Rafe’s lips quirked. “I wouldn’t recommend doing that if they come to your open house on Sunday, darlin’.”
“Because you’d take me up on it?”
“Because...” He stopped, and his eyes narrowed. “You accusing me of something?”
He had asked me this question once before, when I had told him that Sheriff Satterfield in Sweetwater – Todd’s daddy – wasn’t entirely sure that LaDonna Collier’s death was an accident. Rafe’s mother had died over the summer, of a drug overdose. There was no evidence to suggest that she hadn’t been alone when it happened, and Bob Satterfield had never been able to prove that anyone, let alone Rafe, had had anything to do with it, but at one point he had told me that Rafe was high on his suspect list. I had passed the news on, in a fit of temper over something Rafe said. And I had recoiled when his eyes turned the flat black of a cobra about to strike. The suggestion that he’d be capable of killing his mother had cut deep, into some reserve of icy menace he kept locked inside. This accusation didn’t bother him the same way; his response was calculated rather than emotional. As a result, he didn’t frighten me. Much.
“I’m not sure,” I said, lifting my chin. “All I know is that Lila’s description of this guy fit you to a T.”
He arched a brow. “No kidding? What did he look like?”
“Tall and dark, with brown eyes and especially long, thick eyelashes.” He batted them playfully. “She also said he had a really sexy voice and called her darlin’. And...”
“Yeah?”
“She said he was really hot.”
He chuckled. “You think I’m hot?”
“I didn’t say I did. Lila does.”
“Don’t you mean Lila would?”
I shrugged. He obviously wasn’t going to admit to anything, and I shouldn’t really have expected him to. Rafe is a master at keeping things private. I didn’t know where he lived when he wasn’t at his grandmother’s house, didn’t know what he did for a living, didn’t know how he had spent the past ten years, after he was released from prison... I didn’t know anything about him at all, other than what I could see with the naked eye, and the few details he’d volunteered from time to time. If they were even true.
“Sorry I can’t help you, darlin’.” He got up from the sofa in one smooth movement, like a panther uncoiling. I got to my feet as well, and padded after him toward the door.
“Maybe I’ll call Tamara Grimaldi and see if she has the weekend off and wants to hang out with me.”
If the suggestion that I was thinking of calling in the cops bothered him, he didn’t show it. When he stopped in front of the door and turned to me, he was smiling again. “Tell Tammy I said hi.”
Tammy?
“I didn’t realize you and the detective were on such intimate terms,” I said. She had certainly never asked me to call her Tammy.
Rafe didn’t answer, just grinned. “Sleep tight, darlin’. Sweet dreams.” He reached out and tweaked a strand of hair that had fallen out of my upswept do, twining it around his finger and tucking it behind my ear. The very same thing he – or someone – had done to Lila last Sunday. I stepped back, out of reach.
“You, too.”
“Always.” The grin widened before he blew me a kiss. “See you around.”
“Right,” I said to his back.
* * *
Of course I couldn’t resist the temptation to mention Rafe’s pet-name to Detective Grimaldi when I called her the next morning. “By the way,” I said sweetly, after the introductions were dispensed with, “Rafe says hi.”
“Mr. Collier?” Her voice had a weird undertone, and I wondered if she was blushing. The mental image of a blushing Tamara Grimaldi was bizarre; she was always so put together and seemed so capable. The idea that a man’s name could make her blush, was... intriguing.
“I spoke to him last night, and when I told him I’d be calling you today, he said to tell Tammy hi. I didn’t realize you two were so chummy.”
“He’s a chummy sort of guy,” the detective said, her voice flat. I didn’t bother to hide my grin, since she couldn’t see me.
“That’s true. He’d flirt with a lamppost if it was wearing a skirt.”
She didn’t react, and I added, “I asked him if he had time to babysit me on Sunday afternoon, but he said he doesn’t. I thought maybe, if you’re not working, you’d like to hang out with me. If we’re lucky, maybe the open house robbers will show up and you can arrest them.”
