Deal Killer (A Darby Farr Mystery)

by Vicki Doudera

  “Funny you should say that. Five minutes ago, Charles Burrows called. He says someone’s interested in buying the apartment, and he wanted to know my plans.”

  “Huh.” Darby dipped a spoon in the scaloppini sauce and took a taste. She gave Miles the thumbs-up sign and sighed. “Delicious.”

  “Thank you, my dear. We’ll be ready in about fifteen minutes.”

  Darby leaned against the counter and took a sip of her wine. “So what did you tell Charles?”

  “I said that if he was serious about staying abroad, I’d check with Columbia about teaching in the fall. I think I’d enjoy teaching one more semester, and it’s a good opportunity. That way I can spend some time in England this summer.” He looked into her eyes. “Hopefully with you.”

  Darby gave a very small shrug. “It’s certainly tempting. I’ve never been to England.”

  “What better way to travel than with me as your guide?” He put his hands on her shoulders, and drew her close. “I want you to meet my family, crazy as they are. I want you to see where I’m from.”

  Darby took a breath. The image of the little house on the cove—the place where she’d been raised—flashed in her mind.

  “So is he listing the apartment?”

  “Who, Charles? Apparently not quite yet. I don’t believe he thinks this so-called buyer is on the up-and-up, and he’s not in any rush. He says that if Columbia wants to keep me on for the fall semester, he’d be happy to continue renting to me.”

  “That’s good news.”

  “Yes. It will make things a lot easier if I can just stay put.”

  From the corner of the living room, a cell phone rang.

  “That’s yours, isn’t it love?”

  “Yes, excuse me.” Darby hurried to the phone and checked the number. Todd Stockton.

  “Bad news,” he said, his voice clipped. “Kiki Lutz has another offer, and she says its better. Does your client want to step it up a few notches?”

  “How much?”

  “A mil and a half.”

  “That’s a nice chunk of change. Can we trust her?” Darby meant that she questioned whether there really was another offer on the table, or if perhaps Kiki was merely trolling for more money.

  “I wouldn’t.” He exhaled. “We can ask to see it in writing, if you want. You know how it is—it all comes down to how badly Hideki wants the building.”

  “I’ll call him right now.” Darby pushed her friend’s cell phone number and heard the elegant gentleman answer. Quickly she explained the situation.

  “Do it,” Hideki said at once. “You know me, Darby—when I make up my mind, I don’t want to move backward. Spend what it takes to get that building, and then let’s get going on making it ready for my company.”

  Darby called Todd Stockton and conveyed the conversation. “I was thinking about playing hardball with Ms. Lutz, but my client really wants this building, and even with the higher price tag, I don’t think he’s overpaying.”

  “Agreed.”

  “So go for it then.”

  “Fine. Let me call her and get this wrapped up with a bow.”

  Darby hung up, drumming her fingers. Real estate agents had a duty to be honest, but that did not mean that all of them were. When it came right down to it, you had to take a lot of what you heard on good faith.

  She reached for her wine and took a sip. It was a rich, red Barolo, chosen to complement the pork, and one of Miles’s favorite wines.

  Her phone vibrated and she picked it up. Todd Stockton.

  “Done,” he announced. “You can let Hideki know he’s in primary position.”

  “Great. I’ll call him right now. Thanks, Todd.”

  “Thank you,” he said. “Nice doing business with a fellow Mainer. Oh—I’ve got the scoop on what happened in your building.”

  Darby’s interest sharpened. “When the Kazakovas purchased the penthouse?”

  “Exactly. I figured if anyone would know, it would be Kiki Lutz, right?” He chuckled. “So, it was the boyfriend, the one they found stabbed in the alley. Rodin, I think was his name. Apparently he wormed his way into the deal and convinced Kazakova not to use a broker.”

  “Rona must have been livid. Obviously she didn’t have an agreement in place with Mikhail Kazakova.”

  “Guess not.” He paused. “We’ve all had crap like that happen to us, right? The people who ask you to find them a rental while they house hunt, and then after you arrange it all and show them endless properties, they make a deal with the owner and cut you right out.”

