He stared at us in amazement. "Hey, Jacques. Hi, Cindy. What're you guys doing here?"
Jacques cleared his throat. "Can we talk to you for a moment?"
Pete peered over his shoulder into the house. "Um, it's not really a good time."
"Pete, who are you talking to?" A woman spoke in an irritated tone from somewhere behind him. I wasn't able to see her, but she had a shrill voice that could easily reach the next block.
A panicked look crossed over his face, and he whirled around to address the woman. "It's nothing. Only some people from work, honey."
"Well, I just waxed the floor."
Her voice growled, similar to an animal. A very large and scary one. Jacques and I exchanged glances.
"We'll talk outside, dear." Pete gently disengaged the little girls from his legs and told them to go play for a while. He stepped onto the porch, making sure to close the door behind him. His eyes darted from me to Jacques with suspicion.
"What's this all about?"
I went first. "We were sorry to hear you'd left the agency."
Relief washed over his face. "Oh, that. Well, you know, I had another offer I couldn't refuse."
"Uh-huh." Jacques appeared doubtful. "So where are you working now?"
"Um," Pete paused. "I—I'm supposed to be working for Primer Properties."
I suspected he was lying. "You are? Funny, Tricia didn't say a thing about it to me when I saw her yesterday." Tricia would be the last person to tell me anything about her business, but Pete didn't need to know that.
"Who?" He asked, dumbfounded.
"Tricia Hudson. She's their number one agent. I'm sure she'll be happy to provide you with training."
"Oh, right." Pete was silent for a few seconds. "Well, it's been nice chatting with you guys, but I need to get going."
Jacques touched his arm. "It's kind of strange that you left the agency right after Tiffany was killed."
Pete ran a hand through his bushy, black hair. "What are you talking about?" His voice was tense.
"I'm talking about the fact that Tiffany stiffed you out of a really nice commission, someone murdered her, and you left the agency, all in the same day."
Pete's face turned ashen. "The cops have already talked to me. I don't need to explain anything to you guys."
"I was there when you threatened her." Jacques folded his arms over his chest. "I don't blame you for being mad. God knows, she pulled that crap with a lot of people."
A drop of sweat ran down the side of Pete's face, and he didn't answer right away. "I—I didn't do anything to her."
"When was the last time you saw her?" I asked.
"That night. Uh, I mean, when we were all in the office."
My ears pricked up. "You went by the office to see her? The night she was killed?"
"No, earlier in the day."'
I figured I'd test the waters. "We have a witness who saw you there later that night. The time was close to seven o'clock."
Pete's eyes widened in surprise. "Who? Who saw me? Oh my God, I can't believe this is happening." He slammed his fist against the porch railing.
"Do you happen to own a dark-colored SUV?"
All the color drained from Pete's face. He glanced with uneasiness at the front door and then gestured for us to move away. We walked off the porch and stood by Jacques' car.
Pete stared at the ground, his hands in his pockets. "I didn't do anything to her, I swear." Then he glared at me. "But I wanted to. I wanted to kill her. Do you know how much I was counting on that money?"
"I do know. You're allowed to be angry. She stole a listing from me the same day as she did you."
"She did?" His tone softened.
"Yes, and I was upset, too," I admitted.
"What time did you go by the office?" Jacques asked.
He wrung his hands together in frustration. "My wife can't find out what happened. She doesn't even know I left Hospitable Homes. She'll kill me if she figures it out."
I raised one eyebrow at Jacques. It was evident who was in charge at Pete's house. "We won't say anything to her. You have our word."
Pete closed his eyes and groped for words. "I think it was about 6:30. I didn't stay long." He paused, remembering. "She was alone. I went upstairs to her office and told her I wanted my share of the check. But she laughed and called me a fool." He clenched his jaw, and his eyes turned black as coal. He leaned over to grab his mailbox and threw it violently to the ground.
I must have jumped at least ten feet in the air. Jacques moved in front of his car's side view mirror, in case Pete decided to go for that next.
