I grinned at her to show her that I truly was comfortable with any version of my name that she wanted to use. “Well, I want a view, of course. And an infinity pool and a large deck. I don’t need a large lot; all that maintenance is a chore to manage, but I’d appreciate a place to dine al fresco.
“The architecture should be something midcentury modern, with lots of light, and large open spaces to display my art. I don’t like multiple stories . . . oh, but a wine cellar would be nice. I also don’t like too many bedrooms, no more than three, but of course an enormous master suite is a must, with a sauna and workout room. I’d prefer something on a bluff if you can find it. I want to see the ocean from every window and I’d like to feel as if I’m at the helm of a ship.”
I was trying to describe something that would be very difficult to find in the Hamptons. Most of the homes here were the typical and traditional large beachfront houses, with big lots and a more colonial style. And almost nothing was ever available in the higher latitudes, because most of East Hampton was at sea level.
My effort wasn’t based on having Chanel run around in circles, so much as it was an effort to have her take us around East Hampton in search of something close enough, which would take time and allow us to tease out any information she might have on the connection between the Suttons and Lenny.
And, as I’d already abandoned the direct approach, I felt like this was the best way to accomplish that. After all, Chanel was obviously still so traumatized by her partner’s murder that she was struggling professionally. I mean, they don’t put agents who’re crushing it in a tiny back office of the firm. And something of the way Freesia had looked at Chanel—there was an almost unspoken, “Don’t blow this” look in her eyes that told me that the pretty redhead was on thin ice at Bennett and Bennett.
I hated that I wasn’t actually going to use Chanel, and I vowed to do two things after we got the information we needed from her. I’d write to the head of this agency and let them know how pleased I’d been to work with her, and I’d recommend her to anyone I could.
I was having all of these thoughts when I finally noticed that Chanel had stopped typing and was looking at me with her mouth agape. “I think I have the absolute perfect home for you to look at, Catherine.”
“You do?” Gilley and I both said. He’d obviously taken note of the hard to find home that I’d described.
“Yes,” she said, somewhat shocked. “I . . . I just got this listing yesterday, and I haven’t had a chance to even post it to MLS yet, but it’s exactly what you’re describing.... Oh, but it’s an East Hampton zip code. It’s right on the boarder of Amagansett, though, if you had your heart set on living here.”
I looked at Gilley and he looked at me. We were both stunned. Turning back to Chanel, who was expecting us to be thrilled, I said, “I’m not at all concerned with the zip code, and it sounds very intriguing. When can we see it?”
“Well, I’ll just need to text the owner and make sure we can get in. . . .”
Chanel reached into a drawer and lifted out her phone. She tapped at the screen and her brow furrowed and a look of distress came over her.
“Is something wrong?” Gilley asked softly.
Chanel shook her head, but her fingers began to tremble. Something on her phone was upsetting her. She tapped at the screen and the worry in her face intensified. Finally, she said, “My grandaunt’s dogs got out of her yard. I’m so sorry, but would it be all right if I respond to this text?”
“Of course,” I said, and I turned to Gilley with a knowing look. I still hadn’t quite forgiven Chanel’s grandaunt for dodging me, but perhaps I could understand now given how nervous and anxious Chanel was. Her elderly relative was obviously only trying to protect her.
We waited for Chanel to send her text, then she focused back on us. “There. Where were we?”
Oh, dear, I thought. The poor girl really was a bit of a mess. “You were going to text the owner,” Gilley said gently.
Chanel’s face turned crimson. “Oh! Yes. Let me just do that.”
We waited patiently while Chanel’s fingers tapped at the screen, but I noticed that she kept hitting the backspace button, likely because her fingers were still trembling a bit. At last she put the phone down and said, “The property is just down from the marina, but it’s on the north side, so there’s not much traffic or noise that makes its way up the bluff.”
“Perfect,” I said, working to appear ever so interested.
Chanel’s phone buzzed slightly and she picked it up. “We can get in after four-thirty, so would five o’clock work for you?”
