Kate suggested furniture placement and paint colors, and the broker agreed to all of her ideas. “Whatever you recommend is an improvement,” Andy admitted as they closed the sample books and folios of furniture and paint.
“Well, Andy, I’m surprised you chose such costly furniture,” Kate said boldly. “Don’t take it the wrong way, but it’s exactly opposite of what you have now.”
The broker’s face was one big grin. Like the Cheshire Cat. “I have something to show you. I picked this up from my partners last night. The copies arrived at their office yesterday.” He went over to the table behind his desk and brought the object over to them.
It was an artist’s rendering of a community of townhouses in watercolors expertly done with trees, expanses of lawns, a pond and people strolling along the wide sidewalks. In the architect’s printing in the upper left corner was the name of Valhalla Real Property Corp. and ORIGINAL stamped in the upper margin.
“What’s this?” Kate asked.
“It’s the visual concept of a townhouse community to be built on land on old Gennesee Road in Grainmill, New Jersey,” Andy answered. “The townhouses will be sold at the high Jersey prices. But the community will be close to the Pennsylvania border so when full-service casinos arrive in the Poconos, the townhouse values will escalate. Mt. Airy there was given a license for slots so I think that full-fledged casinos with gaming tables won’t be far behind.” The office doorbell jangled. He paused and listened. “Probably the mailman,” he continued.
“And your partners own this property?” Dutch asked.
“Yes, it’s about six acres.”
“What? Six acres isn’t enough land to build all those townhouses,” Dutch accused.
“No, no,” Andy said. “There is plenty of land. Of course, I didn’t say exactly how much with the bank documents, but no one caught that.” He laughed.
“Wasn’t that just a little fraudulent?” Kate asked. This man really is a criminal.
“Kate, that’s like being a little pregnant,” Dutch snapped. “There’s no such thing.”
Andy held out a full box of cigars to Dutch. “Want one?” He clenched a fat one between his teeth.
“No. Thanks. Don’t smoke.” Dutch crossed his legs and jiggled his right foot.
I bet Dutch wished he’d gone to a different realtor now that he’s heard of this scheme. She looked over at Dutch. His mouth was set in a straight line of disapproval.
“Oh, boy oh boy, I hope you two aren’t calling me a crook?” the broker said. He lit the cigar in his mouth and slowly blew out the match. “That wouldn’t be really friendly.” He sucked in the tobacco smoke. That reminded Kate of Hannibal Lector—that nasty noise. His tone was sinister.
This man scared her. She rubbed her arms—her skin crawled. She could tell from the look on his face that Dutch was uncomfortable too.
“Now, don’t be shocked,” Andy continued. “You do what you have to do in today’s world. It’s no skin off a bank’s nose.”
“I hope my real estate closing happens quickly,” Dutch said sourly. He stood and picked up Kate’s books.
“I’ll need a deposit before I can order all of this furniture,” Kate said to Andy. “I don’t order any pieces until payment has cleared my account.” She was horrified that she would be talking like a thug to a client, but this was the way he appeared to operate.
“Sure, sure,” he said through his teeth clamped on the cigar. “When my partners’ money is deposited into my account. Shouldn’t be long.”
He wheezed as he hoisted his bulk off his chair and extended his hand to Kate. She ignored it and walked out of the office into the waiting room. Dutch followed her.
She was surprised when she saw a sullen-looking man sitting with legs crossed on one of the folding chairs. His shoulder-length hair was a bright blond color. He wore a suit that looked like aluminum foil—it was so shiny. He took the cigarette he was smoking out of his mouth and stepped on it, mashing it into the vinyl floor tiles.
Dutch nodded to the man who looked right through him.
This is getting scarier by the minute. Kate grabbed Dutch’s arm. Walking quickly, he dragged her out of the door and into the parking lot.
Kate felt she’d reached safety when they slammed the truck doors shut. A shudder traveled through her. It was the same sense of excitement she’d had as a child, snuggled under the stairs in a hide-and-go-seek game. “Blimey,” she said. She tried to catch her breath. “That man looked like a stereotypical mobster.”