"Wha-what did you do then?" I asked with trepidation.
"I—I kind of went wild. I grabbed her by the throat."
Jacques and I glanced at each other in alarm.
"She started screaming and tried to scratch me. I told her I had to have that money. I'm two months late on my rent." His eyes took on a vacant expression. "She kept screaming, and I begged her to stop. Then she kicked me with those big-ass heels of hers."
"Stilettos," I offered.
"Whatever."
Jacques frowned. "Where'd she kick you?"
When Pete's face turned crimson, I got the message. Huh. Seems like Tiffany and I did have something in common after all.
"Dang," Jacques shook his head. "That must have left a mark."
Pete nodded. "It still hurts a little. I wish I'd never gone."
"What happened after that?" I held my breath.
"She was yelling at me to get out of there before she called the cops. I pretty much crawled down the stairs and out the door to my car. I'm not even sure how I managed to drive away, but I was afraid the cops would be looking for me. Then I went to a bar and got drunk before I came home."
Jacques narrowed his eyes. "Nice."
"I was scared," Pete said. "I heard Tiffany on the phone with someone before I could get out of there. I thought for a second it was the police, but then I knew it wasn't."
My interested piqued. "What do you mean by that?"
"Well, she obviously knew the person. She kept saying, 'You need to get over here. Pete just tried to kill me.'"
"You didn't hear her call the person by name?" Jacques asked.
Pete's face contorted with anger. "Don't you think I would've told you the person's name if I'd heard it?"
Jacques and I both backed up a bit, and I tried to reassure him. "Of course you would have."
"You can't tell my wife. She'll divorce me."
I found myself wondering if that might not be the worst thing that could happen to Pete, but refrained from saying so.
"It's our little secret," Jacques promised. "Did you—did you tell the cops about this?"
Pete clenched his fists. "No. And you'd better not tell them either. I'll just deny everything."
Jacques put his hands up. "Hey, no problem there, buddy."
Was he telling us the truth? I had my doubts. "Do you remember what time it was when you left?"
"I couldn't have been in there more than ten minutes. Yeah, now I remember the car radio definitely said 6:45."
I chewed at my bottom lip. "And you didn't notice any other cars outside?"
Pete shook his head. "Only Tiffany's hotshot Jag. I thought I saw someone in my rearview mirror when I left. I might have imagined it though. I was in a lot of pain."
Jacques mouthed the word "Leslie" to me.
We heard the front door creak open. Pete's wife stood there, hands perched on her broad hips. "Pete, I need you."
Pete froze in terror. "I'll be there in a minute, honey."
"I said now."
I observed the woman, intrigued. She had long, dark, straggly hair with a beefy frame. She wore a bib apron and red bandanna around her head. She met my gaze and shot me a surly look back.
"I need to go." Pete started toward the house, then turned back to us again. His deep voice took on a warning tone. "Like I said, you'd better not tell anybody."
C
HAPTER NINETEEN
We drove back to Starbucks in silence. Upon reaching the parking lot, we sat quietly in Jacques' car, trying to absorb what had just happened.
Finally, I cleared my throat. "It's got to be him."
This time, Jacques was on the defense. "I'm not so sure, Cin. I mean, he's got some crazy tendencies, but I don't think he's a killer."
I couldn't believe my ears. "He grabbed Tiffany by the throat. Did you see the glare in his eyes? He looked like a lunatic."
Jacques nodded in agreement. "True, but did you also see how afraid he was of Attila the Hun—oops, I mean his wife. I don't think a guy who lets his wife boss him around like that is capable of murdering somebody. Hey, maybe his wife's the killer. Now that I can picture."
I grimaced. "My mother always said you can't trust the quiet ones."
"After we head over to Tiffany's house tonight, we need to sit down and figure out where we are with our investigation."
"Nowhere. That's where we are."
Jacques gazed at me, puzzled. "What's with the attitude?"
