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PRICED TO KILL
by
CATHERINE BRUNS
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Copyright © 2016 by Catherine Bruns
Cover design by Yocla Designs
Gemma Halliday Publishing
http://www.gemmahallidaypublishing.com
All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.
TABLE OF CONTENTS
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
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ABOUT THE AUTHOR
BOOKS BY CATHERINE BRUNS
SNEAK PEEK
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ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
For this book, I relied heavily on assistance from professionals in the police, real estate, and medical fields. Special thanks to retired Troy Police Captain Terrance Buchanan, who always has the answers I need. My former manager Mary Peyton never fails me or the real estate market. Stephanie DelSignore, R.N., provided much needed information in the medical field. To beta readers Kathy Kennedy, Krista Gardner, Constance Atwater, and Krista Clark—what would I do without you? For my husband Frank, who may just have the toughest job of anyone—living with me. And as always, a profound thank you to publisher Gemma Halliday and her fabulous staff who always make my books better.
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CHAPTER ONE
"Good morning, Forte Realty."
"May I speak to Cindy York, please?"
I didn't recognize the deep, male voice on the other end, but that wasn't unusual. As a real estate agent, it was my job to assist clients and deal with inspectors and various mortgage brokers. The strange voice could belong to any of those.
Hopeful, I grabbed a pen and notepad from my desktop. "This is Cindy. How may I assist you?"
"Cindy, it's Ben Steadman. How are you?"
A giant knot formed in the pit of my stomach. Ben was the older brother of my friend, Paul, who had committed suicide twenty-five years earlier. Even after all this time, I still found myself biting my lower lip to force back tears.
My voice sounded shaky to my own ears. "Fine and yourself?"
There was a brief silence. "It's been a long time."
"Yes, it has." I knew now why he was calling but let him broach the subject.
Ben cleared his throat. "I didn't see your name on the list of RSVPs for the dinner tomorrow night."
"Ah, no. I can't make it." It was a little white lie, but I couldn't help myself. My twenty-fifth high school reunion was being held the following evening at the Steadman home. Ben's wife, Michelle, had been a former classmate of mine and Paul's. When I had first received the invitation in the mail, I'd been somewhat excited about the event. That reaction had changed quickly when I found out the reunion was to be held at Ben's house—the same home where Paul had killed himself. I hadn't set foot in the stunning Victorian mansion since that horrible day when I'd been the one to discover his lifeless body. And I had no intention of doing so again.
Ben's voice was gentle. "I know how you feel. But I really think you should come. Paul would have wanted you there. And remember, there's the time capsule your class buried at graduation. We'll be opening it tomorrow night. Surely you'd like to see that?"
A tear rolled down my cheek before I could stop it. "I'm sorry, Ben. I don't think I can do it."
He sighed. "Well, there is another matter I'd like to speak with you about."
At this point, I welcomed any change of subject. "Of course."
"I'm retiring and selling my practice." Ben was a prominent attorney who specialized in matrimonial law, like his deceased father had before him. As the only surviving child, he'd inherited both the business and his parents' lavish home. Paul had wanted to become a doctor. I wondered…
"Cindy? Are you still there?"
I forced myself back to the present. "Sorry, Ben, my mind was wandering. Congratulations on your retirement. Michelle must be thrilled. I haven't seen her in ages."
"Thanks, we're both excited about it. We own a condo in Bermuda that we'll be moving to, so we're looking to sell our house. I knew you were in the industry and wondered if you could assist us."
My heart started to thump against the wall of my chest at a fervent rate. If I could sell the Steadman property, it would do wonders for my income, not to mention the prestige I would gain in the real estate market. "Thank you, I'm flattered. I don't know what to say."
"Say you'll come to the reunion tomorrow night," Ben said. "Bring your husband and I'll give you both a personal tour of the house."
"Greg's out of town on business."
"Well, bring a friend then. And I'm sure Michelle would love to see you. Don't forget to bring a listing contract, too." He must have placed his hand over the receiver because his voice became muffled for a moment. "Cindy, my secretary is here. I have a client on the other line. Call me if you have any questions. I'll see you tomorrow night. The reunion starts at six."
"Ben—I—hello?"
I was talking to dead air. With a sigh, I placed the office phone back into its cradle and pushed my long, dark hair back from my face. Now what was I going to do? I needed this sale and badly. But at what cost?
I whirled my swivel office chair around and stared out the second-story window of my office. It was a Friday morning in late July. I reached over and pulled the venetian blind down. It was a shame to cover the spectacular view of the nearby lake with the sun shimmering on its surface, but the heat beat through the floor-length glass window at a furious pace.
