Priced to Kill (Cindy York Mysteries Book 2)

by Catherine Bruns

  With a grin, Greg touched his lips to mine while the twins started screaming and making obnoxious noises.

  "Gross!" Stevie shouted.

  Seth covered his eyes. "I'm going blind."

  I laughed and struggled to my feet. "Where's Darcy?"

  Greg jerked his finger toward the ceiling. "In her room."

  "How did she seem earlier?" I asked.

  Greg shrugged. "Fine, I guess. She didn't say much during dinner, but she had two helpings of the casserole, so I guess she's okay."

  "Well, at least she's still eating my food," I said tartly. "I'm going upstairs to have a talk with her." I turned my attention back to the twins. "Were you two outside after dinner?"

  "Maybe," Stevie said.

  Greg yawned. "Yeah, they took Rusty for a walk."

  I examined Seth's mud-splattered arms and pointed toward the stairs. "Get upstairs for another shower."

  "Uh-uh," Seth said. "I don't need a shower. I smell fine."

  Stevie gave him a push. "No, you don't. You stink like Rusty's poop."

  The bowl of popcorn flew into the air as they started tussling. Within seconds, Rusty was barking and trying to jump between them—when he wasn't trying to devour the popcorn, that is.

  "Enough!" I got down on my hands and knees and started picking up the mess.

  Greg heaved himself out of the chair and pulled the twins apart. "Seth, take your shower first. Stevie will help me clean up."

  "Oh, come on, man," Seth whined.

  Greg gave me a slight pat on the backside. "Go on, baby. I'll take care of everything here."

  Actually, I wouldn't have minded switching places with him but didn't say so. I knew Darcy was furious with me because I'd forced her to return the clothes. And the truth was, I still smarted from her words yesterday. It also hurt me that we weren't able to give her the same things that Michelle could.

  I climbed the stairs to the main floor of the house and then ascended the staircase to the bedrooms on the second floor. I was about to knock on Darcy's door when I heard giggling coming from the other side. I pressed my ear to the door.

  "That sounds like so much fun. And you were totally awesome to understand about the clothes. My mom is so square about most things these days."

  I was frozen in place, listening to her happily chatter on. It had quickly become obvious who she was talking to. The words stung more than a slap in the face and left me just as breathless.

  I heard her say something else, then raised my fist in the air and brought it down hard on the door. There was a brief silence, a murmur, and Darcy opened the door, looking as guilty as if she'd just snuck back in her window from a joyride with some friends.

  Darcy glanced at me for a moment with a sullen expression, saying nothing. Then she turned on her heel and leaped onto her bed, where she began scrolling through her phone. It was like I wasn't even there.

  I tried to stay calm despite the fact that, on the inside, a full-fledged storm was brewing. "I'd like to have a little chat with you."

  She cut her eyes to me for a second, then she lowered her head and starting texting something on her phone.

  So much for staying calm. I reached out and snatched the phone from her hands. "I'd appreciate you listening to me when I'm talking."

  Darcy let out a long, exaggerated sigh. "What is it now?"

  Annoyed, I stared at her. Lately, I never knew what type of mood my daughter might be in. The last couple of days her attitude had worsened, which I attributed to this newfound friendship with Michelle. I wished I'd never asked the woman for her help. "Were you just talking to Michelle on the phone?"

  "Yeah, so?"

  I sat down on the edge of her bed. She shifted her body so she didn't have to look at me. "Darcy, don't treat me like the enemy here. I'm your mother, and I happen to love you."

  She whirled her head back around. "If you loved me so much, you'd want to see me happy."

  "Of course I want to see you happy. Is this still about the clothes?"

  Her lips formed in a genuine pout. "No. It's the fact that you were the one who asked Michelle to help me. And now that I like her, she's moving away. It's all your fault."

  I hadn't been expecting this. "What exactly did Michelle tell you?"

  "That their house had sold already, and she's leaving town Saturday to meet her husband in Bermuda. She may even take off on Friday if the movers get things done early enough. And it's all because of you. You never sell a house quickly, so why now?"

