Dying to Sell

by Maggie Sefton

  Consequently, this Sunday I was previewing properties in one of our nearby canyons. Some out-of-town buyers had emailed me their wish list and I was trying to find it. As I steered my Explorer around the familiar, curving mountain roads, I punched in another number before the hills would steal my signal.

  My young buyers, the Kerchoffs, were deciding exactly what to ask for in the Notice to Correct. Three days had helped calm them down a little, I'd noticed. Just as I was about to connect, my cell rang with an incoming call.

  "This is Kate," I answered.

  A smooth voice slid over the airwaves. "Kate, this is Henry Ackerman. I hope I didn't disturb you on this beautiful morn?"

  I was so surprised I couldn't respond at first. Ackerman was calling me? Why? Our last meeting had been icy. And why was he sounding so friendly? "Hello, Henry," I managed at last. "You're not disturbing me. I'm out previewing property."

  "That's great!" he enthused.

  I almost lost the curve on that one, his voice boomed so loud into my ear. Got to remember to turn off the cell before I enter the canyon, I thought. I really could use two hands on the wheel about now.

  "My wife and I just drove by a home we are dying to see," he continued. "Over here in Devonshire Estates. We wondered if you could take us through it later today?"

  It was fortunate there were no curves on this stretch of mountain road, because I would have gone off for sure. Henry Ackerman was asking me to show him property? What could possibly have inspired this change in behavior? "Devonshire Estates? I didn't think they'd finished any models yet," I said.

  "Yes, two are up. And the one Ruth and I want to see is the large two-story, with tiered decks in the back. You can't miss it. It's at the edge of the subdivision. Looks absolutely fabulous. We can't wait to see it. What time works for you, Kate?"

  There was something wrong in this conversation, but I couldn't pin it down. Part of me wanted to say no, but the hungry real estate agent replied, "How about three o'clock?"

  "Perfect. See you there. Thanks, Kate." And he clicked off.

  This time I did turn the cell phone off and tossed it onto the passenger seat, while I concentrated on the tighter turns as the road climbed higher and higher to the top of the ridge. Meanwhile, I continued my inner wrangling. There was something about Ackerman I didn't trust. And that oh-so-friendly tone didn't sway me either.

  My practical side spoke up then. There could be a very simple explanation for his sudden change. Perhaps Jonathan Bassett had mentioned my role in finding the secret financial records. Clearly, that's what Ackerman had been searching for the morning I walked in on him. Maybe he was grateful and had decided to throw a little business my way.

  I considered that possibility as I edged toward the high point of the canyon road. At the top, however, I forgot about Ackerman entirely. The view was as breathtaking as always. I pulled onto the shoulder to stare and enjoy, before I headed down into the valley below.

  The Rocky Mountains glistened with the early snows September had brought them. The high country always got snow earlier than the rest of us in the foothills. I watched the sun glint off a sequestered glacier nestled beside Long's Peak. Feeling the peace this serene view always invoked in me, I just sat and stared for several minutes before I reluctantly nosed my Explorer onto the downward slope of the road.

  I'd made a decision. There was enough time to check out all six houses I had on the list before 1:00 p.m. Since the last house was located in another beautiful canyon, I would be able to indulge myself in one of my favorite pleasures—a short hike to a cherished view. Then I could sit on a rock and stare at the mountains for an hour. I was in serious need of some quiet time. These last two weeks had been nonstop chaos. Peace and serenity were what I needed right now. I could worry about Ackerman later.

  * * *

  Spying a parking spot in front of one of my favorite coffee haunts, I quickly grabbed it, hopped out, and raced inside the small shop. A huge version of Van Gogh's Starry Night adorned one wall and gave the shop its name. But there was no time for sitting and sipping, so I grabbed my usual from the accommodating barista and zipped outside.

  I'd only been out of the canyon and into cell range five minutes before the messages started beeping. Normal stuff until I got to Ronnie's. Her message was short. I was to meet Jake Chekov tomorrow at 4:00 p.m. at the county firing range south of town. No arguments, she added. It was an order.

  Order or no, I was going to register a protest. This whole idea was ludicrous. So I fortified myself with a dose of caffeine and punched in her number. To my surprise, she answered on the first ring.

