She got up and put her hands on his shoulders, rested her head on his.
“I’m sorry, Kevin. I think we haven’t realized what Theresa meant to you. You must be feeling very alone.”
A sound, indecipherable, came from Kevin. Jean tightened her grip and said again, “I’m really, really sorry. Is there anything we can do?”
He started to rise.
“Would you …” He gestured at the desk.
“Sure. Sure. We’ll take over. It’s almost time for you to go, anyway.”
Lowering his head to hide his face, Kevin got up and walked out. He hadn’t even brought his briefcase.
The front door closed.
“Oh crap,” Rita said, throwing her arms across the back of the couch. “Who knew?”
Jean sat down at the duty desk, feeling guilty, although she had done nothing but try to console Kevin.
“I was looking for a mother. I guess Kevin was, too.”
“He’s just dumber than you.”
“Rita!”
“Oh, I know. My bad. It hadn’t even occurred to me how guilty he might feel. Or that he actually cared about her. I know he’s like you. In another way, like me, too. No family we’d want to go back to. This whole office is a bunch of misfits, isn’t it? I’m sorry I stirred up all that. But it was in him anyway. Difference between you two is he really needed her and you didn’t and now you see it.”
The two sat in silence. Another suspect down. That really was clever of Rita. Kevin didn’t know Theresa wasn’t stabbed in the back and he didn’t know she hadn’t taken off her jacket. He wasn’t acting. He wasn’t capable of acting.
Jean was feeling limp. Too many suspects had been eliminated. Fear was invading her body again, stronger than ever now. She didn’t want to talk about the murder any more.
“Why are you dressed like Marian? I’ve been meaning to ask you that since we started today.”
“I wanted to look good at Eleanor Harding’s. But silk wrinkles too easily.”
“Then why’d you buy it?”
“I didn’t. George did.”
“George?”
“George Chernowski.” Rita’s tone was dismissive. “A customer. Wanted to show his gratitude. With that inheritance and a commission coming, you could buy a silk suit if you really wanted one,” Rita said.
“But I don’t,” Jean said firmly. “I want a future.”
“How about a George?” Rita suggested.
“I don’t have customers looking for wives. I don’t have customers, period. And I certainly haven’t been dating!”
“So who’s left?”
Rita wasn’t going to let go of the subject.
“Stan and Harold, really, unless we keep Frank in,” Jean recited dutifully.
“You know what? That day we did the office interviews, I didn’t get much from Stan. We’d covered it on the phone—no tells possible there—and he cut it short in the office. Had to study. But that letter opener convinced me. When he gave it to me, there wasn’t a trace of emotion, no guilt, no anger, no tells. Know what he said when he gave it to me?”
“No.”
“He took it out of the box and ran his hand along the edge. It wasn’t sharp like Theresa’s, of course. He looked sad. Honestly. And he said, ‘Poor old girl. A bitch for sure. But she didn’t deserve this thing in her neck’.” Rita shook her curls vigorously. “He didn’t do it. He’s too young and too smart to risk his future unless there’s really some major motive we don’t know about. But he didn’t sound like that.”
“So,” Jean said reluctantly. “We’re down to Harold or Frank.”
“I guess we’re done. Can’t interview those two. But this is fun, don’t you think? I had a blast this morning.”
“I didn’t.”
Rita scowled.
“I know. I don’t like the idea of you being a suspect, either, though I don’t take it very seriously. Obviously, the police can’t find Frank and they can’t convict you till they do, so relax. He’s too good a suspect even with the locked door thing. You need to live in the moment.”
“I am who I am.”
“Print that on your business cards.”
Jean almost laughed, but fear clogged her throat.
Chapter 29
Jean was back in her apartment, an easy move. She hadn’t taken much to Rita’s. Sunday afternoon was spent cleaning up the mess her mother had left. Now, waking on Monday morning, it felt a little lonely, although she had always liked being alone, a preference developed in the many hours when her father was at work and she had the apartment to herself. Nothing to do at the office, either. Why not call Rita? Anything with Rita was fun.