“Very kind of you to think of me,” Tamara Grimaldi said, “but I’m on call this weekend. I’ll try to stop by, but if something comes up,” I took that to mean ‘if somebody gets killed’, “I’ll be too busy.”
I nodded. “Understandable.” And then I hesitated for a second, and two and three, before I added, “I had lunch with Lila Vaughn yesterday.”
I could envision the detective’s eyebrows arching. “You don’t say? And what did Ms. Vaughn have to say about her ordeal? Anything interesting?”
She had better believe it. “Apparently she suggested to the man who was tying her to the chair that maybe he’d like to tie her to the bed instead. I guess she was hoping he’d join her.”
It wasn’t often I managed to surprise Tamara Grimaldi, but today I succeeded. Twice. “Funny,” she said levelly, after a beat, “there isn’t anything about that in her statement.”
“When did you read her statement? I thought you said it wasn’t your case. Not until someone dies, you said.”
“After I spoke with you the other day,” Detective Grimaldi answered cordially. “I looked it up as a favor, in case there was something there that might be of use to you.”
“Oh.” I bit my lip. “Sorry.”
“No problem. As it turned out, the statement didn’t contain much. Certainly less than Ms. Vaughn told you. Did she share with you why she suggested that the robber tie her to the bed?”
“She said he was hot. And before you ask, no, he didn’t take his mask off. All she saw were his eyes. She said his voice was sexy, and maybe that was enough for her. I guess her mother never told her not to proposition strange men.”
“I guess not,” Tamara Grimaldi said. “Did she happen to mention his response?”
“Isn’t it obvious? He said no. Or actually, what he said was, some other time. Maybe you should mount a guard over Lila, in case he takes her up on it.” That would serve the added purpose of keeping her safe, in case I was wrong and it wasn’t Rafe she had encountered.
“Hmm...” Detective Grimaldi debated with herself for a moment. “No,” she said finally, “I don’t think so. Not worth the trouble. I doubt he’d take the chance. Although if he does, and she mentions it to you, maybe you’ll be good enough to let me know?”
I hesitated. Off-hand I couldn’t think of any reason not to. We’d all be better off once the robbers were safely behind bars; even Lila would agree with that. Probably. And if it was Rafe, and he was stupid enough to take her up on the offer, he deserved to get arrested. “Sure. Next time I talk to her. If she mentions anything that’s pertinent to the case, I’ll pass it on.”
“Thank you, Ms. Martin.”
“No problem, Tammy.”
“Ms. Martin?”
“Yes, Tammy?”
“Nobody calls me Tammy. Not even my mother.”
I smiled. “Would you like me to relay that information to Rafe?”
“No,” Tamara Grimaldi said, her voice grim, “that won’t be necessary. I’ll do that myself.”
I suppressed a giggle. “I don’t doubt you will. Thanks, Detective. I’ll talk to you later.”
Tamara Grimaldi grunted something noncommittal, and I hung up, feeling well satisfied with my morning’s work. (And if I felt just a little bit guilty, too, I managed to suppress it.) The police had needed to hear what Lila had told me, but – I told myself – naming names would have served no purpose. The man Lila had described sounded like Rafe, yes, but a lot of men have dark eyes with long eyelashes. She ha
dn’t seen any other physical characteristics, so it was hardly conclusive identification. Men who call women darlin’ are a dime a dozen, especially here in Nashville, and Rafe wasn’t the only male in town with sex appeal. If Detective Grimaldi and her colleagues dug up some actual evidence, I’d come clean about my suspicions, but until then, I’d keep mum.
Chapter Four
The house that Gary Lee and Charlene wanted to see was an attractive 1940s pseudo-Tudor cottage in Inglewood. Gary Lee and Charlene were charmed. They charged into the house and started poking around in closets and under the stairs while I followed, smiling maternally, like a nanny with two boisterous charges.
“Look at this, babe. A what-d’ya-call-it... butler’s pantry!”
“Oh, isn’t that cute!” Charlene was hanging on Gary Lee’s arm as well as on his every word. They were only a few years younger than me, but in their newlywed bliss they seemed impossibly young to my jaundiced, divorced eyes.