  “It’s frustrating, for sure.” Darby thought about the Davenports and the possible lawsuit hanging over her head. People thought selling real estate was easy, but the job was not for the faint of heart.

  “I wouldn’t put it past Rona to have knocked the guy off, even all these years later,” Stockton continued. “According to Kiki, she’s one vengeful bitch.” He chuckled. “And Kiki Lutz would know.”

  _____

  Whack! The cast iron skillet came down on the block of ice, skittering it onto the floor.

  Rona swore and let the pan clatter onto the counter. Nothing was going her way—nothing. Max was dead, Charles content to keep his apartment, and Mikhail nowhere to be found. Now she couldn’t even get a piece of ice for her drink.

  A key in the lock of her door made her stiffen. “Hello?” she called. “Who is it?”

  No answer. She reached for the skillet and edged toward the door. “Hello?”

  “It’s me, Rona.” Devin’s voice called through the door. She pushed it open and regarded her mother with the skillet. “Jesus. What’s gotten into you? I heard a loud noise …”

  Rona lowered the pan and gave a dramatic sigh. “Trying to get some damn ice.”

  “What’s wrong with your icemaker?”

  “Jammed. Again.” She regarded her daughter. “What are you doing here?”

  “That’s some kind of welcome, especially when I’m going to give you this …” she jiggled a paper cup and the rattle of small ice cubes was music to her mother’s ears.

  “Excellent.” Rona grabbed the cup and rinsed diet soda off the ice. She scooped the small cubes into her drink and took a large gulp. “Finally. Can I fix you one?”

  “What’ve you got?”

  “Scotch.”

  Devin wrinkled her nose. “No.” Her eyes roamed around the kitchen. She wandered into the living room and plopped onto the couch.

  “What’s up?” she asked, picking up a magazine. “Any plans for your Sunday night?”

  Rona followed her daughter into the living room and sat down on a leopard-patterned chair. “Dinner, but we had to cancel.”

  Devin’s delicate eyebrows shot up. “I see.” She tossed the magazine back to the table. “Too bad.”

  “What are you doing?”

  “I’ve got a date.”

  “New boyfriend?”

  She rolled her eyes. “Not exactly. A business associate.” She reached into a pocketbook that was slung across her chest. “This is for you. Some of what I owe you.” She handed an envelope to Rona and leaned back.

  Rona peered inside. A thin stack of one hundred dollar bills.

  “How much?”

  “Two thousand. It’s a start.”

  “Yes, a good start.” She narrowed her eyes. “What about your loans? Are you paying them?”

  “They’re being taken care of.” She checked a cell phone that Rona hadn’t realized she was carrying. “I’ve gotta go.”

  Devin stood. She was wearing makeup and a low-cut blouse that revealed her generous cleavage. “Bye.”

  “Thanks for coming over,” Rona said. “And thanks for this.” She held up the envelope.

  “You’re welcome.” Devin gave a shy smile. “Bet you never thought you’d see any of
what I owe you, huh?”

  “I’ll admit I’m surprised.” Rona smiled. “Pleasantly surprised.”

  “Okay, bye.” To her surprise, Devin leaned over and kissed her mother on the cheek.

  She barely had time to say goodbye to Devin before she’d opened the apartment door and vanished.

  _____

  “So, is Hideki happy?” Miles spooned some sauce over the servings of scaloppini and placed a plate before Darby. He’d set the table overlooking the park with two placemats and lit a wide sequined candle, and the effect was very romantic.

  “Yes. He’s all excited about opening a new division of Genkei Pharmaceuticals here in the city. I’ll have to make sure he waits until he owns the building, before he starts tearing things down, but other than that, it’s all good.”

  “Congratulations.” Miles lifted his wine glass and they touched rims. “He’s lucky to have such a wonderful broker.”

  “Remind me of how wonderful I am when I’m in the middle of a mold lawsuit, okay?” Darby grimaced. “Anyway, I’m not thinking about that tonight. I’m not thinking about anything except how happy I am to be here with you and this wonderful meal.”

