Dead in the Doorway
Page 28
I stood and raised a hand to stop her. “Presley. Hi.”
She turned my way and her face tightened. A reflexive reaction, I supposed. “Hello, Whitney,” she said in a tepid tone.
“We’d like to talk to you.”
Buck stood. “We would?”
“Trust me,” I whispered to him. I held out a hand to invite Presley to sit next to me and Buck on the bench. After she’d taken a seat, I asked, “Which property are you planning to bid on?”
She kept her cards close to her vest and turned the tables on me. “Why don’t you tell me first?”
Unlike her, I exposed my hand. “The Music City Motor Court.”
Her face sank as she realized she had competition for the property she’d hoped to purchase.
I angled my head to indicate the front row. “See Thad Gentry up there? I have a hunch he’s here to bid on the motel, too.”
She sighed. “There’s no way I could beat his bid.”
“Neither can we,” I said. “Not alone anyway. But what if we pooled our resources?”
She stared at me for a long moment, evidently engaged in a mental debate with herself, before arching a brow. “How much were you going to bid?”
“Ninety-five thousand. You?”
“Sixty-eight,” she said. “It’s all my savings.”
$163,000 would be chump change to Gentry, and we all knew it. I gave Presley a quick overview of our plans for the property, assuming we were lucky enough to land it.
“Condos?” she said. “That’s a fantastic idea. They’d go fast and for a high price, too.”
She’s in. Good. I looked from Presley to Buck. “Are you two above pulling a fast one?”
Presley scoffed. “On Thad Gentry? Heck, no. He’s a pompous you-know-what.”
“So you’ve dealt with him, too?” It wasn’t surprising that Presley and Gentry would have interacted at some point. After all, Gentry and Presley’s former boss were two major players in the Nashville real estate scene.
“He came to the office once,” Presley said, “but he didn’t even glance in my direction. I’ve only spoken with him on the phone. He was always rude and pushy.”
Good. The fact that she hadn’t dealt with him in person meant he wouldn’t recognize her. He wasn’t likely to recognize Buck, either. As for myself, that was another matter. Thad Gentry and I had a run-in at our properties a while back, and there was no love lost between us. He’d recognize me and he certainly wouldn’t trust me.
We put our heads together and came up with a plan. Even after a property had been auctioned off in a tax sale, the county would not issue the winning bidder a valid deed until the expiration of the applicable redemption period. During the redemption period, the delinquent owner could redeem the property by reimbursing the purchase price paid by the bidder, as well as the delinquent taxes, penalties, interest, and court costs. Purchasing a property that was likely to be redeemed was a waste of time and would tie up funds that could be better invested elsewhere. If we could convince Gentry the motel was at risk of being redeemed, maybe he’d decide not to take a chance on it.
Buck took our #13 paddle, and he and Presley headed to the second row, taking seats behind Gentry. I, on the other hand, slid down to the end of the back row, doing my best to make myself invisible.
As the room continued to fill with people interested in placing bids in the tax auction, Buck and Presley made what appeared to be idle conversation, but what was actually full of fibs about the property. Though I was too far away to actually hear their discussion, I knew it went something like this:
Buck: “No point in bidding on the Music City Motor Court. I met the owners when I was checking out the property yesterday. They’re pulling funds together to redeem it.”
Presley: “Are you sure?”
Buck: “Yep. Their new investors were with them. Couple of wealthy guys from Chicago. Flew down on their own private jet. Anyone who bids on that property is a chump. I’ve set my sights on that parcel off Lebanon Pike. There’s an old farmhouse and barn on it now, but apartments are sprouting up all around that area. It’s just a matter of time until a developer comes a-calling.”
Gentry turned his head slightly, clearly listening in on Buck and Presley’s conversation. But if he overheard something they said and took it to heart, that was his problem, not ours. He shouldn’t be eavesdropping on a private discussion.
A few minutes later, the room was full and the auction began. Several smaller houses sold before the auctioneer announced that the next property up for bid would be the one along Lebanon Pike. Several bidders raised their paddles, including both Gentry and Buck, who was toying with the tycoon. Others dropped out as the price went up. The auctioneer continued to raise the price by five-thousand-dollar increments until Buck bailed out at $80,000.
Gentry raised his paddle one last time and the auctioneer brought his gavel down. “Sold for $85,000 to bidder number eight.”
Gentry cut a smug look back at Buck, who shook his head in pretend disappointment. I fought the urge to laugh out loud. Gentry was a smart man, but he was also a fiercely competitive one and didn’t like to lose. He shouldn’t have been so hasty. He’d just bought a worthless piece of land in the Mill Creek flood plain. Before it could be developed, expensive grading and flood-control improvements would have to be made. Sucker!
His business concluded, Gentry stood and left the room to finalize the paperwork in the clerk’s office down the hall.
The auctioneer announced the legal description of the next parcel of land and said, “Otherwise known as the Music City Motor Court.” When he started the bidding, a dozen paddles shot into the air. Darn! Looked like we weren’t the only ones who realized the property’s potential.