I checked my phone and saw that the temperature was already hovering around ninety degrees outside. Weather in Upstate New York was often unpredictable. Next week it might be sixty degrees and rainy. But the news weathermen had warned that we were in for a scorcher of a weekend ahead.
The room and the entire building were silent with the exception of the clicking heard from the overhead ceiling fan. Central air-conditioning kept the building at a comfortable level, even on days like this, but Jacques Fortes, my best friend and now-recent boss had been grumbling all week about the high
cost of utilities.
My cell phone buzzed from my desk, and I glanced down at the screen before I picked it up. "Hi, honey."
"Hey." My husband Greg's voice floated through the phone. "How's my sweetheart doing today?"
I clutched the phone tightly to my ear. "Fine, but I miss you. Promise me this is the last trade show for a while."
He chuckled. "I think I can arrange that." Greg and I had been married for eighteen years. He'd recently been promoted to a sales management position at a local automotive company, which required him to do a bit more traveling. The raise had been a huge boost to our income, but I hated sleeping alone.
"Will you be home tomorrow?" I asked.
"I think so, but it'll be pretty late."
"Then I'll wait up for you. It looks like I might be attending my high school reunion after all."
Silence ensued. "Cin, didn't you say that was being held at the house where—"
I cut him off. "Yes. I haven't decided if I'm going or not, but Ben's retiring, and they're moving away. They'd like me to list their home, so if I want the contract, it's kind of a no-brainer to attend the event."
"Baby, this is your call. Don't do anything you're not comfortable with."
As I listened to the sound of Greg's voice, I longed for his strong, powerful arms around me. "I can't wait till you get home."
"Me either. Send the kids to my mother's tomorrow night. We'll have a special homecoming, just the two of us, like when we celebrated our anniversary last month."
I giggled. "I still don't remember much about that night."
"Well, I remember every detail. Just you, me, and the striptease you performed for my eyes only. God, that was fantastic."
Heat flooded my face, and I shut my eyes tight. "Oh, wow. I must have been really drunk."
"Yeah. It was great."
"Cindy?" I heard Jacques' impatient voice call.
"Greg, I have to go. Call me later?"
"Sure thing, baby. Love you."
"Love you too."
I clicked off just as Jacques entered my office. Like me, Jacques was in his early forties. He was an attractive man with a muscular build, thick blond hair, and Prada eyeglasses that he wore over sharp, green eyes that missed nothing and were fixated on me now. He folded his arms across his chest and tapped his foot.
"What's wrong?"
He pointed at one of the matching easy chairs situated in front of my desk. "That's what's wrong. Which one of your clients broke the arm?"
I opened my mouth in surprise. "What have you been doing? Inspecting the furniture after I leave every night?"
Jacques sank into the other dark blue, overstuffed chair. "Listen, darling, I'm stuck with the bills, so don't take it personally. You're acting more and more like Ed every day."
Ed Kapinski was Jacques' spouse. They'd been married for over a year. Ed was Jacques' total opposite—a quiet, balding man who looked a bit like the actor Ed Harris. He was employed as manager for a prominent restaurant in the area. Also unlike Jacques, he only spoke when he had something important to say.
"I'm guessing that's not a compliment?"
Jacques snorted. "That man could drive me to drink some days." He reached out and patted the lumpy chair arm. "I bet I know who did this too."
I shifted in my seat. "I don't know what you mean."
"Oh, yes, you do. You let Barney sit in that chair yesterday, didn't you?"
I sighed. Like a bloodhound, Jacques never missed anything. "What was I supposed to do? Make him sit on the floor?"
"Cin, the man is over five-hundred pounds. The floor is about the only thing he can't break. Maybe."
"He's a client. And you always said that the client is king."
"King, yes. But he weighs more than the entire royal family." Jacques took his eyeglasses off and polished them on his shirt before putting them back on again. "I have to conserve wherever I can. Sales have not been good this past month."
That was an understatement. I'd only had two closings and nothing scheduled on the books. Three clients of mine were currently looking for houses—Barney Drake included—but they hadn't found anything yet. "The market will turn around soon. You'll see."
"It had better," he said dryly. "What we need right now is a couple of mansions to boost our sales."
Oh boy. I immediately lowered my eyes to the desk.
Jacques watched me suspiciously. "Cynthia Ann, you're hiding something. Out with it."
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"Please, darling, don't insult my intelligence. I know you, remember? You'll never have a poker face."
I twisted a ballpoint pen between my fingers. "I received a call from Ben Steadman today. He's interested in having me list his house."
