home here.” She gave our hands an affectionate squeeze before releasing them.
As the men unloaded the furniture and boxes from the truck, my mother, Bonnie, and I directed them where to deposit the boxes and place the furniture. We had a hard time deciding on the arrangement in the living room.
“Should the TV go on this wall?” I asked, pointing to one of the walls. “Or should we put it on an angle in the corner and put the couch over there?” I pointed to another spot.
Naturally, we forced the men to try every possible way of arranging the furniture before deciding we liked it best the very first way they’d placed it.
The men exchanged glances and shook their heads. “Women,” Trace muttered.
Soon, they had the trailer emptied and were ready to go back for a second load.
I checked the time on my phone. It was a quarter to four. Shane should have e-mailed me the address of the rental property by now.
I pulled up my e-mails. Sure enough, there it was. I quickly checked the location on my maps app to see how long it would take me to get there. The two-bedroom condo was located right outside the 635 loop near Richland College, part of the Dallas Community College system. I could be there in half an hour. Of course I might not need to go to the appointment if I could speak with the owner first and determine whether Shane was authorized to rent the place on his or her behalf.
I searched the appraisal district listings. The condo was owned by a real estate investment partnership called Prairieland Rental Properties, Ltd. Though I found a phone number for the partnership online, my call to the number went instantly to voice mail, the outgoing message telling me I had reached them outside of normal business hours and to leave my name and number if I would like a call back. I didn’t bother leaving the information. I’d soon know for myself whether Shane was the man Detective Booth and I were hoping to take down.
I explained to Bonnie and my family that I’d need to beg off for just a bit to go to the appointment. “I should be back in a couple of hours at the latest,” I told them.
“Be careful, hon,” Dad said, his eyes dark with concern.
“Don’t worry,” I told him. “Josh will be going with me.”
“I will?” Josh called from the open window of his car nearby.
“Yep.” I walked over and climbed into his passenger seat.
Josh and I headed north on Central Expressway and arrived at the condominium development with ten minutes to spare. The parking lot of the complex was half full with cars. We took a spot in the visitor section, climbed out, and strolled around until we found the unit. We stood on the porch, waiting and watching.
We continued waiting and watching until 4:35. Then 4:40. Then 4:45.
Without Shane’s phone number, I had no way to call him to determine if he were merely running late or if he didn’t plan to show up at all. Maybe he was the con artist, had gotten an inkling that I was in law enforcement, and decided not to come. Or maybe he was the con artist but had been visited by the ghosts of leases past, present, and future last night and decided to change his ways, go straight. Or maybe he’d simply gotten stuck in Dallas’s unpredictable traffic.
As it turned out, it was the latter.
When Shane careened into the lot at 4:50 in a sporty red Nissan 370Z, he raised a hand to let us know it was him. But that raised hand, along with the sandy blond hair and beard, told me he wasn’t our guy.
“It’s not him,” I told Josh with a sigh.
Shane hopped out of his car and strode rapidly in our direction. “Sorry I’m late. There was a wreck on the tollway.”
“No problem,” I said, though frankly, I was pissed. If the guy had given me his damn phone number, I would’ve been able to figure out that he wasn’t the target I was looking for. I wouldn’t have wasted both his time and my own.
He took us inside, where we glanced around, pretending to be evaluating the place.
I pointed to the ceiling in the kitchen. “Am I the only one who sees the Virgin Mary in that water stain?”
Before either of the men could respond, an earsplitting sound came from the unit next door. SKREEEEEEEE! BUH-BUH-BUH-BUH-BUH! The wall between the units vibrated, the cabinet doors quivering on their hinges.
I covered my ears and hollered, “What the heck is that?”
Josh, who’d also covered his ears, shouted, “Air in the water pipes!”
Clearly, this place had some major plumbing issues.
When the sound quieted down to a soft sputter, I removed my hands from my ears, quickly paced the condominium, and declared it “not what we’re looking for.”
“What are you looking for?” Shane asked. “Maybe one of the other properties I manage would work for you.”
“That’s okay,” I told Shane before turning to Josh. “I think we should go with the duplex we saw this morning, don’t you?”
Josh played along. “I agree, sugar pie.”
Sugar pie? He didn’t have to play along that well.
We thanked Shane for his time and returned to my town house. The men were able to fit the rest of the stuff from my house on the flatbed and in the bed of my brothers’ pickups. They drove down the street and loaded the remaining space on the trailer with Nick’s furniture, putting his smaller items and boxes in the back of his and Dad’s trucks.
