“It wouldn’t seem so, no,” she said. “The police never did solve the crime.”
“Hmm,” I said, and turned to look at Gilley, who only shrugged at me like he couldn’t understand the senselessness either. “So the house sat for a long time afterward, I’m assuming?” I asked next.
“No,” Sara Beth said. “It actually sold rather quickly once we . . . uh . . . put it back on the market.”
“Really?” I said. “Who would buy such a stigmatized property?”
“A couple who had been interested in the house and hadn’t been put off by the exceptionally rare act of violence.”
“Did you know the Realtor who was murdered?” Gilley asked next.
Sara Beth inhaled deeply. “I did. She was a lovely woman.”
“So she worked here with you, and you took over the sale?” I asked.
“No,” Sara Beth said. “As a favor I took it over from the agent who’d been her partner. The poor woman was understandably too traumatized to show the property after the tragedy.”
“So the people who bought it weren’t your clients?” Gilley asked next.
Sara Beth shook her head. “No, they were actually also a referral from that same Realtor. They’d been interested in the property before, were planning on attending the open house, in fact, on the day of the murder. . . .” Sara Beth paused to shudder ever so slightly. “They were still looking for a home in that area when the house was put back on the market, and came to me directly, without representation.”
I glanced quickly at Gilley. His stiffened posture told me that he realized Sara Beth had just confirmed our suspicions. “I bet they got a good deal on the home,” I said. “With that kind of history it’s a wonder it sold at all.”
“They got a very good deal,” Sara Beth confirmed, a bit chagrined, I thought. “It helped that it was a cash sale, but truly, they only paid half of the original list price.”
My brow shot up. “Half?”
Sara Beth’s hand went to play with the set of pearls around her neck. I think she knew she’d probably let slip a bit too much information. “Like I said, it was a very good deal, and the woman selling the home was happy to come away with what she could. I of course had to remain neutral in the deal as I represented both buyer and seller.”
“The whole thing sounds simply tragic,” Gilley said.
I nodded for emphasis, but I was too excited to sit there and play pretend much longer as all I wanted to do was talk to Gilley about what Sara Beth had revealed. “Thank you, Sara Beth, for that history. You’re right, all of that makes the house you represented untenable for me, no matter how similar it is to my beloved house in Brookline.” Getting to my feet, I added, “If you find a home similar to the one in the photo, do give us a call.”
Sara Beth’s expression turned to surprise and I didn’t even wait for her to recover herself. Instead I turned and walked abruptly out of her office.
Behind me I heard Gilley say, “Good-bye. It was lovely meeting you. I’ll take one of your cards, and do be in touch if you find anything, okay?”
“But . . . I don’t even know how many bedrooms Ms. Cooper is thinking of,” Sara Beth said rather desperately.
“Minimum of five,” I called out over my shoulder, then hastened my steps to carry me farther away from her office. In truth, I wanted to run out of there, I was so excited that we’d seemed to hit pay dirt.
Gilley came hustling up behind me as we exited the building and made a beeline for the car. Hopping in, I didn’t say a word until we were safely out of the parking lot. “Ohmigod!” I finally yelled.
“I know! I know!”
“We were right!” I shouted. “The Suttons totally targeted that house!”
“They did,” Gilley said. “It feels so right, Cat.”
“But we still need more to connect it all together, Gilley. We need to find Chanel. She can tell us if Jason and Paul contacted Lenny directly or came to Chanel right after Lenny was murdered. The timing of when they signed on with Lenny or Chanel might be important.”
“Did you call her aunt again?”
“I did. She’s not picking up. I’m guessing she has caller ID and she’s dodging me.”
Gilley sat silently for a minute, a determined look on his face, then he bent down, fished around in his messenger bag, and pulled up his tablet. He began tapping at it, and for the next ten minutes we drove in silence, until he did a fist pump and said, “Got her!”
“Chanel?”
“Yes!”
“Where is she?”
