“Just that I found our Running Man.” While I prepared the coffee, I filled him in on the previous morning’s interviews as well as what I’d seen at the casino.
“Interesting,” he said once I was done. “I guess time will tell how all of this shakes out.”
“Are you going to tell me about this battle Della is planning for?” I turned on the sink water to wash my hands. “Do you have anything to share with me?”
He stepped in close behind me and wrapped his arms around my chest. “Just that I missed you,” he said, nuzzling my neck.
I curled against him, closing my eyes. “We’ve already talked about business, so today’s not a personal day.”
His lips brushed my ear. “We could throw those silly rules out the window.”
I pulled away and turned to face him. “We have the rules for a reason.” I crossed my arms. When we’d started dating, we agreed on the simple rule that we didn’t mix business and pleasure. If we used our mouths to talk about a case during the day, we wouldn’t use them for kissing until the next day. We hoped these boundaries would protect the romance in our relationship from the strain of working together. I’d had issues in the past, mainly with my ex-fiancé, and I didn’t want to repeat the same mistakes.
“Today’s a work day,” he said solemnly, as though breaking the worst of news.
I nodded and offered my hand to shake. “A work day.” We shook hands. “Very well then, Mr. Sanderson. What’s happening with the Koenig case?”
“I’ve got a new assignment for you,” he said.
“Tell me it’s not babysitting your diva client. I ran into her at your office yesterday, and she got lipstick all over my shirt collar. She’s a messy person, in more ways than one.”
He chuckled. “Corine gave me heck for missing you. Thanks for the sandwich.”
“And thanks for...” Thanks for putting a photo of me and Jeffrey on your Wall of Loved Ones? Thanks for making me tear up in front of your receptionist? “I mean, you’re welcome. What’s the assignment?”
He rubbed his beard. “Having you babysit Della is not such a bad idea. She’s highly excitable at the best of times, but she’s really on edge now. Did you hear the cops have been tailing her around town, watching her?”
Guiltily, I said, “I haven’t heard that, specifically.”
He tilted his head to the side. “What have you heard? Have you been talking to Tony Baloney?”
Right then, Tony emerged from the hallway and cleared his throat. He’d finally finished removing Jeffrey’s fur gifts using the sticky roll in the bathroom. “That’s pronounced Milano,” he said tersely.
Logan wheeled around. “What are you doing here?”
“I can’t discuss an ongoing investigation.” Tony inhaled, his chest flaring. “Especially not with the legal representation for a person of interest.”
Logan shot me a glance. “You told him?”
I held my hands up. “Nothing he didn’t already know.”
Logan squared off with Tony. “You order your boys to back off my client, or we’ll have you for harassment.”
Tony didn’t flinch. “Which client? The one who applies makeup while speeding around town in her green Volkswagen Beetle? That girl is a menace to polite society.”
“You’re a menace,” Logan said.
Tony retorted, “Your beard is a menace.”
“What have you got against my beard?”
“It’s attached to your face.” Tony smirked at his joke. “Though I suppose I should thank your beard for covering part of your mug.”
Logan didn’t smile. “I think you’re done here, Officer Milano. Thanks for stopping by.”
Tony walked over to the door and pulled on his boots. The boots looked similar to a pair of Logan’s, so he hadn’t noticed them by the entrance mat.
Once the boots were laced, Tony said to Logan, “If your diva client is allergic to the attention of a few hard-working police officers, she might want to consider a new line of work.” He waved a hand dismissively. “Never mind. A singing career may be the least of her concerns where she’s going.”
Logan said grimly, “We’ll see about that.”
Tony left, and Logan paced the open space between the table and my living room furniture. He slowed down only when Jeffrey jumped onto the coffee table and meowed for attention. He picked up the cat and nuzzled his gray fur before looking up at me with an expression of disgust on his face.
Logan growled, “Was your friend Tony touching Jeffrey?”
“What if he was?”
Logan smelled the cat again, his expression darkening. “The cat stinks of Tony’s bad cologne.”
I walked over and took the cat. Holding Jeffrey’s front paws like puppet arms, I moved them as I spoke in a kitty voice, “Logan, I’m sorry I was unfaithful to you. I only sat on Tony Baloney’s lap for a few minutes. It meant nothing to me. It was just pets.”
Logan didn’t crack. “Maybe I’ll give him a bath,” he said.
We’d never given Jeffrey a bath, but he seemed to recognize the word and squirmed in my arms.
I rolled my eyes. “You’re so jealous. You know how friendly Jeffrey is. He loves to make new friends.”
Dryly, Logan said, “Sure. Jeffrey’s the friendly one.” He continued to pace, looking toward the hallway entrance. “What was Tony doing back there?”
“Using the washroom. He had three cups of coffee, so I figured it was only fair.”
He crossed over to the front door and grabbed his jacket from the hook. “You have to be more careful. Don’t let your guard down around Tony. Try to remember you’re supposed to be on my side.”
I hugged Jeffrey tighter. “I am on your side, Logan. Do you want to talk about whatever’s got you upset, or about this assignment?”
He looked as if he was trying to make a difficult decision. “I’ll let you know,” he said, and he left.