Dutch laughed. “I feel like I’m back in New York City.”
“I don’t think it’s funny,” Kate said seriously. “Who would believe that our quaint little town included mob bosses? What is the world coming to?”
“That’s not all. As an ex-cop, I have to consider the ethical ramifications of having knowledge of the fraudulent real estate appraisal.”
“I wouldn’t worry myself too much about it,” Kate said. “Bank officials will see right through the sham appraisal once they look at the land.”
“They may rely on recommendations and not research it thoroughly,” Dutch added. “The problem is, if they don’t send someone out to survey the property, the bank wastes their depositors’ hard-earned money. The outlook is bleak. Let’s go to my place. I need time to relax and think about this,” Dutch said. He looked both ways before turning his truck onto the street.
She nodded in agreement and pulled her cell phone out of her purse and dialed the number of the store. “Abigail?” she said. “Is it going okay?” There was quiet as Abigail answered. “Good. I’m going to Dutch’s for a few minutes.” She snapped the phone closed.
“I’m cold.” Kate rubbed her arms. “Where’s the summer weather? Let’s light the fire when we get to your place.”
“Sounds like a great idea.” Dutch reached over and patted her knee.
The flames licked the kindling wood in the big open fireplace. Dutch laid some larger logs on top of the pile and moved them around with the poker.
Kate placed two steaming mugs of hot chocolate on the coffee table in front of the sofa. She snuggled into the big puffy pillows and tucked her feet underneath her. Dutch plopped himself down next to her and enclosed her in his arms.
“This is cozy,” he said, nuzzling her hair.
“I feel safe,” she said. “In the real estate office, I felt afraid. I’ve never been in such an atmosphere. It’s creepy.”
“I agree. I’ll have to mull this situation over in my mind tonight.”
“Mull what?”
“Whether to pull my real estate deal out of Andy’s hands. The police can’t do anything about a deal that may involve a fraud. Plus we don’t know if any banks have been hoodwinked yet. He could just be showing off—make him look like a big player. They call it puffery in the business. Exaggeration.”
“Let’s not think about it right now,” Kate said.
She cuddled closer to him. The firewood snapped as the flames licked at the logs. His arms enfolded her. She turned her head and their lips sought each other in a passionate kiss. She unbuttoned his shirt and tugged off her own T-shirt. He freed his arms from the embrace, pulled down his jeans and briefs and kicked them off his feet. She lifted her bottom and slid her pants down her legs onto the floor. Dutch snapped her thong panties. She giggled as he slipped them down her legs. They lay together, enjoying their nakedness. She snuggled her face into his neck, leaving soft kisses. Her breath came in gasps.
Dutch felt his body harden as she kissed her way down his body. He teased her by pushing her away from her destination. “I love you,” he whispered as she ran her hands down his inner thighs. “Stop. Just lie here for a minute.” He slipped on a condom. She straddled him and pulled off her brassiere. He cupped her breasts and brushed his lips across her nipples. She shuddered. He lowered her down onto him, wet and warm.
He moaned.
They breathed as one.
Chapter Eight
Kate says: Wh
en lighting a bedroom, you want to create an atmosphere of quiet relaxation, while providing bright spots for reading and other activities. Dimmer controls let you vary the light to suit different moods and tasks.
Kate put the heavy Sunday edition of the New York Times newspaper aside—does it really weigh four pounds?—and wrapped her hands around the mug of coffee. Her mum stood at the stove and stirred the scrambled eggs. Slices of toast popped up out of the toaster, which she buttered. Then she divided the eggs onto two plates.
“Thanks, Mum,” Kate said as she poured ketchup onto her eggs. She couldn’t eat them without the tomato sauce.
The wall phone rang, making both women jump.
“Who’s calling at this hour? It’s only eight thirty,” Mildred said, looking at the wall clock.
Kate picked up the phone. “Hello.”
