Dying to Sell

by Maggie Sefton

  Rupert paused at the edge of another site and looked me straight in the eye. It was all I could do to hold my gaze steady.

  "Ask Ken Barstow if he has a kind word to say for the dead. I dare you, Kate." Rupert spun on the heel of his handcrafted boots and strode away.

  I stared after him, wondering what to say, when Rupert called over his shoulder.

  "Bring Amanda over next summer, Kate. I should have some models up by then."

  "I will, Rupert, and thanks." It was feeble, but it was the best I could do at the moment. My mind was already playing with Rupert's challenge while I headed toward my car.

  Driving back to the model home sites, I noticed more cars than usual, so I parked down the street. Besides, I needed time to consider Ken Barstow. I tried to conjure Barstow's face but came up with nothing. Of course, this whole episode had happened right before I got into real estate, so I knew nothing of the details. But Ronnie would know. As soon as I got back to the office, I'd find a way to casually ask Ronnie about Barstow. No, that wouldn't work. She could see right through me. Darn. I'd have to find someone else to grill. Someone more trusting, or someone who didn't know me well enough to recognize when I was up to something. Someone...

  The sound of an unfortunately familiar voice sounded behind me then. "What'd you say to Rupert to get him all riled up, Doyle? You could hear him yelling clear out to the interstate."

  Remembered aggravation flooded through me. A knee-jerk reaction, I'll admit. What was it about this guy? He was deliberately annoying. I turned to see Jake Chekov grinning at me from behind the wheel of his Big Bad Ass Truck.

  "Why do you assume it was me who caused Rupert's yelling? You know Rupert. He doesn't need much to set him off."

  "True, but this was louder than usual. I heard it all the way in the basement of one of his new homes."

  "Liar."

  "I swear." He crossed himself as his grin spread. "C'mon, Doyle, what'd you say to him? He was damn near frothing at the mouth."

  I had to smile at that image. "Yeah, he almost did, too."

  "C'mon, 'fess up. What'd you say that annoyed him so?"

  "Me? Annoying? Coming from you, that's damn near insulting," I countered, hoping to deflect him, even though I knew better. Chekov was like a laser beam.

  "What'd you say, Doyle? Had to be something personal."

  I decided it would be better to admit the truth than to have Chekov speculate. "I simply mentioned that I was looking for a property for Amanda Schuster and I'd always admired his work and—"

  "You've got to be kidding. You actually said that to Rupert?" Chekov's eyes danced in obvious amusement.

  "Yep, and I have the sunburn to prove it. Got a little too close to the fire."

  Chekov chuckled as he grinned at me. "Damn, Doyle, you're even crazier than I thought. Or braver."

  "Probably both," I said.

  Suddenly the laughter in Chekov's eyes changed. He peered at me. "You're up to something, Doyle. Admit it. That's why you're out here provoking old Rupert."

  I gave him my haughtiest look before I turned away. "You've been down in those basements too long, Chekov."

  "Be careful, Doyle," he called as I walked toward the model home sales office.

  I wasn't sure if I even knew what that word meant anymore.

  Chapter 15

  "Poor Barstow, he really did get shafted, didn't he?" I said as I stirred my coffee.

  Sitting across from me was the one source left who wouldn't recognize my fishing expedition. Ted Sandowski. He didn't know me well enough. And with luck, he'd never get to. Of course, the information came with a price. Ted wanted dinner, but I pled a prior engagement, so we settled on coffee at a nearby brew house. I didn't want Ronnie to see me pumping Ted.

  "Yeah, he sure did. He's never recovered. Oh, Ken still does a little real estate, but he mostly works for other brokers for a salary now. Poor guy." Ted swirled his caramel and whipped cream concoction, his gold dragon ring with its diamond solitaire catching the light.

  "That's quite a comedown. Who does he work for?"

  "Burton and James Properties, mostly. He told me he manages their rental office by day, then supervises one of their rental complexes by night. Brutal."

  "Whoa," I said. "He works a day shift and a night shift?"

