My heart stuttered inside my chest, and I tried to control my excitement. "Do you remember what it looked like?"
"Of course I remember. I've only seen a couple in my lifetime. Wish I could have bought it, but I don't have that much cash on hand. He said he'd sell it for a million if I wanted to buy. If he plays his cards right, Mr. Samuels will probably get closer to two million for that baby."
That would be enough to keep Ken in BMWs and crème brûlée for a long time. No, it can't be. "What'd the vase look like?"
"It was black-and-white porcelain and in the shape of a flask. Had an unusual design about it. I could tell it was an original though. Any fool would know the difference."
My stomach filled with dread. "Where would he go to sell something like that?"
"Unless he knows someone who's got the cash, I'm betting he'd take it to an auction house. They fetch the most money there."
"Where's the closest one?"
Randy scratched the top of his head. "That would be New York City. I doubt you'd find him there though. They'd have to schedule it for auction, and sometimes that takes weeks. He'd probably have them wire the money to his account when it's sold."
I sighed and looked down at the display case for a minute, defeated. "So he could be anywhere now."
When I raised my head, Randy was watching me intently, his face full of sympathy. "Is he your husband? Damn shame if he pulled something over on a nice-looking lady like you."
I forced a smile to my lips while shuddering inwardly at the thought. "It's nothing like that. But I do need to locate him as soon as possible."
Randy stroked his beard again. "Look, if you're sure he's got the vase and, well, is not supposed to, you could check the auction house sites online. If it's been scheduled, they'll have pictures of it there. Then you could go down to New York City when the auction takes place. I doubt he'd show up for it, but you never know."
"Did he happen to leave you an address or a phone number?"
"Oh, sure." Randy reached back in the folder and produced a business card. He reached for a pen and turned the card over to write on it. "While I'm at it, here are websites for two possible auction houses you can check out."
I glanced at the information, then flipped the card over. Chuck Samuels. I recognized the phone number as the same one Ken had called me from the other night. I pulled out my cell and dialed it, but a female voice told me the number was no longer in service.
"Not working?" Randy asked.
"I'm afraid not, but you've been a great help. If for some reason he calls or stops by, would you please let me know?" I jotted my name and phone number down on a Post-it note from my purse. I was missing my business cards already. "Please don't tell him I'm looking for him, but call me right away, and try to stall him."
Randy examined my Post-it note. "It'd be my pleasure. Look, Mrs. York. I hate to say this, but it sounds like you're fooling yourself. It's obvious Mr. Samuel's in some type of trouble. He won't be showing up here again. And I'm betting dollars to doughnuts you know this too."
He was right. Had Ken left Donna? He'd obviously gotten some money from Randy— enough to tide him over until Tiffany's vase sold. If it was her vase. So where had he gone now?
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
As I rode across town for my appointment with Sylvia, I wished I had time to sit back and digest everything I'd just learned. My head was starting to spin from it all.
How had Ken learned about the vase? Had he known Tiffany? Did he have something to do with her murder? And what was Donna's position in all of this? She's married to the guy for barely two weeks, and he ups and leaves her? If Donna found out that a possible theft might have occurred during a showing, she was going to freak. She wouldn't care if Ken had been the perpetrator. The police would be notified, and it would all be my fault since I was the agent in charge.
Maybe Ken had spotted the vase in one of the listing's pictures and instantly knew its value. He'd used me to let him into the house and grabbed it when I wasn't around. He must have hidden the vase in his car while I'd been in the bathroom. I tried hard to remember if the photos online showed a picture of the vase in Tiffany's bedroom. I'd have to check when I got home.
The questions kept crowding my brain. What about Tiffany's secret boyfriend? Did he have something to do with her murder as well? And how would I go about finding him?
I really wasn't in the mood to interview with another real estate firm right now, but I didn't have a choice. Glancing at my watch, I discovered I was five minutes late—typical of me lately. I should have had the decency to call and say I wouldn't make it on time, but it'd slipped my mind. Frustrated with myself, I pulled into the tiny parking lot of the agency.
