by Cindy Sample
He hesitated. I didn't know if it was the bottle of wine he downed at dinner or the fact he had nothing to lose by sharing his confession with me.
"You were right on target about the sales at Bella Lago. We had expectations for huge profits. But we incurred all those additional expenses from the water lines the county made us move which delayed the grand opening by six months."
"By then the market had changed and the economy was heading downhill fast,” I said.
"You got it. When we finally started selling lots, home prices were decreasing. Foreclosures were mounting. Not a lot of folks were looking to buy expensive lots to build multi-million dollar homes.
"That subdivision drained me with all the cost overruns. We couldn't even sell our spec home we built. Everything I'd worked so hard for. We still had bills to pay to the bank, the subcontractors. There was only one thing we could do."
"Speaking of ‘we,’ does TLC stand for Tyler, Lindstrom and Clark?” I asked.
"Your mother was right. You are smart.” He leered at me. “As well as hot."
My mother said I was smart? Peter thought I was hot?
I looked at the muzzle of the revolver and shivered. Regardless of how smart and hot I was, the gun was still pointed in my direction.
"So who came up with the idea? Garrett?” I said.
He nodded. Of course. Garrett had tons of wealthy clients. As their CPA, his files contained not only their tax returns, but copies of their W-2 forms, 1099 statements, and complete bank and investment company year-end statements.
"He could create an entire loan package with authentic documents.” He smiled wickedly at me. “No one could tell they were fakes."
He was right. Neither Mary Lou, a senior underwriter, nor Earl had noticed anything amiss.
Peter continued to gloat over the deviousness of their scheme. “Garrett forged their signatures on the loan application and the closing documents. I'm a notary so that wasn't a problem. Mike produced fake appraisals with photos of other million dollar homes in the area. All these Tuscan style houses look alike anyway. And no one ever inspects the houses."
That was true. Banks used to rely on their approved appraisers to protect them from fraud. It was only recently the government decided they probably should intervene and regulate that aspect of the lending business more carefully.
"But how could you make sure the borrowers didn't catch on?"
He smacked the desk with the palm of his free hand. I curled back in my chair.
"Garrett was supposed to pick wealthy retirees, people who were set financially and who wouldn't be buying another house or applying for a new loan. We planned on making the mortgage payments for a couple of months then pay off the fake loans when lots sold and we had the extra cash. We figured if they ran their credit report some day, it would just look like a bank error, a loan that was on the books for a brief period of time then paid off."
"But what about the collection letters the servicing department sends out?” My analytical mind couldn't stop looking for the flaws in his scheme.
"Not a problem. We used different fake post office boxes for each of the borrowers."
Peter looked at me with reproachful eyes. “It was an excellent concept. And those big view parcels would have brought in profits of at least half a million each. It wasn't our fault the lots didn't sell and we couldn't pay off the fake loans. It was all due to the crappy economy."
Of course it wasn't his fault the fraudulent loans became delinquent. Totally due to the economy, which meant the list of people he could blame was endless.
"Okay, I understand your financial problems. And even though I don't agree with what you did...” Peter glared at me. “I realize you needed cash.” Fear was placed aside by curiosity. “But why did you have to kill three men?"
Okay, maybe I am a little nosy.
My captor started rummaging through his desk with his free hand, managing to keep the gun pointed at me with the other one. “One of Garrett's clients, Jeremy Slater, fit our profile: successful doctor with a nice home in Serrano. He had tons of money in the bank and no need to apply for an equity line. We didn't think he would need to run a credit report."
"But Jeremy decided to buy the vacation home in Tahoe,” I said. “When his application was declined by the bank he discovered there was a jumbo loan in his name on a property he didn't own."
Peter nodded as he slammed the first drawer shut and opened another one. “Right again. We put that loan through Worldwide Bank. Jeremy contacted them and discovered they had a full file on him, tax returns, verified assets. I guess at first he thought his partner committed the fraud because that guy was siphoning cash from the practice to cover gambling losses. When his partner assured him he had nothing to do with the fake loan, Jeremy realized no one else could have produced that information other than his personal CPA. Jeremy accused Garrett of creating a fraudulent loan and the dummy confessed."
That dummy Garrett.
"Jeremy and Garrett argued about it just hours before you and Garrett went out to dinner. He called me right after he got home. He was not in a good mood."
Good.
"Garrett was drinking heavily to ease the pain from your hitting him...” Peter paused a minute in his search and looked at me with admiration. “You really are quite a woman, Laurel."
Much as I appreciated the compliment I was still terrified.
And I still had to pee.
"Anyway, when Garrett admitted he'd confessed the entire scheme to Jeremy that afternoon, I drove to his house to see if we could come up with some type of damage control. Garrett was freaking out. He picked up the phone to call the police so he could come clean. I had to stop him. That pipe wrench was lying on the kitchen counter by the sink—and when Garrett turned away, I grabbed it, swung, and it was over."
His lip curled in satisfaction. “Just like that. I'd fixed my problem in an instant. Your little encounter made you the perfect suspect so I stuffed him back in his car, threw the wrench in my trunk, and took off."
