“And see what information you can get me on 210 Madison Avenue. Old real estate records, liens, anything unusual about the house,” I said.
“That shouldn’t take very long.” Cal may not be athletic, but on the computer he was Michael Jordan, John Elway, and Wayne Gretsky all rolled in one. I could spend days searching for the information that he would have a slam-dunk-hat-trick before the first quarter was up. “What’s so important about those guys?” Cal’s breathing had slowed enough that he could almost carry on a conversation without wheezing.
I explained my visit to the Mountain View Apartments, and bumping into Garrett Owens. “I still don’t get why Ned would try to lose the deal for Garrett, but it sure seems like more than coincidence that Ned had a back-up buyer who lived in the same complex as Garrett.”
“Maybe Garrett talked to Dominic about it.”
“Only two more miles back to the car,” I yelled over my shoulder, pushing for a burst of speed.
Cal kept pace with me as we rode down the trail and back to my 4-Runner.
“You owe me,” he said, gulping for air as he skidded to a stop.
“Your heart thanks you, and cedes any payments I might owe.”
Cal arched his eyebrows. “Does your mother know what you’re doing to me?”
“Oh, that’s cold,” I said.
Cal chuckled as he helped me load the bikes onto the rack on the back of the car.
“Why would Garrett talk to someone in his apartment complex about buying a house?” I mused, thinking about what Cal had said.
Cal held up a hand as he caught his breath, then wiped the sweat off his face and neck as he talked. “Maybe the two were chatting while they got their mail or something, and Garrett says too much about this great house he’s buying. Dominic sees dollar signs and then decides to put his own bid on the house.”
“Could be,” I said, pulling my car keys from my jersey pocket. “But that doesn’t explain Ned’s involvement with both of them. And Garrett is still pretty angry about the whole thing.”
“Angry enough to kill Ned?”
“I don’t know.”
“Okay, you figure it out, Sherlock.” Cal chuckled as we piled into the car. “How are your parents?”
Cal and I had been friends since we were little kids and played on the same soccer team, and he was like family. Cal was quite familiar with my mother’s fear that I wouldn’t meet a nice lady, settle down, marry, and have a few kids. Producing grandchildren was her sole goal in life. That and getting me out of the detection business. Since I’d been shot in the rear, on my first case, nothing could’ve pleased my mother more than if I’d give up my profession and find a more respectable and less dangerous job.
*****
I showered, cleaned up and changed clothes at Cal’s house, then left him to his research while I drove down Highway 285 to Highway 73. I took a left at the shopping center, a well-known landmark for people traveling from Denver to the Evergreen and Conifer areas. I followed the road for a couple of miles until I came to a section of houses on the left, each built on at least an acre or two of land.
I slowed down and watched for numbers on mailboxes until I found the address for Edna Mills. She lived in a quaint log style home up a long driveway, with a wide front deck and an awesome view of the mountains.
I drove around a circular drive and was just getting out when a light blue Lexus drove past me and pulled into the garage. I heard a door open, then slam shut as I approached.
“Ms. Mills?” I asked as a plump woman in her sixties emerged from the garage with a couple of bags of groceries in her arms. She was smartly dressed, with gray curly hair, dangling gold earrings, and pink lipstick that matched her dress.
“Yes, I’m Edna. How can I help you?”
I introduced myself as Philip Marlowe, not wanting to overuse Sam Spade. “I’m interested in the house on 210 Madison Avenue. It’s such a good price.”
“Oh, that’s already been sold. Didn’t your realtor tell you that?” She had a low voice, just a bit gravelly, but her smile was soft and pleasant. “We listed it low so that it would be sure to sell, you see. We had such trouble the last time we put it on the market.”
“When was that?”
“A couple of years ago. My father owned it. But he had such trouble because it’s an older home. No one wanted a fixer-upper, you see, so he finally gave up the idea. This time around, my husband said we should just list it so low no one could resist buying it. And we sold it.” She beamed at me.
“Yes, I heard that, but I was hoping to get a look inside. I’m interested in the architecture of those old homes.”
“There’s nothing unusual about that home. My parents bought the house when they moved from New York, and Dad lived there until he passed away. That’s why we’re selling it, you see.” She shifted the groceries in her arms. “What did you say your name was?”
“Philip. Can I help you with that?”
“No, let me just set them down.” She placed the bags on the front deck. “Why are you interested in that house?”
“I’m studying architecture. So many of the homes in that area are being torn down and I wanted to take some pictures of the remaining ones,” I said, “before they get demolished.”
“That’s nice.” Edna pursed her lips. “I’m afraid there’s not much to see in that old house. Dad wasn’t able to keep it up in his last few years.”
“I’m sorry about your father. It’s tough.”
“Oh, thank you, but it was months ago, and we knew it was coming. Cancer, you see, so we had a lot of time to prepare.” Edna seemed to let her guard down. “And it took months to get all his records together, and to take care of the will. Then my husband Peter threw out his back, so it just took ages before we were finally able to clear the house out and prepare to put it on the market. And then with all the contracts falling through, it’s a wonder we ever got it sold.”
“How many contracts have fallen through?”