Gilley swiveled the tablet toward me, but I couldn’t read it because I was driving. “Tell me what it says,” I instructed.
“She’s listing herself under her initials, C.J. Downey, and, Cat! Get a load of this! She’s back here in the Hamptons!”
My jaw fell open. “She is?” How lucky was that?
“Yes! She’s working out of an office in Amagansett, and she’s only got one listing. Coming soon,” he said, putting an emphasis of faux enthusiasm on the word.
“So she’s just gotten back here,” I said. “But Amagansett is a whole different market than what she used to work, correct?”
“It is. It’s a good trip east of where her old office was.”
“Hmm,” I said. “It might be that she doesn’t want to work in the same area because she’s still so shaken by what happened to Lenny.”
“Truthfully, I don’t even know how you come back to work in the same field after something like that.”
“Me either,” I said, then I focused on the objective at hand. “Gilley, call and get us an appointment with Chanel, would you?”
“What’s our story, this time?”
“It’s the same one we gave to Sara Beth. We’re looking to buy a large, expensive home, and want to take a look at her listing. She’ll be more invested if she thinks we’re interested in a home that’ll give her the full commission.”
“Okay,” Gilley said. “But, Cat, can I make a suggestion about our approach with her?”
“Our approach? What’s wrong with our approach?”
Gilley shrugged. “It’s just that . . . the poor girl went through quite a trauma, right? She lost her partner and her business all in one fell swoop. Maybe we could come in a little softer with her. Build some trust, you know.”
I thought about that for a moment and nodded. “You’re absolutely right, but how do we do that exactly?”
“Maybe by showing up as two genuine people, and not as the wealthy heiress and her sniveling assistant, and actually going to her listing and getting to know her a little. You know . . . feel her out before we start throwing questions at her like, ‘Do you know if your partner was murdered by two men who’re laundering money for the mob?’ Call me crazy, but that miiiiiiight freak her out after what she’s been through.”
“Yeah, okay,” I said. “I actually like that suggestion. We’ll do that.”
I squeezed the steering wheel as I drove, excited that we really seemed to be on the trail of the right motive in Lenny’s murder. “I can’t wait to hand over all this information to—” I caught myself before I said Sam’s name.
“To who?” Gilley asked, his face a perfect, innocent mask.
“My source,” I finally said.
“Mmmhmmm,” he replied. “Someday you’re going to have to fill me in on all this”—Gilley paused to hold up air quotes—“source stuff.”
“Someday I hope I can,” I told him honestly.
“Cat?”
“Yes, Gilley?”
“Just be extra, extra careful.”
“Lovey, I swear I’m doing my level best to be as careful as possible.”
I could only hope that it was enough.
* * *
We met Willem on the beach at one o’clock. It was an absolutely stunning day, with clear skies, temps in the upper fifties, and a gentle breeze. “Ahhhh,” Gilley said, getting out of the car and spreading his arms wide. “It actually feels like spr
ing today!” With that he bounded down the beach toward the waves while I laughed at his antics and turned toward the grassy picnic area at the top of a hill.
After climbing all the way up, I sat down at one of the picnic tables, feeling tired all of the sudden, and I noted that I hadn’t gotten a lot of sleep the past few nights. I’d been worried about too many things of late—all of them out of my control, but also all feeling like they were depending on me to set things straight.
As Gilley ran barefoot along the water I waited for any sign of Willem. As I looked around, I was delighted to see a hot air balloon in the distance, taking advantage of the warm temps, no doubt. Still, it had to be very cold in that basket, and I hoped the occupants were dressed warmly.
At last Willem’s car pulled up next to mine, and out he got, looking wary but nicely dressed in casual khaki-colored slacks and a blue blazer. I waved to get his attention and he started coming up the hill toward me.
I smiled with contentment, because I knew there was nothing the curse could do to harm us way out here among all this open air and beautiful scenery.
“Hi, Willem!” I called.