"So you killed Garrett with the pipe wrench. A red-handled wrench?” I guessed.
He nodded. “Craftsmen. The finest tools money can buy."
Yup. Craftsmen produced excellent tools. For contractors like my ex-husband. And killers like the man sitting across from me.
"Did Jeremy figure out you were involved in the scam with Garrett? Is that why you killed him?"
He smirked, the fluorescent lights in the office making his emerald eyes glitter. “I had no choice. I told Jeremy I would take care of everything but he kept nagging me. He casually mentioned he was having dinner at the River Inn that evening although I had no idea you were his date. I realized that would be the perfect place to remove him from the picture. All I had to do was lure him out of the restaurant."
"So Jeremy responded to your page and met you outside the restaurant,” I said.
"Yep. We walked over to the bluff to talk. The wrench had been so effective on Garrett that I stuffed it in the pocket of my cargo pants just in case. All I had to do was distract Jeremy then hit him on the back of his head. It momentarily stunned him then I shoved him into the river. I figured the rocks and the water would take care of him for once and for all. Everyone would think it was an accident. There was just one little complication.
"Always the complication, aren't you, Laurel?"
I was about to defend myself when lights flickered on throughout the outer office.
My heart dropped all the way down to my flat feet as the sound of a familiar voice echoed from the hallway.
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THIRTY-THREE
Centurion Real Estate's top producer strolled into Peter's office. “And here I thought I was the only one who stopped in on Saturday nights. Peter, you shouldn't be working when you're out with my daughter. Are you trying to snatch that number one spot from me?"
Peter and I looked at each other. I didn't know what to say.
He did. “Barba
ra, you and your daughter will be the end of me yet."
Or vice versa.
Her eyes widened as she zeroed in on the gun. “I don't understand. I thought you two were on a date. I realize Laurel can be a little difficult at times, but you don't have to point a gun at her."
"Mother, Peter killed Jeremy. And Garrett. And Mike, the appraiser."
"Mike who?” she asked, as usual focusing on the most irrelevant part of the conversation.
"Never mind. It doesn't matter. What does matter is that Peter is a murderer and he's holding a gun. On both of us."
Her face paled and she dropped into the chair next to me. For once, she looked all of her sixty-two years. Peter drummed the fingers of his left hand on the desk although his gun hand remained steady. Was he trying to figure out what to do with us? Maybe I could give him some ideas.
"Peter, please let us go. You've got the money. Why don't you leave the country?"
Mother chimed in, “Wonderful idea. I'd be happy to service your listings for you while you're gone."
One would think that when one's mother is facing a gun, she would not be tabulating real estate commissions in her head.
"Right. I'm sure neither of you would inform the sheriff's department about any of this. But I can't leave until Monday. Two more fake loans are recording at eight a.m. Once the sales proceeds are wired into the partnership account I'll transfer the money into my personal account."
He shifted the gun to his left hand and opened another drawer. “I already booked a flight. By Monday afternoon I'm off to Rio. Now all I need to figure out is the best way to dispatch you two."
I didn't care for the way he used the word “dispatch.” Who would know if we were missing? Hank and the kids wouldn't be home from Tahoe until Monday night. Tom knew I was on a dinner date so the earliest he might check on me would be tomorrow. And my mother, who wouldn't hesitate to intervene, had already done so.
"Wait a minute. The guy I saw with Jeremy on the riverbank had a bald spot."
"Just in case anyone saw me from a distance I chose to go au naturel that evening.” Peter lifted the top of his thick blond hair. Damn. That was a great looking hairpiece. If we'd ever reached the kissing stage I guess I would have realized it. The thought of kissing a murderer made my pesto potato-filled stomach lurch.
Peter pulled something out of the drawer. He smiled in satisfaction as he waved a plane ticket at us. He motioned for both of us to stand.
I rose slowly, racking my brain for a way to extricate us from this mess. How could I get the gun away from Peter without either of us getting shot?
What would a kick-ass female detective do in this situation? And wouldn't it be great if one of those kick-ass women were here right now.
Peter herded us out of the office, turning off the lights as we walked ahead of him. No evidence of any midnight oil burning real estate agents was left behind. He hesitated as we stood in front of the cars then reached into the pocket of his slacks for his keys.
Peter beeped open the trunk of the Jag indicating we should throw our purses inside. Darn, that eliminated any chance of us using our cell phones. He motioned to my mother to get behind the wheel. He ordered me to climb in the front passenger seat then he slid into the back seat of the car.
"Barbara, if you try anything funny I won't think twice about putting a bullet in the back of your daughter's head."
Multiple shivers slithered down my spine as he stroked my cheek with the gun. I didn't doubt him for a minute. The man had already killed three people.
I thought about my children. At least I no longer had to worry about their father being found guilty of murder and removed from their life. Now all I had to do was figure out how to keep them from losing both their mother and grandmother.
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THIRTY-FOUR
We drove out of the parking lot then took the entrance ramp heading west on Highway 50, exiting five minutes later on El Dorado Hills Blvd. At first I wasn't sure of our ultimate destination. Once we crossed Green Valley Road and headed north on Salmon Falls Road, I realized where Peter was taking us.
