Killer Transaction (Cindy York Mysteries Book 1) Read online

  "Speaking of Tiffany, I noticed something interesting about her house."

  Jacques groaned. "Oh, my God, you weren't in it again, were you?"

  "No, mother. Pull the listing up on your computer and take a look."

  "Once again, I'm way ahead of you. Let's see, you must be referring to this no more showings until further notice comment."

  "That would be the one, yes." I was struggling to keep my eyes open.

  "Hmm. That's odd. Why wouldn't Donna want the house shown? Do you think the police ordered it?"

  "But the murder didn't happen there. So why take the house off the market? Also, how come Tiffany is still down as listing agent? Don't you think Donna would have put her own name in there?"

  Jacques yawned again. "It's too late for all these questions. My brain stopped working an hour ago. As for Donna, don't worry. She's too greedy to let the house slip through her bony fingers."

  "Yeah, that's true."

  "Look, sweetie, I've got to get some sleep. I'll call you in the morning, and we'll figure out what time to meet up at Pete's. Night, dear."

  "Okay, pleasant dreams." I sighed and switched off my computer. Something told me tomorrow was going to be a long, eventful day. One I'd never forget.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  "Darcy, your breakfast is getting cold."

  "Be down in a minute, Mom."

  With a sigh, I turned back to the stove and flipped more pancakes. Greg was pouring milk into glasses for the twins and trying to stop Rusty from begging at the table. The pup had stationed himself between the twins and looked at them expectantly, tail wagging, waiting for one or the other to drop something. At least it saved on cleanup time for me.

  I finished the pancakes and put them in the center of the table. I glanced at the clock—almost 9:30. Saturday mornings were usually more leisurely for me than school days, but not this one. If I wanted to find Ken's pawn shop and stop at Tiffany's house before my appointment, I needed to leave now.

  I gulped down the rest of my coffee and leaned over Greg, absorbed in the newspaper, for a quick kiss. "Please get her down here to eat."

  "I'll take care of it. Oh, and make sure to take my car. I noticed your brakes were squealing yesterday. I'll bring yours to the shop on Monday."

  "Thanks, honey."

  "I thought your appointment wasn't until eleven?" Greg asked.

  "I want to see if I can find Ken's pawn shop first."

  There was silence for a moment as Greg's eyes bore into mine. "Why would you want to go anywhere near that bastard?"

  "I think he might be involved with Tiffany's murder somehow. I mean, how convenient was it that he wanted to look at her house?"

  "Do you think Donna's involved, too?"

  "Maybe. I don't know. None of this makes any sense." I pointed at my gold watch that Greg had given me for Christmas. "I only want to stop by the shop on the pretense I'm selling something."

  Greg grimaced. "I don't like this. Let me go with you."

  I shook my head. "I promise to be careful. I can take care of myself, remember?" I patted my knee. "All ready for action."

  He grinned at me. "You've proven you can take care of yourself. But you're my wife, and I'm always going to be worried about you. That guy is no good."

  I put my arms around him. "Who knows if I'll even find him? But if I call you when I get to my interview, will you feel better?" I purposely used my baby talk voice, which was a huge mistake. The puppy ran over and attached himself to my leg while the twins started shrieking with laughter.

  I quickly disengaged the dog from me and brushed off my slacks. "Rusty needs to be neutered and soon."

  Greg waved my comments aside. "He's just going through a phase."

  "Some phase! He does it to everyone who walks through the door."

  Seth laughed. "He did it to Grandma the other night. She got real mad at him. It was funny."

  I winked at my husband. "Hmm, maybe we should wait a while."

  "Cin." Greg shook his finger in warning at me.

  I blew him a kiss and gave the twins each a peck on the top of their heads, despite their protests.

  "We're too old for kissing, Mom," Stevie cried out.

  I reached down and covered his entire face with kisses. Giggling, he tried to push me away. "You're never too old for kissing, my love. Wish me luck."

  "Good luck, Mom," Seth said. "Don't get arrested."

  Words to live by. As the twins started laughing, Greg shook his head and picked up the paper again.

