I was drawing a blank. Maybe I was like Jimmy Parker, and the concussion had knocked my brains out. "Hi, Mr. Sorenson, how can I help you?"
"It's Ken." He breathed low into the phone. "Donna—my wife, said you would be willing to show me some houses tomorrow?"
"Oh!" I'd totally forgotten about him. "Of course."
"Donna mentioned what happened. I'm so sorry about your injury and hope I'm not imposing. I just got back into town today, and tomorrow is the only day I'm available. Are you sure you're feeling up to it?"
I took the phone away from my ear to stare at it. This was certainly not the way I expected anyone married to Donna to act. He sounded kind and genuinely concerned. Not to mention sexy as all get out.
"No, Mr. Sorenson, err—Ken, it's perfectly fine. What time would you like to get together?"
"How about noon? We could see a house or two, go to lunch, and then view the rest."
I hesitated. It wasn't that I minded the lunch part, but it was a little out of the ordinary for me in my income bracket. I was already racking my brain wondering what I could afford. I hoped he liked Big Macs. "Um—"
"My treat, of course."
Well, that was a new one. Agents always paid, not the clients. "I can't let you do that. It wouldn't be right."
"I insist. It will give us more of a chance to talk anyhow."
The hairs stood up on the back of my neck. My gut instinct told me to say no to the entire arrangement, but I thought of Donna and our deal, so I gave in. "Okay, that sounds—nice. Thank you. Do you know what houses you'd like to see? These are for your mother, right?"
"Correct." His voice was smooth and sensual. "I have a list of addresses. I viewed the pictures online already, Let me know when you're ready."
I grabbed a notepad and pen off the kitchen counter. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed Greg watching me from the living room. I mouthed "client" at him. He nodded, then turned back to the television. "Go ahead."
"There's 65 Princely Lane, 55 Riverview Drive, and 4 Lincoln Place."
I jotted the information down. "Got it. I'll call and arrange the showings right away."
"Appreciate it. You can text me at this number to let me know it's a done deal or if you run into any problems. Where shall we meet tomorrow?"
"How about at the first house? I'll let you know which one when I text you."
"Sounds great." I listened to him again and couldn't help wondering what his profession was. The silk-like voice could be deceiving. Was he a disc jockey, perhaps? In that case, it might be a letdown when I met him. Heck, there was a reason why many of them were heard and not seen.
"Thanks again, Cindy." He paused for a few seconds. "I'm looking forward to meeting you. I have a feeling we're going to be very good friends."
He clicked off.
A chill went down my spine. Something seemed totally off about this guy.
I went into the den and sat down in front of my computer, pulling up my Multiple Listing Service software program. One by one, I punched in the addresses of the houses and proceeded to quickly scan the listings. My mouth went dry at the asking prices. They were all near the million dollar range. It sounded like Donna had married well. Money goes to money, my mother used to say.
My modest three-bedroom ranch looked like a dump compared to these homes. I usually tried not to get ahead of myself, but it was difficult to contain my excitement. If I could sell Ken's mother one of these houses, our money problems would be over for quite some time.
After printing the listings, I was able to set up the showings directly online without having to phone customer service. One requested twenty-four hour notice, but the other two were confirmed with no problem. I sent Ken a quick text, simply saying, 4 Lincoln Place not available, but the other two houses are good to go. Meet you at 65 Princely at noon?
My phone pinged within seconds. I glanced down at a message that made me shiver inwardly. Sounds great. Saw your picture on the company's website. Very nice. See you tomorrow.
Yikes. I'd heard the horror stories about agents who were robbed or murdered while on listing appointments. He seemed a bit overly friendly, but maybe I was reading too much into it. After all, he was Donna's husband, so I really didn't think he would try anything.
"Someone's deep in thought." Greg stood in the doorway, watching me.
I never even heard him come into the study and must have jumped about ten feet in the air. I deleted the message off my phone. "Oh, hey, honey. I'm showing some houses tomorrow. I needed to check them out on the MLS, and they're both pretty pricey. They're in the ritzier area of town."