As we started off down the street, I saw my Realtor pull up to my place with a potential buyer. I hopped out of the car to speak with her.
“Quick question,” I said, taking
her aside as the middle-aged woman who’d come to see my place headed on to the porch. “Do you know if there are any special financing programs for first-time homeowners that wouldn’t require a big down payment?”
“There sure are,” she replied. “I’ve got mortgage people who can finagle all kinds of financing. You might have to cover more of the closing costs, but the details can be worked out so that the overall deal is fair to everyone.” She cocked her head. “Why? You know someone who might be interested in the place?”
My mind went back to Cory, the assistant manager of the office-supply store, the one who’d lost several thousand dollars in the rental scam, the one who’d planned to adopt the border collie and call him Chaplin. The address of the place he’d thought he was leasing wasn’t too far from my town house. My place was affordable and had a small backyard that could comfortably accommodate a dog. The neighborhood was nice for walking a dog, too. Lots of trees shading the sidewalks. “I might know someone,” I told my Realtor. “I’ll give him your number.”
“Great.”
As soon as we returned to my and Nick’s new place, I took a brief moment to call Cory. “Any chance you might be interested in buying a place in Uptown?” I told him about my town house and pointed out that buying a place provided tax benefits that renting did not. “And besides the tax benefits, you’d be building equity.”
“Your place sounds exactly like what I’d be looking for,” he said. “But I don’t know if I can afford it.”
“Talk to my Realtor,” I told him. “She said there’s financing programs for first-time homeowners who don’t have a lot of savings. I think you’d like the place. I have. And you could adopt Chaplin if he’s still available.”
“He is,” Cory said. “He’s big and hyper and that turns a lot of people off. But I’m a runner. He’d love putting in three or four miles with me every day.”
“No pressure, of course,” I said. “If you’re interested in the place, that’s great. But if not, that’s fine, too.” I gave him the phone number for my Realtor’s office.
“I’ll give her a call,” he said.
When we ended the call, I resumed lugging boxes inside.
By the end of the day, all of us were pooped, but the house was beginning to take shape. I could almost visualize the life Nick and I would have there—assuming I survived to move into the place. Ugh.
We had enough beds for my brothers and parents to sleep in the new house, while Nick and I returned to Bonnie’s. Tomorrow we’d all attend the Cowboys’ preseason game together. With all of the overtime I’d been putting in lately, I was looking forward to taking a day off and just having some fun.
chapter eighteen
Just Because You’re Paranoid …
Sunday morning, we all enjoyed a wonderful breakfast at Bonnie’s, prepared by both my mother and soon-to-be mother-in-law with only a little help from me. They made the eggs, biscuits, gravy, and home fries. The only thing either one of them trusted me with was using the electric juicer to juice the oranges. Pretty hard to screw that up.
After breakfast, we got ready for the game. We packed our coolers with food and drinks, donned our blue and silver Cowboys gear, and drove out to the enormous stadium in Arlington at eleven. The game didn’t start until one, but my father and brothers had brought a grill and charcoal and insisted on tailgating beforehand. As if we hadn’t had enough to eat only a couple of hours earlier. Still, it was nice for us women to be waited on by the men for a change. We hung out under a shady tarp in lawn chairs with our feet up while the men grilled burgers and bratwurst in the hot sun.
Though today’s game was only a preseason match, it had nonetheless sold out. Scalpers meandered through the crowd, holding up tickets and calling out to those nearby, “Anybody need tickets for the game?”
Not us. I’d bought ours earlier in the week, right after speaking with my brother. They were crappy seats, near the top of the stadium, but that’s all that had been left at the time. No one in our group would complain. We always managed to have fun at sporting events, even if we were stuck in the nosebleed section. Besides, a massive, two-sided screen hung over the football field. The thing was 160 feet wide and 72 feet tall. It had enjoyed the title of largest TV screen in the world until an even more gargantuan one was erected at Texas Motor Speedway in Fort Worth not long ago. They’d even named that one. Big Hoss. Yep, it really is true that everything’s bigger in Texas. At any rate, while we might not be able to make out the details on the field with our naked eyes, the big screen would more than make up for the less-than-stellar seats.
Dad stepped up to the grill and tossed in some wood chips to add extra flavor. The smoke wafted across the parking lot, mingling with the smoke from other grills.