  "A night shift supervising students, too. As if it could get any worse." Ted wagged his head. "I had to track him down for some property info one time and found him between two drunken kids, trying to break up a fight. At least I could help him with that. He looked really haggard."

  "What did you do, give 'em a Kung Fu toss?" I joked.

  "Naw. Let's just say I convinced them they needed to sleep it off and talk in the morning." He winked at me before he drained his coffee.

  Pity was beginning to encroach on my desire to follow up Ken Barstow. "Poor guy. How does he do it all?"

  Ted shrugged. "He has to, Kate. He's still paying off debts and his ex-wife."

  "Which complex does he work at? I want to make sure my daughter doesn't live anywhere near the drunken students." That was a half-truth.

  "Get real, Kate. This is a college town."

  "I know, I know. That's not realistic. She can only afford places like that. Oh well. Just being a mom. Where does he work anyway?"

  "Over at the Sunshine condos, near Campus West."

  Okay, I thought as I nodded at Ted. Glancing at the wall behind the display of coffee beans from around the globe, I checked the time. Almost 6:00 p.m. If I raced home now, I could feed Sam and myself then drive out to Campus West and visit Ken Barstow.

  First, I had to make a few calls for my young buyers. They were still in the midst of getting different estimates as to what needed to be done to their dream house. At least that gave me a bona fide excuse to extricate myself from Ted.

  "Hey, I've got to run," I announced, consulting my watch. "I have to make some more calls and talk to my young buyers. The inspection turned up all sorts of scary surprises."

  "Ouch." Ted winced in sympathy.

  I scraped my chair back and grabbed my briefcase. "Take care, Ted. See you at the office tomorrow."

  "Sure, Kate. And let's do dinner sometime, okay?"

  "Yeah, we'll get a group together," I said as I scurried toward the door. Safety in numbers.

  * * *

  Twilight shaded the foothills, as the sun's fading glow revealed their rugged contours. There was a different feel to these hours before night claimed the sky. I could never define it, but I felt it whenever I walked.

  The sidewalks of the older neighborhoods near the university were narrower and cracked, but the trees were taller and thicker. There was also something reassuring and comfortable here. Perhaps the presence of all those families growing up in the surrounding houses left something of themselves lingering in the air.

  Or maybe it was because the students hadn't started partying yet, my cynical side reminded me. I could still glimpse families and older couples inside some of the houses. Holdouts who tried to hang onto their comfortable homes and tree-shaded yards, despite the regular weekend mayhem that occurred with the rowdier college elements.

  It was hard. I'd heard many a young couple complain that they didn't want to leave those neighborhoods, but they had small children to raise. Rowdy, drunken students and loud parties made that all but impossible sometimes.

  Sam tugged at the end of the leash, clearly wanting to check out a nearby tree. As Sam had aged, I noticed he didn't pull quite so hard on the leash. He was more content to simply walk beside me, almost as if he was checking out the neighborhood too.

  I had decided to take Sam, because it looked more natural for me to be walking my dog at this hour than simply taking a stroll all alone. We were approaching the Sunshine complex, where Barstow was employed. I figured we had to be close. The sound of hip-hop music was getting louder.

  Rounding a corner into the parking lot, I looked for a sign indicating an office. A black painted arrow pointed to
ward some steps. I peered down the broken concrete stairwell and saw light shining through a window.

  "Guess I'd better take a look, huh, Sam?" I said as I looped his leash around the metal railing. "You stay out here, okay? Guard the parking lot instead."

  Sam woofed as if he understood, and I patted his head. He was getting skinnier as he aged, too. Boy, that should happen to people, I thought, as I made my way down the steps. I knocked, then pushed the door open.

  The man behind the desk didn't even glance up from the papers in front of him. "Yeah, what is it?" His voice sounded hoarse and ragged.

  "Hi, there," I said, my voice cheerful.

  The man's head popped up and he stared, clearly surprised that I wasn't a student. From the doorway, I could see what Ted meant when he said Barstow looked haggard. That was putting it gently. His face was sallow and drawn, and his eyes were sunken. Haunted was the word I'd use.

  "Can I help you? Are you looking for a rental unit? We've only got one available right now. How big a unit do you need?"