Bella Lago.
After a silent and tortuously short drive we arrived at the massive stone entrance.
"Barbara, hit the red button to the right of the visitor phone. That will open the gate. Then drive to the top of the hill."
The driver's window rolled down and my mother stretched her left arm toward the intercom. Her knuckles gleamed white in the moonlight as she punched a round red button on the control panel.
The gate creaked out an eerie greeting as we drove through. The large car glided up into sheer dark nothingness. The roads were steep and during the day I imagined there would be beautiful vista points.
I shifted and felt the cold metal caressing my neck. Moments later we arrived at the summit. The hilltop had been leveled to make room for a small modular trailer that served as the sales office. As in most of the subdivisions in El Dorado Hills, there were no streetlights. A smattering of stars sprinkled the dark velvet sky.
I felt as if I was in a dream. No make that a nightmare. What good was all that mystery novel reading to me now? Nothing less than a miracle could get us out of this alive.
Mother braked, shifted into park and turned off the ignition. Peter seemed lost in thought and I wasn't sure if I should interrupt him. That didn't stop Barbara Bingham. She twisted her head and looked directly at Peter. “If you harm us they'll hunt you down."
"No one will connect me with the two of you."
"But Peter,” I objected, “I told several of my friends I was going out with you. My mother probably told everyone about our date."
"Of course I did. I thought you two made a great couple. You have so much in common."
Yeah. I dated the men Peter murdered—some common denominator.
Peter nudged the back of my neck with the gun. “Get out of the car, both of you. No sudden moves."
We eased the car doors open carefully. I wasn't going to do anything to upset Peter At least not while he was holding that gun.
Even though I had on my black leather coat, the gusts of wind chilled me on the inside as well as the outside. My mother shuffled forward, rounding the front of the car. I reached out and clasped her slender frame to mine.
"Hey, stop that!” Peter hollered. “Stay at least three feet away from each other."
We pulled apart and followed Peter up a makeshift wooden staircase to the sales office. Our captor turned away from us to fumble with his key ring. I looked around for a possible weapon. Off to the side of the trailer was a small pile of lumber.
As Peter attempted to open the door, I winked at my parent, placed my finger against my lips, and tiptoed back down the steps.
Creak.
Never try to make a stealthy getaway treading on cheap plywood.
Peter wheeled around and pinned his left arm around my mother's neck. Her eyes bulged with fear as he shoved the gun into her side.
"Try that again and your mother is history. Now open the door.” The keys clanged together as he threw them at my feet. Her eyes implored me to do as he instructed. I picked up the key ring from the foot of the stairs and trudged back up.
Lucky me. My first choice opened the door. I hesitated at the entrance but Peter pushed me into the trailer. He hit a light switch illuminating the office then shoved my mother against a battered beige metal desk.
The sales office wasn't much to look at but that wasn't unusual for the early stages of a building project. Peter motioned for us to sit. I dropped into one of the dark green plastic chairs and scanned the scratched surface of the desk. The desk was sadly lacking in potential weapons. I found a staple remover—which would be useful if Peter shot us with staples—and a glue stick.
Maybe I could glue his hands together.
Peter banged desk drawers open and shut. He finally held up a large black metal flashlight. “All right, ladies, this will make your hike a little easier."
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I pleaded with him one more time. “My ex and the kids will be trying to get hold of me. If I don't answer, I'm sure they'll call the police."
He smirked. “Didn't you say they weren't coming home until Monday evening?"
Lucky me. I finally met a man who listened to my babbling.
"I'm supposed to have dinner with Detective Bradford tomorrow,” Mother said. “Certainly he'll wonder what happened to me."
I sensed my eyes bulging out of their sockets. “You have a date with Bradford? How could you? The guy thinks I'm a murderer."
She stiffened in her chair. “Robert is a very capable detective. I'm sure eventually he would have determined you were innocent."
"Well I wish he'd discovered it a little quicker,” I responded, nodding in Peter's direction.
"Laurel, dear, I—"
"Focus ladies!” Peter waved a flashlight in one hand and the gun in the other. He grabbed my mother's arm and shoved her out the door. “It's time to take care of a few loose ends."
I didn't need to be clobbered over the head to know the two of us were the loose ends. We were quickly running out of options. All that wine Peter had drunk should be fuddling his thinking but so far he hadn't missed a thing.
Mother was right. Peter would be the chief suspect if I vanished. But how long would it take before anyone realized we were gone? Would Bradford be concerned if she didn't show up for their dinner date? Would Tom wonder where I was? Would he even care? By the time the sheriff's department put everything together, the killer would be thousands of miles away.
On a beach in Rio clasping a delicious mojito in his murderous hands.
Peter handed the flashlight to me. The three of us hiked down the road away from the trailer, Peter behind us, the gun still aimed at my back. The moon was a toothpick-sized sliver of light and the few stars didn't provide much illumination. The subdivision was supposed to have fabulous view lots but the lake was invisible to my naked eye.
Massive shapes loomed alongside the road. The huge machines they used for site development.