Priced to Kill (Cindy York Mysteries Book 2)

by Catherine Bruns

"Darling, as long as you're there, I don't care what you have to do. And as you're well aware, it's a good idea if the sellers aren't home at the time of the showing, so please impress that upon Michelle when you speak to her. Buyers feel rushed if they know the owner is at home."

  "Good grief, you act like this is my first time showing a house."

  "It's not that," Jacques argued. "I have every faith in your ability. But if we can turn this around for a quick sale, it will put everything into perspective for me. And I received more good news this morning too."

  "It's only eight-thirty. How long have you been at it? Have you been out jogging too?"

  "Now that you mention it, Ed and I hit the gym at five this morning."

  I rolled my eyes so far back in my head I was afraid I might hurt myself. "What is it with you men?"

  I heard him chuckle. "Having trouble keeping up with the old man, Cin?"

  "That's putting it mildly." I reached into the kitchen cabinet for a multivitamin. "Okay, I'll show the house if you call Tricia back and answer her questions. She hates my guts, and I'm really not in the mood for her phony act right now."

  "Fair enough," Jacques said. "And as I said, there's more good news. Word has already leaked out about the Steadman mansion, and I have an appointment to list the Greenweld Estate this afternoon."

  "Oh, that's awesome!" I squealed. "See, things are getting better already."

  "Hope so, darling. Talk to you later."

  After he hung up, I glanced at the wall clock. Almost nine. Was it too early to call Mr. Connors? I'd try my doctor's office first. As it turned out, Dr. Sanchez had a cancellation Wednesday morning at ten, so I was scheduled to come in then. I hoped there was some magical pill that might make me feel better. Then a tiny chill swept over me. Could there be something else wrong with me? Maybe a fatal virus?

  Stop it, Cin. You're letting your imagination run away with you, as usual.

  I grabbed another cup of coffee and dialed Aaron's number. It rang twice, and then a brisk man's voice answered. "Yo!"

  I paused for a moment. "Hi, I'm looking for Aaron Connors."

  "You've found him. You're not selling anything, are ya?"

  "Mr. Connors, my name is Cindy York. I understand that you used to be a police officer in the town of Burbank, where I live?"

  "That is correct, ma'am. What can I do for you?"

  Just blurt it out. "About twenty-five year ago, you were one of the officers who investigated a case of apparent suicide. The victim's name was Paul Steadman. Do you happen to remember it?"

  There was a long silence on the other end. "I recall it very well. But how does this concern you?"

  "Paul was my best friend. I was the one who found his body."

  "Ah." Silence again. "If memory serves, you had to be sedated that day."

  This tidbit of information surprised me. "To be honest, I don't recall much after finding Paul's body. Over the years, I've tried to shut all the memories out. You're going to think what I'm about to say is crazy, but I have reason to believe that Paul didn't commit suicide. I think he was murdered."

  Aaron whistled. "That's a pretty serious claim, Miss York."

  "I know that. But I'm convinced it wasn't suicide. I was wondering if you might have some free time in the next couple of days so that we could meet."

  He cleared his throat. "It just so happens that I'm doing some gardening this morning. It's my passion now that I'm retired. I'm going out of town this afternoon to visit my daughter and won't be back until late tomorrow night. Would you like to come over this morning?"

  This was better than I'd hoped for. "That would be terrific. Where do you live?"

  "I'm just outside of Burbank in Milton Springs. The address is 15 Lambert Court. There's a brand new Starbucks just across from my road."

  If anything, I knew my Starbucks. "I know where you're at. Can you give me about an hour to get over there?"

  "Sure thing," he said. "I'll be in the yard. Come on back whenever you get here."

  I clicked off and hurried back up the stairs. Stevie and Seth were still lying on my bed, watching cartoons. They looked up at me expectantly.

  "I'm bored," Stevie said. "Can we go to the playground?"

  "Not today. Guys, I need you to behave while your sister watches you for a few hours. Where is she, by the way?"

  "Still sleeping, I think," Seth said. "I was gonna send Rusty in to wake her up."

  "Don't you dare. I'm going to take a quick shower, and then I'll wake Darcy before I leave."

