Priced to Kill (Cindy York Mysteries Book 2)

by Catherine Bruns

  "Excellent," Jacques said.

  I managed to hide my smile as I stared at my best friend. He was suave, smooth, and unruffled. This was not the same man who had done a somersault in the Starbucks parking lot about a half an hour ago.

  Jacques cleared his throat. "The only stipulation is that the Whitakers would like to take possession as soon as possible. Since they're paying cash, that does away with the need for a mortgage and the holdup we'd likely encounter with the bank. They'd prefer to have inspections completed on Friday, if that's okay with you. And they'd like to be settled here within two weeks. I know it's an awful short time frame, but that's when Mr. Whitaker's movie is scheduled to start filming in the area."

  Ben nodded his approval. "That works for us. To tell you the truth, I'm going out of town on business tomorrow. My last trip, I hope. I may still need to make another one once we're settled in Bermuda. Michelle has already been in touch with a moving company about packing everything for us. She may even be able to get them over here in the next couple of days, so that's not an issue. I doubt two weeks will be a problem."

  He was silent for a moment as he gazed off beyond the pool. "I'd just as soon not come back here at all. When my business trip is over, I'm thinking I might fly directly to Bermuda. Michelle can arrange to meet me whenever she finishes up here. I'm assuming you two could take care of everything at the closing for us, as long as we've signed the papers in advance?"

  A small twinge of doubt pecked at my brain. This was all too easy. Something had to go wrong. In desperation, I tried to shake off my glass-is-half-empty attitude, but that wasn't an easy thing. When it came to my real estate career, something always went wrong. I managed to force a smile to my lips. "Of course, Ben. We can take care of everything for you."

  He sighed. "I'm very grateful to you both. In all honesty, Michelle and I should have left here a long time ago. I never really wanted to live in this house after what happened to Paul. Now that there may be a different conclusion, I think it's best that we move away as soon as possible."

  I nodded. "I certainly understand your feelings."

  Ben pinched the bridge of his nose between his forefinger and thumb while I examined his face. He looked tired. I was curious if his eagerness to move away had something to do with the former young intern in his office, but didn't dare ask.

  Ben's gaze met mine. "Have you found out anything of interest concerning Paul?"

  I exchanged glances with Jacques, who stared back at me in return, his green eyes cat-like. I read the unspoken message in them. Keep your mouth shut until the sale is final.

  I chose to ignore the warning. "Was Paul carrying on with anyone when he died?"

  He looked thunderstruck. "Why would you ask that, especially after the note he left you?"

  I really didn't want to get into the delicate subject of Paul's conversation with Mildred. Jacques nudged me under the table, but I ignored him. I wasn't sure what Rachel might tell us later—if anything—and I hoped Ben could provide some useful facts about his brother. "Do you remember Mildred Reynolds?"

  His expression was blank. "The name sounds familiar."

  "She was a nurse for Doctor Barrows."

  "Oh!" He nodded. "I do remember her. Nice lady. Is she still around?"

  "Yes, we drove out to visit her earlier. She's confined to a wheelchair, and her mind is starting to decline a bit. But she said that Paul had come to her the day before his death. He had some concerns about—um, about male sterility."

  He looked at me like I had corn growing out of my ears. "Why in God's name would he have asked her about such a thing?"

  "That's what I'd like to know," I said. "I hoped you might be able to shed some light on this."

  He shook his head. "You know that we weren't close. As far as I know, there weren't any girls he was interested in—besides you, of course. So this really doesn't make sense. Perhaps the woman is confusing him with a patient. Did she say anything else?"

  I debated briefly about how much more to tell him, but I also wanted to gauge his reaction. "She was in the emergency room the day Paul died and said he was holding something odd in his hand."

  Ben's dark eyes were huge in his pale face. "What was it?"

  "She couldn't remember."

  He loosened his tie and made a face. "If we'd had a decent police department back then, things could have gone differently. How are we ever going to get any answers now?"

  I bit into my lower lip. "I'm not going to give up until I do have answers."

  Ben smiled. "You were a good, loyal friend to him, Cindy. Maybe if Paul had lived, you would have been my sister-in-law."

