Killer Transaction (Cindy York Mysteries Book 1) Read online

  Jacques blew out a sigh and patted her back reassuringly. "That was Tuesday evening, right? Do you remember about what time?"

  Leslie blew her nose in Jacques' handkerchief. She offered it back, but he shook his head politely. "It was right before seven o'clock."

  I tried to contain the excitement in my voice. "Do you remember what the car looked like?"

  Leslie seemed confused. "Tiffany has a Jag. You should know that."

  I leaned forward. "I meant the car you saw leaving."

  She sat there, lost in thought for a minute, a cloud of smoke swirling around her head. "It was dark colored. Maybe an SUV? I can't be sure. Does it even matter?"

  Jacques came to the rescue. "Leslie, this is really important. The car could've belonged to the person who killed Tiffany."

  "Liar. You think I killed her, don't you? Yeah, that's why you're here. You've come to cart me off to jail." Leslie leaped to her feet and grabbed Jackson off the floor. She stood at the bottom of the staircase, her back to us as she murmured something to the baby.

  I came up behind her and spoke softly. "We didn't say that."

  Jacques made a circular motion to his head with his index finger then slowly backed away to the front door. "Leslie, we're going to leave now. We won't bother you anymore."

  She turned to look at me, her face startled. "Do you really have to go? I'd rather you didn't. I'm afraid to be alone right now. You-you won't tell the police what I did, will you?"

  "Maybe you should go down to the station and tell them everything that happened." I volunteered, as gently as I could.

  Her eyes widened in alarm. "No way! Forget it!"

  "Okay, okay. But if you remember any more details about the car you saw, can you let one of us know?" Jacques handed her his business card.

  She gazed at him, a bit confused. "Oh, of course." With that, she started singing and whispering in Jackson's ear.

  While I was worried about Leslie, I feared for the baby even more. "Leslie, why don't you let me change Jackson and put him down for a nap. Then we'll call Anne and ask her to come over. It's a lot of work taking care of a baby. I know she'd love to help you with him for a little while."

  Leslie hesitated, then nodded slowly. She handed Jackson to me and trudged upstairs while I followed with the baby in my arms.

  "Yes," Leslie sighed. "A nap sounds good right about now."

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  "What do you think?" Jacques asked once we were standing on the front porch of Leslie's house, out of earshot.

  I shook my head with regret. "I've never seen her in such a mess. It's so sad."

  He grimaced. "I know, but what do you think?"

  Once again, I shook my head. "No. She didn't kill Tiffany."

  "Cin, she was there that night. And, God knows, she had a motive."

  "You said it yourself. Lots of people had motives. It must've been someone else."

  Jacques put his hands on his hips. "Oh, come on. And what's with the story about the car leaving the parking lot? She said it was a dark SUV type. Please. She had to have seen a license plate or something."

  "She didn't know she was watching a murderer leave. Jeez, give the poor woman a break."

  Jacques folded his arms across his chest. "Why are you defending her?"

  "I just don't think she's capable of murder."

  "She might have blocked it all out. Look at the state she's in now."

  I reached inside my purse for my phone. "I've got to call Anne. Leslie shouldn't be by herself. And she's in no shape to take care of that baby."

  Jacques examined his watch. "Um, you might want to call her from your car. It's already one o'clock."

  "Oh, no!" I shrieked and ran down the steps. "I don't believe this."

  He shouted after me. "Call me when you're done. We've got more work to do."

  I waved my hand in acknowledgement and jumped into my car. As I put my Bluetooth on and went to dial Anne's number, I noticed Greg had sent me a text. When I stopped for a red light, I quickly scanned the message. No joke. You need to go to the police. Call me after your closing. Love you.

  There was no way I could go to the police station now. Donna wouldn't waste any time informing them about my so-called showing at Tiffany's house. She'd probably say I'd made the whole appointment up in order to get inside the house and remove any clues that might lead to my conviction. I knew Ken wouldn't back me, plus I'd deleted his text from the other evening about scheduling the showings. How could I possibly prove my innocence now?

