Medium Well (9781101599648)

by Benjamin, Meg

  She studied the list and began to count back. Eliminating the first six names took her back to 1932, which was the earliest date she felt confident about. The suit her dream man had worn might have come from the 1920s, but Biddy would bet it hadn’t come from any time later than that.

  Of course, that still left her with eight names, even if she omitted Templeton. Biddy sighed and went back to the database.

  After two more hours, she figured she’d done all she could do without risking serious eyestrain—the computer terminal at the Historical Society wasn’t exactly high-res. Including the names she’d dropped because of the suit, she’d managed to eliminate about half of the list, though, and found some interesting details about a couple of others.

  She headed back toward Vintage Realty, feeling a faint glow of satisfaction. Good job, Biddy! Her faint glow lasted until she walked through the door and saw Araceli’s assistant regarding her with narrowed eyes.

  Biddy smoothed a hand across her hair, surreptitiously tucking a couple of strands behind the clips at the side. “Hi, Lois, what’s up?”

  Lois nodded toward Araceli’s door. “She’s waiting for you.”

  “Why?”

  Lois shook her head, turning back to her computer. “Not for me to say.”

  Biddy fought the urge to grind her teeth. Lois was fanatically loyal to Araceli—she wouldn’t say anything she wasn’t authorized to say. She opened her sister’s office door, making her eyes as wide as possible, Pollyanna’s second coming. “Hey, Araceli,” she chirped as she walked into the office. “Did you want to see me?”

  Araceli was seated behind her desk, flipping through a stack of papers as if they were personal enemies. “Want to see you?” she snapped. “No. It’s more like a nasty chore. Sit down in that chair and don’t move.”

  ***

  Danny had two showings in the morning, neither of them, praise be, the carriage house. For a moment, he wondered about that. Why had he only shown the carriage house in the late afternoon? Would it be any different earlier in the day?

  Or at night?

  He shuddered. He definitely didn’t want to show the carriage house at night!

  The first couple, married lawyers, were very interested in the Tobin Hill house. Danny didn’t blame them. The price was a steal since the owner lived in Santa Barbara now and he needed the money yesterday. The couple said they’d think about it, but Danny figured it wouldn’t take them long.

  The second client was less interested in the Olmos Park mansion a couple of blocks from Trinity University than she was in Danny himself. Her husband apparently worked in a profession that provided lots of cash but little time for his wife. His wife wanted payback.

  “Lovely layout,” she purred, looking at Danny’s crotch. “What’s upstairs?”

  Danny kept his gaze on the moldings around the fireplace. “Five bedrooms, two baths. There’s also a pool, of course, out back, with a guesthouse. I think you’ll like what they’ve done with the grounds.”

  “Later.” The wife’s smile made him think of a lioness spotting a limping zebra. “Let’s check out those bedrooms.”

  An hour later he headed back to the office, feeling like a Victorian heroine who’d been forced to protect her virtue. He wondered if he would have fought so hard before he’d met Biddy.

  Before he’d met Biddy? Oh, do not go there, you moron!

  He’d intended to spend only five minutes or so in his office, checking for messages and making sure the San Diego deal had closed. But when he walked in the door, he saw Araceli hovering at the front desk in a bright yellow suit with black accessories, looking like a bad-tempered bumblebee.

  “Ramos,” she snapped. “Come into my office. Now!”

  She actually looked more like a yellow jacket, Danny reflected. Her temper completed the effect. Wordlessly, he followed her through the paneled oak door.

  Biddy sat in the visitor chair, her expression blank.

  He forced himself to unfist his hands, to make his voice sound calm. Whatever was going on, grabbing Araceli by the throat wouldn’t help. “Okay, what’s up?”

  “What the hell were you doing in the Steadman house?” Araceli sounded like she was talking through gritted teeth. “That’s my goddamn house, Ramos. You’ve got no business there. I told you I’d give you a walk-through later, at my convenience, not yours. Stay the hell away from my properties!”

