“You have a call,” she told Sunny.
“Can it wait? Who is it?”
“Private number, wouldn’t give his name, said to tell you he needs to talk to Belle, now.”
Sunny grabbed the edge of my desk as if steadying herself. Her face turned ashen. She looked around. For what? A trapped creature searching for a way out? Then she handed me the Becker file and avoided looking at me.
“Use my code, please show him the listing.” She swallowed hard and spoke to Tristan. “Hope you don’t mind. I leave you in good hands. I need to take the call and I may be a while.”
She turned around, walked into her office and closed the door.
Now, that was really weird.
ELEVEN
THE FRONT DOOR of Desert Homes Realty swished closed behind Tristan and me. My head spun. Who was Belle? And why was Sunny so distressed over the call? The folder in my hands reminded me of the task she'd entrusted to me. There was no need to cue me into who walked next to me into the parking lot. I think my head was spinning more for the company I was keeping, than from Sunny's strange behavior.
“Miss Fiat, no offense, but we aren’t taking your car.”
We stood next to each other staring at my hot pink Fiat 500.
“Look at that, you've barely hung up your license and you've already made Agent of the Month. Good for you.”
He pointed to the old, faded sign in front of my car. Blood rushed to my cheeks for many reasons, none of which I was eager to explain to short hair dream boy.
“Nice haircut,” I ventured.
“Thanks.” He wasn’t giving up. “About the car…”
“Is it because it’s pink?”
“Pink is okay.” He stared squarely at me. “It’s the size.” He pointed at his long legs then nodded toward my small car.
“You don’t like it because it’s small. I get it.” I sounded offended, when instead I was just trying not to stare at his legs.
“No, small is also okay,” he looked down at me with a wink, “in general, but in this case, size matters.”
He paused, probably aware of how his statement sounded. I was sure I turned a deeper shade of red.
“Still talking about cars, of course,” he added somewhat apologetically.
“Of course.” I struggled to return his direct stare.
I don't know who started laughing first. I only know that the tension was released as we both laughed like synchronized idiots. He put his hand on my shoulder, towered over me and kept laughing.
“Come on Miss Fiat, this way to my car.”
He steered me toward a double parked white Land Rover.
“That’s your car, Mr. Dumont?”
“Yes, and please call me Tristan.”
“You drive a white car, Tristan?”
He unlocked the passenger side and held the door open for me.
“You have something against white cars?”
“White is okay. But somehow I pictured you as a black car sort of guy, like the horse. But that was before the haircut, of course.”
He was still holding my door as I was sat and bucked my seat belt. “You know what? I think I’m going to like you.” He closed the door and quickly climbed in behind the wheel. “So, what is your name? Monica? Monica what?”
“Monica Baker, but Fiat is good. It makes me feel warm and fuzzy, my very own unique name. I feel like a lucky girl.” What was I saying?
He snickered, started the engine. “You like horses? I know you like dogs. I’ve seen Dior. That’s a big dog, almost the size of a foal.”
“Yet, I’m generally afraid of horses. By the way, do you know how to get to the Becker listing?”
“I do. I did a drive by before deciding to take a more in depth look. Why are you afraid of horses? You've been thrown? Got hurt by the fall?”
“No, I only hopped on a horse once, an old, slow horse. I felt so sorry for the poor thing. Before coming to America, I'm from Italy by the way, the only horses I ever saw were in the movies. They didn’t look so big next to the riders, you know, John Wayne, Jimmy Stewart and such. But in real life, next to me, it was a whole different story.”
We headed west, because the property in question was on the west side of town.
“Italy. Now I understand the Fiat.” His right hand patted his heart.
The last thing I wanted to do was discuss the story of my life with him, creating a bond that could go nowhere. If he wanted to tell me about himself, however, I would gladly give him my full attention, because I was curious as hell. Then I remembered why I was sitting next to him in this smooth driving SUV. I opened the folder containing all the information we needed. Why would he be interested in this run down old house?
“Huh, Tristan, aren’t you happy with your home, you know, the one you just remodeled?”
“I love it. It turned out just as I'd envisioned. I’m still working on finishing the texture of some of the walls, but I’ll be done shortly. I have to get them perfect or my friends will taunt me forever. I’ve spent the last few weeks posting pics of the plastered walls and bragging about them.” That snickering again. “You didn't get much of a tour when you visited with the caterer. What’s her name?”
“Brenda,” I lowered my voice, “Brenda Baker.”
“Right. Wait.” He was checking me out in a sideways glance. “Your last name is Baker. Ah, she's your mother?”
“No.”
“You two aren’t related?”
Crap. “She’s my ex’s aunt.”
Again that sideways glance. “Your ex's aunt.” He paused. “Ex husband? You were married?”
My eyes zoomed to his left hand, no wedding ring. Ah! Before my mouth went rogue on me, my conscience kicked in. I was in his car not as a date or as a friend, I was there as a realtor and he was one of my broker’s most important clients. Monica, shut up! Deep breath. Leave his private life alone.
“Yes, married and divorced.” I cleared my throat. “I would like to know more about your interest in this horse property on the opposite side of town from your home.”