  I left a voicemail on Anne's cell. "Hey, it's Cindy. I was over at Leslie's house, and I'm really worried about her. I don't think she should be alone. Could you go over and check on her and Jackson? Let me know when you get this, and please call if you need anything."

  I glanced at the clock on my radio. It was 1:30, and I still had another ten minutes to go before I reached Marcia's office. It's okay. No big deal if I'm late. I'm really not important to the sale at this point.

  I thought about calling Marcia to tell her I'd been detained but didn't think she'd care as long as Eli was there. The attorney situation was yet another embarrassing part of this particular deal. Eli Anderson, my client, had eagerly agreed to use the real estate attorney I always recommended to clients—Marcia Steele.

  Marcia was honest, intelligent, and basically left no stone unturned when doing title searches. We worked well together, and I was proud to call her one of my closest friends in the industry. Lord knows I didn't have many these days.

  Eli had originally indicated to Marcia that her six hundred dollar fee wouldn't be a problem. Last week, when Marcia told him he could write her a check at the closing, he'd seemed bewildered. "I thought you came with the house."

  "This could very well be the stupidest person alive," Marcia had confided to me afterward.

  Born and raised in a rural section of Upstate New York, Eli had been a hillbilly all his life. Now that he was past thirty, Eli's parents had decided it was time he left the nest and started his own family. He'd been quick to tell me he needed to find a good house and a great woman. I was more than willing to help with the house but refused to help play matchmaker.

  I turned left on Lerner Street and then made a quick right into the parking lot of Marcia's office. As I was getting out of the car, I spotted her Mercedes and Tricia's Audi nearby. I locked the doors of my clunky, but reliable, Honda and frowned as I looked around. It seemed that everyone in the real estate industry had a cool car, except me. Normally, it was days like this when I enjoyed my own personal pity party. Today, there wasn't time.

  The receptionist indicated the Anderson/Bovie closing was being held in Conference Room B. I started down the hall and quickly found the room. At the doorway, I peered in and spotted Mr. and Mrs. Bovie, their attorney, a bank representative, and Marcia. Eli was nowhere to be found.

  Now it was time to panic.

  Marcia instantly got to her feet and walked over to me. She was an attractive woman about my age with curly, auburn hair and a dusting of freckles on her petite nose. Her emerald linen suit looked spectacular with her matching eyes and great figure. She grabbed my arm.

  "Don't get upset. He's on his way." Marcia hid her annoyance remarkably well.

  I groaned. "What the heck happened now?"

  Marcia pulled me out into the hallway so that we wouldn't be overheard. "I told the sellers he had a flat tire. How I wish it was something like that. The dimwit thought the closing was actually being held at the house itself. When he wasn't here on time, I called his cell phone. Thank goodness he answered. I told him he'd better get his ass over here in fifteen minutes, or I was charging him double."

  I closed my eyes and leaned against the wall. A low-pitched squeak escaped from my mouth before I could stop it. "Only I could have a client be late to their own closing. Marcia, I am so sorry."

  "Hey." She put her arm around my shoulders. "It's not your fault. Sometimes it takes a while to see people for what they really
are. Dumber than a box of rocks definitely qualifies." She smiled. "I know you're going through a rough patch right now. This will all work out. Remember, the house is ten minutes away, so he should be tearing in here any second now."

  As Marcia spoke, the sound of tires squealing on the pavement greeted us. I braced myself, afraid the beat-up Chevy truck Eli drove might crash through a nearby window at any second.

  I sighed. "If he does anything else, I may shove him right out the window."

  "That's fine, but wait until after he pays me," Marcia winked. "Oops, perhaps I should have said if he pays me."

  We watched with fascination as Eli rushed down the hallway toward us, a huge goofy grin on a face that resembled a young Grizzly Adams. "Hey, Mrs. Style."

  "Steele," Marcia corrected him politely.

  As I suspected, he'd made sure to dress for the occasion with a ripped T-shirt and jeans that had both seen better days. Eli was country through and through, but his family did not live in squalor. He had access to soap and clean clothing. When he drew closer, it became evident he'd forgotten to apply deodorant as well.

  "Oh, right." Eli turned to me. "Nice to see you too, Carol."

  I winced inwardly. He either called me Charlotte or Carol all the time. "My name is Cindy, Eli."