“Kate—surprising news,” Dutch said.
“Yeah? What’s up?”
“You’re not going to believe this.”
“I may, if you’ll tell me what it is.” Kate hated guessing games and people who tried to guess whom a letter was from before opening the envelope, it drove her to distraction.
“The police found Andy Giamgello dead this morning. He was killed last night, apparently,” Dutch said quietly.
“Killed? I can’t believe it.” She was flabbergasted. “I’m gobsmacked. He was fine when we saw him at his office.”
“A lot can happen in a short time.”
“You’re right. We’re all only a heartbeat away from death,” she said.
Mildred crinkled her face into a frown. “What’s happened?”
Kate tucked the phone under her chin. “Dutch’s broker was murdered last night.”
Her mother looked concerned. “Now I’m worried about you two.”
“Don’t worry, Mum.” She turned her attention back to the phone.
Dutch’s mind was racing. He was itching to get involved with a new case. This could be my chance to pick up a new investigation.
“We should get together immediately,” Dutch said. “There’s a detective job here just waiting for my special touch.”
“Well…okay, but I need to be at my store this morning,” Kate said. “I’m running a sale today and expect to be busy.” She paused, thinking. “Can you meet me at the store around nine thirty.”
“Sure. I still need to have a shower. See ya later at the shop.” He hung up. I love that gal, and I don’t want to get involved in an illegal swindle, which this broker is involved in for sure. It could get pretty dangerous. I don’t want Kate hurt in any way.
That day, Kate Bart Interiors was packed with shoppers. The sale had been advertised in the daily newspaper and big red and white cardboard sale signs were plastered over the store windows. Clusters of women and friends shopping together were dotted throughout the shop. Kate showed one customer the interior of a vintage curio cabinet while Abigail arranged the delivery of a sleigh bed to an address in town. It looked like everything was going along swimmingly.
Dutch walked slowly in the door and made his way over to Kate’s desk and office area. He found a chair and settled into it. He hugged the back—waiting for her to get a free minute.
After a few successful sales, Kate managed to get away and joined Dutch. She sat at her desk and faced him. “So,” she began, “you believe that it looks like we may get another job out of this.”
“Maybe,” he answered. “Who knows? We probably know a little bit more than the police right now.”
“Who could have murdered Andy? Do you think it was that mob-looking guy?” She shivered at the thought.
“Could be, but we need to get into the real estate office to pick up any clues.” Dutch sprang up off the chair and began to pace the floor with his hands clasped behind his back.
“You could go to the office at any time because you have a real estate deal in the balance. You can say you need your whole file to take to another broker,” Kate offered.
“You’re right. Wanna go with me?” He stopped pacing. “Should be interesting.”
“Not now. Wait until the store slows down a bit. It’s the only chance I have to make some extra money this month.” She pecked a kiss on his cheek.
“I can’t wait too long. I want to see the murder scene before the cleanup crew gets in there,” Dutch said, seriously.
“You run along then. I’d get nauseous seeing blood anyway. Wish I didn’t get ill though. I wanted to be a nurse at one time but…”
The rain had slowed to a drizzle so Dutch only needed to have the wipers on intermittent to clean the windshield. He had no fat on his tall frame and because it was cold, Dutch had bundled himself up in an Irish cable-knit fisherman’s sweater. It’s nice and warm, and if it keeps raining and I’m lost at sea, they’ll know I’m from the village of the woman who knitted this sweater. Why am I joking, even though to myself, when a man has been murdered?
He determined, down deep, that if the man was a crook, he deserved what he’d gotten—he’d walked a narrow line. But on the other hand, the man didn’t deserve to die in such a cruel manner. He hadn’t told Kate that Andy had been shot in the head—a messy scene in those cases. In his old job in New York City, he’d attended many shooting incidents. Thank the Lord I don’t have to face brains splattered all over the walls at a scene anymore—well, one more time shouldn’t hurt.