“Five works just fine,” I said.
Chanel seemed relieved. “Great. Let’s meet here at quarter to.”
“It’s a date,” Gilley said, getting up to shake her hand. I followed suit and I was surprised at how cold her fingers were.
We then left her, smiling broadly at Freesia on the way out.
* * *
When we got to the car, Gilley said, “Wow. She spooks easily.”
“Can you blame her?”
“I suppose not. Still, how’re we going to get a word out of her, Cat? The girl nearly curled up into a fetal position when she got a text from her grandaunt.”
And then I had an idea, and I couldn’t believe it’d taken me this long to think of it. “We’ll invite her to dinner.”
“We’ll what now?”
“We’ll go, we’ll see this property—and I am a little curious to see this property. . . .”
“Me too, right?”
“Right. And since we’re going to this showing at dinnertime, we can segue into inviting her out to dine with us.”
“I love it! But what if she turns us down?”
“We’ll throw on the charm,” I said. “And we’ll rave about the house. She won’t want to blow the sale. Trust me, she’ll come out to eat with us.”
“You’re right about her not wanting to blow the sale. The poor love. It’s probably her only listing.”
“Even if it is, she still stands to make a pretty penny off a sale in the Hamptons.”
“That I’ll remind you she’s not going to be making from us.”
I shrugged. “I’ll throw her some business.”
“From who?”
I sighed. “I have contacts. I’m sure one of my friends might be interested in a vacation home out this way.”
“Good,” Gilley said. “I’m glad you’re doing that. I was getting ready to feel good and guilty.”
“Me too. Glad we’ll be avoiding it.”
Gilley sighed. “Wouldn’t it be great if we got Chanel to connect the Suttons to Lenny’s murder? She could be the key to all of this.”
“She could. And I bet it’s an angle that Shepherd hasn’t looked at yet.”
“How do you know he hasn’t looked at it yet?”
“Well, because, the last time he and I went out to eat, he revealed a lot of what he’d already investigated to me about Lenny’s murder. He never once mentioned the Suttons, and if they’re as big a lead as I think they are, I think he would’ve told me.”
Gilley grinned. “We make awesome detectives, you know?”
“We do,” I said smugly. “Here we’ve been on the case only a few days and look at all the progress we’ve made.”
“We deserve a medal.”
“Or a piece of cheesecake.”
Gilley swiveled in his seat. “I definitely think we deserve cheesecake.”
I nodded. “Then it’s settled. Instead of going back to the office, we’ll head over to Carmen’s for a treat!”
I moved over one lane and got into the left-hand turn lane to make a U-turn. It wouldn’t be the only time that day I’d catch myself heading in the wrong direction.
Chapter 12
We arrived back at Bennett and Bennett at four forty-five sharp. Chanel met us in the lobby and I was glad to see there was no sign of Freesia. Chanel carried her laptop and a tablet, and her Louis Vuitton purs
e was set in the crook of her arm.
My keen eye went to the purse—what can I say? I’m a purse connoisseur—and I noticed it was scuffed and slightly worn at the handle and the corners, but otherwise well maintained.
I had a feeling that Chanel had either purchased the bag secondhand or she’d had it for quite some time. Her shoes were also high-end, but not from anyone’s recent spring line. They’d seen a few seasons, I thought.
Still, she maintained the aura of fitting into the Hamptons’ success scene fairly well. It took money to live here—a lot of money—and those without did the best they could not to call attention to their disposable income, or lack thereof.
And I wasn’t being judgy of sweet Chanel, only curious about the fact that I had a sneaking suspicion that she was struggling financially, and doing her level best to hide it.
“Would you like to follow me or ride in my car?” she asked us, and she then waved toward the parking lot where a silver Mercedes was parked. Again I couldn’t help but notice that the Mercedes was at least ten years old.
“We can ride with you,” I said. “That way we can get to know a little more about each other.”