  Eli smacked his forehead with his hand. Hard. "Oh, sure."

  "Let's not keep the sellers waiting any longer, shall we?" Marcia grabbed me by the arm. While she smiled warmly at Eli, she shook me by the shoulders and muttered, "Try to keep calm."

  "I need a drink," I said.

  She nodded, still smiling. "I've got a bottle of Merlot waiting in my office. We can celebrate together after we get through this mess."

  We walked into the meeting room, the stark white walls in sharp contrast with the black marble conference table. Mr. and Mrs. Bovie and their lawyer were already seated. They looked up at us expectantly. The bank representative, an elderly woman with salt-and-pepper hair, smiled at Eli. "Mr. Anderson, you made it. How's the truck?"

  "Uh, fine," Eli answered, confusion registering on his face.

  Marcia took Eli's arm and directed him toward the other side of the table, away from the sellers. "Eli, you're the guest of honor. I need you to sit down right here and get ready for all the fun paperwork you have to sign."

  "Right, that will be fun."

  When Marcia looked at me and winked, I rolled my eyes back at her. This was going to be a long afternoon.

  Since there wasn't enough room for me at the table, I gladly eased into a stray chair directly behind Marcia and Eli. Tricia sat behind her clients as well. She was busy texting away on her phone but looked up long enough to shoot a dagger-filled stare in my direction.

  After a few minutes, Marcia leaned her head back and motioned me forward. "What's Tricia's issue with you?"

  I shrugged. "It might be the loss of commission we both had to take. Or maybe it's because of Tiffany. I heard they were friends."

  "I didn't think Tiffany had any friends." Marcia glanced at the paperwork in front of Eli and shook her head. "No. Not there! Sign on the line above where your name is printed."

  After a few minutes, I was surprised to see Eli pull a check from his pocket and hand it to Marcia—for her fee, I assumed. Sitting right behind them, I noticed the check was signed by Eli's mother.

  Eli grinned sheepishly. "My mom writes all my checks for me. I'm not real good at signing my name."

  Tricia snorted loudly from the other side of the room. "Probably can't even write it in the snow."

  Marcia shot Tricia a dirty look but said nothing.

  Mercifully, the rest of the closing went off without a hitch. The sellers became visibly annoyed with Eli's antics, and Marcia gave up trying to explain the documents as it became obvious Eli would never understand them. She shoved page after page under his nose and simply said, "Your name right here, Eli." He complied without question.

  When it was finally over, the bank employee distributed a handful of checks. She handed me mine, and I gave her the agency invoice. I scanned through it to make sure everything was correct. It was written for five thousand dollars, payable to the order of Hospitable Homes.

  My watch read 3:30. The twins and Darcy should be home by now. If I hurried, I could get to the office and turn the check in to Donna before she left at four. She'd write me a personal one in return, and I could run to the bank, cash it, and be home before five. Maybe I'd order takeout tonight. Or perhaps we'd all go out to dinner as a treat. It was rare that we did that these days.

  Tricia presented Eli with the house keys. "Good luck. You'll need it."

  "Gee, thanks." He grinned.

  Marcia noted the sarcasm in Tricia's voice. "I'll thank you to keep your opinion to yourself, Miss Hudson."

  Tricia huffed and turned on her heel without even bothering to acknowledge me. She went to the Bovies, hugged each one in turn, and presented them with a congratulatory bottle of champagne. Usually, I'd give my buyers or sellers the same type of token gift. Money was tight though, and I was still smarting over the fact I'd lost five hundred dollars in commission due to Eli's idiocy. I figured he'd already gotten his bottle of champagne—about fifty times over.

  I shook his hand. "Good luck, Eli."

  "Thanks, Carol." His lopsided grin revealed a huge gap between his front teeth.

  I was too tired to correct him again.

  Marcia stood so that I could give her a hug. "Do you really have to rush off? I was hoping we could have a drink and talk about—you know, things."

  "I'd love to, but can I take a rain check? I need to get home to the kids."

  "No problem. We still have a couple of things to finish up here anyhow." She heaved a huge sigh. "I'm so glad today's Friday. This guy has worn me out."

