"Sounds like a plan. I will be your perfect escort and chauffeur." He stood and gave an exaggerated bow. "Nothing will mess this sale up for us, my dear. I guarantee it."
CHAPTER TWO
The doorbell rang, and I braced myself. Okay, be nice. You can do this.
Before I could reach the front door, my twins, Stevie and Seth, bounded past me down the stairs with our dog, Rusty, barking at their heels.
Stevie flung the door open and wrapped his arms around the waist of the elderly woman standing there. "Hi, Grandma!"
Helen York smiled broadly as she stooped down to give both of the boys a hug. "Hello, darlings! How I've missed you!"
Seth's face was puzzled. "But we just saw you last week. There wasn't time to miss us."
"Don't be rude," I admonished him.
Helen handed a bag to Stevie who ran into the kitchen with it. She glanced briefly at me. "Oh, hello, Cindy."
"Hi, Helen. Thanks for coming."
She ignored my comment and focused her attention on the twins. "I guess it's just you and me tonight, huh? Have you eaten?"
"We had dinner," Stevie said, breathless from his sprint. "Spaghetti and salad."
"Well, you let Grandma know if you want me to fix you anything. You're so skinny. I bet you haven't had a decent meal in weeks."
I rolled my eyes toward the ceiling. Helen York's snide comments were plentiful, especially when directed at me. She's a sophisticated, attractive woman in her late sixties or so with short, gray hair perfectly coiffed and piercing blue eyes. She never divulges her true age, and even Greg has admitted he isn't positive how old she is. From the first day we'd met, I hadn't measured up in her eyes and knew I'd never be good enough for her son. My children were a different matter though. She thought the sun rose and set on them. Helen was their only surviving grandparent, and I was grateful she doted on them, despite our differences.
Stevie and Seth were typical eight-year-olds, full of energy that I envied. Both resembled their father, with light brown hair and sparkling blue eyes. They were imps who knew no boundaries. As of late, they were obsessed with the Harry Potter movies and books. Helen had recently chastised me for buying them. A few months ago they'd been watching The Sopranos reruns on the sly until Greg had caught them and finally put a password lock on that particular television channel. Overall, I felt that Harry Potter was a significant improvement.
Rusty, our cocker spaniel, quickly attached himself to Helen's pant leg while the boys howled with laughter.
"Cynthia." Helen's face was crimson as she pushed the excited dog away. "Will you please teach this creature to behave?"
"He wants to make babies," Stevie shouted.
Seth furrowed his brow. "He’s the word that begins with an H. My friend Tyler told me all about it, but I can’t remember now. They said it on The Sopranos."
Helen's expression quickly turned from one of annoyance to horror. "What word?"
Stevie turned to me for assistance. "Do you know what the word is, Mom?"
Good grief. "Hungry," I said hurriedly. "Rusty’s just hungry. You can give him some treats later."
Seth shook his head. "I don’t think that’s the word. I heard Dad say it to you once too. I passed your bedroom to get a drink of water late at night. Then Dad..."
Oh boy. "Okay, then." I forced a smile to my lips. "You two need to get upstairs to take your showers. Let's move."
The look of shock on Helen's face probably mirrored my own. She stood there, glowering, not saying a word. I turned my back on her and guided the boys toward the stairs.
It was times like this when I wished the earth would swallow me up whole. "Chop-chop, now. Hurry up so you can play games with Grandma later. And behave yourselves." I gave each one of them a kiss and added a gentle push before I sent them on their way upstairs.
"Rusty needs a girl dog to make babies with." Stevie shouted as he ran up the stairs behind his brother.
I turned around and braced myself to meet Helen's disapproval again, but she had already disappeared into the kitchen. I watched as she removed cheese, crackers, and apples from her tote bag. It wasn't like my cupboards were bare, but Helen always managed to find fault with everything of mine.
I forced politeness into my voice. "Helen, it was nice of you to bring food, but I have plenty of fruit in the fridge and snacks up in the cupboards."
She cut her eyes to my face then they dropped to focus on my outfit. "Didn't you say you were going to a fancy event tonight?"
