I rolled my eyes. "Yeah, I'm sure he'd be more than willing to help me out after what I did to him."
Jacques flashed a wicked grin. "I'll bet he's still hurting. Did you tell Greg about it? He must have wanted to beat the guy senseless."
"Yes, but I convinced him to let me handle this on my own for now. I wanted to wait until after my closing, but maybe that was a mistake. I'm not sure what to do anymore."
He looked at me doubtfully. "You really didn't know that was Tiffany's house?"
I shook my head. "Jeez, how the heck was I supposed to know?"
Jacques shrugged. "Don't take it so personally, dear. I thought you would have done a scan on the MLS to see where your fellow coworkers lived. Personally, I'm a bit of a stalker, so I always check those things out."
"I should have been more observant." I had known from the beginning that there was something off about that house. And the smell of lilacs in the bedroom. I should have recognized Tiffany's perfume.
Jacques stared absently at the knickknacks on my wall. "How weird of a coincidence is it that Ken would even want to see that house? I mean, what are the chances?"
We both looked at each other, thinking the same thing.
He put his arm around me. "Cripes, Cin. Do you think maybe Donna wanted him to set you up?"
A chill went down my spine. "I think there's a good chance. She'd love for me to take the blame for this. Why does she hate me so much? We've got to find out who killed Tiffany so that I can clear my name."
Jacques sat down in the chair behind my desk and snatched a memo pad off the top of it. "Okay. So let's look at the suspects. Anyone here could have done it. There's you, me, Bill, Linda, Donna, Ariel, and, of course, the newly departed Pete Saxon. But it could have been a disgruntled client too."
"Wait a second." I got to my feet. "Yesterday, when I was at the school, one of the kids started to tell me something about his aunt. She closed on a house recently with Tiffany."
He shrugged. "So? Tiffany had closings nearly every day."
"Yeah, well, Tyler's aunt—the one who bought the house—was really upset because the furnace broke down the day she moved in."
Jacques snorted. "Sounds like someone didn't have a good inspector."
"I didn't ask Tyler, but she might not have had inspections done since she was short on cash. I only know this because she was my client before Tiffany even got involved."
Jacques shook his head. "Tiffany stole her too? Damn, that chick was something else. And how could she advise a home buyer not to have inspections done?"
"You know how. Because she didn't care about her clients. Anyhow, Tyler told me something else. He said Leslie was so upset that she did something to Tiffany."
He leaned forward in anticipation. "What'd she do?"
"I don't know. The teacher came back into the room, and I never got the chance to find out. I should have invited the kid over after school yesterday so that I could quiz him."
Jacques observed his watch. "Do you have time for a little road trip before your closing?"
The wheels in my head were spinning. "Where are we going? Oh, wait. You mean to see Leslie?"
"Exactly. Do you know where she works?"
"She's a stay-at-home mom. Tyler said she bought a house on Livingston Avenue. I didn't catch the number, though."
"Piece of cake." Jacques pulled up the MLS on my computer screen, typed the street name in, and several houses popped up at once. He pointed at the screen. "Here you go. Twenty-three Livingston Avenue. It sold about two weeks ago. Agent for the seller was Tiffany Roberts. There's our baby."
I studied the information on the screen. "Leslie never even wanted to look at houses in that section of town. And that was more than they could afford to pay. What on earth did Tiffany do, brainwash her?"
"Honey, now you're asking stupid questions." He winked. "Where's your closing?"
"At Marcia Steele's law office. It'll take me a good forty-five minutes or so to get there from Leslie's house. What about you? I thought you were meeting Ed for lunch."
"I'll reschedule for a little later. He'll understand. Is this the closing for the country hick who wanted to know if he could camp on the lawn last week?"
I looked around the desk for my client's folder, then tucked it inside my briefcase. "It's the last day of the month, so that means less interest Mr. Anderson has to pay the bank, which works out well for him. It's bad enough that the other agent and I each have to take a cut on our commissions since he didn't have enough money to cover his closing costs, but the owner agreed to pay half the closing expenses so that we could get this done and over with."