"That's great, baby. Who's the client?"
"Donna's new husband. She has an all-day sales meeting and asked if I could show him some places. They're for his mother."
He drew his eyebrows together in confusion and then came to stand behind me, gently massaging my shoulders. "I still can't believe she's married. She ran after every guy she saw."
"Especially you."
He laughed and then was silent for a minute. "This seems kind of weird. I mean, why can't she show them to him some other time? I don't think you should go."
My stomach filled with dread at his words, but I didn't want to pass up the possible chance of a sale. "I'll be okay, sweetheart."
"Are you sure you're feeling up to it? The trip to the boys' school in the morning might tire you out. Will you be able to handle everything?"
I hesitated for a moment and then exhaled a long breath before I stood and pecked his lips. "Of course. I told you I'm fine. This will be a piece of cake. Trust me."
CHAPTER EIGHT
The next morning after Greg left for work and the kids departed for school, I flew upstairs to take a quick shower. I wanted to hit the grocery store before heading over to the boys' school. I was due there at 10:30.
I tried to force any doubts from my mind as I carefully selected my best suit from the closet. It was black silk and lower cut in the front than most things I wore, but my other two suits weren't back from the cleaners yet. And I loved how the gathered bodice made my waist appear smaller. As a general rule, I never wore much makeup, so I applied lipstick and a coat of mascara. I flipped the curling iron around my hair, reminding myself again that everything was going to be fine.
I grabbed my keys and purse and opened the front door. A young woman stood there expectantly. I shrieked and took a step back. "Oh, wow."
She flashed a gleaming smile. "I'm sorry if I startled you."
I laughed. "No problem. I wasn't expecting to find anyone standing here. Can I help you?"
"Hi, I'm Stephanie Winters." The definitive air with which she spoke suggested that that should explain everything. She held out her hand to me.
Having no choice, I shook it, which gave me time to survey her more closely. Stephanie wore a brown leather jacket and beige slacks. She appeared to be in her early twenties, with jet black hair held back in a long braid down her back. A pair of Coach sunglasses covered a large portion of her alabaster face. She seemed harmless enough.
"Hi, Stephanie." I tried to prod her on for further information. "Do I know you?"
Her lips parted, and she acted insulted. "I'm from the Hourly Times. Do you have a few minutes so that we could talk?"
Oh, great. Another reporter. Or maybe the same one who had called yesterday. "I'm afraid I don't. I was on my way out and have a very full day ahead of me. What's this regarding anyhow?"
Stephanie opened her mouth wide and proceeded to laugh so hard that I was afraid she might hurt herself. "Oh, Mrs. York, you're so funny."
"Thanks, but I wasn't trying to be."
"I think you know why I'm here." Stephanie's voice took on a singsong quality.
I folded my arms and leaned against the door. "You'll have to explain."
"Mrs. York—um, may I call you Cindy?"
I shrugged.
"I'd like to do a feature article on you for the paper. A real and powerful in-depth story about ho
w it feels to be accused of murder."
My mouth opened in amazement. This had to be some type of joke. I smiled at the girl politely. "I haven't been accused of anything."
"Cindy, please understand. I'm on your side. After everyone reads the article, they'll be able to relate to you better. Now do you know when the trial is scheduled for?"
If anything, I had to admire the girl's audacity. "There is no trial. Like I said, I haven't been accused of anything. There's no proof I was even involved." I wanted to bite my tongue as she proceeded to scribble down every word I rattled off in her steno pad. "If you want a story, you need to go ask the police department for one."
"I heard they found your fingerprints in Miss Roberts' office."
I laughed. "Yes, of course they did. They found many fingerprints in her office. Tiffany had clients and other agents in there all the time. Remember, she was a very successful real estate agent."
Stephanie jotted down more notes. "And you resented that, right?"
I sucked in some air. "I think it would be best if you left now, Stephanie. I really need to get going."
She acted surprised. "Oh, right. How about I come back this afternoon?"
"How about you come back—oh, I don't know, maybe never?" This girl clearly wasn't getting it. I checked my watch.