He turned his truck into the parking lot of the real estate company. Bright yellow police tape emblazoned with CRIME SCENE DO NOT CROSS was tied across the sidewalk leading to the office. Bernie Dyer, the rookie cop in the Stonington police force, sat in his patrol car, guarding the entranceway.
Dutch approached the car. “Can I help you?” Patrolman Dyer growled through the half-closed window.
“I’d like to go inside. I have business to attend to,” Dutch answered.
“What kind of business?”
“Real estate of course,” Dutch snapped.
“Well, there’s no salesman inside, just a receptionist, so I guess you can go in.”
“Thanks.”
“Just don’t touch anything.” With that pronouncement, the rookie’s attention went back to his tabloid newspaper.
Dutch looked at the cop with disgust. Wouldn’t last a week in the New York Police Department.
The bell jingled as he walked through the office door. Cherie sat at her desk, legs crossed. She wiggled her fingers in a greeting and popped her gum.
“Can I assist you?” she asked.
Dutch suppressed a laugh. “What are you doing here today?” he asked.
“Keeping the riffraff out,” she answered seriously.
Dutch smiled as he walked past her and stood in the doorway of Andy’s ex-office with his hands in his pockets.
Lieutenant Johnson and Sergeant Bowers looked up as he entered. Dressed in civilian clothes, they were bent over the pool of blood on the floor.
The sergeant looked up and said, “Hiya, Dutch. How come you always turn up when there’s a crime?”
“Just lucky, I guess.” Dutch laughed.
“No, seriously, why are you here?” the lieutenant asked.
“Andy—the body down there—was the selling broker on property I’m buying. I only signed the contracts yesterday.”
“Causes you problems now I guess.”
“Not really, I’ve come to pick up my contract folder,” Dutch said, hoping his bluff would work.
“You’re a private investigator. You should know I can’t release items from this room until it’s been run through fingerprints and forensics,” the lieutenant sputtered. “You really piss me off.”
“Maybe I thought you’d be finished by now.”
“We haven’t. We’re taking our time. The last murders around here were handled by the county and state forensics. We want to process this one ourselves.”
“So you’ve determined it was murder and not suicide?”
“Trajectory is from the back to the front of the head. That equals mur
der.” The lieutenant went back to the bloodstains.
“Looks like someone rummaged through this place,” Dutch said.
“The EMS people moved some pieces of furniture around, but they told me where they were located originally,” the sergeant answered.
Dutch didn’t move from his place in the doorway as he looked around the room. “Those files weren’t on the floor to start with.”
“Obvious. People don’t usually file on the floor in a heap,” the sergeant added.
Dutch saw the cigar box on its side—only one left. “His box of cigars was nearly full yesterday. He couldn’t have smoked that many in a few hours.”
“Right. I’ll make a note of it.” The sergeant scribbled something in a small notebook.
“We found a cigar stub in the ashtray. So he did smoke one out of the box,” the sergeant added.
“Could be,” Dutch said. “I’ve had a lot of training regarding crime scenes. Looking at you two, one of you should have a firearm and a radio with you.”
“There’s an officer outside. Why should we worry?”
“We were trained to never be alone when processing a scene and have at least more than two people with a firearm and a radio. There’s been many a cop surprised by a perpetrator hiding at the scene,” Dutch told them.
“So we were just lucky this time,” the lieutenant snapped.
“You should also take names of everyone who wants to enter the crime scene and tell them that in order to do so you’ll have to take samples of their hair, shoes, fibers, et cetera, so they’ll be excluded as evidence. That should dissuade them from wanting to enter the scene.” I can’t believe that these country bumpkins probably make more salary than a cop in the city facing danger every minute they’re on their beat. There’s no justice.
“Bet you’ve both walked all over the floor before you took photos of any possible footprints,” Dutch said.
“Well…er. Maybe.”
“Maybe? Not sure? If you did, you should have lit the floor with lights from several different angles. Some prints show up better in certain lighting.”
Fleeced in Stonington Page 4