Jacques blew out an exasperated breath. "I knew the guy was going to be trouble the first time I saw him here. Weren't you guys in the conference room for, like, three hours? People were starting to talk."
I flinched at the memory. "It took me that long to explain everything to him."
"Who's the other agent?"
"Tricia Hudson from Primer Properties."
Jacques let out a low whistle. "Ooh, she must have loved that." He spun around in my swivel chair like a little kid as he tapped the screen on his phone. "She's the greediest agent alive, next to Tiffany. Oops, I mean, she really is the greediest agent alive."
"Jacques, that's awful."
"Not a bad little house, if I recall. I showed it a few months ago before the price dropped. Solid, with good bones. It just needed cosmetics, right?"
"Yes, some touch ups here and there. It's about all this guy could handle anyhow." I took my compact out of my purse and stole a quick look at myself in the mirror. "Speaking of cosmetics, I'm a complete mess. Look at the circles under my eyes!"
Jacques examined my face. "You need an all-day beauty treatment, hon. Facial, massage, makeover—the works. Your birthday's coming up soon. It'll be my treat."
"That does sound good."
He got to his feet and grabbed my arm. "Let's get out of here. I sent Ed a text and explained the change. You'd better tell hubby you can't meet him either. We're going to have to move fast to get you to redneck's closing on time. Follow me. And for God's sake, girl, try to keep up."
Jacques was usually a law abiding citizen. His one major flaw was that he drove like a lunatic. I was immensely grateful to follow and not have to ride shotgun with him. In the past, when I'd had this pleasure, I gripped the door handle with constant fear. His lead foot earned him several speeding tickets. Since he numbered many policemen among his clients, he usually managed to find a way out. He was now going over fifty miles per hour in a residential neighborhood.
I tried to lay off the gas as much as possible. The last thing I needed was for a cop to pull me over. When I finally reached Leslie's house, Jacques was already there, leaning against his car, tapping his foot.
"God, you take forever."
I snorted. "And you're a maniac. Hang on one second. I have to text Greg and let him know I'm not going to the police station."
"Why didn't you call him on the way over?"
Because I don't want a lecture right now. "Um, I'd rather not. I've a feeling he's going to be ticked off at me."
"Gee, where'd you get that idea?" Jacques' voice dripped with sarcasm. "You're just like Ed. You need to start listening to your other half. It's the basis for a good marriage."
I finished my text and started up the stairs behind him. "Married ten months and already an authority on the subject, eh?"
Jacques stopped me about halfway up. "I'll pretend I didn't hear that remark. So, Miss Detective, have you thought about what you're going to say to Leslie? Or were you planning on going with, 'Hey, did you happen to shoot your real estate agent the other night?'"
I gave him my best irritated look. "Of course not. I figured I'd say I dropped by to congratulate her and let her know that there were no hard feelings."
"She won't buy it."
I scowled. "Well, can you think of anything better? Maybe we should tell her we're the neighborhood
welcome wagon."
We stepped onto the porch, and Jacques rang the doorbell. Within seconds, a little cherub face appeared on the other side of the screen door, smiling at us.
I waved at the little boy. "Hi, Jackson."
"Cute kid." Jacques made funny faces at him.
The screen door opened, and Leslie Garrett peered out at us. Her brown, frizzy hair was in need of coloring and a good brushing. She was dressed in a beige bathrobe and slippers. Her thick, overgrown eyebrows arched when she recognized me.
I glanced at my watch again. Yes, it was past noon, yet it looked as if we'd awakened her.
"Well, lookie who's here. It's Miss Real Estate Agent of the Year. So sorry, but you're a little late. I've already bought a dump." She threw her arms open wide. "What do you think of my palace?"
I couldn't help but stare. This was not the well-kept, pleasant-mannered client I'd come to know a few months ago. It was as if she'd done a complete turnaround. "Leslie, this is my co-worker, Jacques Forte."
"A pleasure." Jacques extended his hand.
She shook her head at him. "You people never give up, do you?"