"Yes, a high school reunion at the Steadman mansion. I went to school with Michelle Steadman."
Helen pursed her lips. "Isn't that outfit a little young for you?"
I sucked in some air and gazed down at the cocktail dress I was wearing. I knew I'd put on a couple of pounds lately, and it was a bit snug, but I thought I still looked good. I'd worn it for our anniversary dinner last month, and my husband had been full of compliments. Then again, even a burlap bag would have turned Greg on lately.
What's wrong with my dress? The neckline was a bit on the low side but not impractical. Not that it mattered though. It could have been a nun's habit, and Helen would still find fault because I was the one wearing it.
Mercifully, Jacques' car horn sounded from outside at that moment. I picked up my black evening bag and pressed it under my arm. "I shouldn't be any later than eleven."
Helen made a small snort that she directed toward the apple she was slicing. "Who's taking you?"
"Jacques."
That brought about an even larger snicker. "How ironic that I happen to be slicing fruit right now. Have a nice time, dear."
I clenched my fists at my sides in an effort to restrain myself from lunging for her throat. She could say what she wanted about me, but my best friend was a different matter. Still, I forced myself to take the high road. Sort of. "Do be careful with that knife, Helen. Oh, wait, I forgot. You don't bleed."
Helen was so surprised by my comment that she almost dropped the knife. I hurried to the front door and heard her yell something as I slammed the door behind me.
I ran to Jacques' convertible and slid into the front passenger seat.
He glanced at me quizzically. "What's wrong?"
"Just drive," I ordered. "As far away from here as possible."
"Ah," Jacques gestured at Helen's Chevy with a smile. "It's the mother-in-law who comes airmailed straight from hell." He hit the gas pedal at full force while I grabbed the door handle in a panic.
"Jeez, slow down," I said.
Jacques ignored my plea. "I have a contract with me and some comps for Ben and Michelle to look over. You know that Victorian over on Genesee Way?"
I nodded. "Didn't that just sell?"
"Yep," Jacques said. "Last month. It's slightly larger than Ben's but went for close to two million. This deal could work miracles for the agency."
"No pressure, right?" I stifled a groan and put my hand to my mouth as we approached the lavish home.
"Are you okay?" he asked. "You don't look well. Are you going to have another one of your famous fainting spells?"
"I do feel a bit lightheaded," I admitted. "Probably just the stress from the situation. I'm not looking forward to going inside."
"Listen, darling, I won't leave your side. I swear. I'll be with you every step of the way. And if you land this deal, I'll bring you Starbucks every day for the next month."
"You always bring me Starbucks."
"Well, I'll throw in a couple of blueberry muffins, just to make you happy."
The mention of food made me think of my mother-in-law's comment. "Do I look like I've gained weight? And is my dress inappropriate? Helen acted like it was slutty."
"I think you look amazing, darling," Jacques said. "You might have gained a couple of pounds, but you've still got it going on."
"Thanks, I guess."
"When's Gregory coming home?"
"Hopefully later tonight."
He turned his head to wink at me. "My gu
ess is that dress will wind up on the floor, then."
"Jacques!" I didn't want to elaborate but had a sneaking suspicion he was right. Although Greg always had been amorous, I was having a tough time keeping up with him in the romance department lately. And as much as I loved my husband, desire had been waning for me. I was pretty sure I was going through the change, and the thought depressed me to no end.
Jacques pulled his car into the enormous driveway lined with marble stone. A parking attendant helped us out of the car and gave Jacques a printed number on a card. He reached back into the vehicle to grab his briefcase and then stood, staring at the house. "It's even more spectacular close up."
Although it was early evening, the heat was still an oppressive ninety degrees, and I could feel a small puddle of sweat trickling down the center of my back. But my heart turned to ice as I looked up to gaze upon the home that had belonged to my dear departed friend.