  Embarrassment flooded my body. "I-I don't know about that. I loved your brother, but I wasn't in love with him."

  "Yeah, I know something about that too."

  He spoke so low that, for a moment, I wasn't sure I'd heard him correctly. Then a shadow passed over his face. "You might think you're incapable of loving someone, but it's always possible. So there's never any way to be sure."

  Was he talking about me or himself? I caught Jacques raising his eyebrows at me in warning and guessed what he was thinking. He was concerned that something would end up costing us this sale. I wasn't about to let that happen.

  "I'm hoping that Mildred might remember whatever was in Paul's hand. I have a feeling that might hold the key to everything."

  "If I could go back and do things differently, I would. We were never close, but Paul was my only sibling, and I did love him in my own way. To think that someone was in this house that day and might have taken his life—" Ben blew out a sharp breath. "This is all very difficult for me to fathom. Have you found out anything else?"

  Jacques kicked me under the table again. I was confident my leg was black and blue by this time. "No. I seem to have hit a dead end."

  Something flickered in his eyes that made me think he didn't believe me. A chill ran down my spine.

  Jacques rose to his feet. "Well, we won't keep you. Please give our regards to Michelle. Cindy will be in touch and let you know what time the inspections are scheduled for when she hears from Tricia."

  Ben nodded. "You'll be present for the inspections, correct?"

  Jacques smiled. "If possible, we will both be here."

  I deftly raised one eyebrow at him, but he ignored the gesture. Sheesh. Didn't he think I was capable of handling anything by myself? Yet, I couldn't blame Jacques. I hadn't exactly been Miss Dependable lately.

  Ben walked us to the front door. "I guess this is good-bye then." He shook hands with Jacques. When I extended mine he ignored it, pulling me forward into a tight hug instead. "Please share anything you find out about Paul's death with me. I want to know every detail."

  I stared over his shoulder into Jacques' bewildered face. "Of course."

  Ben released me, and for a moment, I thought he was going to say something else. He must have thought better of it because he opened the door and waited until we had walked down the driveway and were situated in Jacques car. He waved one last time and shut the front door.

  Jacques said nothing as he started the engine and turned around in the driveway. As soon as we reached the road, I couldn't stand it anymore. "Okay. You're ticked at me."

  "Gee, whatever gave you that idea?"

  I blew out a breath. "I'm not trying to jeopardize the sale, honest. It's just that—well…"

  Jacques' convertible skidded to a stop as he pulled the car over to the side of the road. He grabbed me by the shoulders and turned me around to face him, his eyes an emerald inferno. "The hell with the stupid house. I'm worried about you. Why did you tell Ben about what Mildred said? He could have been the one who shot Paul, for all you know. Cynthia, you could be getting yourself in deep doo-doo here. I don't want anything to happen to you."

  My eyes started to fill as I reached out to hug my friend. "I'm going to be fine. Jeez, I don't know what to say. I was sure you were upset about the sale."

  "I can always find ano
ther mansion for sale," he said gruffly, "but I can't find another you."

  Tears dripped off my chin in an unladylike manner. Jacques sighed as he reached into his pocket and offered me his handkerchief, which I gratefully took. "You're the one person I know who never has a tissue during a moment of crisis."

  "Another reason I can't do without you." I spoke in a husky voice.

  Jacques' eyes were starting to fill as well, and he immediately changed the subject. "Likewise. But I'm not convinced Ben is innocent, Cin."

  "I thought he might have some idea of what had been going on with Paul. Jacques, it just doesn't make sense. Why would Paul be asking questions about sterility? Was he asking for himself or someone else?"

  Jacques put the car back in drive and took a left on to the main road. "Mildred had a stroke. She's obviously having some memory issues as a result. Ben could be right. Maybe she has Paul confused with someone else."

  "But she seemed to remember him well enough." Except for his name, that is. I covered my eyes with my hand. "I just feel like I'm running in circles here."

  Jacques was silent until he pulled the convertible into the driveway behind my Honda. I stared at my watch. Five-thirty. Where the heck had the day gone? "Let me just change my clothes and pop the casserole I made last night into the oven, and then I'll be ready to roll."

