Killer Listing

by Vicki Doudera

  “This morning, Tag Gunnerson’s assistant, a fellow named Bernie Shultz, called. He said he was sorry to hear of Kyle’s death. He said that her passing hadn’t influenced Tag’s decision to list with Near & Farr Realty. He said that from everything Kyle had said, Tag knew Near & Farr was the right agency.”

  “Darby, he was talking to me as if I knew all about Kyle’s business, and I confess that I played along. He set up a meeting for tomorrow at nine, and asked for my business partner to come along.”

  “I don’t see why you need me, Helen. You’re perfectly capable of landing all kinds of listings without me around. How could I possibly help you?”

  “Tag Gunnerson will be there.”

  “So? You’ll charm the pants off the guy.”

  Helen smiled. “Thanks. Can’t say that I wouldn’t mind doing that.” She paused. “Darby, aside from the fact that two agents always look more powerful than one, there’s another reason your presence would help.”

  “And what’s that?”

  “The buyer for the property—the one Kyle hinted at—may be there as well.”

  “So?”

  Helen looked around the restaurant quickly and lowered her voice. “I was thinking you could represent him if he wants to make an offer.”

  “One small problem: I’m not licensed in Florida.”

  Helen shrugged. “We can work on that.”

  Darby took another bite of her sandwich and chewed thoughtfully. “Why do I feel there’s something else you’re not telling me?”

  The older woman squirmed in her seat. “Okay, okay.” She let out a sigh. “It’s the buyer. He’s from—well, he’s Asian.”

  Darby sat back in her plastic chair. “Tell me you’re kidding.” She folded her napkin and gave Helen a level look. The older woman shook her head.

  “Afraid not.”

  “You’re playing the Japanese card, Helen Near. That’s totally unfair, not to mention discriminatory.”

  “Come on, it’s no different than wearing a designer suit or driving a Lexus to impress your clients. It’s tailoring your presentation to fit the customer, that’s all.”

  “You call choosing an agent to accompany you based on her race the same as picking out a skirt and jacket? It’s profiling, that’s what it is.”

  “Obviously I want you along for more reasons than your ethnicity,” huffed Helen. “It’s just that—”

  “I get it.” Darby toyed with her grouper sandwich as if deep in thought, keeping her companion waiting for several seconds. She wasn’t really annoyed, but it had been entertaining to watch Helen think about the implications of her words. Finally, she blew air out of her mouth as if arriving at a tough decision.

  “I’ll tell you what. I’ll check with my office assistant back in California. If he can handle things without me for a few more days, I’ll change my flight and keep working on my Florida tan.”

  Helen clapped her hands. “We’re going to make a pile of money, Darby Farr. You just wait and see.” She took a swig of beer and smiled. “Fifty acres. Three pools! Oh, I absolutely cannot wait.”

  _____

  Jack Cameron sat on the floor of the storeroom, his back against the door and his head in his hands. Restaurant supplies—canned and paper goods, jars of tartar sauce, rolls of aluminum foil, boxes of bagged potato chips—were stacked on shelves around him, and his knees were up against a large plastic container of mayonnaise. There was scarcely room for anything else in the cramped space, which truthfully was little more than a glorified closet. Overhead the fluorescent light buzzed, a steady drone that seemed to Jack like a drill honing in on his skull.

  Kyle would not leave his thoughts, would not stop laughing at him. He pushed his thumbs into his temples trying to make her disappear, but she was there, her head thrown back, laughing at him so hard tears were running down her face. “I know about Belle Haven,” she was saying, her voice high, singsong-y, like a girl doing jump rope. Jack wanted to scream at her to stop, to leave him alone, but he knew she wasn’t going anywhere.

  She was dead, he knew that, he’d seen her lifeless body, but she was the type of evil spirit that would not disappear. Mabuya. A spectre that never left, that would haunt his soul until he joined her in the underworld.

  Kyle had once been pure and good. They had enjoyed an innocent love, a desire to live a simple life, raise a family, run a business. But she had changed—rotted like a peach left too long in the sun, and it was her career that was to blame.