After the door closed, I hugged Jeffrey tighter and nuzzled him.
To my surprise, I realized Logan had been right.
The cat did smell like Tony.
Chapter 15
"I thought for sure I was going to hear thumping,” Jessica said. “The thumping of two big apes beating their chests.”
We were folding laundry in the living room, working together to tackle the near-impossible fitted sheets. Jessica had a special way of turning them into tidy triangles and then neat squares. She also had a knack for making me laugh at what could have been an upsetting experience.
“You should have seen them,” I said, acting out their body language. “Tony was all, ’Your client is a menace,’ then Logan was all, ’You’re the menace,’ then Tony said, ’Your beard is a menace.’ And the whole time, they were shooting dagger eyes at each other, like two apex predators at a watering hole.”
Jessica smoothed the neatly folded sheet. “It must be nice to have two men fighting over you.”
“Over me?” I groaned. “More like over territory. They both want to be the big men in a small town. I don’t take their fighting personally. Tony’s married with kids, so it’s not like he’s trying to get me in any romantic sense.”
“He’s still in love with you,” she said.
“Gross.” I started folding the towels. We didn’t usually do laundry on Tuesdays, but we’d started the process on the weekend, before everything got turned upside down at the Koenig Estate on Sunday, and hadn’t finished our chores.
“Your mouth says gross, but your eyes say something else,” Jessica teased. “Admit you still carry a torch for Tony Baloney.”
“Don’t make me throw up all over our clean laundry.”
She rolled her eyes.
Once we finished with that dryer-load of laundry, we started dealing with the other household tasks that had been left since the weekend, including the unopened mail and stacks of flyers.
Jessica handed me a real estate flyer. “Samantha Sweet is running an open house in the neighborhood. Looks cute.”
I looked over the listing details, since I was still on the lookout for investments. She’d run this house past me a few weeks earlier, and I hadn’t been interested, but the house had cleaned up nicely, according to the photo.
“I love the gingerbread detail,” I said.
“Now you’re making me hungry for gingerbread.”
“Nice stained-glass windows,” I said. “I’m not sure about the overall color scheme.”
“You could paint the front door a festive color. The front door is like the bowtie of the house. It shouldn’t be tan.”
“Our doors are tan.”
“But our doors are on the sides of the house, and there are two of them. This house isn’t about looks, anyway. It’s more about maximizing livable square footage.” She quickly added, “And I love this house, of course.”
“It’s not my dream home,” I admitted. “I bought it because of the rental income from the other side. It’s just a practical investment that I can live in.”
“And it’s a great house,” she said. “I love having Logan on the other side, too. It’s perfect. He opened a pickle jar for me the other day.”
“But this house doesn’t look like an adorably kooky old manor that witches in storybooks live in.”
“Is that what you want?” she asked. “I don’t know the first thing about witchcraft. Is there something you want to tell me?”
I laughed. “I’m being silly. I’m romanticizing what should be a purely economic decision. That’s how people get in trouble.” I tried to sort through the rest of the flyers and junk mail, but my eyes kept going back to the house listing.
“That porch is to die for,” Jessica said.
“You could sleep on that porch. Just screen it in and you’ve got a whole ’nother room.”
“Can’t you picture yourself there, rocking in your chair, knitting baby booties while your grandkids play on the front lawn?”
“Easy now. We need kids before we worry about grandkids.”
She smiled as she sorted through the rest of the flyers. “My grandma always says she would have skipped right to the grandkids if she’d known. Of course my mother didn’t find that nearly as amusing.”
I flipped over the flyer. “Samantha’s running the open house right now,” I said. “If we blow off housecleaning, we could go check it out. Samantha always puts out yummy olives and crackers.”
Jessica was already putting on her shoes.
Chapter 16
"Photos lie,” Jessica said. “Real estate listings are just like internet dating profiles, only instead of shaving off twenty pounds, they get the photographer to hang outside the window on ropes and take room pictures from ten yards back.”
The house was gorgeous, and would have been perfect, if I were one of those people whose only possessions were three changes of clothes and a tiny laptop. None of the rooms had closets, and the beds were suspiciously small.
While the real estate agent talked to interested buyers downstairs in the standing-room-only kitchen, Jessica and I did some detective work in the master bedroom. She pulled a tiny measuring tape from her purse and sized up the bed.
“Non-standard,” she hissed. “I knew it. The homeowners have staged the home with three-quarters-sized furniture, to make the rooms look bigger.” She lay on the bed to show me her feet hanging off the end.
“So sneaky,” I agreed. “I wonder if Samantha thought this up herself, or if she’s got a clever home stager.”
Jessica climbed off the bed, giving me a dirty look. “I don’t think it’s very clever to rip people off. It’s hard enough for people to save a few dollars after all the taxes come off their paychecks, without having to worry about someone tricking them out of what’s left.”
I held my hands up. “Hey, don’t get mad at me. I’m on your side.” I shook my head. “What’s with everyone getting mad at me today, anyway?”