He waved back and continued, rather laboriously, to walk steadily up the hill, and I was suddenly regretting the fact that I’d chosen to sit at the picnic table rather than wait for him on the beach.
Gilley had by now noticed Willem marching toward me, and he abandoned the sea to come up the hill as well.
As I sat waiting, I saw Gilley stop abruptly and look toward me. It was difficult to make out his facial expression, but he’d stopped so suddenly that it read to me like he was alarmed.
“What?” I whispered, as I continued to watch him. But Gilley didn’t move. Instead, he simply looked toward me, his posture stiff and unchanged.
And then Willem also stopped, looking up toward me with a stiffened posture.
“What the devil?” I asked, beginning to look around, but nothing seemed out of place. I turned back toward the two men only to see them beginning to race up the hill toward me.
“Cat!” Gilley shrieked.
I got up from the picnic table. Now I was the one alarmed.
Willem began to wave his arm frantically, his short legs doing their very best to run up the hill.
Gilley overtook him and shrieked at me again. “Cat! Move! Move, move, move!!!”
I darted forward but then stopped. Was I supposed to go toward them? Or turn and run? And what the devil was I running from?
“Move, woman!” Gilley shrieked.
I dashed toward Gilley. It was the safest option, I thought, and just as I took maybe my tenth step, behind me there was a tremendous crash, and a horrific scream.
Chapter 9
I launched myself into Gilley’s arms and we tumbled to the ground. He covered me as the world went dark, and I heard the flutter of fabric, ripping and tearing, all while a giant wave of hot air enveloped us.
I shrieked, not in pain, but in absolute terror, and Gilley squeaked too. At last some of the commotion subsided, and I heard Willem’s voice calling out to us. “Catherine! Gilley! Are you hurt?”
Gilley got to his hands and knees, physically freeing me. “Crawl to freedom!” he said urgently.
I opened my eyes and looked around. The world had gone a strange, pastel shade of pinky blue, and I couldn’t see any sign of the beach or the picnic table.
“What the hell happened?” I said.
Gilley pushed up on a large swath of silk fabric. “The hot air balloon. It crashed.”
“Ohmigod!”
Gilley pointed to my right. “Crawl out that way.”
I moved forward on my hands and knees, the deflated balloon heavier than it looked, and we finally made it out.
I was helped to my feet by Willem, who was sweating profusely and ashen-faced. “Oh, oh, oh!” he exclaimed. “I thought that thing was going to kill you!”
I wiped my hands and brushed off my knees, but my slacks were clearly ruined. “I’m fine, Willem,” I said. But that was a lie. I was hardly fine. I was well and truly shaken.
Gilley got to his feet and surveyed the area. “Where’re the people from the basket?” he asked.
Willem pointed to an area under a nearby tree. “There,” he said.
I turned to look and saw a man, probably in his sixties, wearing a captain’s hat and holding his left arm tightly to his chest, his face a mask of pain.
Next to him was a woman who was perhaps in her fifties, who looked a bit like she’d had her bell rung.
I sucked in a breath at the sight of them. “They’re hurt!”
“Yes,” Willem said, his voice shaky. “I think the pilot’s shoulder is out of the socket. I’ve already called an ambulance, but I have to leave. Will you stay with them?”
“Leave?” Gilley and I said together.
“Where’re you going?” I demanded.
Willem was already backing away. “It’s the curse. I can’t be here when the first responders arrive. Not after last time.” With that, the poor man took off at a run.
“Gilley!” I said, pointing toward Willem. “Do something!”
“I’m not chasing him down,” Gilley said quietly. “Uh uh. No way.”
“Are you kidding?” I nearly screeched. And then I took a few steps in Willem’s direction, but Gilley caught my arm, stopping me.
“Let him go, Cat.”
I rounded on him. “None of this was his fault and you know it!”
“Maybe it wasn’t. But even if the curse had nothing to do with any of this, right now he believes he’s responsible, and until he calms down, what’re you gonna say to change his mind?”