  Stevie bounced on my bed. "Can we come with you to the office and see Uncle Jacques?"

  "Not this time, honey. Mommy needs to go visit a police officer."

  That got their attention. "Are you in trouble?" Stevie asked excitedly. "Did you sell someone a house that's falling down?"

  Seth reached for the house phone on my nightstand. "I'd better call Dad."

  "You'll do no such thing." I removed the phone from his hands. "Just stay put until I get out of the shower."

  I brought my clothes into the adjoining bathroom, then showered and washed my hair. Afterward I quickly dressed, blow dried my hair, and pulled it back into a ponytail for some relief from the scorching heat.

  "Mother!" Darcy screamed.

  I threw open the bathroom door. Stevie and Seth were no longer in my room. I hurried down the hall and peered into Darcy's room. Rusty was lying next to her on the comforter. Stevie and Seth were giggling and pointing.

  I narrowed my eyes at them. "What did I tell you two?"

  "It was his idea," Seth said, pushing Stevie.

  "It was not."

  "It was too!"

  "That's enough!" I wiped the back of my hand against the perspiration gathering on my forehead. Damn these hot flashes.

  "Mother," Darcy whined, as she pulled the sheet up around her. "Please get this hairy creature off my bed."

  "Come on, boy." Rusty didn't want to budge, so I picked him up and set him on the floor. He immediately attached himself to my leg while the twins' laughter resumed.

  Stevie jumped up and down. "Rusty's hungry again!"

  The dog looked up, and I swear he winked at me.

  Darcy wrinkled her nose at her brothers. "Why didn't you drown them at birth?"

  I detached Rusty from my leg and told him "No" in a sharp voice. He turned and galloped into the hallway like a small horse. At least I hadn't offended him.

  "Okay, guys, go in the kitchen and grab a snack. Darcy and I will be down soon." I smoothed the covers on her bed. "I need you to watch the boys for a few hours. I have some errands to run."

  Darcy glared at me as she rolled out of bed. "You always need me to watch them. This is my summer vacation too, remember? Why can't you call Grandma?"

  I bit into my lower lip in an effort to temper my response. "You know that I'd rather not call Grandma unless it's really necessary. We don't always see eye to eye on certain things." Or anything, for that matter.

  She snorted. "Word. How long do I have to watch them for? I want to go over to Heather's this afternoon so that we can practice some cheers."

  "I won't be too long. I have an appointment to meet with someone, and then I need to stop by the office for a couple of hours. Why don't you skip practice for today? It's so hot outside. Tomorrow's supposed to cool off a bit when you meet with Mrs. Steadman."

  Her face lit up at the mention of Michelle's name. "But I really want to get some more work in before I meet her. I don't want her to think I'm a total loser."

  "Sweetheart, she's not going to think that. She's doing this because she loves the sport and wants to help you."

  "She's like all over the internet and everything," Darcy gushed. "I mean, she could have been a Cowboys cheerleader if she wanted to. She was that good." She stared at me suspiciously. "How come you weren't a cheerleader in high school?"

  I grinned. "Maybe because I'm not exactly coordinated and have two left feet?"

  "Oh yeah, I forgot about that."
>
  I glanced at my watch. "Okay, I need to get going. Don't leave your brothers alone for too long downstairs. You know what they're capable of. There's sandwiches in the fridge for lunch. And make sure you don't leave them unattended in the pool." It was only a three-foot, above-ground, metal, round pool Greg had easily installed last month, but it was quite a boost on humid days like this.

  Darcy cast an irritated look in my direction. "Mother, I wasn't born yesterday. And when are you going to take care of Rusty's gross problem?"

  "I'll call the vet and make an appointment for him next week. It's pretty obvious that he needs to be neutered and fast."

  "Thank God," Darcy said in an overly dramatic tone. "If I hear Stevie yell that the dog’s hungry one more time, I may throw up."

  My stomach muscles tightened at her words. "You're not the only one."

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  The drive to Lambert Court only took about fifteen minutes, but with the excitement of the dog and the phone call to arrange his upcoming visit to the vet, it was almost eleven by the time I reached Aaron Connors's house. It was a one-level, redbrick ranch with adjoining garage. I pulled up behind a newer model Buick Regal and glanced around.