“Oh, just two,” she said with a rusty laugh. “We’re on the third now, so let’s hope it’s the charm.”
“Why didn’t the other buyers work out?” She was making this so easy for me. I wondered if she’d be so trusting if I resembled Al Capone.
“The first one asked for so many changes. Peter and I didn’t feel we needed to spend that much on the place. We were selling it at a great price, after all. We would’ve made a few repairs, you see, but he wanted so many, and most of the things were not just minor changes. I know the house could’ve used some spit and polish, but we didn’t feel like that was something we should have to do before we put it on the market. But structural concerns, walls sagging, the furnace?” She let out a heavy sigh. “The second buyer's financing fell through, you see.”
“The financing fell through?”
She nodded sadly. “Yes, and so soon after his realtor passed away. The realtor committed suicide and then his buyer had to find a new realtor, and then the buyer couldn’t get a loan. It all happened so fast.”
“What was the new realtor’s name?”
“Oh, I’m not sure.” Edna put a finger to her lips, tapping as she thought. “I can’t remember, and I don’t believe I have it written down anywhere.” She shrugged. “Now this third buyer seems right, a nice couple with a baby on the way. He works at a bank downtown and she’s a teacher. They’re so nice, you see, cute as can be.”
I interrupted before she could tell me more about the couple. “Do you think they would mind if I saw the home? You could let me in.”
“Oh, I don’t think I could ask them that.”
“But they seem like such a nice couple.” Like I really knew anything about them, but Edna seemed sure.
She pursed her lips. “I don’t think I should ask. It wouldn’t be proper, you see. Why don’t you wait until they move in, and then you could drop by and ask them yourself?”
I did see. I gave her my number in case she remembered the name of the second buy
er’s new realtor, thanked her, and left. Maybe it was because she sounded so much like my own grandmother, but I just couldn’t make myself push her more.
CHAPTER TEN
On my way down from Evergreen, I mulled over the case. Three buyers had been interested in the Madison house: Garrett Owens, Dominic Saunders, and now a new couple, who were actually buying the house. A house that Edna Mills said needed some work, but not huge structural changes that Owens had asked for. I needed to see the inside of the house, and since all my attempts at getting in had so far been rebuffed, I thought it might be time to do something different.
I turned onto 1st Street and was soon driving down Madison Avenue, slowing as I passed 210. Dusk had set in, creating long shadows from the tall trees growing on either side of the street. I didn’t see the neighbor across from 210, but his rose bushes and rhododendrons bloomed with gusto. I continued to the end of the block and parked around the corner, behind a white van.
I got out of the 4-Runner, snatched the realty file off the passenger seat and locked the car. I sauntered down the alley, scanning the backsides of the houses until I reached 210 Madison. The one story home was easy to peg among all the newer, bigger homes. I glanced around and saw no one, so I tried the alley-access gate. Since it wasn’t latched, I darted through and shut the gate behind me. I crossed the lawn to the back door of the house. Locked. I expected as much.
I stood there for a moment, thinking. I wondered if there was a lock-box on the front door. I slipped around the side of the house, through a gate and into the front. I quickly strode to the porch. Bingo. A little box dangled from the doorknob.
If I could somehow get the code, I’d be in. But how would I get the code? The new realtor had most likely changed the combination, but what if he or she hadn’t? If Ned had it written down somewhere, I could at least try the combination and see if it worked. I quickly checked the file, but didn’t see anything that looked like a combination. I made a mental note to go back to Ned’s other files and check for any lock-box information that he might have written down. I made another mental note to ask Jack for a key to Ned’s house so I wouldn’t have to bother him again.
I hurried around to the back again and examined the lock and the deadbolt on the back door. Just in case I couldn’t find the lock box code. I had very little experience in breaking-and-entering – okay, none – so I didn’t have a clue as to how easy or difficult it would be to pick the lock. Mental note number three: ask Cal what he knows about this. Or more accurately, see how I could bribe him into coming down to Denver to help me, if it came to that. I was sure he knew how to pick a lock – he knew everything. Except how to leave his house on a normal basis.
To the left of the door was a large square window facing the back lawn. Dusk had given way to darkness, and I couldn’t see into the house. I planted my face against the window, cupping my hands to the glass to shut out the glare. A face stared right back at me.
I yelped in surprise and fell against the side of the house, my heart pounding in my chest.
The back door opened. “What the hell are you doing here?”
I stared at the face of the same inspector I ran into the other day.
“Didn’t I tell you the house sold?” the inspector snarled.
I nodded mutely.
“Well?”
I found my voice. “I was in the neighborhood. Thought I’d get another look.”
“I told you before, you can’t. Have you ever heard of trespassing?”
“Hey.” I held up a hand. “There’s no need to threaten me. I’m going.”
But if I could find a key, I’d be back.
“Wait, I’ll walk you to your car.”
“No need for that.” I started to back off the porch, but he disappeared in the house, emerging a moment later with a small box and a long tube, one that might hold pictures, posters, or anything else you might want to roll up instead of fold. Like architectural plans.
“Are those plans for the house?” I pointed at the tube.