Stephanie's lips curved into a smirk. "You don't mean that."
I stared directly into her green, cat-like eyes. "Yes, I do. You need to leave now. Your behavior constitutes harassment."
My comments brought out the hyena laugh again. "Oh, that's rich coming from a murder suspect."
"Good-bye, Stephanie." I shut and locked the door, hoping she'd get the message. If I didn't leave now, I might be late getting to the school and would never hear the end of it from the twins. I narrowed my eyes at the girl and walked past her toward my vehicle.
Stephanie's eyes widened in alarm as she stepped away from me. She turned around and flounced off the porch. Maybe she was afraid she'd be my next victim. In Stephanie's haste, her high-heeled shoe slipped along the edge. She screamed as she tumbled into the nearby lilac bush.
"Are you okay?" I ran to help her up and hoped Greg had remembered to pay the homeowner's insurance premium.
With the exception of some dirt and a small tree branch in her hair, Stephanie seemed fine. "You pushed me."
My jaw dropped as I let go of her arm. "I didn't lay a finger on you."
Stephanie brushed herself off and then glanced around, probably seeking a witness. Since no one was in sight, she leaned toward me. "If you let me do the article, I won't tell anyone you hit me."
Furious, I pointed to her car. "Good-bye, Stephanie."
"You really did kill Tiffany Roberts. I knew it." Stephanie burst into tears and fled for her vehicle. Within seconds, she peeled out of my driveway.
This was going to come back to haunt me. I was sure of it. My hands trembled as I got into my vehicle. I took several deep breaths to steady myself, then took off for the market, hoping I'd seen the last of the roving reporter.
My phone buzzed as I stopped for a red light. I adjusted my Bluetooth and saw Jacques' name pop up on the screen. "Thank God it's you."
"Wow, not even nine o'clock and already a bad day?"
"You've no idea," I sighed.
"Got time for a cup of coffee? My treat."
I was sorely tempted. "Not sure. I'm headed to the market and then over to the boys' school."
"Lucky you. Come on, what store are you headed to? I've got gossip," Jacques pleaded.
He was impossible to resist. "Groceries Galore. The one over on Grady Avenue. But I don't have much time."
"Perfect. Starbucks is right next door. I'll meet you there in twenty minutes," Jacques said. "Trust me, you're going to want to hear this. Don't I always have the best gossip? You said so yourself. You once told me—"
I pulled into a parking space near the store's entrance. "All right. I'm headed inside now. Order me a caramel macchiato with lots of whipped cream, please."
"God, that's so fattening. You definitely are having a bad day."
I groaned. "No lectures, please. I really need a sugar rush right now."
"All right, all right, don't get all PMS on me. Consider it done. See you soon." He clicked off.
I didn't need much at the market. I loaded milk, bread, cereal, cookies, apples, and juice into the cart. I added a dozen eggs and headed for the checkout line.
"Hey, Mrs. York." Todd Simpson waved from behind the meat counter. A nice young man in his early twenties, he held up a finger, signaling for me to wait while he weighed some pork chops for an elderly couple.
"Hello, Todd. Sorry, but I'm in a hurry today." I started to move on until he called out to me again. Exasperated, I turned around.
Todd gave the couple their package and scurried over. "Listen, I'm real sorry to hear about all the trouble you've been having."
I stared. "This is nuts. Was my entire life featured in the National Enquirer this morning or something?"
Todd grinned. "You know how small towns are. Everyone likes to gossip."
That was an understatement. I thought of Jacques and nodded wearily.
Todd leaned closer and lowered his voice. "You can level with me, Mrs. York. I know what it's like."
I took a step back. "You know what what's like?"
"Come on. When someone promises you something and they lie to you. I was supposed to get a raise this month. My manager promised. I asked him about it yesterday, and you know what he said? 'I never promised you anything, Todd. You're not right in the head.' Nice, huh? Well, I'll fix him." Todd produced a meat cleaver from his apron pocket. He laughed when he noticed my expression. "Relax, I'm not going to kill him. Not today anyway."
I started to steer my cart forward. "That's always a good thing."