  "Ronnie, it's Kate."

  "I knew you'd call after you heard my message. I figured five minutes. It took fifteen."

  "I was in the canyon previewing. Listen, Ronnie, that idea is crazy. This guy Chekov is a gun nut. He wants me to carry a briefcase full of weapons. Can you picture that? I mean—"

  "Jake is no nut. He's trained several agents. And none of them had anything to worry about. You do."

  Her words took me aback. Not her, too? "Ronnie, you're exaggerating."

  "I'm not exaggerating, Kate. You've been taking entirely too many chances lately. That litany of yours took my breath away the other day. I'm concerned for you. I know you want to help Amanda, but you cannot jeopardize your own safety in doing so."

  Hearing her concern voiced with such feeling loosed all those nagging anxieties I'd tried to keep at bay. They raced up and nipped at my heels. Partly to assuage Ronnie's fears and my own, I began to bargain. "Okay... okay... I promise I'll be careful. Really."

  "Not good enough, Kate."

  I thought fast. Guns, with or without Jake Chekov, were scary. I didn't need any more anxiety in my life right now. "Okay, I've got an idea. How about martial arts training? Self-protection. I can learn Kung Fu or whatever. Even Chekov the jerk mentioned that as an alternative."

  "Chekov the jerk?" I heard a smile in her voice, and I knew I was in the home stretch. All I had to do was convince her of my sincerity.

  "Yeah. He's impossible. He goes out of his way to annoy me. I've met a lot of jerks, but this guy is in a class by himself."

  "I see."

  "No, you'd have to hear. He deliberately scared the bejeezus out of me."

  "In your case, that's good."

  "Listen, I'll sign up for classes tomorrow or the next day. Whenever they start. I swear."

  Ronnie paused. I held my breath until I heard a long sigh, then exulted. She'd bought it. Now, all I had to do was find some nice neighborhood Jackie Chan to teach me the moves. Or, some of them at least. Climbing up the side of buildings I didn't need.

  "Okay, Kate, but you'd better register this week. And I want to see the course description. Tai Chi in City Park won't cut it. Understand?"

  Rats. I'd already put that on the top of my list because it fascinated me. Guess I'd actually have to find Jackie Chan. "You got it, Ronnie. I promise."

  Chapter 13

  As I drove through the entrance to Devonshire Estates, I was struck once again by the incongruous view. Ten miles down the interstate, east another three miles, out in the middle of what used to be nowhere. Like it or not, the small nowheres of Northern Colorado were becoming somewheres faster than we could say "development." Sprawl had come to Fort Collins, big time.

  The subdivision spread out north to south, covering the former farmland with building sites as far as the eye could see. Wooden stakes bloomed where crops had once been. Working farmland still bordered the subdivision on both sides. Cows grazed beside the fence line, overlooking the empty tractors. I knew the modest-sized lots would bloom yet again with enormous estate homes, nestled cheek-by-jowl with each other.

  Since it was Sunday, I expected the builder's sales agent on site to be fairly busy. Ackerman had said a couple of models were already up. Following the arrows around the newly-paved empty streets, I spied only one car at the model home office and it wasn't Ackerman's sporty red number. The
n I took a closer look at the model. It was a huge walkout ranch. Ackerman said a two-story. Must be another model. I wheeled around and circled through the subdivision's maze, heading for the south end. Sure enough, there was an enormous two-story rising in lonely splendor. And a shiny red car was parked beside it.

  I'd had my office set the showing and call me with the lock box code. I'd assumed the model was another of the developer's. Consequently, I was surprised to see an unfamiliar real estate sign stuck in the dirt of the soon-to-be front yard with just the company name and a Denver phone number. Great, I thought as I parked my car and got out. Probably some one man/woman shop with an answering machine. Henry Ackerman was already out of his sporty little car and headed my way, smile in place. I braced myself.

  "Thanks for coming, Kate," he said in greeting.

  "Sorry I'm a little late, Henry. I headed toward the other site at first." I glanced around for his wife. "Is Ruth out in the back?"