Future secret love nest, perhaps? The thought made me feel as tasteless and obsolete as an old Bloomingdale’s brown bag. It had been three months since we'd listed the place. I was part of the listing team not only because I worked for Sunny but because I'd first spotted the For Sale by Owner sign on my way to Holy Cross Cemetery where I placed flowers on the grave of my late father-in-law now and then.
“I have to be honest with you, the place is falling apart, and it has a new problem that Sunny might not know about yet. The large vacant acreage to the north sports a recently installed large sign. It announces a new subdivision of homes coming soon. I’m guessing the builder had been able to get the rural land rezoned, and now our listing has just become some land boxed in among high density construction.”
“That changes everything,” he said softly.
“What are you looking for, exactly? That place is zoned for horses, but you wouldn't be able to ride your horse except in your yard. And they might just get it all re-zoned, for the smells.”
“Horses,” he corrected me.
“You have more than the one I saw?”
“Tache, my appaloosa, is staying where she is. I’m looking for a larger property, and I’m purchasing it with partners. You're right. This property isn’t going to do. I didn’t notice the new subdivision sign when I drove by. Note to myself, don’t check out investment in the dark of night.” He laughed at himself.
Was he out there alone in the middle of the night?
“You may want to look to the south of Maricopa County, toward Tucson. There's lots of open space and elevated trails there. And yet it's not too far from the city.”
“Makes sense. You think you can find something to show me before my friends, aka investors, get to town? They’ll be here for the party.”
I nodded. “Sure. I can send you some listings this afternoon.”
“Great. Let’s get you back to the
office.”
“I’ll need to clear it with Sunny, you’re her client and ––”
“I’ll call her later and clear it. This side of town is certainly different from the North East, isn’t it?”
“I suppose. I’ve always lived on the East side of town. I only drive west when I have to. I’m not familiar with this area and I understand there are some spots not recommended. But Sunny would have said something. This is North enough, and the new homes going up should make the area better.”
We seemed to have exhausted our conversation subjects. I couldn’t wait to get back to the office to find out what happened with Sunny and the phone call, and to get started on the property search for Tristan.
The minute we arrived at the office his phone chimed. The sugary tone of his voice made me feel suddenly unwelcome. I quietly unlocked the passenger door and waved goodbye even more quietly. He waved back without missing a beat of his conversation.
I zipped through the lobby without as much as a hello to Kassandra, although I did notice the bullpen was empty, and went straight to the ladies room for a necessary pit stop. I was swiftly joined by Kassandra.
“What happened?” Kassandra asked. “You're back early.”
“It wasn't for him. I'm going to find other properties.”
“Where is he? You know, Mr. Dumont?” She winked at me like we were sharing some big secret.
I dried my hands. “I don't think he's coming in. He said he'd call Sunny. He was on the phone with some chick when I got out of the car. Where is everyone, by the way?”
“Where do you think? It’s lunchtime. There are a few agents in back. There has to be, in case someone needs to look at one of our listings. Hey, by next week you can do that, be one of the available in house agents. You may get a live one.”
“How often does that happen?”
Kassandra shrugged.
“Where is Sunny and what was the Belle stuff all about?”
“Have no clue, and I didn’t dare to eavesdrop on her. That could get me fired. And then before I had a chance to talk to her, Celine showed up. The two of them got into a shouting match, then Sunny left. She said she had an afternoon appointment. Unfortunately Celine hung around. She wanted to know where you were since your car was parked out front.”
“Since when is Celine concerned about my whereabouts?”
“Since her mother told her you were driving around with Dream Boy in his Land Rover.”
“You make it sound like we were on a joy ride or something. We never even got out of the car.”
“Even better. I hear the backseats of the…”
Her voice trailed off as she felt my glare on her. If looks could kill, Kassandra would be nothing but a mound of ashes.
“But wait,” she protested, “there's more.”
She followed me out of the bathroom and all the way to my desk. I heard her stop behind me at the same time I noticed the fabulous flowers in a vase on my desk.
“What's this?”
“I was telling you there is more. They're from Max. Who's this Max?”
“How do you know who they're from?”
“It says so in the note that came with it.”
“You opened and read the note?”
“I read it, but I didn’t open it. Celine did. I’m sure she thought it was from Tristan Dumont.”
“What are you all smoking around here? Why would Tristan send me flowers?”
“Hey, don’t blame me. Celine is obviously jealous of you and doesn’t trust her lover.”
“He can’t be her lover.” At least I wanted to believe that. “He's a married man.” I looked at the note. Max congratulated me on passing the real estate exam. How sweet. Now I really felt like a jerk.
“Max is married?”
“No, Kassandra, he’s not. Tristan Dumont is married. You need to get back to your desk. I’m going to work on the properties for Mr. Dumont. And Kassandra,” I put my hands on my hips the way my grandmother did when she gave me a warning, “you hang around that louse of my ex-husband, you’re going to regret it big time. He’s a bad person.”
I think she huffed a reply, but I ignored it and set to work. It wasn't an easy search, either, but I finally managed to find a few good prospects for a horse ranch, and sent them in an e-mail to Tristan. Sunny was a no show all afternoon, but I trusted Tristan to clear it with her.