  Aaron hadn't been kidding when he said he liked gardening. There was a beautiful flower bed in front, surrounded by colorful stones. The rose bushes he'd planted were in full bloom, and I even spotted some tomatoes coming from a trellis near the house.

  I heard a screech in the driveway and turned around. Jacques' convertible pulled in right behind mine, and he was so quick to step on the brake I was afraid for a moment his car might careen into mine.

  I walked over to his vehicle. "Thanks for meeting me here. But there was no need to drive like a maniac. Oh, wait. I forgot. You don't know any other way to drive."

  "There goes that sarcastic mouth of yours again." Jacques was wearing a navy blue suit that I suspected was Prada. He threw the jacket over the backseat and pushed his shirt up at the elbows. The man knew how to dress for success.

  "He said for me to meet him in the backyard. Take your tie off. I'm broiling just looking at you in that outfit."

  Jacques waved an impatient hand. "I'll be fine. Worry about yourself, darling. You look like you might melt on the sidewalk at any second."

  I was dressed in a sleeveless blue sundress and sandals, yet Jacques looked more comfortable than I felt. The heat was again driving me to distraction. "It's the change."

  "Remember this word," Jacques said. "Hormones. They'll be a lifesaver for you."

  Since Jacques' listing appointment wasn't until the afternoon, I had called to see if he wanted to meet me here. After all, we weren't just real estate agents, as he'd pointed out. We were a new and upcoming detective team.

  He looped his arm through mine. "Poirot and Hastings to the rescue again."

  We walked past the garage and spotted a chain-link fence that ran around a small but pristine looking yard. There was a larger garden out back with almost every kind of vegetable I could think of, a metal picnic table painted red, and a hammock that hung between two trees in one corner. All of a sudden, a black-and-brown terrier appeared from nowhere, barking at us through the gaps in the fence.

  "Scrappy, stop that!" A man who appeared to be in his early seventies came toward us with a gardening pick in one hand. He was wearing a pair of denim overalls and a white T-shirt littered with grass stains. His leathery face smiled as he reached over to open the gate for us. "He won't bite, don't worry. Are you Cindy York?"

  "Yes." I extended my hand to shake his and then gestured toward Jacques. "This is my friend and business associate, Jacques Forte. It's very nice to meet you Mr. Connors."

  "Call me Aaron." He shook hands with Jacques while I studied him. His sparse hair was grey, and he had a fine white stubble of beard growth surrounding his mouth. He was tall and wiry thin. As I continued to stare at him, a small flicker of recognition dawned. I was almost positive I remembered him from the day of Paul's death. He'd stopped to say a kind word to me. What it was, I couldn't recall though. Funny how setting eyes on him brought the memory instantly back.

  "Come on over here, and sit yourselves down at the picnic table so we can chat."

  We followed him across the yard, and I glanced around. Scrappy had retreated to a doghouse, also painted red, in another corner of the yard. It appeared that Aaron was in the process of planting more flower beds of some variety. "Isn't it kind of late in the summer for that?"

  He chuckled. "I like to keep busy. Retirement has its perks, but some days it can drive you stark raving mad. You'll find out someday."

  I wished. My real estate career was so uncertain most days I had to wonder at this point in my life if I'd ever know any type of retirement. Jacques and I sat across from him at the table while he wiped his face with a handkerchief and reached for a water bottle.

  He gestured toward the bottle and then in the direction of the house. "Can I get either of you one?"

  Jacques and I both shook our heads.

  "No, thank you," I said. "It was awfully nice of you to meet with us on such short notice today."

  Aaron took a long swig from the bottle. "Think nothing of it. I remember that case very well. Matter of fact, it did always kind of bother me. That's why I was interested in hearing your theory."

  I leaned forward across the table on my elbows. "How so? I mean, how did it bother you?"

  "Well, I did a background check on the kid at the time," Aaron replied. "No history of medical problems. He came from a prominent family. Wanted to be a doctor, from what I understand."