  He glanced at Biddy. He’d bet the farm she hadn’t told her sister anything beyond her rank and serial number.

  “Don’t you look at my sister,” Araceli erupted again. “She’s in enough trouble for taking that key without telling me. Lucky for me, my assistant noticed her hanging around the keyboard. Did you tell her to do it? Why am I even bothering to ask—of course you did!”

  Danny shrugged, trying for George Clooney, relaxed, devil-may-care. “I needed to see the house, Araceli. I just wanted a walk-through and you weren’t around. I figured the main house is connected to the carriage house.”

  “Which you can’t seem to move,” she sneered. “So now you’re trying to move in on my sale? Over my dead body, Ramos!”

  He bit back all the immediate responses that leaped to his tongue. “Look, I’m not trying to sell the Steadman house. I know it’s yours. That’s why we looked at it in the late afternoon, when we knew you wouldn’t be showing it.”

  Araceli paused, studying him with narrowed eyes, then turned to Biddy. “And you! Why wasn’t this little visit in your report for yesterday? Didn’t you think it was worth mentioning?”

  Biddy winced. “It didn’t seem necessary. It didn’t have anything to do with sales. We just did a walk-through.”

  His stomach clenched. “What report is this?”

  Biddy’s gaze became fastened on the floor.

  “I told my sister to keep me informed about your activities.” Araceli’s voice dripped acid. “After your run-in with Herman Zucker, I didn’t want any other surprises.”

  Danny stared at Biddy. She raised one trembling hand to her phony glasses, pushing them up her nose. “Biddy?”

  She drew a shuddering breath and looked up. “It was just information about business. Nothing else.”

  “And speaking of business, Mr. Ramos, as I believe we were earlier, what have you done about that carriage house lately? I sent you Zucker and Henderson. Have you tried any of your own contacts?” Araceli folded her arms in front of her, raising an eyebrow. Now she looked like an angry ladybug. “You’re supposed to be this big hotshot salesman, or so I’ve been told. So why haven’t you brought in anybody on your own?”

  Danny did a quick mental inventory, wondering if any of the real estate investors he knew had pissed him off enough to deserve the carriage house. “Offhand, I can’t think of anyone who’d be interested. The place is in lousy shape and it’s not on one of the good streets. The renovation’s going to be expensive. Our best bet might be someone from out of town who sees it as an investment. Or some innocent who doesn’t realize what he’s taking on.”

  “Have you posted the description at the usual places?” Araceli’s eyebrow was still raised. He wondered if it might freeze there.

  “Of course I have. But it may take a while before anything happens. You know what the market’s like right now. I assume Petrocelli isn’t interested in paying for any renovations or cleanup himself.”

  “No. Of course not. He’s concentrating on the big house.”

  “Well, then.” He shrugged. “I’ll keep pushing it, but don’t expect miracles.”

  Araceli took a deep breath, nostrils flaring. Her mouth was still a thin line. “Believe me, I don’t. But no more funny stuff. I’ll be watching you from now on. And you.” She turned to Biddy, eyes narrowing. “I expect you to turn in accurate reports. I don’t care if you are my sister. Screw around with me, a
nd you’ll be out on the street.” At least her eyebrow wasn’t up anymore. Now both eyebrows were clamped together.

  Biddy kept her gaze on the floor. Danny fought the urge to tell Araceli that her sister would actually be better off singing on the street than stuck in this hellhole of an office.

  “That’s all!” Araceli snapped. “Now get out of here. Both of you.”

  Danny held the office door for Biddy, hoping she’d at least look at him, but she kept her eyes down, scurrying up the hall toward her cubicle. He stepped in front of her before she could escape.

  “My office. Now.” He managed not to bark at her—he figured she’d had enough harassment for the morning.

  She still didn’t look at him until she stepped through the door. Then she raised her gaze. Behind her meek-girl horn-rims, her eyes shot napalm.

  Okay, so she wasn’t bothering to pretend to be something she wasn’t. At least not around him. Fair enough. He closed the door behind them.