Buck raised his paddle over and over as the price went from $100,000 to $110,00 to $120,000. About half of the bidders dropped out at that price, but several remained. The bid went up to $130,000, $140,000, and $150,000. By then, only Buck and one other man were still in the game. My intestines tied themselves in knots. We wanted this property, bad, and it looked like we might lose it!
The auctioneer raised by only $5,000 this time around. “Do I hear $155,000?”
We had only $8,000 more to go before we’d have to drop out. Argh! I crossed my fingers. For good measure, I crossed my toes, too. Not easy to do in steel-toed boots.
Buck hesitated a moment before raising his paddle, a strategy to make the other bidder think twice about further raising his bid.
Seeing the hesitation of the remaining bidders, the auctioneer increased by a smaller amount. “Do I hear $158,000?”
Both Buck and the other bidder waited a moment, before Buck slowly raised his paddle. The other man did likewise. I fought the urge to scream. I’d already visualized exactly what we could do to the property, had jotted down notes and doodled sketches. This man was screwing around with my plans, and I didn’t like it one bit!
“Do I hear $160,000?” The auctioneer’s head swiveled as he looked from Buck to the other bidder.
The other bidder raised his paddle and sent a scathing look in Buck’s direction. Buck raised his paddle as well.
“Can I get $162,500?” the auctioneer called, his eyes wide with anticipation.
The other man exhaled sharply, frowned in defeat, and shook his head. He’d reached his limit. Buck raised both his paddle and a victorious fist as the auctioneer brought his gavel down. “Sold to bidder number thirteen!”
Maybe 13 wasn’t such an unlucky number after all. We even had $500 left over.
Buck and Presley stood and made their way down the aisle, both of them beaming.
I met them at the door. “We did it!” I only hoped we could all work well together. Buck and I had developed a system. Adding another person to the mix could complicate things. But we’d cross that bridge if and when we came to it.
We headed down the hall to the clerk’s office and stepped up to the counter beside Thad Gentry. He did a double take when
he recognized me. I gave him my best smile.
The matronly clerk took the approved bid from Buck and said, “You bought the Music City Motor Court? I stayed there once back in the day. Got sunburned out by the pool. Had a fun time, though.”
Gentry’s head had snapped in our direction when he overheard the woman mention the motel. His eyes narrowed as he looked from me to Buck and back again, seeming to notice the family resemblance.
I looked at him and shrugged. “Didn’t your mama tell you not to trust in rumors?”
The man skewered me with his gaze and chuckled mirthlessly. “Well played, Miss Whitaker.”
Well played, indeed. Thad Gentry might not like me, but at least now he respected me.
CHAPTER 2
SITE VISIT
WHITNEY
Buck, Presley, and I decided to celebrate over an early lunch. We toasted our good fortune with sparkling wine, and worked out the particulars of our arrangement over our meal.
Fortunately, Presley agreed to leave the details of the renovation up to me and my cousin. “I don’t like to get my hands dirty. I’ll come by to check on my things now and then, but for the most part I’ll be a silent partner.” Recognizing that, in addition to our monetary investment, Buck and I would invest sweat equity by performing much of the construction work ourselves, she agreed to accept 30% of the net profit as full payment for her share in the venture, with payment due upon sale of the last condominium unit. We jotted the details on a napkin, signed our names to it, and sealed the deal with a handshake. Attorneys around the state would cringe at our lackadaisical approach but, if Presley was going to trust me and Buck to do a good job on the remodel, I’d trust her to keep up her end of the bargain, too.
After lunch, Presley headed off to her job, while Buck and I swung by the motel to prioritize our “to do” list. The property sat on North 1st Street, not far from the football stadium where the Tennessee Titans played. The dilapidated inn was also within walking distance of the pedestrian bridge that spanned the Cumberland River. The bridge connected the east side of the river to downtown Nashville and the South Broadway tourist area. “SoBro,” as locals called it, encompassed a variety of restaurants, shops, and honky-tonks, as well as the Predators’ hockey rink, the Country Music Hall of Fame, and the Ryman Auditorium where the Grand Ole Opry had been launched decades ago. The location would appeal to well-heeled singles or couples who enjoyed the downtown scene.
We parked on the street beside the L-shaped motel and stood side by side on the sidewalk, looking through the flimsy wire fencing that had been erected to keep people off the property. The asphalt parking lot was cracked, the rooftop HVAC units were rusty, and many of the windows had been patched with plywood or plastic tarps. The seedy motel was a far cry from the Ritz-Carlton, but with some hard work we’d transform this derelict lodge into a place anyone would be proud to call home.
“First thing we do,” Buck said, “is get that sign fixed.” He pointed to the guitar-shaped neon sign. “We light that up and people will be curious about what’s going on over here, start talking about it.”
“Can’t hurt to generate some buzz,” I agreed. “Maybe we should string up a banner, too, one that says ‘Coming Soon - Music City Motor Court Condominiums.’”
“Good idea.”
We circled around the parking lot and Buck reached down to lift up a loose edge of the flimsy wire fencing. We bent down and ducked under the flap to access the property.