  For a moment, I thought I might burst into laughter but managed to hold it in check. "I'm sorry, sweetheart. But you can't blame me. A couple saw the house, and it was just what they wanted. All I did was show it to them." Actually, I hadn't even done that. That had been Jacques' doing.

  Darcy sniffed. "It's not fair. I finally find someone who can help me, and now she's going away."

  I chose my words carefully. "You only met Michelle yesterday, Darcy. You really know nothing about her." And boy could I tell you a few things.

  She snorted. "I knew you'd say that. You're not a cheerleader, Mother, so you'll never understand what it's like. Michelle totally gets it. We're going to get together on Friday after her inspections are over. Probably around noon."

  Curiosity got the best of me. "Does she know what time the inspections are scheduled for?"

  Darcy reached for the phone I still held in my hands. "Yeah, she said the other agent called and told her nine o'clock on Friday."

  I clamped my lips together in annoyance. Why hadn't Tricia phoned me? It was my listing, and she was supposed to contact the agent in charge so I, in turn, could let my clients know. Why was everyone acting like I had nothing to do with this sale?

  Darcy hesitated. "Um, if you don't mind, I'd like to call Ryan now. He just got off work."

  I patted her arm and rose. "Of course. I wouldn't want to stand in your way." As I reached the door, I stole a glance back in her direction, but she was already gabbing away on the phone again and completely unaware of me. I'd secretly hoped Darcy might catch the note of sarcasm in my voice, but if she had, it was obvious she didn't care.

  * * *

  "By the way," Jacques said. "Tricia Hudson sent me a text late last night. The inspections are scheduled for nine tomorrow. You're free, right?"

  It was past nine-thirty on Thursday morning, and we were on our way to Mildred's house. I was preoccupied trying to balance the tray of coffee and caramel macchiatos on my lap while also maintaining a grip on the door handle for dear life. Although almost perfect in every way imaginable, Jacques was a maniac when he drove, and I lived in constant fear for my life whenever I rode with him.

  "Please slow down. My stomach is acting up again this morning. And why did Tricia call you and Michelle but not me? Hello, I am the agent on this deal."

  Jacques cut his eyes to me. "You know Tricia isn't exactly your biggest fan."

  I gritted my teeth. "Well, it would be nice if someone in this industry would bother to acknowledge me—just once."

  He winked. "I always acknowledge you, darling. You're the foam in my cappuccino."

  I burst out laughing and almost lost the cups in the process.

  Jacques swerved around a car that dared to go the speed limit. "Cheer up, dear. What does it matter who Tricia called? In a couple of weeks, you're going to have one big, fat commission check and a new armchair in your office. Life is good."

  He took a right onto Mildred's street, and we were suddenly confronted by the sight of an EMT truck and a police car with flashing lights. They were parked directly in front of Mildred's house. A small crowd of people had gathered on the sidewalk.

  An ice-cold chill swept through my body as I stared out at the crowd, my heart pounding furiously.

  Jacques sucked in a sharp breath. He parked the convertible two houses down from Mildred's and cast a worried glance in my direction. "I'll go see what's happening. I'm sure she's fine, Cin. You stay here."

  I tried to utter a thank
you, but all I could do was continue to stare and manage a small whimper while Jacques made his way over to the crowd. He immediately began talking with a young woman. She started waving her arms dramatically as Jacques nodded and said something in return. After a minute, he turned and glanced back in my direction, his expression grim.

  Deep down, I already knew it wasn't good news. Then, all of a sudden, the crowd separated as two EMTs moved past, carrying a body bag between them. They gently placed it in the back of their vehicle.

  My heart stuttered inside my chest. No God, please no. Not her.

  Jacques returned to the vehicle and shut the door. He reached over and loosened my grip on the tray of coffee cups. He actually had to pry my numb fingers from the sides of the cardboard. Then he took both of my ice-cold hands in his warm ones. His usual bright eyes were dulled with sadness as they found mine.

  "Cindy, dear," he began slowly.

  I heard myself make a tiny mewing sound. "What happened to her?"