  "No. Her plans changed at the last minute. Her mother's in a nursing home and suddenly took a turn for the worse. I'll have to tour the property for both of us, I guess." He flashed a bright smile.

  "Okay," I said, trying not to show my disappointment. "Let's go in, then." And I led the way up the winding walkway leading to the expansive front porch.

  Unfortunately, all my anxieties came along with me, dogging my heels like panting hounds. I had convinced myself Henry Ackerman was Suspect Number One, with Cheryl Krane right behind him. However, now that I'd learned Cheryl sent Stanley to retrieve an incriminating book she'd given Mark, I was toying with rearranging my Order of Suspects.

  In any case, the last place I wanted to be was alone with either of them—especially in a deserted house, way out in the middle of nowhere. Jake Chekov's warnings came back to haunt me. So much so that I fumbled the tiny numbers on the lock box, taking three tries to open it. Ackerman stood quietly, watching me.

  Finally the little box sprang with its metallic sigh of release, and I retrieved the key and opened the inlaid-glass door. "Wow," was all I could say as I gazed at the expanse of light and space.

  "Wow is right," Ackerman said, as he walked around the huge great room. "Wait'll I tell Ruth. I knew I should have brought my digital. Do you have one in your car, Kate?"

  "Sorry, I don't, Henry. That's next on my wish list."

  Watching Ackerman act like any interested buyer did more to reduce my fears than anything. He circled the great room and the exquisite open kitchen with its cherry wood cabinetry. The house was luscious, no doubt about it. I followed after him, answering questions about the builder, deadlines, contracts. We admired master suites, guest suites, mother-in-law suites, and ordinary bedrooms. Sitting rooms, sun rooms, exercise rooms, computer rooms—you name it, this house had it.

  Ackerman returned to the downstairs study and leaned against the French doors for a minute, staring inside. I hoped he was imagining his home office.

  "How do you think Amanda's holding up?" he asked.

  His question surprised me. Obviously his mind wasn't where I thought it was. "Pretty well, considering."

  He shot me a penetrating look. "Considering she's Murder Suspect Number One?"

  I stared back, amazed he'd say such a thing. Unable to keep the annoyance from my voice, I said, "Henry, you of all people should know Amanda's innocent. She couldn't kill Mark."

  "Anyone's capable of murder, Kate. Given the right circumstances," he said in a low voice.

  His words sent a chill up my spine and awoke all those fears that had been snoozing peacefully at my feet. They snapped awake.

  "Has your brother-in-law let anything slip?" he asked, checking a closet.

  The smooth lawyerly tone had returned, and I recoiled at its oily sound. "I'm just as clueless as everyone else, Henry. Bill always keeps police business secret."

  Ackerman headed down a side hallway. "Word has it Amanda's on the top of Bill's list," he said.

  "You shouldn't believe everything you hear, Henry," I shot back as I followed him.

  He paused, hand on the knob of what I assumed was another closet. Turning to me with a nasty grin, he said, "And you shouldn't be so trusting, Kate. It'll get you into trouble some day." With that, he opened the door. It was no closet. I spied stairs leading down into the dark. "Shall we?"

  I stared at the open doorway for several seconds. "Shall we what?"

  "Check out the basement, of course." His grin spread. "Have you been out in the sun, Kate? You look all flushed."

  Every horrible image Jake Chekov had planted in my brain shimmered before my eyes now. Me, downstairs in the basement of a deserted house in the far end of a deserted subdivision with a killer.

  Ackerman peered at me. "Kate? You coming?" He reached inside the doorway and flipped on the light.

  No! No! No! I wanted to say, but knew I couldn't. Instead, I took a deep breath and forced myself forward. "Sure. You first." I gestured. There was no way I was going down those stairs with him behind me.

  I watched him hesitate for a second, staring at me. My heart was pounding so hard, I'd have sworn he could hear it.

  "As you wish, Kate." To my immense relief, he started down the stairs.

  I paused at the top of the stairs and waited until he reached the bottom before starting down—slowly, very slowly. He glanced at me quizzically, then began to wander the enormous and empty basement. The lower I descended, the chillier I felt. All those concrete walls, sealing off all sound, cold as a tomb.

