Dying to Sell

by Maggie Sefton

  "Amanda, are you sure Mark hadn't signed this already? There were so many documents you and Jonathan were going over, searching for missing funds, shifted assets, all that. Maybe Jonathan thought you meant another document."

  She looked me directly in the eye. "Kate, I am positive. I loved this collection above all else. I was willing to trade Mark a whole wall of Impressionists for this one set." Amanda pointed at the sheet of paper. "And I gave this list to Jonathan that very morning, the same day Mark was killed. There were no initials or signature then. I know Mark's signature as well as my own, Kate. He signed that document. And yet, Jonathan said he didn't. Why would he lie?"

  Why, indeed? I stared at the document again, then picked up Amanda's pacing where she had left off. Amanda grabbed another cigarette.

  Why would Jonathan lie about that document? Unless he didn't want to admit he'd been to Mark's house the afternoon he was killed. That would open him to police questions. Very nasty business, being questioned by the police. Especially if Jonathan was hiding something. Or protecting someone like his wife.

  All those jumbled theories from this morning when I'd spoken with Sharon started zooming through my brain again, careening and diving like tiny swallows at sundown. Was Jonathan trying to protect Sharon? Had he gone to Mark's house with the document? Had Sharon appeared? Had there been a confrontation? Or, had he seen his wife's car approach as he drove off? I pictured Jonathan sitting in his car, seething with anger at Sharon's betrayal. Did he burst into Mark's home? Did he intend to confront them, only to discover his wife holding the murder weapon? Was it clever Jonathan the lawyer who helped Sharon disguise herself while he calmly wiped up telltale fingerprints, then left the scene himself?

  One of the low-flying swallows dive-bombed into a building and fell limp—just like that last theory. Greg, with his knowledge of cars, would have spotted Jonathan's sleek, silver Acura, if it had been parked anywhere near Mark's house. The Lexus registered with the little skater, and it was parked around the corner and down the street.

  I circled the coffee table and started another lap. Amanda stood and smoked, glancing nervously at me from time to time. Meanwhile, the swallows zoomed through the air again, fewer of them this time.

  If Jonathan wasn't at the house with Sharon, perhaps he confronted her when she returned. Maybe he'd spied her car and had done his seething at home. Maybe he had let her have it when she walked in. Perhaps that was enough to shatter Sharon's inscrutable shield.

  The little birds continued their sharp cries as they swooped, while I continued my pacing. Something wasn't right.

  Then, from far above the clouds, a dark shape shot through the sky. Straight as an arrow, a hawk took out the lead bird and sent the swallows scattering—and my theories with them.

  Jonathan. What if Jonathan Bassett was the killer? Clearly, his wife's affair had given him reason to hate Mark. Did he confront Mark and kill him in a vengeful rage? Was this caring, solicitous attitude toward Amanda merely a ruse? Was he actually setting Amanda up? Delaying her from speaking with a criminal attorney until after she'd blundered with the police? Discouraging the investigators who were digging into Mark's relationships?

  My heart pounded harder with this thought, a sure sign that there was something to it. I halted my pacing and turned to Amanda.

  "Was Jonathan planning to see you again today?" I asked. "Do you have any other appointments?"

  "No. I told Jonathan to call me after he spoke with Bob Carruthers." She peered at me. The shadows beneath her brown eyes made them look huge. "Kate, I can tell you're worrying about something. You're not thinking about Jonathan, are you? Surely you can't think he killed Mark?" Her face paled.

  I carefully considered what I was about to reveal and decided it was more important to protect Amanda than spare her from a painful discovery of yet another indiscretion. "Amanda, I'm sorry to tell you this. I know how much you trust Jonathan. But I do believe Jonathan could have killed Mark. And that would explain why he lied about being there on Monday afternoon. He didn't want the police questioning him."

  Amanda paled even more, if that were possible, and she swayed slightly on her feet. "Kate, surely you are mistaken," she whispered. "Why would Jonathan kill Mark? What reason would he have?"

  I took a deep breath and prayed for guidance. "Sharon Bassett was having an affair with Mark, and she was planning on following him to Denver. She'd already filed for divorce from Jonathan."