“Huh?” He fumbled with the door before pulling it shut behind him. “Yeah, for the inspection.”
“Can I see them? That would give me an idea of the layout of the house.”
“No.” With that abrupt response, he jerked his head at me, indicating I should get moving. We walked through the back gate and out into the moonlit alley.
“Where are you parked?” he grunted at me.
“Over there.” I gestured down the alley, hoping that would be enough, but he followed me all the way back to my car and watched as I got in and drove off. As I turned the corner I could see him in the glow of a streetlight, still staring at my car.
“Curses. Foiled again,” I said aloud as I turned on the CD player. The Smiths, one of my favorite 80’s bands, sang tongue-in-cheek about being miserable as I drove around the block. I kept my eyes open for the inspector, but I didn’t see him. He was long gone. That left me miserable with Morrissey and The Smiths.
It was almost nine o’clock, but I swung by the office. I wanted to check the Wilson file, the one where the sellers ended up not selling. In my experience, it seems that people tended to use the same passwords or locker combination numbers more than once – it cut down on having to memorize too many. If I could find a combination to the lock-box, which I hoped might be written in that file, I could go back to 210 Madison right now, when I knew the inspector wasn’t there. Not ideal to go in the dark, but it would work.
I pulled out my after-hours pass key and slid it over the magnetic detector, waited until the light turned green, and yanked the door open. I passed the elevators and took the stairs up to the second floor. It was deathly quiet and dark as I walked down the hall and into my office. The windows near the elevator let in a haze of moonlight, making the ficus plants in the hallway appear to jump out at me. As I unlocked my office door, I caught a shadow out of the corner of my eyes. “Bogie wasn’t scared of the dark,” I whispered to myself. Ignoring the shivers that ran down my back, I flipped on the lights and grabbed the mail on my way into the inner office.
I tossed the envelopes on the desk and opened the Wilson file. I checked every piece of paper in it, front and back, and all the sticky notes tacked to various pages, searching for the combination to the lock box. Nothing. I wondered again if I might find something at Ned’s house, somewhere in the real estate records where he might have jotted down a combination. The thought of reading through his files a third time nearly gave me a headache. And would it be worth it? If a new realtor had changed the combination, I couldn’t get in anyway.
I glanced at my watch. 9:15. I was fresh out of ideas, so it was time to call it a night. I locked up and drove home.
*****
As I started to climb the steps up to my condo, I noticed Willie drive up and park across the street. I hopped off the stairs and sauntered over.
“Just getting home?” she asked me as I waited for her to get out of the car.
“Working hard,” I said. “Wanna help?” I smiled, trying to gauge her mood.
“With what?” Curiosity was a good sign.
“You could spy on a house for me,” I said as we strolled up her front porch steps. I’d been pondering how to get into 210 Madison, but I’d also need to know when people were coming and going. I could do it myself, but surveillance was the most boring part of detective work.
“No way,” Willie said as she unlocked her front door. “That’s the most boring part of detective work.”
I had to give her that. “What if we did it together?” I leaned on the doorjamb and cocked an eyebrow at her.
“You are incorrigible,” she said, pulling me into the living room. “Besides, I have a job.”
“It was just a thought.”
“Come on in. I could use a beer.” She headed toward the kitchen. “Want one too?”
Hmm. Go home alone, or spend some time with Willie and a beer?
I stepped into the room and closed the door.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
I awoke the next morning with birds chirping, angels singing and news of world peace. Okay, nothing that big, but I’d been at Willie’s until the wee hours of the morning. I was in my bed alone, but by the time I’d left Willie’s house, after three beers and a lot of light chatter, I knew I was making some headway with her. My Wheaties had never tasted so good.
Once I was showered, I dressed in a pair of blue jeans and a white shirt and headed down to my neighbors. It was close to nine, so Ace was already at work, but Deuce might still be at home. Since he worked as an assistant manager at a local video store, he kept odd hours.
I knocked on the door twice and was about to give up when Deuce answered.
“Dude,” he said with an ear-to-ear grin. “How ya doin’?” He stood there in jockey shorts and a faded gray T-shirt, and he rubbed sleep out of his eyes as he talked.
“Sorry to bother you so early,” I said.
“It’s okay,” he said with a lion-sized yawn. “I had to close the store last night, but I should be getting up. You want a cup of coffee?”
I declined, but followed him through his cluttered living room and into the kitchen, where he poured himself a cup of sludge that had probably been on the warmer since his brother left hours earlier.
“I have a favor to ask,” I said, taking a seat at a ’50’s-style chrome table. “Are you free today?”
“It’s my day off, so shoot.” Deuce sat down and poured a healthy dose of sugar into his cup.
“Would you be interested in watching a house for me?”
Deuce looked up from his methodical stirring. “Watch a house? You mean like on TV or something?” He seemed bewildered.
I shook my head. “No. Spy on a real house, watch to see who comes and goes. You keep saying you want to help me. This would be a big favor.” And it would keep me from getting bored.
Deuce took a slurp of his java-like drink, then drew his hand across his lips to catch the excess liquid. “Sounds kinda boring.”
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