Jean sat up on her cozy bed and pushed number three on her cell phone. The office was one, Ellie two, Rita three.
There was no answer. She left a quick “where are you? Call whenever.”
Resigned, Jean stripped her one set of sheets from the bed, folded it back into a chair, got the clothes basket from her dressing room and took the elevator to the basement.
She was fortunate. Sometimes it was difficult to get a machine on a Monday morning. Today only Millie was there, one of her many Jewish “mothers” here because of the building’s proximity to Kehilat Shdam synagogue.
“Jean, sweetheart! Everybody’s been wondering how you are!” Millie looked at Jean’s full basket. “No time for laundry lately, I guess. We saw in the paper! Terrible! Terrible! Are you safe, sweetheart?”
Millie was four feet nine inches short, as she liked to say. She had a dumpy little figure, white hair with a purple rinse and alert brown eyes peering out from a wrapping of tiny wrinkles and folds.
Harold’s image responded to Millie’s question, but Jean couldn’t quite bring herself to ask if Millie had seen him. That would require an explanation that would be all over the building in twenty-four hours, undoubtedly frightening some inhabitants.
“I’m perfectly safe, Millie. No worries,” Jean said.
She dropped her basket on the nearest washing machine. “Is this one working yet?”
“Fixed Thursday. They’re afraid not to fix things fast. Most of us got nothing to do but complain. Listen, sweetheart, you get nervous any time, you come stay the night with me. I got two bedrooms on the eighth floor. Beautiful view. We could have some sherry. We play Mah Jong on Wednesdays. Never mind.” She waved the thought away with a gnarled hand. “Forget the Mah Jong. You got better things to do!”
“Sounds like fun. Thank you, Millie. It’s kind of you to ask, but I’m fine.”
Jean shoved the sheets into the washer.
“Ah! Polite! Always polite! My granddaughter should be so polite! You have fun like young people. Like good young people. Some of the fun they have today doesn’t sound so good.”
“Don’t worry about me, Millie.”
“That’s not so good, either. Young people should do something for us old ones to worry about. Keeps life interesting for all of us.”
Jean laughed. “I’ll keep you up on what’s happening. Police are—” She broke off, suddenly remembering the message left on Rita’s cell phone. Hers was still in her apartment. “Oh! Forgot. Expecting a call. Have to run.” Jean poured detergent into the dispenser, slammed the washer shut and pushed the “start” button. “Sorry.” She was already headed for the door. “Don’t mean to be rude.”
“Rude, schmude,” she heard behind her. “Go be young!”
An hour and twenty minutes later, the wash was done. Rita still hadn’t called. Jean was showered and dressed for the office in a washable skirt and blouse and her oldest acceptable shoes. It was raining. At least there would be someone at the office to talk to. In the hall by her door, she stacked her briefcase, her suit for the dry cleaners, her purse and umbrella and was just locking the door when her cell phone called softly from the depths of her purse. It was Stan.
“Thought I’d let you know your buyers just called. DeLucca house appraised. Last hurdle jumped. Lucky you.”
“There’s so damn much of it. Inspection, radon, termite, appraiser. I guess we’ll learn it all.”
“Yeah. But Ed’s watching out for me.”
“Guess he’ll do the same for me. So could Mom and Dad, but let’s watch out for each other, too.”
“Seriously.”
Chapter 30
The DeLucca’s house didn’t look as if the owners were out of town. No shades had been pulled; bicycles and a hot pink plastic baseball bat were in the front yard. Maybe not such a bad idea. It looked occupied. It was still raining, so Jean got the key card out of her purse while she was in the car, hung her purse over her shoulder and stuck the umbrella out the door before opening it.