  He shut his eyes for a moment and then met my gaze again. "Mildred's aide found her early this morning. The upstairs neighbor said it looked like she'd been strangled to death."

  My entire body revolted at his words. "She'd still be alive if I hadn't gone to see her."

  "No, darling, you mustn't think like that," Jacques whispered.

  I turned away from him, buried my head in my hands, and started to sob. What had I done?

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Jacques brought me back to the office. Fortunately, no one was there to witness my hot-mess status except for our receptionist, who was busy on a personal call. I couldn't stop crying. Jacques left me sitting in my office and ran downstairs to the microwave to fix me some tea.

  He could say what he wanted, but I knew the truth. I was the reason that sweet, elderly woman was dead. Furiously, I wiped at my eyes and tried to focus. Who knew I'd been to see her?

  I took a deep breath and racked my brain for some possible answers. Melanie knew about Mildred. And I'd opened my big mouth and blabbed to Ben that I was going there. Had anyone else known? Could someone have followed us there?

  "Here we are." Jacques handed me a cup of tea and then set a can of ginger ale down on my desk.

  I cupped the mug for warmth, hoping that it might somehow relieve the ice-cold chill that had settled into my bones.

  "Listen to me, dear," Jacques said. "You need to stop blaming yourself."

  I stared at him in disbelief. "Who should I blame, then? I put Mildred in this position. If I hadn't gone to see her, she'd still be alive."

  "You didn't put your hands around her neck and choke the life out of her," he argued. "So please stop acting like it."

  I placed the cup back on my desk and rose. "Maybe we should go to the police."

  Jacques gave me a gentle pushed back into the chair. "Are you nuts? Call your friend Aaron instead. See if he can find out anything. If you start asking questions or let on that you knew her, you could wind up a suspect. Does that sound familiar?"

  He was right. When a former coworker had been murdered a few months ago and I'd stumbled upon her dead body, all fingers had pointed in my direction. Living in such a small town, this new incident would not exactly make me look like an innocent bystander.

  "What did Mildred say in her phone message to you?"

  I forced myself to take a sip of tea. "She said that she remembered something. It had to be the name on the piece of paper in Paul's hand. Maybe it links to the conversation Paul had with her."

  Jacques pursed his lips. "Stop and think about this for a minute. Maybe you were wrong. Maybe Paul did commit suicide. Perhaps he found out he was sick or couldn't father kids. Would that have left him devastated enough to kill himself?"

  I forced back a laugh. "Jacques, that's ridiculous! And if he had committed suicide, why would someone have reason to kill Mildred?"

  He scratched his head thoughtfully. "Well, that's true enough. And it certainly proves we're on the right track. So someone killed him, discovered Mildred had information, and they killed her too." Jacques snapped his fingers. "Maybe he asked Mildred about the infertility because he wanted to be a donor. They get paid well. No, wait, that can't be right. He didn't need the money."

  I leaned forward eagerly. "I wouldn't go that far. Paul confided to me that his parents expected him to contribute to his living expenses at college. And he worried about having time for a job in addition to his studies. Maybe he did ask her how he could go about the process."

  Jacques folded his arms across his chest. "I suppose that works. Now let's get back to what else Rachel said. Do you think she was telling the truth about Paul and Michelle being involved?"

  The thought of Paul being with Michelle was enough to start the nausea moving in my stomach again. "Like I said before, I can't see it. Paul wouldn't have done that to his brother, even if Ben and Michelle were broken up at the time. Maybe I need to place a call to Carl Williams."

  "The quarterback?"

  I nodded. "The twins were invited to a birthday party for his daughter a few months back. They were in the same class last year. I think I still have his number on my phone."

  Jacques nodded in approval. "I'll leave you alone then. Make sure you fax the contract over to Marcia Steele right away. We need attorney approval as soon as possible. I'll be in my office catching up on some cold-calling if you need me."