Twenty-five years. Where had they gone to? I remembered the countless times I'd come here so that Paul and I could study, play movies on the VCR, or, once in a while, steal a bottle from the wine cellar. We'd had many heart-to-hearts and confided our dreams to one another. Paul had started working at the local hospital a few weeks before his death as a certified nursing assistant. He had planned to work there full-time for the entire summer before he left to attend college at Johns Hopkins in the fall. His dream had been to specialize in family medicine one day.
Despite the time lapse, it didn't seem as if much of the outside appearance had changed. The surrounding land, which I knew added up to about fifteen acres, was vibrant and green, with rose bushes and lilies in full bloom, despite the intense heat. My lawn was brown from the lack of rain we'd been having, and I imagined there must be landscapers who worked around the clock to keep the grounds of the estate looking fabulous. In addition to the terrace and in-ground pool behind the house, there was a small lake and nature trail that Paul and I had sometimes walked along.
Jacques grabbed the brass knocker of the heavy, polished oak door, and the sound echoed from the inside. He placed a protective hand on my arm. "Don't worry, girl. Everything will be fine."
We gave our names to the man who opened the front door. The entranceway opened into a large drawing room on the right that was empty at the moment. We followed him silently down a long, sterile hallway to the left, my heels clicking away on the travertine. Jacques' eyes darted back and forth as he took in every little detail. We passed the library with its inviting leather-bound books, the conservatory, billiard room, and a small sitting room where Paul and I would sometimes watch movies or study after school.
The butler opened the double doors of the dining room and addressed the room. "Mrs. Cindy York and her guest, Mr. Jacques Forte."
There were about fifty people in the room. Some were already seated at one of the two large, elegant tables that were adorned with china, crystal, and polished silver. Others milled about the large buffet table loaded down with lobster, shrimp, beef tenderloin tips in wine, various pasta dishes, and salads. A small bar had been set up in an opposite corner. A young man in a tuxedo was busy serving up wine and mixed drinks to a small crowd that was gathered in front.
A man with graying hair at the temples and light brown eyes that reminded me of Paul's stepped toward us. He grabbed my hand and gave me a small buss on the cheek. "Cindy. It's so good to see you. I knew you would come."
A lump formed in my throat and made speaking difficult. "It's nice to see you too, Ben."
"Cindy!" A woman squealed from behind Ben. Michelle Steadman hadn't aged much—if at all—since high school. The last time I'd seen her had been about nine or ten years ago at a nearby shopping mall. Her long, blonde hair was swept off her face and into a French twist. She wore a shimmering gold evening gown cut low in the front and even lower in the back. A slit ran up one side of the dress, revealing perfect, lithe legs, and a pair of matching four-inch stiletto heels I guessed were Jimmy Choos.
I stretched out my hand, but Michelle ignored it and grabbed me in a tight hug that surprised and almost smothered me.
"Michelle, you look terrific."
She smiled, displaying perfect white teeth suited for a Crest commercial. Not one wrinkle, gray hair, or anything out of place. I found myself wondering if she'd had work done. Okay, so I hoped.
"It's been way too long," she gushed. "The last time I saw you, you were pregnant with twins. My goodness, you'd been just about ready to pop!"
I smiled politely but didn't reply.
Jacques coughed lightly behind me.
"Oh, I'm sorry. This is my friend and boss, Jacques Forte from Forte Realty."
Ben reached past me to shake Jacques' hand. "It's wonderful to meet you. You're quite the giant in the real estate industry. I'm thrilled to know we'll be in such good hands."
Jacques puffed out his chest a bit. "The honor is ours, Mr. Steadman."
Ben placed his arm around Michelle's shoulders. "Why don't you two grab some dinner, and then we'll tour the house and talk privately."
"It will be a privilege to work for you and to find new owners for such a marvelous home," Jacques fawned. "Why, anyone would be happy here."
I winced inwardly at his statement but said nothing. I knew Jacques didn't realize the effect his words might have upon me. A lavish home, personal chef, and hot sports cars did not a happy life make. Paul had been proof of that. It wasn't often that I disagreed with my best friend, but this was definitely one of those times.
No, Jacques. Not everyone had been happy here.