  “Tuck in, then. See how it tastes.” Miles watched as she cut a small piece of pork, dipped it in the sauce, and savored the bite.

  “Delicious. The sauce is light, but flavorful, and the meat is cooked to perfection. You have many wonderful talents, Miles Porter.”

  “Mmmm.” He leaned over and they kissed lightly on the lips. “Mind you, I can’t cook a thing without having someone special to prepare things for, so there you have it.”

  “A symbiotic relationship.”

  “Exactly.”

  “Speaking of relationships, Todd Stockton told me an interesting story. Apparently Rona Reichels—the one we met up in Natalia’s penthouse with the cake—was Mikhail’s real estate agent.”

  “Lucky girl.”

  “Apparently not. She never got a commission when he bought in the building.”

  Miles whistled. “Which would have been what, close to a million dollars?”

  “The property sold for $83 million. Figuring four percent for the commission, and then splitting it up—a million is probably about right. Enough to make anyone pretty darn angry.”

  “How did it happen?”

  “According to Stockton, someone convinced Mikhail that he didn’t need to use Rona.” She waited until the Brit raised his eyebrows. “Alec Rodin.”

  “Mikhail’s future son-in law.”

  “That’s right. Remember, Alec was a developer in Russia. That’s how he and Mikhail first met.”

  “Do you think Rona has held a grudge all these years?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Would you?”

  Darby leaned back and thought a moment. “I’d like to say no, that I’m above all that, but the truth is, Miles, that’s a lot of money. If I felt like I worked for it, that I deserved it, yes, I’d have a hard time letting that anger go.”

  “Could that anger have pushed Rona to kill Rodin? Even after four years?”

  “Perhaps if she has other stresses in her life, yes.”

  “Such as …?”

  “Some kind of health issue, money problems …”

  “Yes.” He put down his fork and knife. “Something that could have tipped her over the edge.” He made a face. “Isn’t it strange that we’ve heard nothing new about Rodin’s murder? It’s almost as if no one cares. Natalia has moved on, who knows where her father is, and there aren’t any grieving relatives demanding answers. I feel like his death is a lost cause.”

  “I agree. I don’t mean to judge, Miles, but I am surprised that Natalia appears to have forgotten all about her fiancé. There’s something strange about her behavior.”

  “Could it be cultural?”

  “I wonder. Her marriage to Rodin was arranged years ago, right? Maybe she didn’t have very deep feelings for him in the first place. Maybe she loved him early on but then grew out of it.”

  “Maybe I’ll discover more if she and I start working on this story.”

  “Any news on that?”

  “No. I’ve left the ball in her court, so to speak.”

  “I see.” Darby finished her meal and took a sip of her wine. “I’m stuffed.”

  “Don’t say that—I’m taking you out for authentic Italian gelato for dessert.”

  Her dark eyes twinkled. “In that case, I have a little room left.”

  thirteen

  “Fancy a Monday morning walk in the park before I head off to class? Work off last night’s gelato, perhaps?”

  “Definitely.” Darby accepted the steaming mug of coffee from Miles and peered out the window. “Looks like another nice day.”

  “Warm, too. I guess the weather turns nasty tomorrow, with rain showers, but it should clear up for your flight back to California on Thursday.”

  “Ugh. I don’t want to think about going back to work.”

  “Really? That doesn’t sound like you, love.”

  She sighed. “I know.”

  “Maybe you’re growing tired of the whole West Coast thing?”

  “I don’t know. I love working with ET, but other than that, I feel like my ties are more on the East Coast now. There’s Tina, and Helen, and Hideki, and …”

  He looked at her expectantly. “And me?”

  She wrapped him in a hug. “And you. Miles, I think it’s getting harder and harder to leave you.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes, it’s … it’s painful.”

  He kissed her deeply and mussed her glossy hair. “That’s a good thing, love. One of these days you’ll realize you don’t want to leave me. Then you’ll know how I feel every time you say goodbye.”