  My throat tightened. "That's right. He was assisting at Burbank Hospital that summer. He was going to attend Johns Hopkins University in the fall."

  "Great school." Aaron wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "My granddaughter just finished up there."

  "What was he doing at the hospital?" Jacques asked me. "Candy striper?"

  I smiled. "No, he was a certified nursing assistant. It's the male equivalent to a candy striper, I believe. Or was."

  "See, that's my point," Aaron said. "That's why I agreed to talk to you. I was never convinced it was suicide. But my boss didn't want to hear my theory."

  I folded my hands together. "Paul's brother, Ben, didn't seem to think there was an autopsy performed. Do you happen to remember?"

  Aaron nodded. "He's right. I tried to convince the parents to go ahead with it, but the mother was adamant. If memory serves, she passed not too long after him."

  I noticed that my hands were trembling. "Was there anything about the bedroom that seemed off to you that day?"

  The elderly man mopped at his head with the handkerchief again. "Little lady, you were there too. Did anything strike you as off?"

  "I'm not sure," I said honestly. "It's so hard for me to remember. I'd even forgotten about being sedated until you mentioned it. I've spent so many years blocking it all out that I'm afraid I've been rather successful at it."

  "Maybe you should check into hypnosis," Aaron said. "It could prove to be helpful."

  The thought of being hypnotized unnerved me. "I-I don't know," I stammered. "I just hoped that you could tell me something." Anything.

  Aaron scratched his head. "Well, back then, there weren't many suicides around here. That was only the second one I ever witnessed, and I'd been on the force for over ten years by then."

  "Did they call in an investigator?" I asked.

  He shook his head. "The problem is that Burbank was—still is—a small town. And it was difficult to prove that your friend didn't commit suicide."

  Jacques frowned. "I don't understand."

  Aaron finished his water. "When we got to the Steadman place that day, you'd already called the operator for help, Miss York. The EMT team was the first to arrive. Which is a good thing, since they were trying to save his life. But the staff was brand new, and they touched things they shouldn't have. I mean, it's kind of hard to avoid doing so when you're trying to save a man's
life, you know?"

  "That's understandable," I said.

  "Well, when I got there with my partner, your friend had already been loaded onto a gurney, and they were moving him into the ambulance. You were sitting outside with another EMT worker who was trying to console you. The entire scene—scene of the crime, as you're calling it now—had already been disturbed. The young man's body had been upset. The gun had been removed from his hand. The EMT guy couldn't remember how exactly he'd been holding it. I know the most important thing was to save the kid's life, but the whole process was handled so sloppily. Sad to say, I've seen that happen a few times during my career."

  I cut my eyes to Jacques. This was turning out to be more difficult than I'd feared. "If they'd had the autopsy done, couldn't that have proven it might not have been a suicide?"

  Aaron nodded soberly. "I tried to convince Mrs. Steadman, but she refused to listen. If the autopsy had been performed, yes, there's a good chance the coroner could have proven that maybe the boy hadn't shot himself with the gun."

  I swallowed hard. "I wish you could have persuaded her."

  He glanced at me with sympathy. "Why the sudden interest now? Something must have happened to convince you it was a potential murder after all this time."

  I was baking from the heat of the overhead, blazing sun. "I found a letter from him. Let's just say it convinced me he did not commit suicide."

  Aaron frowned. "Do you have it with you? I'd like to see it."

  Ugh. This again. "It's a love letter he wrote to me." I reached into my purse and handed him the envelope. He read the note quietly and then glanced up at me.

  "Sounds like he was crazy about you."

  I nodded. "Now you understand what I'm talking about."

  He handed the letter back to me. "What you're saying makes sense. I wish I could be of more assistance. If there was any type of evidence around from that day, it could help prove your theory. But I'm guessing the room he was found in has changed since then."

  "Yes, I saw it this past weekend. Totally redone. It's the first time I'd been there since… Anyway, my boss and I are listing the house for the Steadmans."

  "Really?" Aaron seemed intrigued. "Ben Steadman certainly works hard for his clients. I'll give him that. My ex-wife was one of them. I'm betting he needs the money after that scandal a couple of years ago."