  Traffic was light, and it took me under twenty minutes to arrive at Tiffany's house. The For Sale sign was gone. I was intrigued. Why didn't Donna want people showing the house now? I longed to go inside. My eKEY was in my purse. I turned around in the driveway and drove down to the nearest side street, parking my car within viewing distance of the driveway and a good portion of the lawn. I reached for my cell phone and dialed Jacques' number.

  As usual, he answered promptly. "At your service, my dear."

  "The For Sale sign is gone. Why are there no showings allowed? Do you think there's some type of problem with Tiffany's estate?"

  "I doubt anything's happened yet," Jacques said. "Too soon. And I don't believe she has any family either, except for a half-sister somewhere. I'm not sure where she lives, but I suspect she'll surface eventually. Money has a way of doing that to people."

  "True. I wonder—" I stopped in the middle of my sentence as Donna's car turned into the driveway. She got out of the car and did a quick look around, then pulled a suitcase out of her backseat. "What the heck is she doing?"

  "What are you talking about?"

  "It's Donna," I whispered. "She just drove into Tiffany's driveway."

  "Cynthia, where are you?"

  "I'm parked around the corner from the house—on Shelby Court."

  "So you're in the car?"

  "Yes. Why are you asking me these questions?" I snapped back.

  Jacques laughed heartily. "Well then, why are you whispering? I don't think she can hear you, darling."

  "Oh, right." I raised my voice to a normal tone. "She was carrying a suitcase."

  "That does seem odd," Jacques said. "Maybe she's there to check on something. Or perhaps she's smuggling out the good silver?"

  A vision of my mother-in-law crossed my mind. "Do you think so?"

  "I was kidding, girl." He cleared his throat. "By the way, Donna called me this morning. I was going to tell you when we met up later."

  "What now? Is she going to arrest me for trying to come on to her husband?"

  "She found out about my appointment and begged me to stay put. I swear, if we'd been face to face she would've kissed my feet. I told her we'd discuss it later. And speaking of her slimy husband, she told me she hadn't seen him since yesterday. He didn't come home last night. No call, nothing. She broke down in tears on the phone."

  "Oh boy."

  "I told you. I feel like the office therapist some days."

  "You see what this means? He must have something to do with Tiffany's death. He's on the run now." I thought about the vase in Tiffany's bedroom. Ken had assured me it wasn't worth anything, but who knew? Perhaps there were other valuables in the house. "Do you know anything else about Tiffany's family?"

  "A little. I also knew where she lived, unlike some people."

  "I'm serious! This is important."

  Jacques coughed into the phone. "Her mother's family was rich. When Tiffany was about ten, she and her parents were in a car accident. Her mother died from the injuries. The father was badly hurt but survived. He was never the same afterward. Tiffany said she always felt like he blamed her."

  "Boy, you and Tiffany sure had some heart-to-hearts in that lunchroom."

  He snorted. "You're just jealous. I have a face that people trust. Anyhow, after the accident, he and Tiffany weren't getting along, so she went to live with a maiden aunt, her mother's older sister. It was then that she found out her dad had been married year
s before, and she had an older half-sister. Can you believe her father never even told her?"

  How odd. "I wonder why."

  "Tiffany insisted he wanted to forget that part of his life. His first wife had an affair, so he divorced her. The daughter from the first marriage sided with her mother. Anyhow, Tiffany wanted to meet her sister and tracked the woman down eventually. Her dad had a heart attack and died a few months ago."

  "It makes me feel sorry for her."

  "A lot of bad luck there," Jacques agreed. "She said her father never got over her mother's death. When he died, everything went to Tiffany."

  I tapped my finger against the steering wheel. "Well, that explains it. I know she made a lot of money, but that house has got to be worth a fortune. Why was she selling it?"

  "The house belonged to her father, and no, it's not worth a fortune. He'd mortgaged it to the hilt, and she needed to unload it to pay off his bills and get out from under that mess. Apparently, he had a few antiques left from the estate, but that was about all. Tiffany thought there might be papers for the stuff, but hadn't found anything. He was a huge pack rat."