Jackson toddled out from behind his mother's robe and stepped onto the porch in front of me. My heart sank at the sight of the little guy. He was dressed in a yellow sleeper that had seen better days. There were green stains down the front that resembled baby food, perhaps peas or spinach. Smiling wide, he proudly handed me his empty bottle.
"Thank you, Jackson."
When he put his arms out to me, I hesitated and glanced at his mother. Leslie seemed indifferent, so I lifted him into the air. When he squealed, I wrinkled my nose as two different aromas quickly overpowered me. The most apparent one was that Jackson needed a diaper change—badly. The other odor was the scent of stale liquor emanating from his mother.
I cleared my throat loudly. "I wanted you to know that there are no hard feelings. People decide to change agents all the time."
"Oh, bullshit." She scratched her head. "What do you really want?"
"Um, actually, I was interested in seeing your new house." I hugged Jackson tightly to me, despite the overwhelming smell. "I have a client who is looking for one similar to this."
Leslie burst into peals of laughter. "Well, how about you show them this one? Then I can unload this pile of crap to someone who was as stupid as me." She pushed the screen door open with a vengeance, allowing us entrance.
Jacques gestured for me to go in ahead, then followed close behind.
Jackson started to squirm in my arms. With reluctance, I set him down on the dirty hardwood floor. He ran to sit in front of a television tuned to Dora the Explorer, bottle dangling from his mouth.
The main level was L-shaped, with the only furniture in the living room being the television and a lumpy, brown couch decorated with food stains. A small dining area extended off of the living room and held a card table, two folding chairs, and a rickety-looking high chair. Beyond it, I caught a glimpse of the kitchen with both the sink and countertops stacked high with dirty dishes. A litter box in the dining area begged to be cleaned.
When I thought about Jackson crawling around on the dirty floors, I was horrified. Jacques frowned, which led me to believe he was thinking the same thing.
Leslie sensed our disdain. "Lovely, isn't it? And I owe it all to that bitch Tiffany Roberts."
My ears pricked up. Okay, get her talking. "What does Tiffany have to do with it?"
"Are you kidding me?" She shook her head at me in amazement. "That slut lied about the house. She said it was in excellent condition when it was really falling apart."
"What's wrong with it?" Jacques wanted to know.
Her response was to sit down on the lumpy couch and cry. Jacques and I exchanged glances as he leaned down next to her and offered his handkerchief, which she took gratefully.
"What isn't wrong with it? She lied about everything. We didn't have much money. The owners wouldn't budge on the price, so she convinced us to pay more than we could afford. I didn't want to do it, but Hank insisted. He'd do anything that bitch said. She had him under some type of spell."
"Tiffany?"
Leslie scowled. "No, my freakin' Aunt Tilly. Of course Tiffany. Who else do you think I mean?"
Jacques caught my eye and put a finger to his lips.
Leslie sniffled. "We didn't have money for inspections. Tiffany told us not to worry, that the place was fine. It didn't need anything. She even had some friend of hers look at the place for free. She claimed he had a license. Yeah, right. That whore would do anything to make a sale. And then you know what? As soon as we moved in, the furnace went. The very first day."
She started crying again, while Jacques patted her shoulder reassuringly. "Thank God winter's over because I don't have any money to buy a new one right now. We've been getting by with the wood stove in the kitchen."
"Perhaps you could get one on credit," I offered.
She ignored me. "It's like owning a money pit. The day after that, the roof started leaking. We found someone to repair it, but I had to sell my dining room set in order to pay him." The tears started again. "I don't know how much more of this I can take."
"Did you tell Tiffany?" I asked.
She glared. "Oh, I told her. She laughed and simply said it was bad timing. How unfortunate for us. Too bad, so sad."
A muscle twitched in Jacques' jaw. "You can file a complaint, you know."
"Oh, believe me, I wanted to. But Hank said no, don't do that. It's not her fault." Her face twisted into an angry expression. "Every time he got near that slut, it was all he could do to keep from drooling on her expensive shoes."