  “How long have you been spying on me for Araceli?” He leaned against his desk.

  She folded her arms, staring at the wall. “Just since Zucker. She threatened to go to Big Al if I didn’t. It seemed like the lesser of two evils.”

  His jaw clenched. “And you bought in? Daily spy reports?”

  “It was a daily activity report, supposedly. Araceli claimed it was standard in the other offices. There was even a form to fill out. She claimed it was a way to keep track of what was going on. Not that that was the real reason she wanted me to do it.”

  He narrowed his eyes. “And that would be?”

  “To keep tabs on you, of course. She figures you’re up to something, but, being Araceli, she assumes it has more to do with cheating her out of a commission than with being haunted.”

  His jaw was clenched so tightly it almost hurt. “Why didn’t you tell me, Biddy?” He leaned forward, grasping the edge of his desk, as he tried to stare her down.

  “So you could do what?” She finally raised her gaze to his. “It wasn’t like she gave me any choice. I wrote the reports, but all I did was tell her where and when you showed houses.”

  “I still should have been told what was going on.” He loosened his grip on the desk marginally. “Maybe I could have complained to Big Al myself.”

  “I didn’t think you’d want Big Al involved. That was one of the reasons I agreed to write the damn reports. To keep Araceli from making Big Al think something fishy was happening.”

  “Something fishy is happening,” Danny snapped. “Mostly with your sister. I needed to know what she was up to, damn it!”

  She flinched, looking away from him again.

  He took a deep breath, then blew it out. “If you’ve got divided loyalties, tell me now, Biddy. I don’t want to have to watch my back at the same time I’m trying to figure out what to do with the carriage house.”

  He managed to ignore the faint pricking of his conscience. Maybe she had a point, but so did he. And right now he wasn’t in the mood to be reasonable.

  “Right.” Her eyes were sparking again. He almost felt like ducking.

  She stood up, raising her chin to a dangerous angle. “Okay, for your information, Mr. Ramos, I do not have divided loyalties. I haven’t ever told Araceli any of the stuff that’s been going on at the carriage house beyond the potential clients you’ve talked to. No ghosts, no goblins, no things that go bump in the night. I also didn’t tell her that her precious main house has its own ghost that pretty much scared the crap out of me yesterday. I will go on not telling her things like that in the future, not only because I know she wouldn’t believe me, but also because I don’t think it’s any of her business. I wish I didn’t know about all of it myself, but it’s too late for that now. Is that okay with you, or do you want me to put it in writing?”

  He drew a shuddering breath. “Okay, that clarifies the situation. Thanks.”

  She leaned down to brush the wrinkles from her cotton skirt. “I’m going back to my cubicle now, if that’s also okay with you, Mr. Ramos.”

  He nodded. “Fine.”

  “Fine,” she repeated. She turned a laser-sharp gaze on him once more. “And just for your information, Mr. Ramos, you have every right to be upset about Araceli making me spy on you. But it’s Araceli you should be pissed at, not me. And you do not, repeat not, have the right to be a jerk about it.”

  She turned and marched out of the office, her back ramrod-straight.

  Danny sighed, rubbing his eyes. Not even four o’clock yet and already he felt like heading home to bed.

  Chapter 14

  Danny sat at the back of Tico’s Taqueria, pretending that a bowl of stale peanuts was an adequate dinner. Everyone around him seemed to be on a date. Couples snuggled close together, smiling at each other. He’d never felt more solitary.

  Oh suck it up, Ramos.

  For a moment, he thought of the last time he’d been there with Brenda. Brenda. He frowned. When had he last talked to Brenda? He couldn’t remember. And he found he didn’t care.

  He picked up his beer, surveying the room. Largish crowd for a weeknight. Maybe that meant the Chalk Creek Changelings’ reputation was spreading. He ignored the quick pinch of regret—he didn’t really want them to stay his own private discovery. Not really. Just a little.

  The Chalk Creek Changelings had apparently moved up from being an opening act to being the main attraction. At any rate, another group was on the stage right now, doing something that sounded like a bad imitation of Big and Rich. The crowd wasn’t impressed. Neither was he.