  Amanda wavered, then collapsed on the sofa behind her, obviously stunned. "My God, Kate," was all she said.

  "Amanda, I wouldn't say something like this, if it wasn't true. I know it hurts. But you need to hear it."

  "Are you sure?"

  "Yes. Marilyn said that Sharon admitted the affair a month ago, right after she told Marilyn she was divorcing Jonathan. And when I met Sharon coming out of the lawyer's office last week, she told me she's still going through with the divorce. Even after Mark's death, she's still planning to move to Denver. Starting a new life, as she put it."

  Laying her head back on the creamy leather sofa, Amanda stared at the ceiling. "Poor Jonathan," she said after a moment. "He adores Sharon. Worships her. And her money. It was Sharon's money which enabled them to live their luxurious lifestyle. What will Jonathan do without Sharon?"

  I stared at Amanda for a moment, wishing I didn't have to be the one to say these things. Unfortunately, I didn't have a choice. Amanda was missing the big picture.

  "Amanda, I think your sympathies are misplaced right now. We're talking about the man who may have killed your husband."

  "Oh, Kate, that's not possible," she said, sitting up straight. "I know Jonathan better than you. He's too calm and controlled to do something like that. You're mistaken. You have to be."

  Watching her try to convince herself as well as me, I felt sorry for Amanda. She'd used that selective blindness with Mark for so long, it was habit. She saw only what she wanted.

  "I'm not suggesting Jonathan planned to murder Mark," I said. "Maybe he went there with the document first, then confronted him about Sharon. Maybe he killed in a moment of rage."

  She thought about that one for a moment, I could tell.

  "I don't know, Kate."

  "Neither do I, Amanda, but until we know more, I think you should find any excuse you can to avoid having Jonathan over here alone. Offer to meet him at his office. Insist on it." Watching the stricken look in her eyes, I took another tack. "It'll do you good to go out, anyway. You've been hiding in this condo too long. Get out there. Promise me, okay?"

  She nodded.

  I glanced at my watch. "Make sure you don't mention what I've told you to anyone. Do you hear? That's an order, Amanda. I'm going to speak with Bill tonight. First, I've got to run. Got to take care of business."

  Grabbing my purse from an end table, I headed for the door, paused long enough to throw Amanda an encouraging smile, then raced out. Meddling was not only life-threatening, it was also business-threatening. It was after 3:00 p.m. I needed to get back to my office and make several calls, plus check on the progress of my young buyers' request for repairs. The seller had until 12:00 tonight to sign and approve. If not, twenty-four hours later, the contract was null and void. Dead. And my young couple and I would start all over again. As hard as that was to explain to people, sometimes it was a good thing. Sometimes there was an even better house just waiting to be found.

  As I jumped into my car and sped down the congested southern arteries of Fort Collins, my stomach demanded my attention. Rummaging through my briefcase, I found enough walnuts and almonds to quiet the hunger. Coffee I could find at the office, and I prayed Lisa hadn't been allowed near the pot.

  Meanwhile, I tried to decide how best to present my suspicions to Bill. What evidence did I have? None. I had nothing except a document that showed Jonathan had been to Mark's house and obtained his signature. If questioned, he could easily say that he'd been to see Mark earlier. Hence, the signature and telltale date.
It would be Jonathan's word against Amanda's.

  That scene sent a chill through me. Amanda was definitely still at the top of Bill Levitz's list of suspects. Sending two detectives to interview was one of Bill's tactics. If it came down to Amanda against Jonathan, Amanda would lose.

  I merged onto the heavier traffic of College Avenue, only a few blocks from my office now. There was one niggling thought that still bothered me about Jonathan going to Mark's house. It was the same doubt that shot down the idea that Jonathan had helped Sharon hide the murder.

  Jonathan's car. His shiny, silver Acura. If he'd been at Mark's that afternoon, the kids would have seen the car. Heck, it would have been pretty crowded on those streets what with Cheryl's white Rabbit, then Jonathan's Acura, blocking the skaters' fun. That definitely would have drawn their attention. And no one had mentioned a silver Acura.

  Puzzling for a minute, I glumly admitted to myself that Jonathan could have easily met Mark somewhere else.

