Mrs. Benson gave a lingering look at my JCPenney blazer, smirked, and then followed her husband. I closed the door behind them and then rapped my head against the fake wood grain several times until my forehead started to hurt.
Mercifully, the rest of the open house went off without a hitch. Three additional couples stopped in. One was from next door, so I assumed it was more of a curiosity factor than anything else. A newlywed couple expressed a great interest in the home. They acted normal, asked a few intelligent questions, and were very attentive to my responses. Unfortunately, they were already working with someone else. If I'd been more like Tiffany, I would have done everything a real estate agent shouldn't—wined and dined them and then convinced them to sign with me instead. Too bad I had morals.
I sighed heavily as I packed up the remainder of the lunch. There were still a few sandwiches and several bags of chips left. I wrapped the sandwiches in Saran wrap and tossed the chips into my duffel bag. What the heck. I can use these in the kids' lunches. Except for the free food, the entire ordeal had been a complete waste of my day. Next time, Tiffany could find someone else.
It was obvious Tiffany had chosen to avoid my earlier message. I was certain she'd phone during the open house to see how everything was going and to make sure I hadn't screwed up anything. She probably didn't want to deal with me. Well, too bad for her.
I picked up the house phone and dialed her number. If Tiffany happened to recognize the number, I knew she'd answer, thinking it was her client calling to report a disaster. If not, she might think it was a potential lead. Either way, I couldn't lose.
"Good afternoon, this is Tiffany Roberts."
I was right on the money. "Well, good afternoon, Tiffany. It's Cindy York, fellow real estate agent. You know, the one you cheated out of Agnes Hunter's listing?"
There was a momentary pause. "Cindy, honey. I've been meaning to call and ask how the open house went. Did a lot of people show?"
I avoided her question. "You stole my listing, and I want it back."
She laughed. "Was that your listing? I had no idea."
I gritted my teeth. "Please don't insult my intelligence. You overheard me telling Donna I had an appointment to list the house today. I suggest you get right over to Mrs. Hunter's and void that contract unless you want me to report you."
Tiffany purred into the phone. "I'm so sorry you feel that way. Unfortunately, I'm busy for the rest of the afternoon. Perhaps we can work out some sort of deal, like a sixty-forty split with sixty going to me."
Where did this woman get her nerve? "Forget it."
"Why don't you come over to the office tonight, and we'll discuss it."
My shoulders tensed right up to my ears. "There's nothing to discuss."
"You should come over anyway. I have some wonderful ideas for marketing the Hunter home. I know it will go quickly—if we work together." The smooth tone of Tiffany's voice set me even further on edge.
Damn her. I could probably get her to split the commission with me, but why should I? I knew she wasn't lying when she said she could sell it quickly. Like King Midas, everything Tiffany touched turned to gold. Even in this dismal market, she'd listed a home last week and already had a pending sale. Lord knows I needed the money, and I suspected Tiffany knew that too.
I caved. "Fine. We'll talk. What time?"
She laughed. "How about after you get done feeding the kiddies? Is seven all right?"
I pinched the bridge of my nose between my thumb and forefinger. "All right. We can meet at the office."
"Wonderful." Tiffany sounded pleased with herself. "So how did the open house go today? Any potential buyers?"
"Only one couple you might actually be hearing from. Nancy Townsend's their agent. She may be calling you."
She cooed into the phone, and I held the receiver away from my ear in disgust. "I just adore Nancy." Her phoniness was so apparent. "What about the lunch? Did everyone enjoy it?"
And how. "Oh, yes. They definitely enjoyed it."
"Terrific. Who won the Macy's gift card?"
Oh, crap. With everything else going on, I'd forgotten to register people for the darn card. I didn't even know where it was. I lifted my purse off the countertop, and sure enough, there was the envelope.
"Um, a little old lady," I lied. "Her name was Lila. She said she was going to buy a bed for her dog."