  "Where does this stalker, Rachel, live?" Jacques asked.

  "Believe it or not, she's just around the corner from Lambert Court—you know—where Aaron lives. An apartment complex on Summer Drive."

  His lips curled back in distaste. "I know that place. It's a dive. This is going to be so much fun."

  I ignored the sarcasm dripping from his mouth as we opened our car doors in unison. I shut mine and heard a shriek. Stevie and Seth came running in our direction.

  "Hi, Uncle Jacques! What did you bring me?" Stevie looked as if he'd just been rolling around in the mud. As he ran toward Jacques, my friend's face and body both froze with fear.

  I ran in Stevie's direction, cutting him off. "Stop! Don't you dare mess up Uncle Jacques' suit."

  I managed to grab Stevie just in the nick of time. Jacques remained standing in place, a deer-in-the-headlights look plastered on his face. He stared from Stevie to Seth, who was also covered in dirt, then shook his head and grinned. "You guys been working construction again?"

  That got a giggle out of them. Jacques reached into his coat pocket and produced a pack of gum. "Sorry, guys. I didn't know I was coming here, otherwise I would have been more prepared."

  "That's okay." Seth grabbed the gum and then reached for Jacques' hand, leading him toward the house. "You can make it up to us next time."

  We all trooped inside.

  "You guys get upstairs and take a shower," I said. "And be quick about it. Dinner will be ready soon."

  Greg was in the study but came out when he heard me speak. He smiled at Jacques and then placed his arms around my waist and kissed me. "I was starting to wonder where you were. Everything okay?"

  "Just fine, honey."

  He pumped Jacques hand. "Why don't you join us for dinner? Cindy always makes more than enough."

  Jacques shook his head. "Thanks, but Ed's bringing me something from the restaurant later—after we get back, that is."

  The smile left Greg's face as he stared at both of us. "You mean you're going out again? Is there another showing?"

  "Uncle Jacques," Stevie yelled from the top of the stairs. "Seth's in the shower, so come on up, and see the new Lego set we got. You can even build a mansion with this one."

  "Hmm. That sounds right up my alley." Jacques winked at me. "Yell when you're ready to go, dear."

  I went into the kitchen and turned the oven on, then grabbed the casserole from the fridge that I had prepared last night. "It just needs to cook for half an hour," I said to Greg. "Then it will be ready to go."

  Greg didn't answer. I turned around to see him watching me, a stern expression on his handsome face, arms folded across his broad chest. "I want to know how your doctor's appointment went. And don't give me that 'I'm fine' bit because I know you're keeping something from me."

  I shut the oven door. "I don't have the results yet. Honest. But there's a chance it might not be menopause—I may have an ulcer instead."

  He frowned. "And from the lilt in your voice, that's good news?"

  "Of course it's good news. Who wants to go through the change?"

  Greg sighed as he drew me toward him and smoothed back the hair from my face. "Where are you and Jacques really going tonight? Does this have something to do with Paul?"

  I stared at the concern in his ocean-blue eyes. "We're going to see a woman I went to high school with. She had a huge crush on Paul and used to follow him around like a puppy dog back then." Okay, it was more like a rottweiler, but there was no need to get into specifics now, right?

  He caressed my cheek with his fingers. "I don't like you playing detective. Remember what happened the last time? You almost got yourself killed. And with a possible health issue, you should be taking it easy now."

  I was touched by his concern. "I'm fine, honest. And when I get the results from the doctor and know what's going on, I'll be even better. Maybe this is just a mind-over-matter thing."

  "Do you really think so?"

  "Sure," I lied. "We won't be gone long. Rachel may not even be home. But I have to try. I'm positive my gut instinct is right about this, Greg."

  Greg ran a hand through his hair, clearly frustrated. "All right, sweetheart. Maybe it will finally give you some peace of mind if you can get to the bottom of this."

  That was my hope, too. "I need to go upstairs and change."

  He grinned at me in a teasing manner. "Need any help?"

  "Sheesh, you're in overdrive twenty-four hours a day lately."