Chanel shoved a smile onto her lips, but I could see that she was uncomfortable. “Terrific,” she said. “This way . . .”
We followed her to her car, and Gilley got into the backseat while I got in the front and buckled up. As soon as we were under way, Gilley leaned in over the space between us and said, “So! Tell us about yourself, Chanel.”
Chanel’s grip on the steering wheel tightened. “There’s not much to tell really,” she said easily. I had a feeling she’d used that line quite often for how readily it rolled off her tongue.
But Gilley wasn’t about to let her wiggle out of his subtle interrogation. “There’s always stuff to tell. Have you worked at Bennett and Bennett long?”
“Oh, no. Not long,” she said. “But I’ve had my license for six years.”
“Where’d you work before Bennett and Bennett?” I asked.
“Um, I worked for another agency that has since been dissolved.”
“That had to be hard,” Gilley said. “It’s tough to imagine an agency going belly up in this market, though. I mean, everyone I know is looking for a house in the Hamptons.”
Chanel eyed Gilley in her rearview mirror, and for the first time I saw the nervous façade relax and a bit of humor crept into her smile. “Really? Can you send them all my way?”
Gilley chuckled. “Aren’t you adorable! Of course I will, sugar. But tell us about this other agency. How long were you there?”
Chanel shifted in her seat, and the humor left her expression. “I was there two years, until it dissolved and I left to take care of my grandmother in Connecticut for a while. I’ve only recently come back to the Hamptons.”
“Awww. Aren’t you precious! Taking care of your granny is such a good sacrifice. Was it her dogs that got out of the yard?” Gilley asked.
“No, those belong to my grandaunt. She was my grandmother’s sister.”
“Was?” Gilley said.
Chanel swallowed hard. “Yes. My grandmother passed away just a few months ago.”
“Oh,” I said, turning to Chanel. “I’m so sorry, dear.”
“Thank you,” Chanel said, pushing a smile to her lips, but I could see that her eyes misted a bit, the poor thing.
“What made you come back to the Hamptons?” Gilley said next. “The real estate market in Connecticut must be fairly lucrative too, no?”
Chanel licked her lips. “I’m not licensed in Connecticut, and I would’ve had to go back to real estate school to get licensed there. It seemed more reasonable to come back here where I am licensed and know the market better.”
Ahhhhh, I thought. Now I understood the source of Chanel’s financial struggle. She probably hadn’t worked since she’d moved to Connecticut and had come back here when her savings ran out. Plus, I also knew that real estate school was expensive—I’d looked into it before settling on my new career as a life coach—so Chanel had probably made the difficult choice to leave her grandaunt’s house in favor of simply renewing her New York real estate license, which would’ve been much less expensive.
We chatted a little more about Chanel’s life in the Hamptons, but she really wasn’t very forthcoming. And I’m almost ashamed to admit that I was hoping that, after she showed us this listing and we took her out to dinner, we could get a drink or two into her so that she’d relax her guard a little.
Neither Gilley nor I dared to approach the topic of Lenny or the Suttons given Chanel’s current demeanor.
We arrived at the home she wanted to show us, and I had to say, I was impressed.
The road leading up to the house was private; it even had a gate that required a code at the base of a steep hill. We wound up the hill, but there were no other homes or driveways visible, which somewhat surprised me—it took a lot of money to have a private road put in in this part of town.
When we crested the hill we zigzagged through a snakelike drive to the front door of an Asian-inspired midcentury modern home with lots of teak, dark trim, and floor-to-ceiling windows. The place was gorgeous, like something right out of an architectural magazine, and I was somewhat glad I hadn’t seen it prior to building Chez Cat, because I might’ve been sorely tempted to snatch this home up in a hot second, even though it no doubt would’ve eaten up a substantial portion of my liquid assets.
We exited Chanel’s car and Gilley and I stood in front of the house, admiring it while Chanel walked to the front door and punched in a code on the door handle to get it to unlock—which was a handy way to avoid putting an ugly lockbox on the gorgeous front door.