Sylvia's company was located in a small ranch house. The building was painted a bright shade of green, like the Emerald City. The business sign consisted of an enlarged picture of Dorothy, accompanied by the words No Place Like Home Realty coming out of her mouth in a bubble. A little cheesy for my taste, but hey, desperate times called for desperate measures.
Sylvia Banks had started the firm about ten years ago, and she'd made a respectable name for herself. I'd worked with a couple of her agents on some sales in the past and knew they were happy with her. She seemed like a fair and honest person to deal with.
I felt guilty knowing that this might turn out to be a short-term employment stunt, depending on how fast things progressed with Jacques' business. But I desperately needed a job right now and didn't have much of a choice.
I got out of the car, smoothed my slacks, and adjusted my blazer. I stepped onto the small stone porch painted the same color as the building, knocked on the front door, and then opened it slowly.
Sylvia sat at the front desk, going through some mail. An attractive, older woman with silver hair and midnight-blue eyes, she wore jeans and a white sweater. She appeared startled when she saw me.
"Hi, Sylvia. How are you?" I extended my hand. She glanced at me, smiled, and lightly brushed her fingers against mine.
"I'm sorry for being late. I had an appointment on the other side of town, and the drive took a little longer than I expected."
Sylvia's smile seemed forced. "Oh, that's fine. Won't you have a seat, Tiffany—err—I mean, Cindy?" She corrected herself and blushed simultaneously.
Oh boy. I already knew how this was going to turn out.
"Can I offer you something to drink?"
"No, thank you." I reached into my briefcase and presented her with a list of my most recent sales for the past year, as well as some client references. She observed them for about two seconds and then handed the sheet back.
Sylvia cleared her throat nervously. "Well, these certainly are impressive."
I drew my eyebrows together in confusion. "Is something wrong?"
"Well, no, not really," Sylvia said. "But I'm afraid I've wasted your time, having you come all the way out here. You see, I had another agent start yesterday. It was all very sudden."
"Oh, anyone I know?"
Sylvia frowned. "His name is Brian Summers."
It was difficult to keep from smiling. I'd spoken to Brian on the phone earlier this week. A client of mine had wanted to see one of his listings, and I'd left him two messages, along with questions. He'd finally returned my call and apologized for the delay, explaining he was on vacation in Florida until next Monday. Now I knew the truth—Sylvia didn't want me anymore. As a real estate agent, I prided myself on honesty. I would have had more respect for the woman if she'd confessed her real feelings instead of lying to my face. So I decided to play along.
"How nice for you," I said. "And you can't accommodate another agent?"
"Oh, no." She answered without hesitation. "I only had the one empty desk. There isn't room for any more."
"Well, I'd be happy to work full time out of my house. That would solve the problem." I was enjoying making her squirm.
Sylvia shifted in her seat uncomfortably. "Thanks for the offer, but I'm afraid
there's more to it than that. You see, we haven't been getting many leads. I've had to increase the office rent for agents too. Mark my words, dear, it would be a bad move for you."
"The additional fees will be fine. I think your agency would be a wonderful addition to my resume."
Sylvia twisted a tissue in her hands. "It won't work, Cindy." She got to her feet. "Thanks for coming though." She extended her hand.
I decided to call her bluff. "Who do you think you're kidding? You don't want to hire me because you think I killed Tiffany."
Her jaw dropped. "That's ridiculous. I would never accuse anyone of such a crime. I think you are way out of line."
I spoke quietly. "No, Sylvia, you're way out of line. You agreed to the interview. You told me on the phone I'd be a perfect fit for your office. Now all of a sudden you don't have room for me because you hired someone yesterday? Why didn't you just tell me the truth?"
"I don't know what you're talking about." She stared down at her desk.
I sighed in exasperation. "It happens that I spoke to Brian Summers the other day. He isn't even back in town until next week."
"Well, um, he's starting then. I meant to say I called and hired him yesterday. You're trying to confuse me."
I produced my cell phone from my purse. "Fine. Would you like me to call him now so that he knows exactly what day to show up?"