He waved his big metal spatula as five men in Green Bay Packers jerseys wandered by. “You cheese-heads sure came a long way just to lose a football game.” His jovial smile let them know he was only razzing them.
The men stopped by the grill.
“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” said one. “Your ’boys are going down.”
Trace opened the cooler and gestured inside. “The only thing going down today are these beers. Help yourself.”
One of them looked at the others. “This must be that Southern hospitality we’ve heard so much about.”
The men reached down into the ice and grabbed bottles of beer, shaking the cold water from their hands.
A dark-haired man in a number 12 Aaron Rodgers jersey read the label on the bottle and scrunched up his nose. “This stuff was made in Texas. Got anything brewed in Milwaukee? You know, where God intended?”
His group laughed, twisted the tops off their bottles, and took long pulls on their beers.
Dad took a sip from his bottle and pointed to the 12 on the man’s jersey. “Your number twelve can’t hold a candle to our number twelve.” He was referring to Cowboys legend Roger Staubach, whose number had been retired along with the quarterback.
“We’ll see about that,” the guy retorted.
Dad offered the group brats as willingly as he’d offered his jovial jeers and beers. They hung around for a while, talking field strategies with Nick, my father, and brothers, all of whom were not only fans of the game, but former players. Of course the men seized the opportunity to relive their glory days, even if they weren’t all that glorious. Trace was better known for tripping over his own feet than moving the ball. But no sense reminding him of that fact when he’d spent the entire day yesterday helping me out.
“You should’ve seen me,” Dad said. “I wasn’t even supposed to receive the ball, but a big ol’ gust of wind picked it up and carried it right into my hands. I ran that thing for seventy-six yards before the other team took me down. Took three guys to do it, too. Earned myself the MVP award.”
The Packers fan had to one-up Dad, of course. “Oh, yeah? Well, I once ran a ball for seventy-nine yards.”
“In the wrong direction!” his friend said.
The Packers fan raised his beer in a self-salute. “It was still seventy-nine yards.”
They all shared a laugh.
As I sat, I noticed a tall man and a woman walking down the next row of cars, appearing for a split second, then another, as they passed behind the vehicles. During one of those split-seconds both of their heads turned to look in our direction, their noses probably detecting the delicious scent coming from my father’s grill. Like many coming to today’s game, they were dressed head to toe in Cowboys gear. Both wore hats. His was a ball cap. Hers was a visor style with her hair pulled up inside and out of sight. The couple had even painted their faces silver and blue. Yep, the Cowboys sure had some die-hard fans.
Die.
Hard.
Anxiety slithered up my spine, and I sat up straight. When the couple reappeared again between the next two cars, they were looking ahead of them. Hmm. Something about the two seemed vaguely familiar. What is it? It was impossible to tell what they looked l
ike with their hair hidden under their hats and makeup covering their features.
I was about to say something to Nick when the men burst out laughing. They were having a good time. Why ruin it with what was more than likely a case of paranoia? After all, we hadn’t noticed anyone following us here. Then again, if the two had worked as a tag team, we might not have noticed.
Before I could think any more about it, Bonnie held out a plastic cup. “Here you go, Tara.”
“Thanks.” I took the cup from her. Beer was not our favorite, so we women had brought a thermos of Bonnie’s peach sangria to share instead. It was a light, refreshing drink and, truth be told, the alcohol helped me forget my troubles. At least it did until we packed things up to go inside with the rest of the crowd.
Suddenly, things felt claustrophobic. Dozens upon dozens of people milled all around me, coming too close, some even bumping into me. What if one of them had a knife? The metal detectors at the entry should have caught any steel knives, but manufacturers made nylon ones now. Heck, I’d registered for a set of nylon knives for our wedding. Some were as large as twelve inches and had a serrated edge that could rip right through human skin and organs. The security screeners wouldn’t pick those up.
My fight-or-flight instinct kicked in. With so many people boxing me in, I wouldn’t be able to flee if someone came after me. It would also be easy for an assailant to disappear into the crowd. My eyes darted around and my heart pumped so fast it was a wonder blood didn’t spurt out of my ears.
As if he could hear my heart pounding, Nick glanced down at me. My mother, who had a sixth sense when it came to her children, also turned my way.
Nick draped an arm over my shoulders. “You all right?”
My mother read my face and knew immediately that I was freaked out. “Did you see something?”