  Hence, no Acura in the neighborhood. And once more, I was back at square one. And Amanda was nowhere. I turned toward my office parking lot and pulled into a space, the cold spot in my stomach growing much larger than my earlier hunger.

  Chapter 21

  "You want some?" Heather held up the coffee pot.

  "Oh, please, yes." I eagerly thrust my mug across the desk. Bless her. She'd seen how I looked when I came into the office an hour ago and did the only thing she could, and it was good enough. Heather grinned as she headed down the hall, empty pot in hand.

  I drank deep and wished Heather's strong coffee could take away the gnawing anxiety that still chewed at me inside. Even finding the seller's faxed acceptance of my buyer's repair request could not dispel it. Nor could the email from my out-of-town buyers that they were coming to town next weekend to search for their dream home.

  This was bad. Real estate sales could usually cure any down mood. It was such a roller-coaster business that the ups and downs became addictive. You survived the lows just so you could experience the highs once more.

  Unfortunately, this anxiety had nothing to do with business or with me. It was Amanda I worried about. I sensed Bill's net drawing closer and closer, and there was nothing any of us could do to help. Lord knows, I'd mucked around and meddled until I was up to my neck and beyond. Still, nothing I'd uncovered was conclusive enough to deflect Bill from his target.

  I leaned back in my chair and glanced out the window at the sun, kissing the tops of the foothills. It would be sunset soon. Maybe I should just go home, curl up with Sam, and channel-surf. Listen to the CNN and CFN analysts debate world events and financial turmoil. And hide. Closing my eyes, I pictured just that—for about a minute. Then Amanda's face came back into view. So did an idea.

  Reaching for my Day-Timer, I searched for Sharon Bassett's number and dialed. I was acting purely on instinct now. When she answered, I took a deep breath and plunged in.

  "Sharon, this is Kate. How are you? Did I get you at a bad time?"

  "Why, Kate," her surprised voice said. "I'm fine, thanks. And no, you didn't interrupt me. Is there anything I can help you with?"

  Obviously, my occasional transparency had become aural as well as visual. "Well, uh, actually, there is, Sharon," I said, ad-libbing. "Marilyn, uh, just called me from the interstate. She's on her way to Denver for a new car. And she was thinking of buying a car like yours and wants to know how you like it. Said she saw you a couple of weeks ago driving out of Burgundy Acres and just fell in love with the car on sight. She's on her way to a dealership now and she forgot her address book; that's why I'm calling. You know Marilyn. When she wants something, she wants it now."

  I shut my eyes, not wanting to picture Marilyn's frowning face when she learned of this tale. Her ears must be burning. Meanwhile, I waited for Sharon's reaction to the suggestion that she'd visited the Schusters' subdivision.

  "Burgundy Acres?" Sharon said. "Why, no, Kate. It wasn't me. I can't recall the last time I was that far south, except to head for the interstate. But, yes, I adore the Lexus."

  "That's funny. Marilyn said she recognized your license plate." I winced in anticipation of the fussing I'd have to listen to for this presumption.

  "Marilyn memorizes license plates?" Sharon's incredulous voice asked.

  I had to admit that the image of Marilyn memorizing phone numbers was hard to swallow. License plates would be out of the question. It was a dumb suggestion, but I was desperate. "I know, it surprised me too, but you know how weird Marilyn can be," I replied in the only truthful statement I'd uttered so far.

  Sharon paused. "Well, now you've made me curious. Let me think back... two weeks ago... two weeks ago. Goodness, Kate, that was the week Mark was murdered. Oh, my. That was an awful week."

  I let her talk. I had no idea what might come out of this conversation. Was there still some part of me that believed Sharon was the killer? Was I hoping she'd slip and say something she shouldn't? Or was I trying one more time to connect Jonathan to the scene? Find something plausible I could take to Bill. Once again, I was rolling the dice. On the last roll, they had come up snake eyes. For Amanda's sake, I prayed Lady Luck would guide the dice this time.

  "Well, yes, Kate, I do remember being in the south end of town that week, because I visited Amanda three or four times. But, I'm positive I was nowhere near Burgundy Acres."

  I scooped up the dice again and gave them one last shaky roll. "Oh, well, maybe it was Jonathan she saw." I held my breath.