  Jack heard a movement outside of the storeroom. It was only a matter of time before one of the wait staff tried the door, and then he’d have some explaining to do. He rose slowly and blinked a few times. Acting normal was the key. No more crazy Jack if his plan was to succeed.

  He opened the door to the storeroom. Stepping cautiously into the hallway, he hoped the voice in his head had finally stopped, until he heard a high-pitched giggle that he knew belonged to Kyle.

  _____

  Helen gave the waitress her credit card and waved away Darby’s thanks. “With all you’re doing for me, lunch is the least I can do.” Finishing her beer with a gulp, she suddenly gasped in delight. “Jack! I didn’t know you were here? Get over here and give me a hug!”

  Darby followed Helen’s gaze to the sturdy, tanned man making his way to their table. He had sandy blonde hair and deep blue eyes, and his grin revealed a set of perfectly straight white teeth.

  He hugged Helen tightly. “It’s good to see you,” he said.

  “You sweet boy. You haven’t been properly introduced to Darby.”

  Jack turned his blue eyes on Darby and she saw a flash of fear flit across his face, but it was quickly replaced by his boyish grin.

  “It’s the winner of the Jack Cameron treasure hunt,” he said. “I understand I have you to thank for finding me yesterday.”

  Darby nodded. “I hope you’re feeling better.”

  “Much. Thanks to Dr. Menendez and the miracle of pharmaceuticals, I’m back to my old self.” His eyes grazed over Darby and once more she felt an undercurrent of powerful emotion beneath his benign charm.

  “What brings you to Sarasota?” he asked.

  “A visit with Helen.”

  “Remember my partner, Jane Farr?” Helen pointed in Darby’s direction. “Darby is her niece.”

  Jack nodded. His eyes strayed over the tables, still full of diners enjoying the noonday heat. “Did you hear about the fire at Belle Haven?”

  “I did,” Helen sighed. “Jack, I’m sorry.”

  He shook his head and Darby thought he might cry. Instead he shrugged his shoulders. “Probably for the best. With Kyle gone …” He looked over the water and swallowed. “With Kyle gone I have to rethink everything.” He clenched his hands. It seemed to take a tremendous effort for Jack Cameron to converse. “Please excuse me, ladies, I’m needed in the kitchen.”

  Darby and Helen watched him weave through the tables. Moments later he had disappeared inside the restaurant.

  “That is one hurting man,” Helen whispered. “I can’t bear to see him like that.”

  Darby nodded. She knew the pain of losing loved ones in a sudden and random way, and recognized Jack Cameron’s agony. She looked into her friend’s concerned face. “He needs professional help.”

  Helen gave a sad nod. “I know.”

  “Aren’t Mitzi and Alexandra concerned?”

  “They are doing what they can. But John … he blocks every effort to help that boy.”

  “Why?”

  “Darby, I have asked myself that for years.” She picked up her purse. “Tell you what. Let’s stop at the office, then head to Casa Cameron and pay that family another visit. It’s high time you met John Cameron.”

  Darby grabbed her pocketbook and prepared to follow Helen. As she walked around the tables and past the bar, an angular man in a black baseball cap swiveled slightly in his seat and snapped her photograph, but Darby, deep in thought, did not see.

  _____

/>   From his vantage point on a stool at the Dive’s bar, Clyde Hensley put down his camera and watched the two women as they wove between the tables and out of the restaurant. He turned back toward the bar and motioned to the bartender for his tab. Plunking down a twenty-dollar bill, he forced a casual tone to his voice. “I know that woman who was here with the Asian girl,” he lied. “But I can’t for the life of me remember her name.”

  “Helen?” the bartender offered. He wiped the counter with a dingy rag. “That’s Helen Near. She’s a regular here. Old family friends with Jack.” He took the money and lowered his voice. “I didn’t know the other one. Quite the looker, huh?”

  Clyde licked his lips and nodded. She was attractive, if you were into that kind of foreign scene, and plenty of guys sure were. He himself liked the more traditional all-American girl, with blonde hair and blue eyes, a little on the plump side. He was pushing sixty-five years old and wanted no part of that exotic stuff. And yet, he knew from experience that unusual looks paid top dollar.