Tiffany was silent for a few seconds. "Well, I guess if you must have pets, you should buy them the best. Funny, I didn't even know they had a pet department at Macy's. I'm usually over in shoes myself. Well, darling, I have to run. I have a check to deliver to the office for my latest closing. I'll let Donna know what's going on with Mrs. Hunter's home when I stop by. You know, that we'll be splitting the deal. The house I sold today—"
Here we go again. "I never said for sure I was splitting it with you. I thought we were going to discuss—"
My words fell upon deaf ears as she rambled on. "Yes, it was just shy of half a million. Looks like it's going to be a slow week. See you tonight. Bye now." With that, she disconnected.
I shook my head in disgust. Agents like Tiffany shouldn't be allowed to screw other people over. Maybe she'd pay for her lies someday. My mother, rest her soul, used to love saying what goes around, comes around. I threw the Macy's card into my handbag, gathered up my belongings, and prayed Mom was right.
CHAPTER THREE
"One for me, and one for you." Seth hand-fed pieces of steak to Rusty, our cocker spaniel puppy, under the table. His brother Stevie giggled and joined in the banter.
"Stop it, you'll make him sick." Greg scowled and then gazed across the table at me, his blue eyes warm and soft. We'd been married for seventeen years, and I still didn't know where he got his patience from. After days like this, I wasn't sure I had any left. "Baby, you haven't even touched your dinner."
I watched the clock with apprehension. "I'm too nervous to eat. I have to meet Tiffany in half an hour."
"Don't worry. Everything will be fine."
My husband knew how much I was dreading this meeting. Like Donna, Tiffany was a force to be reckoned with. My stomach twisted into a giant pretzel knot.
Greg leaned over and helped himself to another serving of potato salad. "How'd the open house go today? Did you get any leads?"
I shook my head. "Not really. It was actually the open house from hell."
Stevie's blue eyes were large and round. "Are you going there?"
"No, dummy, but you will someday." Seth laughed.
I narrowed my eyes at him. "That's enough."
"Mother dear." Darcy's huge, dark eyes were fixed on me expectantly. "Can I get my hair and nails done for the dance on Saturday?"
I exchanged glances with Greg. "I'm sorry, honey. We don't have the extra money right now." I felt awful when I saw her face fall. My heart ached to refuse her, but I didn't have a choice.
Darcy tossed back her long, black hair. "That's okay. No big deal."
"I can do your hair and your nails. Do you want a French twist or a braid? There are lots of different things—"
She sniffed. "No, never mind."
"But I love doing it. We'll have a great time. You'll see."
Darcy observed me in amazement. "You don't have a clue as to what styles are in now. You'll just make me look like a geek."
"You already are a geek." Stevie flicked a green bean across the table at his sister while Seth giggled.
"Guys, stop." Greg put down his fork and stared at Darcy. "You apologize to your mother. She went and bought you that expensive dress, and this is the thanks she gets? Maybe she should return it to the store tomorrow."
"It's all right, Greg."
Lately, Darcy liked to blame me for everything that was wrong with her life. I suspected it was some type of phase she was going through. I sure hoped she'd finish fast.
"No, it's not all right." Greg glared at Darcy. "Apologize. Now."
Everyone at the table was silent, waiting for Darcy.
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She frowned and got to her feet, looking in my direction. "I'm sorry. I think I'll go over to Heather's now."
I shook my head. "You have dishes to do first."
Darcy slammed her chair into the table. "How come I get stuck doing the dishes every night?" She pointed at the twins. "Can't you teach those little dorks how to do them?"
"Of course. Someday when I know they won't break them all into tiny pieces first."
Darcy gave me a dirty look as she put her plate into the sink. "This sucks."
That was enough for Greg who got to his feet, knocking his chair over in the process, and walked over to Darcy. "I want you to go upstairs and cool off for a little while. Afterward, you'll come back down to finish your chores. You will not be going anywhere tonight, except to bed afterward."
"Darcy's in trouble," Stevie and Seth sang out in unison, while I tried in vain to silence them.
Darcy shot the twins a menacing stare and then turned to glare at me. "Why did I have to be born into such a dysfunctional family?" She ran out of the eat-in kitchen and into the adjoining living room, where she loudly thumped her way up the staircase to her bedroom.