I opened my mouth to protest, but nothing came out. I really had to consider that Gilley was right. At least the part about not being able to change Willem’s mind. I mean, what could I say?
So I let the poor man go, vowing to catch up with him later. Turning toward the two injured balloon passengers, I decided to try and give them any comfort I could until the first responders arrived.
As it turned out, we didn’t have long to wait. The couple was taken away within minutes of the paramedics arriving and, to everyone’s relief, they were able to guide the pilot’s shoulder back into its socket. (It made the most horrific sound.) But otherwise, the pair appeared to have escaped with only a few bumps and bruises.
I overheard the pilot telling the first responders that the strangest gust of wind simply came out of nowhere, took him off course, and then his balloon began to rip. One of the responders suggested he was quite lucky to have escaped with his life.
Gilley and I then gave a statement to the responding patrol officer, and I shuddered when they finally moved the basket off the table where I’d been sitting right before the balloon crashed.
If Gilley hadn’t waved me away from the area, no doubt I could’ve been seriously injured.
Around two, Gilley and I were finally able to get back in the car and leave the scene. We were mostly silent at first, which was more about both of us trying to process what the hell had happened at the beach than anything else.
“I was so certain the beach would’ve been a safe call,” I muttered.
“Me too,” Gilley said. “I still can’t believe that, on a day when the beach is totally empty, not another soul in sight for miles and miles, a hot air balloon drops out of the sky and nearly kills you.”
I glanced meaningfully at Gil. “Hey.”
“What?”
“Thanks for saving my life back there.”
“Don’t mention it,” he said modestly.
“Oh, I’m gonna mention it,” I insisted. “And I’m gonna be grateful.”
Gilley smiled in a way that suggested he was quite pleased with himself. “We heading back to the office?”
“We are.”
“For your meeting with what’s his name?”
“That’s the plan. You’ll need to make yourself scarce, though, Gil.”
“Can’t I just stay and hide?”
Gilley asked.
“Ha! Where? It’s a one-room office.”
“I could hide in the closet.”
We both looked at each other and burst out laughing. “Ahhh,” Gil said. “I’m never hiding in the closet.”
“Seriously. I mean, why start now?”
“Sistah, preach!” Gil said, snapping his fingers in a Z. “But really, why don’t I get to be there?”
“Because my client would prefer to have some privacy.”
Gilley scoffed. “Your client. Yeah, right.”
“Gil,” I said sharply.
“What?”
“I’m going to tell you something that I shouldn’t, okay?”
Gilley was all ears. He leaned toward me and said, “I’m listening.”
“You can’t tell anybody that you suspect Sam isn’t a legitimate client.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means that you need to think of Sam as my legitimate client.”
“Even though we both know that’s not true?”
“Only one of us knows. The other merely suspects.”
“Mmmmhmmm,” Gil said, then he added a tisking sound.
“I’m serious.”
Gilley sighed. “Fine. Your secret is safe with me. Drop me off at the cupcake shop. I’ve had a traumatic day and papa needs some buttercream.”
I dropped Gil at the bakery and headed to my office, getting there with just enough time to hurry into the ladies’ room and take a gander at my reflection.
Holding in the scream took effort.
I looked an absolute fright. I was dirty, disheveled, and my mascara had smeared.
Still, I managed to clean up and appear almost presentable, even though there was no hiding my ruined slacks.
Sam arrived right on time, and he paused in the doorway when he saw me. “Need I ask?” he said, coming forward while I stayed seated in my wing chair.
“Best if you don’t.”
“Alrighty,” he said, taking a seat across from me. “We have a half hour before I can walk out of here today so that it won’t look suspicious. What should we talk about, Catherine?”
“I have a topic,” I said.
Sam made a give it to me motion with his hands.
“I’d like to know if you’re privy to the fact that Boris Basayev ordered the hit on Lenny Shepherd?”
To Coach a Killer Page 14