  The bartender lifted the twenty. “Let me get you change,” he said.

  I should hope so, thought Clyde. He’d only had two beers, and the guy hadn’t quite told him what he wanted.

  Like the name of the dark-haired Asian girl. Not that it was important in the scheme of things. He let his thoughts drift to Kyle Cameron, another good-looking piece of ass, and shook his head. Dead, just like his best plan to date. Shit.

  Clyde waited for his change and pictured Darby Farr once more, this time without her clothes. He groaned and nearly laughed aloud. Yesirree, she could very well be the ticket.

  _____

  Half an hour later Clyde Hensley was at a marina by one of the large bridges spanning the Intracoastal Waterway. He spotted his customers right away, with their sunburned noses and annoyed looks. He hustled up to them and attempted a smile.

  “Thought you might be here,” Clyde said, sizing up whether they’d be trouble or not. “I was waiting for you at the pier like we discussed, but people always get confused and show up here instead.”

  The girl’s annoyance turned to confusion. She squinted up at him, her blonde hair framing a face that was round and dimpled. “We’re in the wrong place? I thought you said to come to the Causeway, take the first right …”

  “Hey, hey,” he soothed. “It’s not a problem. You ladies aren’t known for getting directions one hundred percent correct now, are you?” He winked at the loser standing next to her, probably just a boyfriend by their ring-less fingers, and the guy gave a complicit chuckle.

  “Shit, Lisa, he’s got your number right. You couldn’t find your way out of a paper bag if you had to.”

  Lisa scowled but decided to let the matter go. “Who cares? He’s here now and we can have the ride of our life.” She reached for her boyfriend’s arm and gave it a squeeze. “I can’t wait.”

  Clyde Hensley gave his sunniest smile. “Let’s get the paperwork out of the way and get you up there.” He handed them a standard release form and a pen. They scrawled down their names without reading the papers and handed them back.

  He checked over their signatures.

  “Okay, so you’re Lisa and Dylan, right?”

  They nodded.

  “I’ll just need your payment and we’ll get you on the boat and up into the great blue yonder.” He moistened his lips with his tongue. “That’ll be one hundred and forty dollars.”

  “You said one hundred on the phone,” Lisa said, her voice wary.

  “That’s right. It’s an even hundred if you want to go up nine hundred feet. I thought you wanted to go up to twelve.”

  Lisa crinkled up her nose at Dylan. “What do you say, babe? Want to go even higher?”

  “Sure.” He pulled out his wallet and counted seven twenties. He handed them to Clyde as if he expected some sort of reward.

  Clyde nodded and stuffed them into the pocket of his shorts. “Great. Higher the better, is what I always say.” He hustled them down to the dock and into the speedboat. Moments later, they were rumbling away from the shore and heading under the bridge.

  “Hey sport,” Clyde called over the hum of the engine. “Want to steer while I get them harnesses set up?”

  Dylan lurched to the front of the boat and took the wheel. Clyde made sure the harnesses were connected to the cable and motioned for Lisa to come to the stern where a dive platform was set up.

  “Here you go, sweetheart,” he said. “Fasten on a life jacket and then climb into a harness.” He waited to see if she needed assistance, noticing that her thighs were rapidly becoming a rosy pink. She did as he asked and waited expectantly. “Now let’s get that boyfriend of yours saddled up.”

  Clyde took the wheel back from Dylan. “Go on back there and get a life jacket on, then step into the harness like Lisa.” Dylan nodded. He licked his lips nervously and Clyde had to suppress a smile.

  Once the two were secured, Clyde let the boat idle while he connected the giant orange parachute. “Now once I start the boat again, she’s gonna take off and it won’t be long and you’ll be lifting up too,” he said. “You just relax while you’re up there and enjoy the ride. Okay?”

  Dylan lifted a hand as if he were back in elementary school. “How’re we going to get down?”

  Clyde gave a patient nod. “Same way you’re getting up. I’ll lower you back down and you’ll come right back on the platform. Done it a million times.”

  “Shouldn’t you have another person here? To watch us? You know, a spotter?”