As he let the fencing fall back into place, he said, “We’ll have to find a better way to secure this place. That lightweight chain link isn’t gonna cut it.”
The bent fencing, the graffiti on the building, and the broken windows evidenced vandals having come onto the property. We’d have to do something to keep trespassers out. We couldn’t afford to have our building materials stolen or someone getting hurt on the premises and filing a lawsuit.
I made a suggestion. “What if we install decorative iron fencing around the place? It’ll be useful now, and prospective buyers will like the added security, too.” Not that we were going for snob appeal, but the gate would add an air of exclusivity.
Buck cocked his head. “You got a guy who will install a fence at a reasonable rate?”
“Of course I got a guy,” I said. “I always got a guy.” Working as a property manager, I knew more than my share of people in the construction and repair trades. Plumbers. Electricians. Flooring installers. Fencing specialists. Painters and landscapers, too. My contacts came in handy in our house-flipping business. Many of the contractors would cut me a good deal in return for sending business their way.
As we proceeded along the walkway in front of the rooms, Buck stopped in front of the door to Room 9, which sported plywood over its window. Buck pointed to the door. The metal was bent around the lock. “Someone took a crowbar to this door.” He reached out a hand and pushed the door open.
Sunlight streamed into the room, dirt specks sparkling within the bright beam like magical fairy dust. We peeked into the space to see a red Kawasaki motorcycle with studded faux-leather saddlebags parked on the far side of the bed, a book lying open and facedown on the nearest nightstand, and a sizeable lump under the worn covers of the king-sized bed. An instant later, the lump sat up, becoming a fortyish man with shaggy brown hair, a burly beard, and a smile as bright as the sunlight. “Good morning, folks!”
OTHER ST. MARTIN’S PAPERBACKS TITLES BY DIANE KELLY
THE HOUSE FLIPPER NOVELS
Dead As a Door Knocker
THE PAW ENFORCEMENT NOVELS
Paw Enforcement
Paw and Order
Upholding the Paw
(AN E-ORIGINAL NOVELLA)
Laying Down the Paw
Against the Paw
Above the Paw
Enforcing the Paw
The Long Paw of the Law
Paw of the Jungle
THE TARA HOLLOWAY NOVELS
Death, Taxes, and a French Manicure
Death, Taxes, and a Skinny No-Whip Latte
Death, Taxes, and Extra-Hold Hairspray
Death, Taxes, and a Sequined Clutch
(AN E-ORIGINAL NOVELLA)
Death, Taxes, and Peach Sangria
Death, Taxes, and Hot-Pink Leg Warmers
Death, Taxes, and Green Tea Ice Cream
Death, Taxes, and Mistletoe Mayhem
(AN E-ORIGINAL NOVELLA)
Death, Taxes, and Silver Spurs
Death, Taxes, and Cheap Sunglasses
Death, Taxes, and a Chocolate Cannoli
Death, Taxes, and a Satin Garter
Death, Taxes, and Sweet Potato Fries
Death, Taxes, and Pecan Pie
(AN E-ORIGINAL NOVELLA)
Death, Taxes, and a Shotgun Wedding
Praise for the House-Flipper mystery series
“A cat, a can-do heroine, and a corpse in a flower bed. You’re going to laugh.”
—Christie Craig, New York Times bestselling author of the Texas Justice series
“With Dead as a Door Knocker, Diane Kelly introduces a heroine who is as good with a hammer as she is with a one-liner. Whitney and her adorable scaredy-cat Sawdust are a welcome addition to your home and bookshelf.”
—Kellye Garrett, Anthony, Agatha, and Lefty award–winning author of the Hollywood Homicide series
Diane Kelly’s Paw Enforcement series
“Funny and acerbic, the perfect read for lovers of Janet Evanovich.”
—Librarian and Reviewer
“Humor, romance, and surprising LOL moments. What more can you ask for?”
—Romance and Beyond
“Fabulously fun and funny!”
—Book Babe
“An engaging read that I could not put down. I look forward to the next adventure of Megan and Brigit!”
—SOS Aloha on Paw Enforcement
“Sparkling with surprises. Just like a tequila sunrise. You never know which way is up or out!”
—Romance Junkies on Paw and Order
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
DIANE KELLY is a former state assistant attorney and a graduate of the Mansfield, Texas Citizens Police Academy. She is the author of the Paw Enforcement series and the IRS Special Agent Tara Holloway series. You can sign up for email updates here.
Visit www.dianekelly.com to learn more.
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CONTENTS
Title Page
Copyright Notice
Dedication
Acknowledgments
Chapter 1: Peanut Butter and Jealousy
Chapter 2: Grand Tour
Chapter 3: Hard Landing
Chapter 4: Cat’s Curiosity
Chapter 5: Misstep or Murder?
Chapter 6: I want My Mommy
Chapter 7: Wake and Bake
Chapter 8: Dishing it Out
Chapter 9: Creatures of the Night
Chapter 10: A Bloody Mess
Chapter 11: I Spy
Chapter 12: Background Check
Chapter 13: Mission: Demolition
Chapter 14: Hot Property
Chapter 15: PurrPetrator
Chapter 16: Catching Up