Stevie raised his eyebrows. "What's dysfunctional mean?"
"If it's about you, it must be dumb," Seth said.
I sighed at Greg. "Every day it's something else with her."
"Girls." Seth stuck his tongue out. "They're too much drama. That's why I hate them." Stevie nodded in agreement.
Greg and I both managed to hide our smiles.
"You'll feel different someday." Greg put his plate in the sink.
Seth shook his head. "No way."
"Not happening." Stevie offered Rusty a green bean. He whined and walked away.
I got to my feet and started clearing the table. "I have to get going. It's time to get this settled once and for all."
"What did you decide to do?" Greg asked.
I placed some glasses on the light-blue Formica countertop. "I don't know. If she offers a deal, I may have to take it."
"Don't let her intimidate you. We don't need the money that badly."
"Of course we do." I looked toward the table uneasily. Stevie and Seth were hanging on every word we said. "Did you guys finish your homework?"
Seth gave me a thumbs up. "All done, Mom."
Stevie nodded in agreement as if he was Seth's little clone. They both continued to sit there, watching Greg and me.
Greg cleared his throat. "Why don't you guys go watch some television?"
"Nah, there's nothing good on right now." Stevie reached over to poke his brother in the arm.
"Ouch! Yeah, only some dumb cartoons." Seth pinched Stevie in return.
Greg lifted his thumb in the air and made a jerking motion toward downstairs. "Move. Now."
"Boy, everyone in this house is really weird," Seth said to Stevie.
"Yeah, except for Rusty."
They grabbed the puppy and trudged downstairs to the family room. Greg shut the door quickly behind them.
He walked over to me and put his hands on my shoulders. "You don't have to take any deal Tiffany offers. I don't want that greedy bitch taking advantage of you."
I buried my face into his massive chest. "I wish I could get more sales. Perhaps it's time for me to find a different type of job."
Greg kissed my hair. "We'll worry about that later. I'm due for a promotion this summer, remember? Things will get better soon."
I smiled and tried to remain optimistic. The trouble was that every time we moved one step forward, something unexpected would happen, and we'd fall two back. The cost of living continued to skyrocket while our salaries stayed dormant.
I put my arms around his neck. "I know Tiffany's dishonest, but still, I wouldn't mind coming by a few of the deals she's gotten."
"They'll come. You don't want to stoop to her level. The market will turn around soon, and then there will be plenty. You'll see."
"I hope you're right."
Greg kissed me lightly on the lips. "Of course I am. Don't worry about Tiffany. One day soon, she'll get what's coming to her."
"Wouldn't that be great?" I gazed at the clock, which read 6:45. "Shoot, I'm going to be late."
"Let her sweat it out for a few minutes. Don't let her think you're too eager to make a deal."
I ran into the bathroom to wash my hands and check my hair. There were fine lines under my eyes from lack of sleep. I grabbed some concealer out of the medicine cabinet and applied it quickly. Tiffany was always so picture perfect, similar to the houses she sold. My face resembled my listings too—sorely in need of improvement. I ran back into the den to grab my briefcase and jacket.
Greg walked me to the front door. "Are you sure you don't want me to go with you?"
"No, I'll be okay. You're right. I'm not going to let Tiffany get the best of me this time." My watch read 6:30. "That can't be right. The battery must be dead. What time is it?"
Greg smiled over my head in the direction of the wall clock. "Uh-oh, it says 6:55. Do you need to call the cheat, and tell her you're running late? Or better yet, call her and cancel. She probably hasn't even left her house yet." He pulled me back into his arms.
I gently wriggled from his grasp. "No, she's already been there for a few hours. Tiffany always stays late on Tuesdays. First, she answers calls from three to five and then paws through the MLS, trying to figure out who she'll steal from next. Plus, Tiffany's made it perfectly clear to everyone that she considers Tuesday her office night, and we all need to stay away."
"I bet she's not really working. Hey, maybe she's having an affair with a married man—on the conference room table?" He grinned. "Nah, that can't be it. No guy is that desperate, is he?"