  He put his arms around my waist again. "It's your fault for being so gorgeous."

  I laughed and tried to wriggle out of his grasp. "Where's Darcy?"

  Greg released his hold on me. "She went over to Heather's. I told her to be back at six o'clock for dinner."

  "She's still upset with me."

  "Forget about it. You did the right thing. And she knew better than to take those clothes in the first place. Once you sell that house, Michelle will move away, and things will get back to normal again around here."

  I'd forgotten about that part. Another score for me. "Speaking of which, we got an offer on their place today. Ben just signed the contract."

  Greg's mouth fell open in surprise. "Wow, that's fantastic. But it only went on the market the other day. It hasn't even been a full week yet."

  I shrugged. "Sometimes it just works out like that."

  "Hmm." He scratched his head thoughtfully. "But it never works out like that for you, Cin."

  Sadly, he was right.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  It was past seven when Jacques pulled his car up in front of the three-story, dilapidated apartment building that Rachel Kennedy resided in. The gray paint was peeling off the sides, windows were filthy, and the asphalt roof looked as if it was about ready to cave in.

  Jacques came around and opened the car door for me. "La dump awaits you, mademoiselle."

  "Hilarious."

  We'd already dropped the hat off to Aaron, who'd promised to take it to his friend at the lab first thing in the morning. I said I'd call him on Friday if he didn't get in touch with me first. We'd exchanged a few pleasantries before Jacques and I sped off again.

  "What floor is she on?" Jacques asked.

  I checked my Post-It Note. "Second. Apartment 2B."

  We climbed a flight of rickety stairs that I worried might collapse underneath us at any second. As we reached the darkened second floor, I gagged and covered my mouth and nose, afraid I might be sick. Someone was cooking with garlic and herbs, and the smell was detrimental to my already-sensitive stomach. I prayed the concoction wasn't coming from Rachel's apartment.

  Jacques raised his hand to kno
ck on the battered door, then stopped for a moment to read the profanity on the wall with interest. Someone had written a four-letter word in large, block lettering, and underneath it was another thought provoking comment about one's mother.

  He grabbed a handkerchief from his pocket and covered the doorknob with it. "God knows what you might catch around this place. And I'm half expecting someone to come running toward us with a knife at any moment. Maybe they filmed Psycho here."

  As the words left his mouth, the door was yanked open, and a slim woman with cropped blonde hair stared out at us. One look told me it was Rachel. She stared at Jacques, puzzled, and then her gaze came to rest on me.

  "I know you," she said. "Aren't you a cop?"

  This was a first. "No. We went to high school together. My name is—was—Cindy Haskins."

  She took a long drag of her cigarette and blew it directly into my face. I turned away, coughing and sputtering.

  "Yeah. I remember now. So why are you here?"

  Jacques' eyes glittered at her. "That was totally uncalled for. Cindy isn't feeling well, and you aren't helping matters."

  "And…I'm supposed to care…why?"

  I tried to keep the peace, fearful she wouldn't let us in. "This is my friend and business associate, Jacques Forte. We were hoping we could talk to you for a minute."

  Her eyes crossed back to Jacques and took in the expensive suit and Rolex he was wearing, the latter a wedding present from Ed. "Well, color me happy. Looks like it's my lucky day." She slammed the door against the wall and then walked back inside. We interpreted that as our invitation to enter.

  The place was almost barren of furniture. There was a small kitchen with dirty dishes stacked in the sink and several pizza boxes on the counter. An open partition separated the room from the combination dining and living area. A small sofa, television, metal table, and two chairs were the only furniture present. The once-white walls were dingy from smoke, and there was a series of holes in the Sheetrock. The laminate flooring was broken in several places.

  Since we were not offered a seat, we remained standing as Rachel plopped herself down on the sofa. I studied her face while she stubbed her cigarette out into a glass ashtray. The prettiness and birdlike qualities I'd remembered from high school were long gone. Her crystal-blue eyes that had once been so alive and fresh had dulled. Her face was compounded with a brittle, sullen look. I wondered how difficult her life had been and if drugs had played a part as well.