Killer Listing

by Vicki Doudera

  “Sure. Wonder why he’s not choosing someone in his own company?”

  “He said he’d explain it in the morning. Asked if you can meet him down in Verona at the property she wants to purchase.”

  “Verona? What’s he doing down there? That’s got to be an hour south.”

  Helen nodded. “I know. Another part of his little mystery, I guess.” Her face brightened. “Hey, it may be Sunday night but the Dive is open. I feel like getting out of this house and celebrating.”

  “What’s the occasion?”

  “Mitzi called. Jack is free and clear of all arson charges. Thanks to Carlotta’s information, that skunk John Cameron will finally get what’s coming to him, and I know I couldn’t be happier.” She clapped her hands and rose slowly to her feet. “Come on, Darby. Let’s go get ourselves some grouper.”

  _____

  Kelly McGee smiled upon hearing Jonas Briggs’ appreciative whistle. Only minutes before she’d called him at his home to explain that she’d figured out why Clyde Hensley was stalking Kyle.

  “Her middle initial, ‘B,’ stands for Bergeron. That’s the name on her birth certificate. Apparently she changed it to Slivicki when she turned eighteen. Hensley did time in Texas with Donald Bergeron—Kyle’s father—and later tried to pose as him.”

  “Go on.”

  “Kyle went downtown to meet someone claiming to be her dad. I think Clyde Hensley showed up wearing a Miami Dolphins cap, and Kyle figured right away he was lying.”

  Briggs caught his breath. “I’ll get the guys in Texas to look into Donald Bergeron’s death. Maybe Clyde Hensley was involved.” He paused. “Keep it up, McGee. You’ve got excellent instincts.”

  Kelly hung up the phone. She scratched Buster between his ears until he purred in delight. She wanted to solve the riddle of Kyle and Candy’s deaths so badly she could taste it. The piece that kept nagging her concerned Candy’s murder. Who, she asked herself again and again, had known about the escort’s plans to speak to the police?

  “I knew,” she said aloud. “Detectives Briggs and DiNunzio knew as well. Had Candy told any of her clients? Jack Cameron? Foster McFarlin? Or anyone else?”

  Kelly shut her eyes and tried to remember the Friday appointments she’d seen in Candy Sutton’s calendar. Most had been mundane errands: a trip to the dry cleaner’s, a visit to the groomer with Fang, and a short appointment with a nutritionist. That night, she’d escorted a professional golfer to a charity event in Orlando, and had returned to her apartment around midnight. Five and a half hours later, she was dead.

  Kelly made a list of Candy’s appointments on a new legal pad. In the morning she’d fill in names and addresses. If Detective Briggs could spare her, she’d go out and question everyone on the list.

  _____

  Darby and Helen arrived at the Dive at sunset. A smiling young hostess clutching menus met them at the entrance and gushed, “You’re just in time. The place is filling up fast.”

  They followed her to a table in the center of the deck. Darby looked around the funky restaurant. Tables were nearly full and a feeling of lightheartedness filled the air, a feeling as fresh as the surprisingly cool breeze wafting in from the Gulf of Mexico.

  Jack Cameron was talking to an exuberant family seated in the corner of the deck. He looked up and waved as Darby and Helen sat down. Moments later, he was at their table hugging Helen.

  “You think Mom is going to be okay?”

  Helen nodded. “Just fine.”

  He gave a boyish grin, then looked around the busy eatery. “Not bad for a Sunday night, huh?” He waved a hand in the direction of a group of new arrivals. “I guess I never realized I have so many great customers.” He ran an hand through his sun-streaked hair. “I wish Kyle was here to see this.”

  Helen touched his arm. “I know. I miss her, too.”

  Darby hoped she wouldn’t upset Jack by asking him a question. “Do you remember a cocktail ring that belonged to Kyle’s grandmother?”

  He nodded. “Sure. Big diamond surrounded by emeralds—no, sapphires. Kind of unusual looking. Why do you ask?”

  “I was talking with a gentleman from the Sunshine Senior Home in Sarasota. He and Kyle were writing about Anna Slivicki’s flight from Poland, and the ring figures prominently in the story.”