I hugged him. "I love you."
"If you loved me, you wouldn't leave me alone with these kids." Greg tried to grab me, and at that moment, a crash sounded from downstairs. "Uh-oh. The demons are at it again. Drive safely, baby." He raced down the stairs.
As I was shutting the door, I heard him holler, "Who the heck put the dog on the table?"
I jumped into my car and turned the heat on full blast. The temperature was hovering around 40 degrees, chilly for the middle of spring. Weather was often unpredictable in New York State. The following week might be a scorching 90 degrees. One never knew quite what to expect. This was true of my career lately, too.
During the drive to the office, I played over and over in my head what I would say. "This is my listing, Tiffany. You need to give it back, or I'll make things difficult for you. I'm sure you don't want to lose your license." Gee, I liked the way that sounded. Maybe other people would grovel at Tiffany's Manolo Blahniks, but not me. I was done being treated like a doormat.
I pulled into the lot, and sure enough, Tiffany's car was there. I parked my battered ten-year-old Honda Civic next to her shiny, new silver Jaguar. The real estate world had been very good to Tiffany. Too bad she didn't care about her clients. I loved being a real estate agent. To me, nothing was more satisfying than helping a person locate their dream home, usually their most expensive purchase in a lifetime. I enjoyed the process from start to finish. It was unfortunate that agents like Tiffany ruined the business for the rest of us.
I walked to the entrance and searched for the office key on my keychain. Since the sun had started to set and the porch light dim, it took me a few seconds to locate the key. Then I noticed, to my surprise, that the front door was slightly ajar. Donna would have a fit if she knew. She was always afraid someone might walk in and steal something. It wasn't like we kept any cash here, but regardless, Donna had gone into a tirade a few weeks ago and threatened to fire an agent who'd forgotten to lock the door upon departure.
"Hello?" I pushed the door open and surveyed the area. There was no sign of anyone, and an eerie silence enveloped the darkened room.
"Tiffany?" Still no response. I groped the wall for the light switch and breathed a sigh of relief when it came on. I walked slowly past the receptionist's
desk and copy machine, toward the small stairway which led to the second floor. Most of the agents had offices up there. Jacques and I both had offices on the first floor, mine located next to Donna's. Tiffany, who came to the agency after me, had recently started hinting about how much she liked mine. I guessed that would be the next thing I'd end up losing.
Had someone broken in? And what if they were still here? Fearful, I searched for a weapon or something I could arm myself with. I walked over to the reception desk and located a sharp-pointed letter opener sitting in a cup filled with pens and pencils. Better than nothing. I ascended the stairs slowly, counting each step as I went. One, two, three, four. My heart knocked against the wall of my chest.
The faint sound of music was coming from Tiffany's office, and her light was on. Perhaps she'd fallen asleep with her iPod on. Or maybe she'd gone out with a client and left her car here. There might be a note on her desk for me. I rounded the corner to her office and peeked inside.
That's when I saw her. My hands flew to my mouth in horror.
Tiffany lay motionless on the floor in front of her black leather, swivel chair. Her once beige Ann Taylor suit was now a maroon color. Blood had pooled around her and soaked into the powder-blue shag rug she lay on. Her beautiful emerald eyes, which I'd always envied, were wide open and vacant.
My vision blurred, and suddenly I wasn't staring at Tiffany anymore. My friend Paul's body lay motionless before me, curled up in a fetal position on his bed. Even after all these years, the memory of finding him with a gun in his hand was still vivid in my mind. I tried to block out the image as I had many times in the past, pretending it had never happened. Everything came flooding back now, and there was no escape for me.
The letter opener fell from my hand to the floor. I reached numbly into my purse for my cell phone. As I moved closer to Tiffany's lifeless body, the blood roared in my ears, and I covered them in an attempt to block out the noise. Piercing screams filled the room. Then I realized that they were coming from me.
At that moment, I fainted.
Killer Transaction (Cindy York Mysteries Book 1) Page 3