Jacques knelt down to squeeze Leslie's hand. He nodded to me as if to say I told you so. It wasn't the first time we'd seen this happen with Tiffany's clients.
She went on, mimicking her husband. "'You're so stupid, Leslie. How could someone as pretty and sweet as Tiffany lie to us? You're so jealous of her. It's pathetic.' So guess what? I told him to get out. I'd had enough. He finally packed his stuff yesterday and left. Want to know where he is now? At his mother's. He couldn't afford to go anywhere else."
I cleared my throat and decided to take the plunge. "So what do you think about Tiffany's murder?"
Leslie snickered. "What do I think? That someone did us all a huge favor. We should have a party!"
It had to be the alcohol making her act so strange. My heart went out to her, seeing the mess her life had become, but I was nervous about what I was going to say next. "You wouldn't happen to know who killed her, would you?"
She jumped to her feet in a flash and waved an angry finger in my face. "I know what you're trying to do. You think I killed her. Well, I didn't."
I held up both hands. "Leslie, no—"
"Yeah, you believe it. I can tell." She looked from me to Jacques. "That's what this is all about, isn't it? You're afraid someone might think one of you guys pulled the trigger, so you're trying to pin it on me instead."
"That's not true." Jacques tried in vain to calm her.
Leslie pointed toward the front door. "I want you two out of my house. And don't come back!"
"Fine, we'll leave." I started toward the door. When Jacques looked at me questioningly, I gave a sly wink in his direction. "We know what you did though."
Leslie gaped at me. "What the hell are you talking about?"
"I know you did something to Tiffany that you're not proud of. You even told your family about it."
Leslie took a step toward me. "Anne would never tell you anything."
A hint of confidence swept through me. "I didn't say it was Anne. Maybe someone else overheard the two of you talking about it and told me."
"Oh my God. Bob." Leslie's face fell as she said the words. "Why'd she ever marry that jerk? I can't believe he'd do this to me." She sank back down into the couch, her head in her hands.
I sat next to her, ignoring the stains on the couch. "It's okay. I've done things I'm not proud of either." Non
e of them consisted of murdering someone in cold blood, but hey, no need to get technical right now.
She turned to face me. "I don't care what you think. I'm not sorry I did it."
My pulse quickened. "Aren't you?"
"No," she growled at me, her face ashen. Then her tone changed, and she was pleading. "Look. It wasn't that big of a deal. I only wanted to get even for what she did, okay?" She reached into her bathrobe pocket and withdrew a cigarette.
Jacques removed a pack of matches from his suit jacket and lit it for her. The man doesn't even smoke, but somehow he's always prepared.
"Thank you." She smiled. "You're such a gentleman. I wish I'd married someone like you, instead of my loser husband."
Jacques nodded, a fabricated smile on his lips as he examined the couch cushion then sat down gingerly at her other side. I bit my lower lip for fear I'd burst out laughing. If she only knew.
"Tell us everything, Leslie," Jacques said. "Maybe we can help."
She watched him with sad, doe-like eyes. "I was so angry. I went grocery shopping the other night and decided to drive past Tiffany's office afterward."
"Were you alone?" he asked.
"Yeah, Hank was home with the baby." She took a long drag of her cigarette.
Jacques got up and quickly walked toward the kitchen with a self-possessed air like he owned the place. When he returned with an ashtray, Leslie flashed him an appreciative smile.
"What'd you do then?" I prompted her.
She hesitated for a few seconds. "I wanted to make her pay."
Jacques and I exchanged a look as Leslie sucked in some more nicotine, oblivious to our thoughts.
She shrugged. "I parked my car about halfway down the block and then walked over to the parking lot. It was pretty dark out, so I figured no one would see me. A car had just left the lot, and hers was the only one left. So I went over to it and—"
"And what?" I couldn't stand the suspense anymore.
"I slashed her tire. There, I said it." She let out a long breath, then threw her arms around Jacques and started sobbing. "Oh, my God, what is wrong with me? I've never done anything like that before. I've always been in control."
Killer Transaction (Cindy York Mysteries Book 1) Page 12