  That did it. I grabbed my cell phone from my pocket and frantically punched in the office number, desperate to avoid becoming one of Chekov's statistics. The sound of Lisa's voice on the other end was a lifeline. "Hello, Lisa!" I yelped. "How... how're... things going?"

  "Kate? Is that you?"

  "Yeah! Hey, did, uh, did that guy... uh, you know, did he leave a message?" I floundered for a moment while I searched for something plausible. Ackerman was just a few feet away, staring up at the floor joists.

  "What guy?" Lisa's bewildered voice asked. "Kate are you all right?"

  "Not really," I admitted, hoping she'd remember that cogent comment if I turned up dead. "I'm over here in Devonshire Estates right now with Henry Ackerman." My voice must have shrilled because Ackerman turned and gave me an odd look. I no longer cared. I was determined to get out of that basement alive. "We're down in the basement right now. It's 2573 King's Court. Remember that, will you?"

  "Kate? Is there something wrong? You sound really weird."

  "I'm just busy showing this gorgeous new home. I'll—"

  "Kate, could you come over here for a moment and tell me if this is plumbed for another bath or not?" Ackerman called over his shoulder.

  If he thought I was going into that dark corner with him, he was crazy. "I'll be right there, Henry," I said loudly.

  "What? Where are you going?" Lisa said.

  "I'm going over to check the sewer drains with Henry Ackerman," I announced, as I drew close enough to scan the area in question. "Yep, Henry. Looks like it to me." I spun about and headed for the safety of the stairs again. "This house is plumbed for bathrooms here in the basement, Lisa."

  "Kate, all the new construction is plumbed for bathrooms in the basement. What is wrong with you?" Bewildered had changed to confused.

  But that was nothing compared to the perplexed look on Ackerman's face. "Kate, you barely glanced over here," he said.

  "Henry, when you've seen as many sewer drains as I have, all you need is a glance," I said and started up the steps. "I noticed it's plumbed for another over in that corner." I pointed. "Why don't you go check that out while I, uh... finish this call?"

  "Kate, I think yesterday's open house fried your brain," Lisa said. "Hey, another call is coming in. Gotta go."

  And the line went dead.

  I gulped and kept the phone to my ear, pretending. Ackerman would never know. "You're right, Lisa. Yeah, call him back." I glanced over my shoulder. "Henry, take your time. I'll be upstairs finis
hing this call."

  "I have some questions about the furnace and the plumbing," Ackerman said as he headed into the far corner.

  I ventured into the basement a few paces, paused, and scanned up, down, and sideways. Then I announced in a loud voice, "Furnace, deluxe ninety percent. Copper pipes. Sump pump installed. Custom floor joists. Expansive soil counter-measures as required by law. Looks good to me." With that, I was up the stairs like a shot. To hell with Ackerman. I was out of there.

  Once upstairs, I stationed myself by the open front door. I * wasn't leaving him any room to maneuver. Finally, Ackerman surfaced from the basement. He approached me with a strange smile.

  "Okay, Kate. I'll talk with Ruth. We'll be in touch," he said.

  "That's great, Henry," I responded with enthusiasm, and held the front door wide. "You tell Ruth I'll be happy to take her through any time she wants."

  Ackerman looked at me a little funny, before he exited. I didn't care. Slamming the door hard, I practically skipped off the porch. Watching him drive away, I collapsed into my own front seat, not sure whether I had just thwarted an attempted attack or suffered an embarrassing bout of paranoia.

  It didn't matter. I had survived both to live another day. I revved my engine and headed home. There was nothing that a little brie and a good Merlot couldn't cure, as I relaxed in my own back yard.

  * * *

  "Mom? I got your message. What's up?"

  I stretched out on my back yard chaise, beneath the shade of a maple, Sunday papers scattered on my lap, Sam gnawing a bone on the grass beside me. "Hey, sweetie," I said into the phone. "I called to pick your brain."

  "Not much left after that Organic Chem final, but you're welcome to try. What do you need?"

  She sounded tired. Balancing engineering courses and pre-med was no picnic. "You know anyone who could recommend a good martial arts instructor?"