Once she’d unlocked it, Chanel held the door for us as we moved forward and past her into a large, open section that served as a sort of seating area and living space. It was sparsely decorated, with only two suede chairs, dyed a sea green.
The walls were bright white, and the floor was a bleached pine. Lining the walls were a series of impressive contemporary art pieces that were a bit harsh for my taste, but the owner clearly enjoyed dropping a pretty penny on art.
The one piece I liked—especially even—was a bright orange sculpture that was at least five feet tall and set in the middle of the room under a skylight. I walked around the piece admiring its soft, flowing curves while Gilley took in the paintings and Chanel stood near the door allowing Gilley and me to walk in a circle around the room, admiring the art, the flow of the space, and the lighting.
I was a little sad that the day had turned overcast and light was quickly escaping the landscape, so we wouldn’t be able to see the house in full daylight as I assumed it was truly meant to be taken in.
When we’d had our fill I nodded to Chanel, who walked us to the hallway leading to the back of the house, but we stopped short of making it all the way there when we ducked into the kitchen, which was sleek and modern and not at all my taste.
I wrinkled my nose at it even, and Chanel said, “It wouldn’t take much to turn it into something more to your liking, Catherine.”
“True,” I said with a sigh, then remembered that I was supposed to pretend to love this home, so I brightened and gave her an extra, “True.”
We then moved back into the corridor and walked behind Chanel as she led us to the rear of the house, which mirrored the front in that it was an enormous room with floor-to-ceiling windows, and the view was absolutely spectacular. Even in the gloom of the day and the late afternoon we could still clearly make out the ocean, which was rolling and undulating angrily, as if an impending storm was driving big waves toward shore.
Chanel stopped a few feet into the room, and Gilley and I stepped around her to walk toward the windows, both of us drawn to the motion of the sea.
And I really had to give it up to Chanel, because when I’d described wanting a house that made me feel like I was on the helm of a ship, I never actually imagined that a house like that would exist—until
now.
Gil and I stood at the windows and I could feel myself swaying slightly, as if the ship itself were rocking and rolling with each undulation. “Wow,” Gil said, then turned away from the windows. “I’m a little seasick!”
I laughed lightly. I don’t get motion sickness. “I think it’s marvelous.” And I meant it. The house had no backyard. Instead, the half we were standing in jutted out over the bluff’s edge, and as the seas pounded the rocks below, you could literally feel the reverberation through your toes. But rather than feeling scary, I found it quite exhilarating. And it was amazing to see the ocean, angry and feral today, build large waves, swelling up like faceless sea monsters, growing nearly to eye level before they raced toward us like a giant train, ready to pummel us into oblivion, only to suddenly and nearly unexpectedly deflate under us and crash into the rocks below. It was mesmerizing. “This is so incredible, Gilley. You’re missing it!”
In response, Gilley’s hand reached out and leached onto my arm. I laughed again and tore my eyes away to look at him and try to talk him down from his motion sickness, but when my gaze landed on him, I was shocked to see that he’d doubled over, was seeming to hyperventilate, and had turned quite pale. “Oh, dear, Gilley. Is it really that bad?”
Gil shook his head, then waved his free hand out in front of himself, gesturing oddly.
“Gilley?” I said, moving closer to him. “Honey, are you all right?” But Gilley kept sort of waving his arm and shaking his head. I bent down. “Gil?” I said, peering closely at him. “Are you in crisis? What’s happening?”
“Duh . . . duh . . . duh . . .” he said, staring listlessly out in front of himself.
“What? What?” I bent low and cupped his face to turn it toward me. “Do you need help? Should I call nine-one-one?”
Gilley nodded and I let go to search through my purse for my phone. “Chanel!” I called. “Chanel! I can’t find my phone! Something’s wrong with Gilley!”
Behind me I heard the unmistakable sound of an outgoing call, and then the line was picked up. “Nine-one-one dispatch, what’s your emergency?”
To Coach a Killer Page 19