  Jack shrugged. “I haven’t started to go through her things, but I’m sure it’s with the rest of her jewelry.” He clasped his hands. “I’ve got to mingle. Thanks for everything, both of you.”

  Darby and Helen watched him depart. “I think he’s going to be alright,” said Helen.

  Even Marco, who gave a small nod as he approached their table, seemed calm and more peaceful than Darby remembered. “Candy’s service is tomorrow,” he said softly. “She would be happy to know that her friend Jack is a free man.” He wiped their table with his ever-present rag and looked inquisitively at Darby and Helen. “Mojito?” he asked.

  Helen looked around the Dive and grinned. “Oh, to heck with it,” she said. “Two Mojitoes, Marco. Heavy on the mint.”

  Darby awoke early, hoping to get in a quick run in before driving to Verona. She trotted through the now familiar streets of Serenidad, thinking about her grandfather and the horrible activities of Unit 731. What had her mother discovered about his involvement? Had she abandoned her quest upon meeting John Farr?

  Darby pounded the pavement, avoiding the Monday morning traffic, and tried to make sense of the puzzle. Her mother had sailed on the Nihon Maru more than thirty years ago. So much time had passed since then. Was there anyone who would be alive to shed light on what had transpired?

  The chairman—the man with whom her grandfather had posed in the photograph—would surely be dead by now. But perhaps there were others who might remember Jada Sugiyama, the lovely young woman from the tourism bureau?

  Hideki Kobayashi might have some ideas, Darby thought. She was about to round the corner of a particularly busy street when she heard a familiar yell.

  “Darby!” It was Jonas Briggs, sticky bun in hand, waving from across the street. He dodged and wove his way through the early morning traffic. “Got a minute?”

  She nodded. “Sure. Let’s walk up here to a bench.”

  He offered her a piece of the raisin-studded pastry, but she declined. “Are you going to Candy Sutton’s service today?”

  He nodded somberly. “Not only to pay my respects, but sometimes we pick up interesting bits of evidence at these things. Did you know that killers often show up at funerals? Whether it gives them some sort of thrill, or they are genuinely curious as to who mourns their victim, I don’t know. But I’ll be in Bradenton at one o’clock, you can count on that.”

  She nodded. “Good news about Jack Cameron. Would you have figured it out without Carlotta’s information?”

  “I don’t know. The combination of Jack’s memory loss and John Cameron’s clever covering of his trail made it nearly impossible to see the truth. Carlotta is a brave woman to come forward and expose not only her employer, but a family member as well.”

  Darby hadn’t thought of it that way, but she agreed with the detective. She pointed at his sticky bun. “Go ahead and eat some of that,” she urged. “Aren’t they better when they are hot?”

  He shrugged. “Yeah, I guess. I like them any temperature.” He took a bite and chewed. “We figured out why Hensley was stalking Kyle.”

  “I’m all ears.”

  Jonas Briggs told her about Kelly McGee’s discovery that Kyle’s real name was Bergeron. “That’s probably why he took all those photos of her.”

  “But she didn’t buy it,” Darby mused. “What gave it away?”

  “I’m thinking it was his team allegiance. The one thing Kyle knew about her father was that he was a Giants fan.”

  Darby smiled. “Tell Kelly I said good work.”

  “How’s Helen doing?”

  “Just fine. We went to the Dive last night for dinner and she enjoyed seeing Jack Cameron in his element.�
�� She paused. “Did you double check Chellie Howe’s alibi?”

  Jonas Briggs nodded thoughtfully. “Yes, you were right. She spent the morning in Miami. It all checks out.”

  _____

  Darby ran back to Helen’s, thinking that yet another suspect had been taken off the list.

  She showered, ate a quick breakfast, and said goodbye to Helen. “Drive safely,” Helen called. “I’ll look for you just before lunch time.”

  Darby gathered up a map and began the drive to Verona, a beach town about sixty-five miles from Serenidad Key. The Mustang was a quiet oasis, and Darby played classical music and tried to free her mind of the same nagging questions: Who killed Kyle Cameron? Who killed Candy Sutton? Was my grandfather responsible for atrocities during World War II?

  She navigated her way through the streets of the beach town, easily finding the place where she was supposed to meet Peter Janssen and the buyer. She turned down the road, noticing instantly that although the pavement was in fine shape, the shoulders were weedy and overgrown.