  _____

  Detectives Benedetti and Ryan were standing in the lobby as Darby and Miles exited the elevator.

  “Gentlemen,” Miles said. “We’re certainly seeing a lot of you lately.”

  “I wish we could say we were here on a pleasant errand,” Benedetti commented.

  Darby and Miles exchanged glances. “Can you tell us?” Darby asked.

  “Not really.” He glanced around the lobby. “Next of kin notification.”

  “Dear God. Nothing to do with Natalia Kazakova, I hope?”

  “No, Mr. Porter.” Ryan squinted at the lanky journalist. “You’re awfully concerned for Ms. Kazakova’s safety. Why is that?”

  “She’s my student—that’s why.” Miles’s voice was a trifle indignant. “She’s been through a lot, and I only hoped …”

  “Thank you for setting our minds at ease, detectives.” Darby cocked her head toward the door. “We need to go, Miles.”

  He gave her a questioning look as she tugged on his arm. “Let’s go.”

  “Why is it I feel I’m a piece of Turkish Delight, being stretched this way and that?”

  “I could see they weren’t going to tell us anything, so I figured we should get on our way,” Darby explained. “Clearly, they have unpleasant work to do.”

  “Another tragedy involving someone in the building,” said Miles. “I can’t help but wonder who’s about to get devastating news.”

  An attractive woman passed them with three dogs on leashes. One, a lanky wolfhound, dove toward Miles’s sneakers.

  “Hey!” he jerked away his foot.

  “No, Korbut!” yelled the woman, yanking the dog’s leash. She rolled her eyes. “I’m so sorry. He’s got a thing for running shoes. Don’t ask me why.”

  Miles chuckled. “As long as he hasn’t a ‘thing’ for ankles, I guess.”

  “Is that Natalia Kazakova’s dog?” Darby asked.

  “Why do you ask?” The woman’s eyes narrowed.

  “We were in her apartment, and I recognize hi
m.”

  “I’m sorry to sound so suspicious. Yes, this is Natalia’s dog.” She reached out a hand. “I’m Miranda Styles. I live in the building, too.”

  Darby and Miles introduced themselves.

  “So you’re in Charlie Burrows’s apartment?”

  “Yes.” Miles eyed Korbut, who was now sniffing a trash receptacle. The other dogs, a fussy-looking poodle and an aging lab, waited patiently. “You know Charles?”

  “I served a term on the residence owners’ board,” she explained. “Fortunately or unfortunately, you get to meet most of the residents.” She reached over to scratch the lab’s ears. “When is he coming back to New York?”

  “His plans are a trifle up in the air, I’m afraid,” said Miles.

  “I see.” Miranda Styles struggled to keep Korbut from once more investigating Miles’s shoes. “We’d better head off. Nice to meet you.”

  “Interesting career choice, that,” Miles commented. “Do you think it’s the only thing Ms. Styles does?”

  “From what I hear, dog walking can be pretty lucrative.” Darby watched the brisk pace at which Miranda trotted the dogs along.

  “Speaking of lucrative, what’s next for your Mr. Kobayashi?”

  “We’re checking into a few things with the building, and then he’ll buy it,” Darby explained. “Genkei Pharmaceuticals will join the ranks of New York City’s many corporations.”

  “Why did Hideki want to be here?”

  “Oh, same as anyone, I think. It’s the hub of the universe, right?” Darby smiled. “He’s also an incredibly shrewd businessman. Manhattan is an investment. Barring some kind of disaster …”

  “Another Superstorm Sandy? Or terrorist attack?”

  Darby nodded. “Exactly.”

  “The thing is, no one can live their life in fear of things like that, can they?”

  Darby stopped and scrutinized Miles’s countenance. She thought back to that summer day, long ago, when she’d said goodbye to her parents, never knowing that their afternoon sail would lead to their deaths.

  Have I been living in fear, she wondered? She thought of the anxiety she carried around regarding her unhappy clients, the Davenports, and their allegations of mold. She thought about her reluctance to make long-term plans—with Miles, with Maine … With life, she thought.