Sylvia trembled and her forehead shone with sweat. "Please. Don't hurt me."
I stared at her in disbelief. "What are you talking about?"
"I think you need to go." Sylvia stood and put her hand over her heart, turning a sickly color similar to the revolting paint on her building. Her breath came out in rapid, heavy gasps.
My mouth fell open in shock. "Are you okay?"
Sylvia tried to speak, but only a gurgling sound came out. She continued to stare at me with terror in her eyes. Seconds later, she collapsed on the floor.
"Oh my God." I ran around to the other side of the desk and felt for her pulse. It was slow, but steady. Good grief. Now I was consumed with guilt. I hadn't meant to hurt the woman. I was simply tired of everyone acknowledging me as the town murderer.
I was searching for my phone in my purse to dial 9-1-1 when the front door opened. Wearing a name tag and carrying a stack of home flyers, I assumed this was one of Sylvia's agents. She glanced at me, confused, and then at Sylvia slumped on the floor.
"Oh, no. Not again." She reached for her phone and pressed a few numbers. "Yes, this is Laurie Jacobs with No Place Like Home Realty. Our manager, Sylvia, has had another seizure." She listened for a moment. "Yes, it's the third one this month. We're at 22 Cobble Road."
Laurie took Sylvia's hand and listened to her pulse. She glanced at me, an apologetic smile on her face. "Was Sylvia supposed to show you some houses today?"
A bead of sweat trickled down my back, and I didn't answer immediately.
Before I could respond, Laurie went on. "I'm so sorry for the inconvenience. I'm sure Sylvia will be in touch as soon as she's feeling better."
"Uh, sure, no problem." I stood and reached for my purse and briefcase, then hesitated. I felt awful leaving them like this. "Are you sure you don't want me to stay?"
Laurie shook her head. "Thanks, but it happens all the time. She'll be fine. No need for you to bother."
Had I really found the only person in town who didn't recognize me? "Okay. I hope she's better soon."
Laurie thanked me, and I let myself out. I walked to the car slowly, my legs wobbling like jelly and face perspiring. I drove out of the lot and had reached a stop sign at the end of the street when an ambulance screamed past me in the opposite lane. A police car followed behind, lights flashing. I wasn't positive, but the driver looked like my buddy Officer Simon. That would have been all I needed. He would have found some way to arrest me for sure. Every time I took a step forward, I sank deeper into quicksand.
I needed a caffeine fix bad and stopped at Starbuck's for a cappuccino. As I waited my turn, I checked my phone. The text from my husband was only five words long. You said you would call. Shoot. He'd be upset, especially once he found out what I'd been up to.
I paid for the drink and called Greg's cell when I got back into my car.
He answered right away. "Cin, are you okay?"
I took a long sip of my drink, savoring the taste while trying to calm my nerves. "I'm fine. I was running late for my appointment with Sylvia and didn't have time to call you." I relayed my meeting with Randy, but purposely omitted the details of my disastrous interview. I could get into that later.
Greg remained silent for a few seconds. "Baby, Ken is a rat. Please leave it alone. I think it's better if you don't find him. We already know what he's capable of. The police don't have anything definite on you. They'll find Tiffany's killer before long, and people will forget all about this. You'll see."
My phone beeped with another call coming in. I glanced at the number. "Look sweetie, Jacques is on the other line. I've got to go."
"When will you be home?"
"Jacques and I have a quick errand to run. I'll be back in a couple of hours." I clicked onto the other line. "Hey, you."
"Hey, yourself. I'm on my way. Are you home yet?"
"No, leaving Starbucks. The one we were at the other day."
"Stay right there. I'll pick you up, and then we'll go see Pete."
I shifted in my seat. I was betting that Pete wasn't going to be thrilled to see us. Plus, he scared me a bit. "Do we really have to do this?"
"I'm only a couple of blocks away. Look, it will be worth it if can we get something out of him, Cin."
"I guess." I sat back and took a long sip of my drink. Whoever had invented this Italian masterpiece was a genius in my book. "Hey, did you remember to call Linda?"