CHAPTER THREE
Jacques and I found ourselves sitting across from Melanie Flowers and Tonya Chase, two women I remembered being a part of the so-called "greaser" click in school. There'd been the preppies, smarties, nerds, and the greasers, who'd frequented the smoking area of our school. Paul had been part of the sophisticated preppies while I had belonged to the elite "no one knows your name" group.
I remembered one occasion when Tonya had chased me down the high school hall and threatened to beat me up because she caught me staring at her boyfriend, Nick, during biology class. I think the actual reason I'd been staring was because he'd been picking his nose. Yeah, Nick was one who had definitely been on my boyfriend wish list.
"I remember you," Tonya said in an accusatory voice. "What kind of work do you do?"
I dipped a shrimp in cocktail sauce and prayed it wouldn't wind up on my dress. "I'm a real estate agent. How about you?"
"Dog groomer." Tonya took a sip of her wine. She hadn't changed much from high school—the same short, dark hair and a skinny, almost borderline-anorexic build. Her teeth were yellow, probably from years of smoking. Various tattoos ran up and down her arms, and she had about fifty nose piercings. I tried hard not to stare, just in case she might leap out of her chair and chase me through the mansion.
Melanie nodded toward Jacques. With her dyed red hair in a bob, she looked like an older version of brat pack Molly Ringwald, only about fifty pounds heavier. "This your husband?"
"No," Jacques and I replied in unison.
"Jacques Forte." He nodded to them both. "Cindy works for me."
"Oh." Melanie winked at us. "That's how it is."
My face grew warm. "Um no, it isn't."
Melanie laughed. "I'm surprised to see you having an affair. You always seemed so square in high school."
I pursed my lips together tightly, afraid I might say something I'd regret. "You're way off base. I am not having an affair with Jacques."
"I'm gay," Jacques put in.
"Oh, please," Melanie said. "I can spot a gay guy a mile away. You definitely don't fit the bill."
"I can assure you, I'm gay," Jacques argued.
"Oh, have it your way." Melanie's expression was bored as she downed the rest of her beer.
I was afraid to look at Jacques in case there might be steam pouring out of his ears. I quickly changed the subject. "What do you do for a living, Melanie?"
"I'm
a nurse at Burbank Hospital," she said in a matter of fact tone. "I work in the emergency room, but I used to be in maternity. I remember when you had your twins. How old are the little buggers now?"
"Eight," I said. "But I don't remember seeing you back then."
Melanie waved her hand in a dismissive manner. "I wasn't assigned to you, but trust me—I've always known everything that goes on in that hospital. I remember your old buddy Paul working there too, right before he offed himself."
The callous manner in which she referred to his suicide sickened me. For a moment, all I could do was stare in return. Finally, I found my voice and spoke with great care, enunciating every single word. "Don't ever talk about Paul like that."
She was taken aback by my tone. "Wow. It was twenty-five years ago, honey. Get over it already."
My eyes were growing moist. "I'm never going to be over it. He was my best friend and a wonderful person."
Melanie choked back a laugh. "Oh, please. Paul was a conceited snob. He walked around the hospital as if he owned the place. I was working there as a candy striper back then. We started at the same time, but he always acted like he was above me."
Jacques gave me a slight nudge, and I noticed that our conversation was starting to attract attention from others seated nearby. I couldn't have cared less.
"Besides," Tonya put in. "You couldn't have been that great of a friend if you didn't have any idea he was going to end it all."
I was so angry I couldn't see straight. Furious, I pushed my chair back and stood. "Excuse me. It's a bit stuffy in here, and I really need to get some air."
I walked out of the dining room into the hallway and found a marble-lined bathroom next to the kitchen. I studied my expression in the brass mirror over the sink. My hazel eyes had already started to fill. With a sigh, I brushed my forefinger across both eyelids. Get it together. Time to confront the past.
Instead of returning to the dining area, I ascended the winding, grand oak staircase. When I reached the first bedroom on the left side of the hall, I grabbed hold of the doorknob with both hands and turned. My entire body shook from head to toe as I entered the room.
Priced to Kill (Cindy York Mysteries Book 2) Page 2