“Where are the bedrooms at?” Charlene asked after a few minutes. I pointed them up the stairs, just as my cell phone started ringing.
“Knock yourselves out. I’ll just stay down here and take this call. Let me know if you have any questions.”
Giggling, they promised they would, and then skipped upstairs hand in hand. I wandered out onto the deck and pulled the phone out of my purse. “This is Savannah.”
“Hi, girlfriend!”
“Lila? How are you? Is everything all right?”
“Everything’s great,” Lila said. “I just wanted to let you know that I just took my first listing. For a cute little ranch in West Meade. 1800 square feet, $350,000. If you know anyone who’s interested.”
“Good for you.” I suppressed an unbecoming twinge of envy. “Congratulations.”
“Thanks.” She hesitated for a second. “Hey, listen, Savannah…”
“Yes?”
“I’ve been thinking about what you said yesterday. You know, about me being careful and not taking any chances…?”
“Yes?”
“I appreciate you worrying about me. And I won’t do anything stupid, I promise. If he calls, I’ll sic the cops on him.”
“Oh.” I said. “OK. Yes, that’s probably a good idea.”
“That’s what you wanted me to do, right?”
“It was. Yes.”
“OK, then.”
“OK.” I didn’t know what else to say. Lila didn’t say anything, either. I added, awkwardly, “You know…”
“Yes?”
“I may have been a little… um… pushy when I said that. I mean, I don’t want anything to happen to you, and it’s always good to be careful, but I may have come on a little too strong. I’m sure you’re able to decide for yourself who you should trust and who you shouldn’t.”
Lila sounded surprised. “Really?”
I nodded firmly. “Really.” After all, if it was Rafe she had met – and I was pretty sure it was; if it hadn’t been, surely he would have said so – it wasn’t as if she was in any danger. Even if he did call her, and she agreed to get together with him, he wouldn’t harm her. That was one thing I was sure of.
We hung up after another few words, and I headed back into the house. Gary Lee was on his way down the stairs as I came into the foyer. “Charlene’s using the little girl’s room,” he said, tossing his half-long, dark locks in the direction of the upstairs. I smiled.
“No problem. Make yourselves at home.” The more comfortable they felt, the more likely they were to want to buy the house, right? That’s why we Realtors recommend to our sellers to remove any personal photographs from the house before offering it for sale, and also adding lots and lots of mirrors. Buyers should be able to see themselves in the house. Literally as well as figuratively. Or so goes the conventional wisdom. “What do you think?”
“It’s nice,” Gary Lee said, looking around, “but I think we’d like to see one or two more before we decide. The bedroom wasn’t quite as mind-blowing as we’d hoped.”
“All right,” I said.
“I don’t suppose you’ve got any time tomorrow to show us a house? There’s one over on Avalon Drive we’d like to see. One of the ones you sent us. Nice brick cottage, new kitchen, full basement, master suite upstairs with a double shower...”
“Sure. I’d be happy to. When would you like to meet?”
Gary Lee said that 3:30 would work well again, and we agreed to meet outside the house on Avalon, just as Charlene came skipping down the stairs. Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes shiny, and it looked as if she had liked the present house just fine. But when Gary Lee explained that I had said myself willing to show them the house on Avalon tomorrow, she hooked herself onto his arm and nodded eagerly.
“It’s just darling, Savannah. The maple kitchen, and the fireplace, and the master bedroom...” She looked dreamy for a second, and then glanced over at me, apologetically. “I mean, this one was OK, too. It was fine. Great. It’s just...” She squeezed Gary Lee’s arm and giggled, “that we think we can do better.”
Gary Lee nodded.
“It’s no problem at all,” I said politely. “It’s what I’m here for. I’ll see you tomorrow at 3:30, outside the house on Avalon. Then we’ll see if that one works better for you.”
Gary Lee and Charlene exchanged a look and a giggle before Gary Lee tucked his long legs into the couple’s tiny hybrid, and Charlene folded herself into the seat next to him, and they drove off with a squeal of tires. I got into the Volvo and sat there for a moment, contemplating my life.