Jacques groaned. "What the heck is wrong with me? I used to be so perfect. Okay, I'll call her now. See you in a minute."
I took another sip of my drink. Tires squealed, and I looked up to see Jacques, parked next to me, talking into his Bluetooth. I grabbed my purse, locked the car, and got in on the passenger side. "Gee, it took you long enough."
He grimaced. "There goes that sarcastic mouth of yours again. Okay, I left a message on Linda's cell. As soon as I hear back from her, I'll let you know."
"Why don't you let me drive?" I suggested.
"Forget it," Jacques said. "I want to get there today."
I pulled my seat belt around me and made the sign of the cross on my chest. "So tell me all about it. How'd you like the building?"
"It's perfect, exactly what I've been looking for. I'm going to sign the lease on Monday, and then I'll make Donna cry."
I laughed. "Her golden goose is taking flight."
"And how'd your appointment go? Should I be calling you Dorothy instead of Cynthia now?"
"No fear of that." I relayed the story of my meeting, ending with Sylvia's near comatose state.
Jacques almost veered off the road.
"God, remind me not to tell you any more stories while you're driving. You're a maniac as it is."
Jacques snorted. "You worry too much. Seriously, be careful. Ten to one she tries to make trouble for you. I could see her telling the cops you threatened her, just to be spiteful. Sylvia's not all there."
"Exactly who in this town is all there?" I applied pressure to my temples in an attempt to relieve the building tension. "I'm in enough trouble already. How could it get worse?"
"Trust me, it can always be worse. Did you find Ken Doll this morning?"
I gripped the door handle as Jacques zoomed through a traffic light, which had just turned red. "For God's sake. Remember, I have three kids."
"I know, and they all adore me. So what happened—did you find him?"
"Yes and no. I found the shop, but there's a new owner named Randy who bought all of Ken's inventory yesterday. He said Ken never even owned the place. And guess what else?" I exhaled sharply. "I think he may have lifted Tiffany's vase the other day when we
were at her house."
Jacques whirled to look at me and almost hit another car. "Are you serious?"
"Watch out! Yeah, he tried to sell it to the new owner. Randy described it for me. It sounded like Tiffany's."
"Oh crap." Jacques frowned. "But you said it wasn't worth anything. Why would he bother?"
"Wrong. Ken said it was worthless. According to Randy, the vase is valued at about two million dollars. It's a piece from the Ming Dynasty. Watch out for that parked car!"
Jacques swerved to the left, his mouth hanging wide open. I'd never seen him speechless before. Finally, he found his voice. "Do you think Randy could be wrong? I mean, is there any chance Ken owned a vase like that too? Perhaps he needed money, and that's why he's selling it."
"Do you honestly believe that?"
"Well, no," he admitted.
"Me neither. But I know one thing. I've got to get into Tiffany's house to see if the vase is still there. Please." I gave him my best pleading look.
Jacques sighed in resignation. "All right. I want to know what's going on too." He pulled up in front of the duplex where Pete lived. "After we're done here, I've got some errands to run, and I'm meeting Ed for an early dinner. It'll have to be after that."
I groaned.
"Don't get your panties in a bunch. It's better if we wait until after dark. We don't want the neighbors seeing us."
"All right. I should go home for a bit anyway. Greg doesn't like me playing detective, and I do have a family to feed. I'll stop at the store, cook dinner, and then come back to meet you."
"No, I'll come and get you," Jacques offered. "Greg will feel better about you going out if he knows you're not alone. Ed's babysitting his sister's kids after dinner. I may join them later. How does seven sound?"
"That works. I owe you one."
"No, you don't. I just got myself a new employee, remember? Come on."
We stepped onto the rickety, wooden porch where Pete lived. Jacques rang the doorbell that belonged to the entrance on the left side of the house, labeled Saxon. After a few seconds, Pete emerged. He was barefoot and unshaven, wearing jeans and a black T-shirt. Two little girls clung to his legs.
Killer Transaction (Cindy York Mysteries Book 1) Page 17