  "Oh, it's not for me. It's for my daughter," I said, using Jeannie as a shield this time. "She said she talked to a Ken Barstow. I think that was the name. Is he here?"

  "Yeah, that's me. What kind of unit was she looking for?" Barstow leaned back in his chair.

  "She said you showed her through a rental house nearby, and she's forgotten the address. She wanted to tell her girlfriends where it was, so they could come out and take another look. Do you keep records of your showings?"

  I'd searched for a plausible reason to use for probing Barstow, but I couldn't come up with anything, so I decided to simply wing it. See how he responded when I mentioned the date of Mark's death.

  "Yes, we do." He reached into a drawer and pulled out a Day-Timer. "What's her name, and when did she come in?"

  "Jeannie Doyle. And she said she came in about two weeks ago. On a Monday." I reached into my pocket for my grocery list and scanned it for a nonexistent date. "Monday, September twenty-seventh."

  Barstow flipped through the pages and scanned the month of September. I peered over the desk, trying to decipher the upside-down jottings and notes, but couldn't.

  Running his finger over the days, Barstow stopped when he came to that date. His finger tapped once, then twice. Then he spoke without looking up. "That wasn't me who showed her the property, ma'am. I wasn't here all day. I was out of the office."

  My heart skipped a beat. I wasn't prepared for that response. I didn't know what to say next. With others, probing had come naturally. But with Barstow, it was different. Bone-deep fatigue radiated off this man. I doubted he'd have the strength to stab Mark Schuster in the throat.

  I was about to force myself to probe anyway, when Barstow glanced up. Something resembling a smile appeared, softening his features. "My first grandchild was born September twenty-seventh. I was at the hospital all day with my daughter. She had a little boy. Ryan."

  For a brief moment, joy erased the weariness from Ken Barstow's face. I joined in his celebration by giving him the biggest smile I could find inside. My heart sincerely went out to this man. "Congratulations, Mr. Barstow. You must be very proud."

  "Oh, I am," he said softly.

  "I'll bet you'll be a great grandfather, too," I added, backing toward the door. It was time to go. "And I'll tell my daughter she's got her places mixed up. Good night, now."

  Barstow gave me a little wave, and I took the stairs two at a time. Poking around in people's lives was proving to be painful.

  Sam gave me a welcoming slurp on the hand when I untied his leash. "C'mon, boy, let's head back to our car and go home. We've gotten into enough trouble for one night."

  Heading across the street, Sam and I angled through the interconnecting parking lots that ran beside the string of cafes, coffeehouses, and shops that catered to students. My car was parked a couple of blocks away, and there was a shortcut behind the restaurants. Pausing beside a bush so Sam could do his doggie sniff test, I caught the sound of a familiar laugh. A musical laugh that I hadn't heard in a while.

  I turned to scan the darkened sidewalks and spotted Jeannie walking toward the Mexican restaurant. But that wasn't what caught my eye. It was the guy walking beside her who caught my attention. Chester Yosarian, the computer expert. Yosh. I watched them laugh and talk to each other as they strolled along.

  Well, well, well, I thought, and smiled all the way to the car.

  Chapter 16

  The next morning, Tuesday, it was all I could do to drag myself out of bed. I deliberately overslept. Yesterday I'd been up at 5:00 a.m. to hurry to the early kickboxing class. No way today. I needed more sleep. My brain was still fogged from the day before, and all the questions I'd asked. All for nothing. No matter how suspicious McKenzie and Barstow had appeared at first, both were in the clear.

  After breakfast and bolstered with strong coffee, I made a brief stop at the office. It was afternoon before I was able to return to the Schuster home and search for Cheryl Krane's book. The last few days had been so busy, Stanley's request had slipped my mind.

  As I drove over, I tried calling Amanda, but settled for her voice-mail instead. I found myself not supplying as much detailed information about my activities as before. Amanda was always curious as to what I was up to. I wasn't sure why I hesitated now. Perhaps I'd become more wary of everyone lately.