  Cold-calling was a process pretty much the same as telemarketing. Real estate agents would call people whose listings had recently expired or those that were represented by the owner themselves—for sale by owners, or FSBO—and convince the customers to give them a try. As a result of the process, I received dozens of hang-ups in my ear every month. Jacques, though, was an expert at cold-calling. He had that type of voice that people trusted and would stop and listen to.

  I reached for my phone. "I was going to give Marcia a quick call first and let her know it was on the way. Then I'll send it over."

  Marcia Steele was a real estate attorney who I recommended to all of my clients. I'd worked with her before on several occasions. She was honest, fair, and one of the best in the business at doing title searches. I'd been surprised when Ben and Michelle had asked for an attorney recommendation the other day. Since he was a lawyer himself, I assumed Ben might have someone he preferred to use, but he had eagerly accepted my suggestion of Marcia. Perhaps Ben didn't have many friends left in the business after the rumors with his young intern surfaced.

  I opened the folder that contained the contract, just in case Marcia had any questions, and scrolled under the contacts in my phone for her number. Fortunately, she was in the office that morning. We chatted briefly, but when I mentioned Ben's name, she grew silent for a few seconds. Finally, she found her voice again.

  "Really," she snorted on the other end of the line. "I don't like to talk bad about fellow attorneys, but I've heard the rumors about this guy and his promiscuity. I wouldn't doubt for a moment that's the reason for his early retirement. I mean, think about it, Cindy. You and I are in our early forties, and God knows I'm in no condition to retire yet. I figure it'll be at least another ten years for me. How about you?"

  "Um, a little longer," I replied. Yeah, probably closer to thirty years for me. "Are you sure you're okay with representing them at the closing? If it makes you uncomfortable, I can find someone else. No hard feelings."

  "Oh it's fine," Marcia said dryly. "A sale is a sale, and this should be an easy one. Let's face it, kiddo, a few of the ones you've sent me in the past have made me want to rip my hair out. So this one pales in comparison."

  We laughed together and talked for a few more minutes, then made plans to get together for lunch next week before I disconnected. Afterward, I went downstairs to use the scanner and then came back to my office to email the contract to Marcia. I scrolled through the contact section of my phone again. There was a number for Carl Williams that I assumed was his home phone. I doubted I'd catch him there since it was a work day, but I c
ould always leave a message.

  "Carl Williams. How can I help you?"

  His response caught me by surprise, and I had to think for a moment. "Hi Carl, it's Cindy York. I hope I'm not catching you at a bad time."

  Carl laughed. "Nah, it's fine. Just another boring day at work. How's the real estate gig going? I heard that the market isn't doing well."

  "It's improving," I mumbled, not knowing what else to say.

  "Say, Natalie wants to have a pool party next week and invite the twins. Probably on Saturday. Hope they can make it."

  "They'll be thrilled, I'm sure." I hesitated, still not quite sure how to broach the subject. "Um, I didn't see you at the reunion the other night."

  He paused. "Ah, no. I err—couldn't make it. Did you have a good time at the stuffy, pretentious Steadman mansion?"

  Oh boy. I sensed the green-eyed monster looming. I also knew that Carl and his wife had filed for bankruptcy recently. I decided to cut right to the chase. "Why couldn't you make it? Were you afraid to see Michelle again?"

  Carl's voice turned sharp. "Cindy, where are you going with this?"

  Having no choice, I continued. "I found out some information the other night at the reunion that leads me to believe Paul Steadman did not commit suicide. I'm convinced he was murdered."

  The silence on the other end was long and deafening. "What are you trying to say? Do you think I had something to do with his murder?"

  "That's not what I was implying."

  "Look, I was angry when Paul found us together, but I never would have killed the guy."

  My ears pricked up with this sudden revelation. "Paul found you and Michelle together? In a compromising position?"

  Carl sighed. "I figured he'd told you since you guys were so close. Ben had broken up with her, and she was in a tough state. She asked me if I'd go to Nick Keller's party with her. Almost the entire class was there—including your buddy, Paul. I don't remember seeing you though."

  I paused and tried to collect my thoughts. Nick was always throwing parties when his parents went out of town, which was quite often. "If that was in late May, I had the flu."