"I know, right? But, hey, it doesn't mean I don't think about it. Like you. I know you didn't kill that lady. So don't feel bad if you ever thought about doing her in."
Yikes. I forced a smile to my lips. "Thanks for the advice, Todd."
"Hey, anytime, Mrs. York. Have yourself a blessed day."
All I could think about was how badly I needed my macchiato with that thick layer of whipped cream. A towering inferno of whipped cream. Maybe I should buy a can of Reddi-wip to tote along with me for emergencies. The way this day was shaping up, I felt sure I was going to need some type of crutch.
My neighbor, Susan Farrell, stood in the line opposite mine. When I waved and smiled, she let out a loud shriek, whirled her cart right around, and headed for the back of the store.
I definitely didn't have many fans today.
I put the bags in the back of my car and spotted Jacques' convertible nearby. As I pushed through Starbucks' entrance, the aroma of coffee beans and cinnamon greeted me. Jacques was already seated at a table near the door, sipping his nonfat latte with one hand while scrolling his smartphone with the other.
I slid into the seat across from him where my macchiato waited with its avalanche of whipped cream. Somehow I managed to refrain from sticking my face in it. "You're an absolute doll."
Jacques glanced at me and let out a low whistle. "Damn. Looking hot today, girl. Someone has a busy day ahead. Obviously, you're feeling better."
"Well, I was until I got approached by a reporter this morning." I took a long sip of my drink. "She was waiting for me right on my porch."
He shook his head. "You've got to love the press. They're like real estate agents—ruthless."
"Gosh, you're right. I never thought we were that bad though." Placated by caffeine and sugar, I folded my arms. "So what's the gossip?"
"First things first. Pete Saxon left the agency yesterday."
"Get out! Why?"
Jacques always looked pleased when he knew something I didn't. "He told Donna he had a better opportunity with another agency elsewhere."
"Do you think that's true?"
Jacques stared at me in disbelief. "How hard did y
ou hit that head anyway? The guy made one sale in two months, and Tiffany took it away from him. Does that sound like someone you'd want to hire?"
I sipped my cappuccino. "This is kind of an awkward time for him to leave."
"Exactly my point." He leaned forward and lowered his voice. "It's as good as an admission of guilt."
"Did the police question him?"
"They questioned everybody, and they'll probably be back, so prepare yourself."
I groaned. "I don't know how much more of this I can take. Everyone's treating me like a leper."
Jacques squeezed my hand. "Don't worry, doll. We'll figure out who did this."
I grinned. "Oh, so now we're a team? Like Holmes and Watson?"
"I prefer Poirot and Hastings from Agatha Christie."
"Well, since you happen to be a quarter Belgian, I guess that'll be okay," I teased.
Jacques sniffed the air as if I'd offended him. "Not a quarter, I'm one third. Get it right, girl. And I want to find the killer as much as you do. The problem is, too many people had motives. Look at Bill Prescott."
"Bill? Did Tiffany steal a listing from him, too?"
Jacques shook his head. "Nope. But he did ask her out on a date a few weeks ago."
"Get out."
"I really hate that expression, you know."
I spooned some whipped cream into my mouth. "Yeah, I know. What'd she do—laugh in his face?"
"Pretty much. She told him if he was the only man left on the face of the earth, she wouldn't break a sweat if he hap-happened to fall off."
"She made fun of his stuttering? Wow, that's cold, even for her." I moaned as I took another long sip of my drink. "Mmm, so good."
"Careful, Cin. Keep it clean now, there are small children in here." Jacques folded his arms on the table. "Okay, I saved the best gossip for last."
"This I can't wait to hear. Come on, spill it. I know you're dying to."
He grinned like the Cheshire cat. "You will never, in a million years, guess who got married recently."
Oh boy. I almost hated to burst his bubble, he loved gossiping so much. "Um, gee, let me think. Maybe Donna?"
I watched the smile on Jacques' face disappear, and his mouth twist into a pout. "How the heck did you know?"
Killer Transaction (Cindy York Mysteries Book 1) Page 7