"I'm running out of time. If it turns out the vase is gone, along with Ken, I'm done for. The police will be questioning me again. Donna will figure out a way to pin it on me. They'll put me in jail." A wave of panic rolled over me.
Jacques patted my hand. "Try to think positive. I have a feeling we're close—like the murderer is right under our thumb."
"I hope you're right." I sifted through my purse for my car keys. "When I get home, I'm going to call some auction houses. Maybe Ken brought the vase to one of them."
"If it is Tiffany's vase."
"Oh, I'd bet on it. But we'll know tonight for sure."
"Seven o'clock sharp," Jacques reminded me. "I'll pick you up at your house. Be ready."
After a quick stop at the grocery store, I arrived home at about three o'clock. I didn't know how I'd manage to wait around for another four hours. Impatience was already getting the best of me. I jumped every time the phone rang, afraid it might be the police.
I decided to try to keep myself busy. The twins and I took the puppy for a walk. Afterward, we went back to the house, and they lured Greg into playing a game of touch football in the backyard while I started dinner. Darcy helped me vacuum and dust. While my chicken and potatoes casserole cooked in the oven, Darcy joined Greg and the boys outside. I decided to check the auction houses online that Randy had mentioned earlier. My heart skipped a beat when I saw a link for antique vases on the main page. I scrolled through the listings. On the second page, toward the bottom, was Tiffany's vase. There was no mistake—I would have known it anywhere. I found the contact information page and dialed the phone number provided for the company.
After a brief time on hold, a female voice came on the line. "How may I assist you?"
"Is it possible for you to give me information about a certain vase on your site? It's from the Ming Dynasty."
"If you like, I can put you through to speak with a specialist," the woman replied. "They should be able to help you further."
Again, I was placed on hold, and the wait seemed interminable. Finally, a man's voice answered. "Scott Sultan. How may I assist you?"
"I'd like to inquire about a particular vase that's scheduled for auction next week. It's from the Ming Dynasty, black-and-white porcelain with an unusual design."
Scott coughed in reply. "May I ask your name?"
"Cindy York."
"I do happen to remember that piece. It will be made available to the highest bidder next Thursday, May sixth."
I clutched the phone tightly. "Can you tell me who you got the vase from? I believe it might have been stolen."
Scott was silent for several seconds. "Do you have any proof?"
"Well, nothing concrete yet, but I'm positive it was stolen."
"We don't deal with stolen goods, ma'am." It was obvious from his tone that Scott was not taking me seriously. "Everything that comes in here has the appropriate paperwork to accompany the item. I'm afraid I can't tell you anything further. If you'd like to bid, the auction will begin at one o'clock sharp. If you can't be here in person, you can arrange to phone in a bid as well. Thank you for your interest."
"Wait a minute."
I was too late. The phone line went dead.
"Damn." I sat there, staring into space for a moment. I sniffed at the air and then hurried into the kitchen to check on dinner. The casserole was perfect, so I turned off the oven, then went back to the computer and pulled up the listing on Tiffany's house, clicking through pictures in the tour until I came to Tiffany's bedroom. I breathed a sigh of relief when I saw a photo that contained the grand piano. The vase was in perfect view. I printed the picture and put it in my purse. This might come in handy later.
There was no possible way I could wait five more days for the auction to occur. Who knows, maybe I'd be in prison by then. Even if the vase was located, Donna might still accuse me of stealing it. I prayed that my theory was wrong and that the vase still remained on top of Tiffany's piano.
I went outside to call everyone in for dinner. Almost show time.
During dinner, I caught Greg watching me suspiciously. "Baby, is something wrong?"
I shook my head and smiled. Underneath the table, I crossed my fingers. "Everything's fine."
His eyes searched mine, unconvinced, and I looked away in a hurry. "Stevie, please stop feeding Rusty under the table. He's going to get fat."
"But he wants to be fat." Stevie giggled.
Greg continued to stare at me as if he knew something was up. He was momentarily distracted by the sight of Darcy jumping to her feet. She started stacking the dishes in the sink without either one of us even asking her to.