  Darby drove slowly down the street. Modest houses, most of them Colonials, with neat little yards and a few young palm trees. Several looked unoccupied, with curtains across the windows and no sign of any occupants. Darby pulled into the neighborhood’s most forlorn property and waited.

  It was a foreclosure situation, of that she was certain. Florida had certainly been hit hard in the sinking real estate market and there were many such bank-owned properties all over the state. Darby sighed. She hated situations like this. Not only were they depressing, but they were quite frequently disastrous for a house. Unloved and unlived in, houses tended to have increasingly serious problems—rodent damage, burst water pipes, break-ins, mold—the list went on and on. She shook her head. Foreclosures were a part of the market she had long ignored, and with good reason. They depressed her.

  The sound of tires on gravel made her look in her rear view mirror. An attractive blonde in her mid-thirties emerged from a red convertible, huge black sunglasses covering most of her face. Behind her was Peter Janssen, driving a gray Buick sedan.

  “Hello, Darby,” he boomed, emerging from the car with his hand outstretched. “Thanks for coming down. This is Stephanie Woodrow from Ocean City, New Jersey. She’s here to buy a house.”

  Darby smiled at the woman. “How nice to meet you. I’m Darby Farr, from Near & Farr Realty.” She handed her a packet of information.

  Stephanie Woodrow took it and gave a brief nod. “Certainly appreciate your coming this morning. Peter has told me all about you.” She turned toward the house, her sunglasses so large she looked like some sort of insect. “Shall we take a look?”

  “Absolutely!” Peter unlocked the front door. “After you, ladies.”

  They entered the house and let their eyes adjust to the dim, dusty light. Dingy sheets had been stapled over the windows. They hung like drab banners from the moldings to the floor.

  “Let me open some of these,” said Peter, lifting the sheets and attempting to tie them back. He bunched one up and tucked it under itself, and the blast of sunlight that poured in had a cheering effect. “There,” he said. “That’s a lot better.”

  Stephanie Woodrow pursed her lips and moved through the house. “On the bus, you said this house was in excellent shape,” she commented, kicking her toe at a piece of the carpet that had been ripped up and rolled to the side.

  “That’s right.” Peter spread out his hands to take in the whole room and nodded. “When you look at as many foreclosures as I have, you know when you’ve got one that’s nice.”

  The buyer nodded and moved into the kitchen. “Ugh,” she said. “This is unbelievable.”

  Peter Janssen raised his eyebrows. “What is it?” he asked, moving toward the kitchen.

  Darby followed, bracing herself for the worst: rotten food, broken cabinets, a dead rat or two. Instead Stephanie pointed at a refrigerator, its doors and freezer compartment propped open. “No icemaker!” she exclaimed. “How can anyone even live without an automatic icemaker?”

  Darby bit her tongue and inspected the kitchen. “Appliances are easy to update,” she said. “The cabinets are in good shape, and the countertops may not be to your taste, but they are very useable.”

  Stephanie Woodrow nodded. “I suppose,” she said doubtfully.

  “Tell me what you plan to do with this property,” Darby said. “Is this an investment? Second home? Something you plan to resell when the market improves?”

  She noticed Peter Janssen move tactfully into the hallway. He was giving her time to speak to Stephanie alone.

  “I want to live here,” she said. “I’ve been coming down here since I was a small girl, and I want to sell my place in Jersey and move.”

  “Okay,” Darby said. “So we’ll be looking with your needs in mind.” She smiled at the woman and pointed at the hallway. “Let’s go see the rest of the house.”

  After several minutes of exploring the house’s three bedrooms, ample basement, and back yard, Darby handed Stephanie Woodrow her card. “What do you think? Is it something you want to act on?”

  Stephanie bit the inside of her lip. “I think so,” she said. “I liked it the best of any houses we saw on the tour, and I’m ready to make a decision and move forward.”

  Darby nodded. “What tour?”

  “Peter’s tour. He’s got a bus that takes you around to all the distressed properties. He serves beer, wine, and lemonade. We had a good time and learned about the market down here. He does it every Saturday.”