  I mulled this over. "The house was pristine. I didn't see any mess. There was a distinct vase in her bedroom that I thought might be an antique. It was beautiful, but Ken said it was worthless." Something wasn't adding up here.

  "Anyhow, it took her three months to get the house on the market because she was sifting through her father's stuff. Last week she mentioned to me that her new boyfriend came by to help her one night. She said most of the mess was in the basement."

  "Ah, well that explains it. We didn't go down there. Does the boyfriend know about her death? Where is he now?"

  "I didn't even catch his name. She said he traveled a lot. Why don't you ask Linda?"

  I drew my eyebrows together, thoroughly perplexed by this suggestion. "What does Linda have to do with it?"

  "She was always answering Tiffany's phone. Remember, she treated Linda like a personal secretary."

  I knew something about that too, thanks to Donna.

  "Maybe she talked to him at one point and remembers his name. You know what, I'll call her for you. She doesn't come in on Saturdays, but I just happen to have her cell number."

  A rush of adrenaline swept over me. "Ooh. That would be awesome. I can't believe you knew so much about Tiffany."

  Jacques sighed. "Everyone at the agency comes to me with their problems—business and personal. Even Donna. And it's not like anyone can talk to her."

  "By the way, I need a huge favor."

  "Listen darling, I'm all out of favors today. My appointment is in ten minutes. By the way, when are we going to see Pete? Will you be done with Sylvia by eleven thirty?"

  "I should be."

  "Okay, I'll call you then. Now what'd you want, my pest?"

  "Is there any way you can let me into Tiffany's house?" I asked.

  "Why? What for?"

  "I can't explain it, but I know something weird is going on there. And if my code shows up in Donna's email again, I'm dead. She'll definitely call the police."

  "She's going to ask questions if my code shows up too."

  "Yeah, but you still work for her and could always say there's a serious buyer who desperately wanted to see the house, so you figured it would be okay."

  "I'll look like a freaking idiot."

  "No, you won't. Anyhow, what can she do, besides fire you?" I joked.

  Jacques sighed. "All right, we'll figure something out."

  "You're a doll. Is it any wonder I adore you?"

  Jacques made a loud harrumphing noise, obviously not falling for my flattery this time. "Yeah, I adore you too. But sometimes you can be an enormous pain in the ass, my dear." With that, he clicked off.

  I disconnected, smiling, and turned my attention back to the house. It had been about ten minutes since Donna went inside, and she hadn't reappeared yet. I wanted to stay until she came out. I was starting to enjoy playing detective. I glanced at my watch—there was still a little time to play with.

  When cars passed by, I pretended to be checking my messages. I waited another ten minutes and then, with regret, started the engine. I wasn't sure how long I might be tied up at the pawn shops and needed to be on my way. I also couldn't afford to be late for my appointment with Sylvia.

  I glanced up in time to see Donna shutting the front door. As she strolled toward her car, I noticed she was still carrying the suitcase. Something very strange was going on here, indeed.

  When she turned down the street I was on, I managed to duck, barely in time. Relief washed over me when I realized she wouldn't recognize my car. I waited a few seconds and straightened up, tempted to follow her, but there was no time. Heaving a sigh, I headed in the opposite direction.

  I hoped to find some trace of Ken this morning. Not that I actually wanted to see him again, but my head was racing with ideas about him. I found myself in front of Pawn for All on Hamilton Avenue. I exited my vehicle and went inside.

  Five minutes later, I was back in the car again. What a letdown. Pawn for All was a family-owned establishment run by a husband and wife. Their only employee was their twenty-something daughter. It appeared that I'd have to head into the seedy part of town after all.

  Fifteen minutes later, I pulled up in front of World of Pawn. The red brick building, with its neon sign that read We Buy and Sell All, looked forlorn and deserted. The flashing sign had several bulbs blown out, and the sparse, brown grass was riddled with mud. Windows were dirty and blinds tattered.