Jacques' eyes bugged so far out of his head I was afraid he might lose his balance and topple out of the chair. "The Ben Steadman? The prominent divorce attorney?"
"Close your mouth. You're starting to drool."
"And isn't his wife a choreographer or something like that for the Jets' cheerleaders?"
"She used to be. I read somewhere she still consults on an as-needed basis. I graduated high school with Michelle. She was a fantastic cheerleader herself and even made the squad for the Dallas Cowboys but didn't stay."
"Why not?"
I took a sip from the Starbucks cup on my desk. "She was pregnant."
Jacques sniffed. "Well, that must have put a wrinkle in things."
"Hmm." I had nothing against Michelle personally, but we hadn't run in the same circle of friends or kept in touch over the years. For some reason, I was on their annual Christmas card list, which always included a photo and details of what the family had been up to during the past year. It was a bit contrived for my taste.
When she'd first met Ben at a party, she'd immediately dug her claws in and had never loosened her grip. Ben was three years our senior and had been attending a local college. When she wound up pregnant, Ben had done the honorable thing and married her. From what I'd learned over the years, she was a devoted mother to their only child and the perfect wife to a prestigious attorney. I'd read about some of the fabulous dinner parties she'd hosted over the years and knew she did a great deal of charity work as well.
Jacques leaned forward across my desk. "There's something you're not telling me here. Why aren't you more excited about listing this house? You've been dying for a deal like this. And, frankly, so have I."
I swallowed hard. "It's the same house my friend Paul committed suicide in."
Jacques was silent for a few seconds, and then he reached across the desk to squeeze my hand. "I'm sorry, dear. I had no idea."
For years, I had been trying to block out the mental picture of Paul's lifeless body that day. Most of the time I was successful. We'd been best pals since kindergarten. Our lifestyles had been different, but that hadn't mattered. While Paul's family was rich and powerful, my father had died when I was a baby, and my mother and I lived on a shoestring budget. Despite his family's stature, Paul had never put on airs around me or made me feel I wasn't good enough.
Jacques interrupted my thoughts. "Everything okay?"
I was touched by the look of concern in his eyes. "After all these years, I still wake up sometimes in the middle of the night and ask myself why. Why him?"
He shrugged. "I don't have the answer to that question, love. That's something only Paul will ever know." He examined my face. "So, what do you think? I'll go with you to meet the Steadmans if that will help."
"I haven't been in the house since that day." I stopped to draw a deep breath. "It would be difficult for me. And there's more."
Jacques' face was pained. "Now what?"
"Tomorrow night is my twenty-fifth high school reunion. I had planned on going until I found out that Michelle and Ben were hosting it—at their house, that is. Now Ben has asked me to attend especially. And he wants me to bring a contract with me too."
A small squeal escaped from Jacques' mou
th, and he high-fived me. "Girlfriend, we've got to have that listing. I'll be your guest for the reunion."
I wrinkled my nose. "You hate reunions. Didn't you tell me you'd rather be tarred and feathered instead of being forced to attend one?"
"Well, yes," Jacques admitted, "but I was talking about mine, not yours." His eyes searched mine beseechingly. "Please, Cin. We need this. When's the last time I ever asked you for anything?"
He had me on that one. I'd started my real estate career at Hospitable Homes over three years ago. An incident a few months back had left me scrambling for gainful employment, and Jacques came to my rescue, only too happy to provide me with the opportunity to join his new brokerage. Besides Greg, he was the only man I'd ever been able to count on in my life.
Having no choice, I relented. "Okay. I'll have to see if my mother-in-law can watch the twins tomorrow night though. Darcy's going to a concert with a friend, so I don't have anyone else to ask."
"I'll drag Ed over there if I have to," Jacques said grimly. "Does this event require formal wear?"
"Semi-formal," I said. "I have a silk dress I was thinking about wearing."
"I'll wear a black suit." Jacques tapped his pen on my desk. "That mansion is a gold mine. I may even have a client who's already interested. This is just what we need to save our summer. I'd hate to have to let one of the other agents go, but it might be coming to that."
"But we all work off of commission," I argued. "We don't get paid unless there's an actual sale. So why would you have to get rid of someone?"
"All the overhead costs," Jacques explained. "If this keeps up, I'm going to have to find a smaller building too. While I may not be paying out weekly salaries, there are other related expenses. For Sale signs, postage, utilities, the office computers, and," he pointed to the broken chair again, "furniture repairs."
"Okay, point well taken. The reunion starts at six o'clock. How about picking me up about fifteen minutes before?"
Priced to Kill (Cindy York Mysteries Book 2) Page 1