  Sharon gave a mirthless laugh. "Not likely, Kate. I told him to stay away from my car. He's had three accidents in two years. You should see our insurance bills."

  Crapped out. Damn. I rubbed my forehead and searched for some innocuous way to end this fruitless conversation. "So much for Marilyn's memory," I said. "Well, I'll call her back and—"

  "Wait a minute. You know, Kate, now that I remember, Jonathan did take my car one day. It was scheduled for service, but I woke up with a headache. I was about to cancel when Jonathan volunteered to take it in. Can't remember which day. That whole week's still a jumble in my mind."

  My heart skipped several beats. Breath caught in my throat, so I couldn't reply at first.

  "That explains it," I said, trying to keep excitement out of my voice. "I'll call Marilyn right now and tell her you love the car. Thanks, Sharon. I, uh, I've got to go see a client. Take care now. Bye."

  "Sure, Kate, anytime. Bye now."

  As soon as she clicked off, I dropped the phone in its cradle. My heart was beating so hard, it resounded throughout my body. Maybe Lady Luck had finally smiled. I didn't dare entertain that hope yet. Not until I confirmed which day Jonathan Bassett used the gold Lexus. Reaching for the phone directory, I found the luxury car dealership and dialed the service number.

  When they answered, I brought one more lie to my lips. "This is Sharon Bassett. I'm updating my insurance records and need to know what date our Lexus was last serviced. My husband Jonathan bought it in. Two weeks ago, I think."

  "Certainly, ma'am," the man's voice replied. "What's your address and phone number?"

  Checking my Day-Timer, I rattled off the information, then waited. "I usually bring it in, but I was sick that day. And of course, my husband can't remember things like that," I said in the tone wives often use.

  "Looks like he brought it in Monday, September twenty-third, Mrs. Bassett. Seven-thirty in the morning. Early bird," he added.

  This time my pulse raced so fast, a flush swept through me. "Thank you, thank you very much. I appreciate your help. Goodbye, now," I managed, before I clicked off.

  I leaned back in my chair and stared at the foothills without seeing them, and willed myself to calm down while I sorted through my thoughts.

  Jonathan Bassett was the killer. I no longer had any doubts. Picturing Jonathan's mid-life protruding belly, which even expensive tailoring could not hide, it wasn't hard to see him as Skater Greg's "funny, fat jogger." The jogger seen near the Schuster sidewalk had es
caped in an expensive gold car, parked down the street. There was proof Jonathan drove the Lexus that day, and he went to see Mark. The initials on the list of collectibles proved that conclusively. And he lied about going. Why would he lie about something so insignificant, unless he had something to hide? Why, indeed?

  Lastly, above all else, Jonathan Bassett had a motive to kill. Betrayed by his wife and facing financial ruin with divorce. Not to mention the public humiliation that would be his, once everyone discovered that Sharon had followed Mark to Denver, despite Mark's new marriage. Like some misguided middle-aged groupie following her favorite rock star. Jonathan's life was about to be diced and shredded in public for everyone to see, and it was all Mark Schuster's fault. Surely, Jonathan's hatred must have been white-hot.

  I released a long sigh and felt muscles that had been tensed for hours give way. Finally, there was hope for Amanda. Now, all I had to do was find the best way to present this information to Bill. Pondering for a long minute, I decided to-heck-with-it, and reached for the phone. A funny, fat jogger seen near the Schuster sidewalk, who escaped in an expensive gold car parked down the street. I'd figure it out on the way over.

  Chapter 22

  I maneuvered my Explorer through the familiar streets of my neighborhood. Sundown had already slipped into nightfall, and all I could think of was going home to relax. Eat real food for a change.

  Bill had been unable to take my call. His pager seemed to be malfunctioning, the dispatcher said, and she had no idea when he'd return. Thankfully, she remembered me and said she'd leave him a message. That was the best I could do for now, and I was too exhausted to think anymore.

  Unfortunately, as I rounded the corner toward my house, I realized my longed-for relaxation would have to wait. The notorious gold Lexus was parked in my driveway. By now, even I remembered the plates. I pulled my car beside the Lexus and got out, while Sharon Bassett did the same.