  As I pulled into the Schusters' driveway, I spotted the youngest one of the three skateboarders practicing all alone. My instinct nudged me to grab this opportunity away from his friends and ask him more questions. Perhaps he remembered something else about that day. I exited my car and approached the sidewalk. He was heading this way and couldn't miss me. He'd either have to stop or jump the curb.

  The youngster chose to stop about ten feet away. I could tell he remembered me from his expression. I flashed him a big relax-I'm-a-Mom smile. "Hey, Greg, how's it going?"

  "Uh, okay, I guess," he said, glancing nervously over his shoulder.

  I figured I'd better ask fast before his intimidating older friends showed up. "Greg, I won't keep you from your practice. I just wanted to check if there was anything else you remembered from that day Mr. Schuster was killed. Anything else you didn't mention before. I kind of got the impression your friends kept you from telling all you saw. Did they give you a hard time?"

  He stared at the ground as he balanced on his board with one foot. "Yeah, kinda. They called me a liar and stuff. But I wasn't lying. I really did see that guy. They were farther away, that's all."

  "I believe you, Greg. I mean, how could you make up someone who looked like that?"

  "For sure." Greg favored me with a brief glance.

  "And he really wore regular shoes, not sneakers?"

  "Yep."

  "What color was his running suit?"

  "Green. Dark green."

  I decided to push a little. "Did you actually see him coming out of the Schuster house?"

  He shook his head. "Naw. I just saw him on the path, near the sidewalk. I don't know if he went in the house or not."

  "How about the car that was parked in your practice lane. The white Rabbit. Did you see who got into that car?"

  "Nope. We went into Freddy's house for some drinks, and when we came out again, it was gone."

  Rats. Another disappointment. I was hoping he'd say a tall, skinny dark-haired woman came out, so I could move Cheryl to the top of my list. Ackerman had started slipping ever since yesterday's showing. The more I analyzed his actions, the more convinced I was I'd let my overactive imagination run wild.

  "Darn," I said out loud. "I was hoping to get another clue." Might as well be honest with my little gold mine.

  His bright blue eyes widened. "You mean about the killer?"

  "Yeah. I thought maybe the Rabbit belonged to the person who committed this awful crime. I mean, whoever did it either drove here or walked here, right?"

  Greg nodded his head, obviously caught up in the strategy.

 
Suddenly, the image of the jogger appeared in my mind, but this time there was an urgency about it. I followed the hunch. "That's why the fat jogger keeps bothering me. Who knows? Maybe the killer jogged all the way over here in disguise."

  Greg blinked his blue eyes and said, "Oh, no. He didn't. He got into another car parked around the corner over there." Greg pointed down a side street.

  My mouth dropped open in surprise. Whoa... he hadn't mentioned that before. "Really?" My heart beat faster. "What color car? Do you remember?"

  He squinted his eyes shut for a second. "I think it was a gold color. Yeah, gold. It was gold. And it looked expensive, even from here."

  I had to smile. Obviously a car man, even at this early age. Wait until he gets old enough to drive. The skateboard will be under the bed. "Gold, huh? Well, okay! That's something. In fact, that's a lot, Greg. You're great to remember so much." I let my enthusiasm pour into my voice.

  Greg flushed pink and stared at his sneakers.

  "Listen, I'll let you get back to your practice. Your friends will probably be out any minute." I winked at him.

  He gave me a sheepish grin. "Yeah, probably."

  "Thanks, Greg. Oh, and I'm sorry last Saturday's open house took all the street space. I won't do it again," I promised as I headed across the street. Greg gave me a parting wave and pushed off down the sidewalk.

  I practically raced up the Schusters' path and into the house, my mind buzzing with the new information Greg had given me. The funny, fat jogger was looking more and more suspicious. Why would someone dress so strangely to go jogging in this neighborhood, if his car was parked around the corner and down the street? It had to be the killer in disguise. Why else would he/she park away from the house, except to make sure no one noticed?

  As I unlocked the door leading from the kitchen to the garage, I had to admit that Cheryl Krane had slipped a notch. Cheryl drove a white Rabbit, not an expensive, gold car. Ackerman was in love with his mid-life red sports car. Then again, the killer might have rented a car as part of the disguise.