So Gary Lee and Charlene wanted to see another couple of houses before they made up their minds about which they wanted to buy.
Oh, well... nothing wrong with that. I had plenty of time to spare; it wasn’t as if I had any other clients fighting for my attention. And if I stuck with them, sooner or later they’d buy something, and I’d finally get that first coveted commission check. Hopefully it would come soon enough to keep me from ending up on the street. And meanwhile, I had plenty of other things to worry about. Not the least of which was Lila and the man who may or may not have been Rafe.
Pretty sure is not the same as absolutely certain, and after having just essentially told Lila that I didn’t think she had anything to worry about, it’d be really nice to be absolutely certain, or at least almost positive. I picked up the phone again and called Kieran Greene.
Kieran worked for one of the big national real estate chains, and he must have been pretty good at what he did, because he arrived for our appointment in a brand new Lexus.
He had tried to tell me that he didn’t want to talk about what had happened to him, but I had been adamant. Nice, of course, but adamant. And then he had tried to tell me that we could talk on the phone, but I had been firm on that score, as well. I’d have to go further into debt, but Kieran had agreed to meet me for an early dinner at Rotier’s, where, over the best cheeseburgers in Nashville, I intended to wring any and every usable scrap of information from him and then hang it out to dry. If he could give me just one piece of information that could either prove or disprove that Rafe had been among the burglars, I could set my mind at ease. About several things.
Rotier’s is a tiny hole-in-the-wall near Centennial Park. Once a carriage house for a fashionable West End Avenue home, the building has been occupied by the family-owned restaurant since 1945. The interior is straight out of the 1950s, with naugahyde-upholstered booths and lighted Budweiser-signs on the knotty-pine paneled walls, and the menu – thankfully – leans in the same direction. I may have been spending money I didn’t have, but at least I was spending less than I would be elsewhere. Kieran Greene, bless him, was a cheap date.
Up close and in person, his resemblance to Timothy Briggs was less obvious. He was at least ten years older, for one thing, and not as dashing as in the picture I had seen. Possibly the media had dusted off an old photograph, or maybe Kieran himself preferred to use it, because he liked the way he had looked back then. Now he was a middle-aged
fuss-pot with thinning hair and the beginnings of a paunch. He was dressed in chinos and a tasteful pale pink shirt under a navy blazer, and his shoes were so highly polished they reflected the ceiling lights. He even wore an ascot, which he tweaked fussily as he took his place on the opposite side of the table with a polite smile. “You must be Savannah.”
“And you’re Kieran. I recognize you from your picture.” A well-placed compliment never hurts.
We shook hands across the table. His was cool and soft.
“Thank you for agreeing to meet me,” I added. “I appreciate it.”
“A body has to eat,” Kieran said demurely, “and you sounded so fierce on the phone, I didn’t dare say no.”
Oops. My mother would have been mortified to hear me described as fierce. A properly brought up Southern Belle should be docile and pleasant in all circumstances, and always defer to any man in the vicinity. Mom might have made an exception in Kieran’s case, but then again, she might not. He did have Y-chromosomes, after all, even if he acted prissier than the most properly brought up maiden aunt.
“I’m sorry I upset you,” I apologized. “I didn’t realize I came on so strong.”
“That’s OK,” Kieran said forgivingly. “I know you didn’t mean it. It’s just that I’ve been so emotional lately. After my ordeal weekend before last, you know.”
I nodded. “Something like that would be enough to make anyone emotional, I would think. I don’t blame you in the least.”
“Thank you, sweetie. That’s so darling of you.” He leaned over and patted my hand.
“Are you sure you don’t mind talking about it? I hate asking you to relive a frightening episode.”
Kieran sighed bravely. “No, I don’t mind. If my horrible experience can help someone else, I’ll be happy to tell you about it.”
“Thank you.” I glanced around. “Let’s find a waiter and order, that way we won’t be interrupted. And you can tell me all about it while we wait.”
Kieran agreed that this made sense, and we ordered our drinks and cheeseburgers and got down to business.
[Cutthroat Business 01.0 - 03.0] Boxed Set Page 32