"Somebody's up to something." Greg winked at me.
Darcy laughed. "Not me, Daddy."
"You might as well spill it."
She turned to me for help. I remembered about the prom and smiled reassuringly at Greg. "Darcy's been invited to prom. I figured we'd go shopping for a dress after her punishment is over. We'll take the one from the dance back and get credit toward a new one."
Greg forked a potato into his mouth. "That's nice, honey."
Darcy and I were both bewildered. I had been positive that he'd give her the third degree. Apparently, she'd thought the same thing.
"His name is Ryan," Darcy said, a lilt in her voice. "You'll really—"
I shook my head and shot her a warning look. She got the message. I didn't want to deal with the issue of her date's age right now. Darcy started on the dishes while the twins grabbed the puppy and headed into the living room to watch television.
The time had come to tell Greg the truth, so I followed him into the den. "I need to go back out tonight."
Greg whirled around from the desk. "Why?"
"Jacques's coming by in five minutes to pick me up. We—we're going to Tiffany's house." There, I'd said it.
Greg appeared thunderstruck. "Are you nuts? Do you really want to get arrested?"
"I'll be fine. Like I said, Jacques's going with me. We'll use his code to get in. Donna will never even know I was there."
"What if they have a security camera rigged up? Did you happen to think about that?"
Actually, I hadn't. I tried to act casual as I brushed his comment aside with a wave of my hand. "Oh, it would've been mentioned in the listing."
"Don't be so sure. What if Donna had some installed?"
I laughed. "Why would she do that? It's not even her house!"
Greg gave me a worried look. "Don't underestimate her, Cin. She's not going to be happy until you're behind bars."
I didn't want Greg to know how nervous I was because then he'd never let me leave. I put my arms around his neck and kissed him. "Please don't worry. Jacques will be with me the entire time."
"He'd better be."
At that moment, we heard a car horn out front. I ran to the door, signaled to Jacques, and hurried back to grab a jacket.
Greg still s
at in the den, his face masked with concern. "Maybe I should go with you."
"It's all going to be fine, honey. Really."
"Please be careful." Greg observed me with a pained expression. "Promise me you won't do anything stupid."
"Your confidence in me is overwhelming," I teased.
The look on his face was troubled, causing my heart to flip-flop in my chest. "Cindy, I mean it."
I swallowed hard. "All right, I promise."
"I love you."
"Love you too." I blew him a kiss and shut the front door with a shaking hand.
While I was scared to death to think what would happen if Donna found me in the house, it was even more frightening to imagine the implications if I didn't go through with this. I ran to Jacques' car before I could change my mind. I'd barely sat down when he zoomed off.
In a panic, I clutched at my seat belt. "Jeez, slow down. I'm nervous enough as it is."
Jacques chose to ignore my comment. "We'd better park down the street from Tiffany's. We don't want the neighbors to see us pulling into the driveway."
"They'd probably think you were showing it to a client—me. It's dark, so hopefully they won't be able to see or remember our faces."
"You don't know Donna like I do. I bet she's already gone around to the neighbors and told them there's no further showings so that they will let her know if any strangers are lurking about."
I blew out a breath, thinking this through. He might be right. Donna was so meticulous about every little detail. Maybe she'd given the neighbors a description of me as well—aka the murderer.
Jacques drove to the side street where I'd parked earlier this morning. Before we could get out of the car, his phone rang. He glanced at the screen. "What's up?" He listened, and his expression immediately changed to one of annoyance. "I told you that car was a piece of junk." An angry male voice, which I assumed belonged to Ed, shouted something through the phone. "Okay, okay, I'll be right there." He disconnected the call in a hurry.
"What's wrong?"
Jacques spoke in an irritated tone. "It's Ed. His car won't start, and he's got to get over to his sister's. I've been telling him for months to get rid of that crap pile, but he refuses. I think he does this on purpose to annoy me."
Killer Transaction (Cindy York Mysteries Book 1) Page 18