  Clyde snorted. Why were the men always the scaredy cats? Lisa was itching to get up and see the view, while Dylan was thinking of every reason in the book why they should abort.

  “I’ve done it both ways, Dylan, with spotters and without.” He nodded as if he were giving the matter some thought. “I find that if it’s just me, I can really concentrate on my customers, give them the kind of personal service they really deserve. If I’ve got another guy, we’re liable to start chatting about the Marlins game, what kind of beer we like, you know, guy stuff. Alone I am much more focused on you, my valued customers.” He paused and gave what he hoped was a convincing smile. “Trust me, you are going to enjoy yourself.”

  He slammed the boat into gear and it leapt forward. “Ready?” he yelled over the roar of the motor. He sped into the center of the channel, enjoying the wind on his short silver hair. It was a beautiful day, the sky a clear blue to match the sparkling water.

  Clyde Hensley heard the winches releasing more cable. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw his customers, sunburned legs dangling, rising slowly into the sky.

  Back at Near & Farr Realty, her grouper sandwich now a pleasant memory, Darby used her cell to call Enrique Tomaso Gomez, or “ET” as she called him. Her assistant answered the phone with a smooth, “Pacific Coast Realty, Darby Farr’s office,” and gave a loud exclamation when he heard his boss’ voice.

  “Darby! How lovely to hear from you. How are things in the Sunshine State?”

  Darby explained what had happened to Kyle Cameron and ET made a tsk-tsking sound.

  “How often have I told you, those open houses are dangerous. That poor woman. Do the police have any leads?”

  “I don’t know. I ran into one of the detectives this morning and it didn’t sound like they had anything just yet.” She paused. “ET, Helen has asked me to stay a few more days and help her land—and hopefully sell—an amazing listing.”

  “How intriguing. Tell me more.”

  Darby described what little she knew of Tag Gunnerson’s fifty acre island property and explained that a buyer was already interested. “The buyer is Asian, so Helen thinks I’m the perfect person to work with him.” She paused. “I read her the riot act on that one, but the truth is, if it all works, we’ll make some good money. Helen hasn’t valued the estate yet, but from what I know of waterfront property, it’s worth at least thirty million dollars, possibly more.”

  ET was silent for a few minutes. Darby was a
bout to ask if he was still on the line when he cleared his throat and spoke.

  “I know you are anxious to come home,” he said. “But this opportunity brings up an issue I’ve been struggling with for some time now.” Darby heard him swallow. Obviously this was not an easy conversation for her friend.

  “A family member is in trouble, and I need money. I know it’s a lot to ask, but perhaps if this sale goes through, we might talk about a loan.”

  “There’s nothing to discuss, ET. You know I’m willing to help you out, whether this sale happens or not. How much do you need?”

  There was a sigh. “It’s quite a large sum. Half a million dollars.”

  Darby did some quick math in her head. If indeed the St. Andrew’s Isle deal did take place, Darby would make more than enough money to lend her friend the amount required.

  “Listen,” she told ET. “You and I can do this if we keep all the bases covered. What’s going on there? Is there anything I need to know?”

  He exhaled. “The O’Hara estate. I’m close to getting an offer, and I hope I will have good news soon. Everything else is moving along.”

  “That’s great. Here’s what I’m thinking. See if you can find out how I can get a license to work with a buyer here in Florida. I’ll do my best to land this deal and get you what you need. Even if the sale doesn’t work out, you can count on me.”

  He thanked her, and she could hear emotion in the usually calm man’s voice. What was going on? Why such a huge sum of money? Darby wasn’t going to pry. She trusted ET implicitly. Whatever he needed, she would get him—no questions asked.

  _____

  Clyde Hensley cracked open a beer and took a long swig. The sun was merciless and the humidity still high, but the cold pungent taste of the beer never failed to help. This isn’t such a bad way to spend the time, he thought, in between higher paying jobs. Gets me out of the house and away from my computer. He gave a half-hearted glance at Lisa and Dylan, still soaring hundreds of feet in the air. Time to bring them down, he thought. As soon as I finish this beer.