  “I see.” She looked back at the house. Peter Janssen was locking the front door and closing the sagging screen. “Stephanie, would you like to call me with your decision? I have to head back to my office now, but if you want to put in an offer, either I or my associate Helen will be glad to help.”

  “I think I do,” she said. “But I’d like to think about it over lunch, crunch some numbers, and then make a move.”

  Darby agreed that they would talk very shortly and headed back to her car. Peter Janssen met her there, his eyebrows raised.

  “Well?”

  “She likes this property, but she’s going to think it over and call me back today.” She paused. “She said you have a tour of foreclosures every Saturday?”

  He colored deeply and nodded. “I do. It’s been a way for me to make some extra money in this slow economy.” He coughed and looked back at the house. “I’d like to keep it from the brokers at Barnaby’s, if you don’t mind.”

  “Is that why you asked me to represent Stephanie? Because you don’t want Marty Glickman to know?”

  Peter nodded. “Yeah. It’s kind of embarrassing to be driving an old school bus with ‘Foreclosures 4 U’ in big letters on the side.” He gave a sheepish grin. “To tell you the truth, I kind of enjoy it. I meet some great people and I feel like I’m doing a service, matching up these empty homes with eager buyers.”

  Darby smiled. “I think it’s a great idea, Peter. You’re reducing housing inventory and helping with neighborhood revitalization. Nobody wants vacant houses on their street.” She looked at her watch. “I’m heading back to Near & Farr. I’ll keep you posted on what Stephanie decides to do.”

  “Thanks.” He brushed the hair from his eyes. “Are you going to that service today for Candy Sutton?”

  Darby nodded. “I am. What about you?”

  “Yes. We had some good friends in common, and I thought I’d give them some support.” He looked back at Stephanie, who was gazing up at the property. “I’ll see you there. Thanks for keeping my little sideline under wraps.”

  _____

  Darby started back north to Serenidad Key, wondering if Peter’s “little sideline,” as he had called the foreclosure bus, was an enterprising endeavor or simply ridiculous. Before she’d decided, her phone rang and interrupted her thoughts. In keeping with her new vow not to talk on her phone and drive, she waited until she stopped for gas to play the message.

  It was Hideki K
obayashi’s gentle voice, telling her he had some news concerning her grandfather. She called him back immediately.

  “I regret the pain I caused you yesterday,” he murmured. “Such shocking information delivered so suddenly. Please accept my apology.”

  “You don’t need to feel sorry. What you told me is the truth.”

  “Yes, but all the same I am sorry that I had to tell you.” He paused. “I hope I will not upset you further. I spoke to someone at my company today about your grandfather.”

  Darby’s heart skipped a beat. “Yes?”

  “There is an elderly scientist who worked in his department. If you would like, I can arrange for you to talk with him.” He paused. “Perhaps today at noon if you like?”

  Darby took a deep breath. “Please,” she said. “Shall we meet at my office?”

  “Yes. I will leave my hotel now.” He said goodbye and hung up.

  Darby called Helen and told her she would not be home for lunch. “I need to see Mr. Kobayashi at the office,” she explained. “Then I’m heading to Candy’s funeral.”

  “Is everything alright?”

  “Yes,” Darby said, hoping she was telling the truth.

  _____

  Jack Cameron helped Marco load trays full of appetizers and sandwiches from the Dive into the back of a panel truck. “I’ll be right behind you,” he told the tall man. He looked into his eyes. “Come on, let’s get this done.”

  Marco nodded and Jack watched him climb into the truck and start the ignition. He heard the whirr of the air conditioner against the afternoon’s high humidity. Marco was just going through the motions, but at least he was going through them sober.

  Not like me, Jack thought regretfully. I barely remember Kyle’s funeral … The realization sent a sharp stab of pain through his midsection and he nearly doubled over from fresh grief.

  It was a week since her death. A week, and the police were still no closer to finding Kyle’s killer. And now Candy was gone, struck down in an alley with only her dog as a witness.

  He gripped the side of his car with both hands. His legs wobbled and he felt as if he would vomit. He wanted to run, run from Marco and the trays of finger sandwiches, run from Candy’s family now starting to gather at the Church of the Sacred Heart in Bradenton, run as far as he could from death, pain, and loss. Instead he took a deep breath, steadied his thoughts, and climbed into his vehicle.