Jessica apologized for misdirecting her anger at me, and we continued touring the house. The upstairs bathroom was so ridiculously compact, it gave us the giggles. The arrangement was such that a person using the toilet would need to tuck their legs under the sink or else ride sidesaddle, which we both agreed brought little dignity to the act.
We went downstairs and found the real estate agent, our friend Samantha Sweet, alone and stuffing her face with cheese and crackers. She waved us over and poured some sparkling water into champagne flutes.
“I heard you two girls laughing up there,” Samantha said. “You got a kick out of the sidesaddle powder room, didn’t you?”
We were the only ones in the house, since the interested parties had come to their senses and fled.
Jessica asked, “Who designed that washroom? Why would someone do that?”
Samantha answered, “The upstairs didn’t have a washroom, so the owners converted the linen closet.”
“That explains why there’s no linen closet,” I said.
Samantha sighed as she unfastened her bun and let her blond hair fall around her shoulders. “This house may be the death of me,” she said. “I know it’s only been on the market a short time, but I’ve got a bad feeling about this one.” She gave me a knowing look. “I should have listened to your advice about the fundamentals, Stormy. I should have let your lack of interest be my guide.”
I helped myself to the offered snacks and sparkling water. “Don’t be so tough on yourself, Sam. The house really is adorable, and people who are looking for a home to live in don’t look with the same eyes an investor does. It only takes one person to walk in that front door and fall in love.”
The three of us looked expectantly at the door. Nobody came in. We turned our attention back to the food, with Samantha begging us to help her finish the crackers so that her efforts weren’t a complete waste.
I’d spent a lot of time with Samantha during the first months I’d moved back to Misty Falls. She’d sold me the duplex and the gift shop business. Ever since then, she’d been keeping an eye open for more investments for me. I’d done well in my venture capital career, earning a number of bonuses and saving everything because I was too busy working to spend it. I was happy to have the cash in the bank, and I could have played it safe with stocks or bonds, but I loved the idea of investing in my town and owning things I could touch and feel... as long as they were good investments that didn’t come with sidesaddle powder rooms.
Samantha Sweet had been a great ally in my quest. I’d accidentally made her cry a time or two, but she was very diligent and hardworking. It wasn’t easy for her to raise small children while pursuing a career, but she did everything with her whole heart, which was a trait I admired.
The three of us caught up on current events, and Samantha confessed that she’d gone way over her time budget in preparing the tiny house for sale. The owners were out of town, so she’d spent the entire weekend digging up the front garden and transplanting some mature, late-blooming perennials from her own yard.
“Michael wasn’t too happy with me,” she said, referring to her husband.
“Do I need to talk to him?” I asked, playfully rolling up my sleeves and looking tough. Samantha was relatively new in town, but I’d gone to school with her husband, Michael Sweet, and I’d played an important role in teaching him manners.
Samantha chuckled. “That won’t be necessary, but thanks. He wasn’t impressed about spending his weekend painting the front porch here, but he had to agree it looks great.”
Jessica agreed, “The house does look beautiful. Hang in there.”
Samantha turned her pretty emerald-green eyes my way. “Speaking of exciting weekends, I heard you and your handsome lawyer boyfriend were up at the Koenig Estate the exact same time as the old guy drowned.”
I winced. “It sounds bad when you phrase it that way, but we were there.”
“That’s not all,” Jessica said. “She also met Brandon and Drake. Oh, and Drake was exactly like how people around town say he is. Very flirty.”
“
Really?” Samantha’s green eyes widened, and she bounced excitedly, making me feel as if I were back in the ninth grade, sharing gossip.
“Nothing happened,” I said. “But since we’re on the topic, do you know if any of the Koenigs have bought or sold real estate in town recently?”
“Are you investigating something?” she asked. “You’re still doing the detective thing, right?”
“I’m just curious,” I said.
Samantha gave me a knowing look. “How many months of recent transactions are you"—she made air quotes—"just curious about?”
“The past three to six months.”
Samantha told me to wait a moment, and she pulled out her laptop.
Jessica caught my eye and gave me a sly smile. She knew what I was up to because she’d been the one who suggested the line of investigation in the first place. We wanted to know if Dieter Koenig had bought any houses for his girlfriend, Della.
“That’s odd,” Samantha said, clicking away.
We both leaned over her shoulder, expecting to see something interesting. Listings and images scrolled across the screen in a blur as Samantha did search after search.
“What’s so odd?” I asked.
“The internet access is really fast here,” she said.
We left her to her database and helped out with the remaining open-house snacks.
After ten minutes, she said, “Sorry, but I’ve looked at everything local for the past six months, and none of it’s tied to the Koenigs. They actually don’t own much real estate, other than the mansion and the surrounding land with the airstrip. If you’re looking for a real estate family, that would be the Canusos.”
“Thanks for looking,” I said. “I owe you one.”
Samantha closed the laptop and gave me a mischievous grin. “Buy this little dollhouse, and we’ll call it even.”
I patted my pockets. “I would, but I think I left my darn wallet at home.”
“Maybe next month,” she said. “I’m having another open house in September. You two should come. There’ll be cupcakes.” She started packing up her display materials and tidying the dishes. “Just come and say nice things to get other people excited.”
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