Getting into the house was a struggle with that miserly two foot overhang. Smiling slightly as she remembered the similarity to the night she had taken the listing, Jean carefully set the umbrella against the wall and opened the lockbox. The key was missing. Jean’s heart took a small jump, then calmed immediately. It could be the appraiser failed to return the key or another agent was checking the house as a comparable. Neither was a problem. There was a backup key at the office or maybe … she turned the knob. The door was unlocked. Theresa had always checked houses for absent owners. She would do that. As she pushed open the door, voices could be heard coming from upstairs. The sounds quickly clarified the situation. Surely these were relatives. At least, one of them. Lovers with no other place to go?
Then she recognized the woman’s voice. It was Rita.
Jean wanted to be somewhere else. She backed out the door and reached for the umbrella. But sometimes being very slow and careful doesn’t work as well as doing things in the usual way. The umbrella fell over with a rattle and, impulsively, she said, “Damn!”
“Hello?” Rita’s voice challenged from upstairs.
There seemed nothing to do but answer.
“It’s Jean.”
She was immediately sorry she had spoken. Now she couldn’t leave. She stood there a moment, then stepped inside, closing the door behind her.
“Wait a minute! I’ll be down.”
Jean waited.
In very few minutes, Rita appeared, short of makeup and with erratic hair.
“Come with me to the kitchen,” she said in a voice that sounded more like a plea than an order.
Jean obeyed. Rita stood silently, her eyes closed as heavy footsteps came down the stairs and out the front door. Then she opened her eyes.
“You have no idea how hard it is to look at you,” she said.
“Why don’t we go sit down?” Jean suggested, for lack of anything better to say, and led the way back into the living room.
Rita still wasn’t looking directly at Jean. Jean was fine with that.
They sat.
“I don’t want to explain,” Rita started.
“Then don’t.”
“I have to. You’re my friend.”
It was a few minutes before Rita began again.
“It would be a lot easier if you were a member of my family.”
Jean got that. “It’s just … why here?”
“It’s always some ‘here’. Sold houses with contingencies are best. Still a lockbox, no one likely to come. I like my neighbors. You’ve met them. They’re my friends. I don’t want them to know.”
“But why is that a problem? I mean, these days. You could have introduced this guy to me.”
“I did. You met him at the office two weeks ago.”
“I did?”
Finally, Rita did look directly at Jean.
“You’re going to get it all, girlfriend. It’s time. You’ve become my best friend. I need to know if maybe you don’t want to be. It’s like …” Rita took a deep breath. “You know how hard it is to make a living in this business.”
Jean nodded. “But you’re so gorgeous. Lots of men want to work with you.”
“Some do. True. But for most of them, it’s not about houses.”
“Not about houses,” Jean echoed. “Okay, so they’re interested in you. Are you telling me you don’t have one boyfriend, that you have … well, more than one? That’s okay, I guess.”
“No, it’s probably not okay for you. And they’re not exactly boyfriends. Look,” Rita said, leaning forward and then backing off again. “It started with this dude from out of town, a really cool guy. I was just getting started, broke, holding one of Theresa’s listings open. He came with his agent. It was instant chemistry, you know? We got to talking. We made a sort of … a sort of, not exactly in words, but … he knew if he dumped his agent and worked with me, we’d …” Rita laughed without humor. “We’d play together, too. And we did. For three weekends. Then he found the right house and he went home and got his wife and they bought it and that was that. Well, not exactly. A little while after they moved here, he sent another guy to me. Local. Wanted to move up. But we both knew … Anyway, repeat story. Sometimes they felt like the commission was enough. Sometimes there were gifts, too. And dinners and stuff like that.”
Rita was staring out the bay window. It reminded Jean of the day Theresa was killed. She had done the same thing, escaping from what was inside.
“And so on,” Rita finished.
And so on?
“Only the ones I liked. I mean, I wasn’t a hooker exactly. One guy I really liked—he wasn’t married—we stuck together a while and he gave me stuff. That was more like what used to be called a mistress. Today it’s more okay, but …”
Jean guessed. “There were still the buyer referrals.”
“And sellers.”