  "You and me both. Hey, thanks for everything. You've been great, as usual."

  "Hang in there. Let me know if you need anything, and stay positive." Marcia gave my arm an affectionate squeeze. "Call me next week, and we'll do lunch. My treat for all the clients you bring me."

  If I wasn't in jail by then. So much for being positive. I was free to leave, so I thanked the bank employee, congratulated the Bovies, and left the room.

  On the way out, I started to check my phone for messages. I shielded my eyes from the bright sunlight and glanced across the parking lot. I was startled to see Tricia leaning against my car, arms folded across her chest. Cold, gray eyes stared directly into mine. It was obvious she'd been waiting for me.

  Great. Perspiration beaded on my forehead, but I tried to maintain my calm. "Can I help you, Tricia?"

  "I seriously doubt it." She ran her fingers through her stringy, blonde hair. "You could do the whole real estate industry a favor if you quietly disappeared into the night, though."

  "Look, I'm sorry about my client's antics."

  Her laugh came out as a high-pitched cackle that reminded me of the Wicked Witch in The Wizard of Oz. "Do you really think that's what I'm upset about—your Jed Clampett in there? Oh, no. I'm sick to my stomach, thinking you'll get away with murder."

  My mouth dropped open in surprise. "I didn't murder anyone. And I don't cheat my clients either, like some people."

  Tricia was taken aback. "How dare you make insinuations after what you've done? Please. I'll call the cops on you this minute, bitch. And I hope you look good in orange because you're going to be wearing it for a long time."

  "Yes, please do call the cops. I'd love to tell them how you've been harassing me."

  She snorted. "It's a wonder Donna still puts up with you. If you were in my agency, I would have thrown you out on your ear already."

  "Well, thank God I don't work there. I've had quite enough of people stealing my listings. Now I know why you and Tiffany were such good friends." I knew that had definitely struck a nerve as I watched Tricia's round, puffy face twist with rage.

  She hoisted her Prada handbag over her shoulder and started to turn away, then walked back toward me. Her face
was so close that I could smell this morning's coffee on her stale breath. "Let me tell you something, you little twit. If you do happen to get away with this, I'll make sure your real estate career is over in this town. Not that you really ever had one anyway."

  My stomach convulsed with dread. I was so shocked by the venom in her tone that I didn't find my voice until she'd reached her car. "Go ahead. You don't scare me."

  A police car drove into the lot and parked next to my vehicle. I watched, frozen, as Officer Simon stepped out of his cruiser and approached me, a grim look upon his face.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Good grief. I was in no mood for another confrontation with one of our city's finest right now.

  Officer Simon didn't waste any time. "Mrs. York, I checked with your office, and they told me you were here. And I heard you were at Miss Roberts' home yesterday. I think you'd better come with me for some more questioning." He placed his hand on my arm.

  What had Donna done—run to the phone right after our meeting? I shook my arm loose and glared at him. "I'm a real estate agent and was showing the home to a client named Ken Sorenson. His wife is Donna Cashman, the manager at my office. I'm pretty sure she knew about the showing. Check it out if you don't believe me."

  Officer Simon said nothing as he made a note of Ken's name on a small pad that suddenly appeared from out of nowhere.

  "I need to get home to my kids right away. If it's really necessary, call me, and I will come down to the station at a later time. But I can't right now."

  Officer Simon gave me a long, searching look. "Oh, don't worry. We'll be calling, Mrs. York. It sounds like you've got quite a bit of explaining to do." He tipped his hat at me and nodded to Tricia, who was enjoying the show from inside her car.

  I unlocked my car door and slumped down into the seat. I fought the bout of nausea whirling around in my stomach. Don't panic. Things will get better. They have to. I turned the key in the ignition and slowly drove out of the parking lot.

  It was minutes before four o'clock when I reached the office. At first, I was afraid Donna might have already gone since most of the agents usually left early on Fridays but was relieved to see her Corvette in the parking lot. I took a deep, calming breath. The accusation was not going to be easy for me to deliver or for Donna to hear. She was a newlywed, for crying out loud, and her husband was already coming on to other women. I actually felt kind of sorry for her.