When I left the office that evening, I felt like I had done my first day of true realtor work, and it felt good. That feeling lasted only as long as it took to reach my car. I went to put the flowers on the floor of the passenger side. That’s when I saw it, the deep, dark scratch running the length of the vehicle, starting just below the door handle.
Someone had keyed my Fiat.
A wave of hopelessness fell on me. Why? Who would do such hateful thing? Who? I glanced at the lovely bouquet and the name Celine flashed through my mind. I willed it away. Accusing your boss’ daughter of vandalizing one's car was not the way to get ahead in business.
Perhaps it was just some thug, with no idea who the car belonged to. The hot pink tended to catch people's eyes. Yes, just a random act of vandalism. I needed to call the police and have them file a report so the insurance company would cover the repair. It looked deep, which meant expensive. I called from my cell because I wasn’t up to going back inside and explaining it to Kassandra and whomever else was there.
I waited. Finally a patrol car came around. The policeman got out of the vehicle and moved slowly as if he were carrying a twelve-hour shift on his shoulders. He probably was, and he'd stopped by on his way home, nearly off duty.
“So, this is it?”
It was Officer Clarke. Would he recognize me from the nighttime break in? He pointed to the scratch. I nodded. I felt his fatigue, read it in his eyes. He asked for my driver’s license and proof of insurance, then he went back to his patrol car and sat down sideways, his legs outside the car. He started to take down the information but then looked up as if questioning the authenticity of my ID.
“Your name sounds familiar. You look familiar.”
He cocked his head, staring at me. I could feel his tired brain churning.
“Did you call in a burglary a week or so ago?”
“It was more like ten days ago,” I said.
“The Great Dane. Yes, that’s it. You have a purebred blue Dane, I remember because…” He stopped probably realizing that it didn’t matter. “Okay then, you’ll need the report for your insurance.” He stood up and looked around the parking lot. “I don’t see any security cameras.”
“True, we don’t have any, not even inside the building.”
He shook his head disapprovingly. “Should I go inside and ask around?”
It was my turn to shake my head. “If anyone had seen anything, they would have told me. And there's almost no one left. It could have happened at any time since early this morning. Pink attracts the crazies.”
He laughed at my reaction when I realized my statement probably included me. Ten minutes later I had my report, and Officer Clarke was on his way. He seemed like a good guy, probably close to Brenda's age. I started the engine and my radio came on. It was Celine Dion singing her Oscar winning song from Beauty and the Beast and it made the name Belle come to mind.
TWELVE
“IT'S BEEN A while.” I twirled in front of Brenda’s full-length mirror. “I was concerned the dress would be tight.”
“With all the junk food you eat, I'm not surprised.”
I always wore the same little black dress when helping her out with the more serious catering jobs. The eve of any such event was often chaotic, for Brenda, not for me. But this time, I felt committed in strange ways, all starting and ending with the host, Mr. Tristan Dumont.
He may have been the host, but he'd left all the planning to Angelique and her helper, Lois Thomas. While Brenda found that perfectly acceptable, I thought it was a bit odd. Considering I was hired help, it made no sense for me to be concerned
. Easy to say. Damn Tristan. What was it about that man that got under my skin?
I was a bit peeved at him, to be honest. His only response to the listings I'd sent him was a curt “Thanks, will think about them.” And that was that. No rush to see them before the party. Nothing. Change of plans. A word with Sunny had confirmed he'd cleared it with her
“You should really consider trading your car in for a midsize sedan.” Brenda said.
“Hey, we were talking clothes — where did the car thing come from?”
“Monica, how are you going to drive buyers around in your Fiat 500? Get serious. Instead of wasting time waiting for estimates for the scratch, consider trading it in. Maybe you can get a demo. No need to buy new.”
Trade in my 500?
“Don’t look at me like you want to kill me. I know you’re emotionally attached to the car because my brother bought it for you. He would understand. If he was here today he would suggest the same thing. I’m not telling you to rush out and do it, just to think about it. That’s all. Now let’s get back to our Autumn Celebration party. Between forty and fifty guests are expected to show up.”
“Whoa. How did they get to meet so many people in such a short time? Especially with Mrs. Dumont, being — you know. Does she ever leave the house?”
“I doubt it. I’m told even her doctor makes house calls. Must be nice to have all that money. Regarding the guests, Tristan Dumont went to college in Tucson, so he may have invited some of his old buddies.”
“Really? U of A? What did he study?”
“The way Sunny tells it, I’m guessing an advanced degree in Partying. Apparently he was expelled during the second year and don’t ask me why. I don’t know and I don’t care, but whatever he did must have been entertaining because Sunny giggled a lot while on the subject.”
Maybe I could pump Sunny for information on Tristan? No, I couldn't.
“Why are we even talking about this? I have more serious problems.” Brenda ran her hands through her hair in frustration. “I’m without Jennifer, her baby is due any day now. I’m using a temp company she uses for us when we need extra help. Four temps for serving food to guests and two kitchen helpers.”
Cooks, Crooks and a Corpse (Baker Girls Cozy Mystery Book 1) Page 7