Rita suddenly decided to become defensive. “If you had a family like mine …” The defiance died. “Anyway, I’ve got a nice IRA, bought my condo and this is going to stop. At least, I keep saying it’s going to stop. But you know what this market is like. I have to make a living.”
“You need to? With all these diseases around, you’re risking—”
“I know. I’ve been tested a couple of times. Shitty, isn’t it? I’ve become like my family because I don’t want to be like my family!” Rita pushed her hair out of her face. “Do you know what it means to me, not living like poor white trash? Buying that condo! That knocked me out! I could buy my own place! Oh, shit!” Rita had just realized. “You do understand that.”
“But—”
“Don’t tell me. You wouldn’t do what I’m doing.” Rita reached over to touch Jean’s arm, then pulled back, not sure the touch was welcome. “It’s okay if you don’t feel the same way about me, Jean. And it’s going to be tough for you to fake it at the office. They may wonder what’s gone down, but they won’t ask.”
At first, Jean didn’t understand what Rita meant.
“We’re still buds, Rita. I never had this good a friend.”
“Maybe something else I should tell you.”
Jean wanted to stop her. She’d had enough.
“Theresa knew.”
That was unexpected.
“So?”
“So that’s motive.” Rita gave Jean a few seconds to connect the facts. “She—this same thing happened at one of her listings. It was way overpriced. No one was showing it. Didn’t know she’d promised to check on it once in a while after the owners moved. I was the last one she’d tell anything. Anyhow, she was disgustingly thrilled. Never let me forget it. When the office was empty, I’d get these knowing looks. And she could get me kicked out any time she decided to tell Ed. At first, that’s why I wanted to find the real killer. I had a motive, too.”
“Why didn’t you leave? With your looks and your record, you could have gone anywhere.”
“Theresa wouldn’t let me. It’s an advantage having my listings in the office. You know. Extra commission if she
sold one. If I left, she could tell Ed and he wouldn’t recommend me to anybody. She could tell the Board. Who wouldn’t believe Theresa? Madam Ethics. Just spreading rumors would have killed my business. That was part of the deal. I had to stay. She loved the power! Shit! She had us both, only in different ways. But I swear to God, Jean, I didn’t kill her!”
It was impossible not to feel the pain this confession was causing Rita.
“I believe you. You know I believe you!”
“And you won’t tell anyone? Because if they check into this, I’m in trouble. I even knifed a guy once. I would be one prime suspect!”
“The one who raped you?”
“Shit, no. He never touched me again. One of my brothers would have killed him. No, some guy in a bar. No charges. He was totally drunk. Self-defense. But it would look bad. I know you well enough to know you might have to tell. I don’t want to mess with your conscience, either. It’s okay if you have to.”
Rita sounded defeated, a Rita Jean had never heard before.
“I won’t tell. I believe you.”
A whisper was all Jean could manage.
“Thanks, girlfriend. My bad, huh? Bad not to have told you sooner, too. I’ve been feeling guilty as hell. It took finding me to … well, I know you’ve been scared and you had a right to know there were two of us with a motive. I’m supposed to be a friend. A friend should have told you before. And this …” Rita attempted a smile, but it didn’t work. “I kept hoping something—someone else would be arrested and you wouldn’t ever need to know. But I’m stopping. This was seriously painful, telling you. So no more. I swear. Now I’m going to get the hell out of here. I’m sure you don’t want me around right now.”
Jean dropped the lockbox in her purse and carefully locked the door to her first listing. It was done. It should have been a triumphant moment. Next, she would take her suit to the cleaners and go to the office and remove the appraisal contingency from the Board listing. She had been through crises with Ellie many times. She had survived the death of her father and her now unfathomable mentor. She was a suspect, but now Rita could be one, too. Jean paused, her hand pressed against the newly painted red door. A little time, just a little time doing normal, everyday things would bring these emotions down to a manageable level. It always had.
DEATH COMES TO AN OPEN HOUSE Page 14