  The waitress raised her eyebrow at him, gesturing at his beer. Something about that raised eyebrow and accompanying smile let him know she’d be interested in bringing him more than a beer if he played his cards right. He nodded at the beer and pretended to be dense about any other offers. Amazing what an eyebrow could indicate.

  He was still trying to decide whether to apologize to Biddy after the show or just let it go. He hadn’t exactly been wrong, after all. He had a right to be pissed over not being told what Araceli was up to.

  On the other hand, he hadn’t exactly been right, either. She had a right to be pissed, too. And he hadn’t seen her for the rest of the afternoon after their confrontation.

  So maybe he’d look for her now. Not to apologize, exactly, but to tell her he understood. That it was okay. That he wasn’t mad anymore and she shouldn’t be either. Truce.

  Of course, her band might decide he was a stalker and pound him to a pulp.

  The opening group left the stage to decidedly unenthusiastic applause, and Danny leaned back in his seat, watching Biddy and the guys set up. Whatever else he did, he intended to enjoy the performance.

  Tonight she was in a floaty green chiffon dress, with a bottom ruffle that reached the tops of her knees. It looked like something she’d wear at a very hip garden party in the Carolinas. After one of Tico’s abbreviated introductions, she sang the song about her cheating lover who was gone, so long, don’t let the door hit your ass as you leave. Her voice had a bit more bite than the last time he’d heard her sing it, but he told himself that might be his imagination. Biddy didn’t even know he was there, after all.

  Other than that number, she was actually a little subdued—not that the band didn’t kick ass just the same. The crowd cheered lustily at the end of their set, but the encore featured the guitarist rather than Biddy. No Cab Calloway.

  He checked his watch. Eleven o’clock. He wondered what the chances were Biddy might come back into the club to unwind after the show, then he decided not to risk it.

  The band members were loading their instruments into a battered panel truck at the back of the building when he got there. Sideshow Bob narrowed his eyes when he saw Danny. Definitely into anti-stalker mode.

  Biddy peered over the guitarist’s shoulde
r, staring at Danny for a long moment before she spoke. “Hello.”

  “Hi,” he murmured, wishing Sideshow Bob and his buddies would fade away. “Have you had dinner?”

  She nodded. “Hours ago.”

  “Then you must be hungry again.” He gave her his most winning smile, the one that usually worked on all women over the age of fourteen.

  Nobody smiled back. Not even Biddy.

  He sighed. “Okay, listen, I was a jerk and I’m sorry. Please come and have a drink with me. Or a steak. Or basically anything you want.” Come on, Biddy, I’m dying here.

  She still didn’t smile, but after a moment she nodded. “Let me finish loading up. Can you take my fiddle?”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Danny took the case from her hands, tucking it under his arm. “You didn’t drive?”

  “Skip brought me.”

  The guitarist gave Danny a look that reminded him of shotgun-toting brothers—or jealous potential boyfriends. Biddy picked up a piece of electrical equipment and loaded it beside the drum stand, then turned to the guitarist. “That’s it, I guess. Skip, Danny will get me home. Right?” She raised an eyebrow in Danny’s direction.

  He nodded. “Absolutely.”

  Skip narrowed his eyes, then glanced back at Biddy. “You’re sure?”

  “I’m sure.” She picked up a tote bag full of music and slung it over her shoulder, turning to Danny. “Okay, you’re going to buy me a midnight supper, Mr. Ramos. Huevos rancheros at least, or maybe chilaquiles if I feel like it.”

  He bowed. “Whatever you want, Ms. Gunter. I meant what I said.”

  He wasn’t sure what restaurants would be open at midnight, but Biddy directed him to a large, boisterous Mexican place with a waiter who was more than happy to bring her a plate of huevos rancheros, along with some enchiladas verdes for Danny. She finished her huevos in record time, and then ate about a third of his enchiladas. He considered ordering her a couple more plates.