  A white Chevy Cruze sat parked in front of the building, and there were no signs of a red BMW anywhere. I got out of my car, careful to lock my doors. Since this neighborhood was known for a high crime rate, I hurried toward the front door. A light glowed in the interior, and I opened the door a crack. "Hello?"

  "Come on in," a man called out.

  I pushed the creaking door open and did a quick look around. The front counter glass display had been polished until it shone. There was a stool behind it and a large safe about the size of one of the twins. The only thing missing was merchandise. The display counter was completely empty.

  "Something I can help you with, miss?" An elderly gentleman was standing behind the counter holding a diamond necklace. His sparse hair and beard were as white as snow and his face and stomach perfectly round. He would have made an excellent Santa Claus.

  "Hello. I'm Randy Malone, the owner." He extended his hand to me.

  "Hi, I'm Cindy York. I'm a real estate agent for Hospit—" Oops, no, I wasn't anymore. "It's very nice to meet you."

  "Agent, huh? I'm not looking to sell, honey. I just bought the place the other day." Randy chuckled as he walked over to the safe and opened the door, depositing the necklace inside. He double checked to make sure it was secure and then leaned on the counter, looking me over.

  My curiosity piqued. "Did you buy it from a man named Ken, by chance?"

  "Who?" Randy's face was blank.

  "Ken Sorenson. He owned—I mean—he might have owned the shop." Hey, it was a shot in the dark but all I had right now.

  He shrugged. "I don't know anybody named Ken. I bought some merchandise from a guy. He didn't own the building though. He was only renting the space."

  My heart skipped a beat. "Was he tall, with dark hair and a muscular build? Looked a lot like George Clooney?"

  Randy nodded emphatically. "Yep, that's the guy all right." He tugged at his beard. "Like I said, he was only renting the building. Said something about it went into foreclosure a couple of years ago. Seemed like kind of a conceited snob, if you'll pardon the term."

  That was the understatement of the year. "No worries. And you've described him spot on."

  "His name wasn't Ken either. It was Chuck. Chuck Samuels."

  I chewed at my bottom lip. "Are you sure?"

  "Positive." Randy reached under the counter and withdrew a folder overstuffed with papers. "I bought the building from a company called the Tori As
sociation. Mr. Samuels owed them some money, so I made a deal with him that I'd pay off his back rent in exchange for a few pieces of jewelry he had. He was happy to comply."

  The whole situation stank worse than my burned kitchen countertop. I didn't know what to think now.

  "Are you okay, miss? Would you like a glass of water?"

  I nodded, unable to speak. Randy disappeared and returned a minute later with a paper cup. I drank from it gratefully.

  "See here, little lady." Randy was holding up another piece of paper. "This is a receipt for the jewelry I bought from him. The necklace you just saw? It was one of the pieces. He said it belonged to a girlfriend, but she didn't need it anymore."

  "Didn't need it anymore?" I echoed.

  He nodded. "Said she'd had it for years and was sick of it. Wanted something new."

  None of this made any sense. What girlfriend? He was married. I was willing to bet Ken knew something about Tiffany's murder. One thing was for sure. Donna's new husband, or gigolo as I referred to him in my mind, was clearly all about himself.

  I glanced at the paper Randy showed me. The signature indeed read Chuck Samuels. "Did he say why he was leaving?"

  Randy shook his head. "It didn't sound like business was too good. He owed a lot in back rent and didn't have much left in inventory. I think that's why the owners put it up for sale. They wanted him out and knew he didn't have enough money to buy the building. I'm planning to reinvent the whole place. Got painters and carpet installers coming tomorrow. It'll be good as new before long."

  "That's nice." I was barely listening. I thought of the BMW, the expensive suit, and the wallet full of cash at lunch the other day.

  "I really thought he'd fallen on hard times until I saw that vase."

  My ears pricked up instantly. "Excuse me? Did you say vase?"

  Randy chuckled. "Sure did. The guy had himself a vase from the Ming Dynasty and offered to sell it to me. He said it was a family heirloom. He even offered to reduce the price, but there was no way I could afford the likes of it."