Dying for a Deal

by Cindy Sample

  Geesh. The woman was so suspicious. You’d think she was a detective instead of a Realtor.

  “Gran called. She and a couple of friends decided to go back to Tahoe and talk to that timeshare guy again.”

  “Oh, dear. Are they okay?”

  “Other than Iris fainting and landing on a dead guy, who coincidentally happens to be the timeshare salesman we met yesterday, they seem to be fine.”

  Mother’s response included a few censorable words, but I finally calmed her down. “Gran’s worried they won’t get released until late. And she’s not too keen on Herb chauffeuring them down the hill once it turns dark.”

  “Oh, dear. I have an appointment at one thirty, but I can have someone else handle it for me. I swear, we need to put one of those pet microchips in your grandmother so we can keep tabs on her.”

  She hung up and left me chuckling over her Orwellian suggestion. Gran had so far successfully fought my mother’s efforts to relocate her into a retirement community. Mother only relented when Hank moved into Gran’s house and became her roommate a year ago. The partnership seemed to work for the two of them, although it didn’t give my ex much privacy on the romantic front.

  And I truly wanted Hank to find the happiness I had with Tom, who would be far happier when Hank was occupied elsewhere.

  A gaggle of grade-school children exploded from the mine, indicating the end of the official tour. Ben and Kristy loped over to me. My stepdaughter, who’d inherited her father’s genes, towered over my son, a late bloomer.

  “Who called when you were in the mine, Mom?” asked Ben. “It sounded kind of like Great Grandma.”

  “It also sounded like someone was murdered,” added Kristy.

  I looped their sweaty hands in mine, one kid on each side, before answering. “There was an unfortunate incident up in Tahoe, and Gran coincidentally happened to be there. Nothing for any of us to worry about right now.”

  At least I hoped not. My phone chimed and I yanked it out of my purse. A text from Mother: Heading up to Tahoe with Robert. Will keep you posted.

  I breathed a sigh of relief that my mother and her detective husband had taken over. With luck, everything would be sorted out by this evening. And I could enjoy the second half of the kids’ field trip—an authentic Forty-Niner BBQ.

  Later that night, my mother called to update me. “Your grandmother is home safe and sound,” she said, “although knowing how she loves to play detective, she’ll probably want to get involved in this dreadful situation up in Tahoe.”

  “Were you able to get any information out of the local authorities?” I asked.

  “Robert knew one of the detectives from his time at the sheriff’s department, and the officer was willing to share some information, what little they had, with us. By the time we arrived, they’d transported the victim to the morgue.”

  “How are Gran and Iris doing?”

  “Iris seemed overwhelmed by the events, but your grandmother said the murder proved this Gregg person was up to no good.”

  “Hmm.” I mulled over her remark. “His death could be due to a myriad of reasons, and none of them might have anything to do with Timeshare Help.”

  “That’s what the office manager insisted to the lead detective. She made an offhand remark about the guy having a drug problem.”

  “Maybe he owed money to a drug dealer. Or was involved with one of the Mexican cartels.”

  “Laurel, there aren’t any cartels up in Tahoe,” she said.

  “And you know that for a fact?”

  “Well, no. The only thing I know for a fact is that I do not want my daughter and my elderly mother investigating the murder of some lowlife.”

  “Don’t worry, I’m only concentrating on Iris’s timeshare case.”

  It was just a coincidence my very first agency case involved a timeshare salesman who was recently murdered.

  CHAPTER TEN

  The next morning I dropped Ben and Kristy off at school, then headed for Placerville. I cruised down Main Street past the nineteenth-century brick and pastel-painted clapboard buildings. An enormous banner stretched across the historic bell tower welcoming everyone to the annual Wagon Train Parade event in early June. Less than a month away.

  Last year’s Wagon Train Parade ended in a chase scene involving a runaway carriage and a stagecoach driven by an unwitting volunteer—me. There was also a shoot-out involving real guns, not the pretend scenes performed by the Hangtown Posse every summer.

  This year I planned to stay on the sidelines. No participating in the parade in any capacity—not even as one of the Sassy Saloon Gals, a group formed by my best friend, Liz Daley, to entertain at various local events.

  With Liz eight months pregnant and feeling more surly than sassy these days, I doubted she would be up to entertaining anyone other than her newborn arrival. I should give her a call once I got to the office.

  I parked the car in my leased spot, then meandered down the sidewalk, stopping to admire my former employer’s window displays. Last year, my friend and co-worker Stan Winters and I had been assigned the task of decorating Hangtown Bank in a style befitting the California gold rush.

  We ended up enjoying the project far more than expected. And solving a murder. Which, given my history, is always to be expected.

  I glanced at my watch. Not even nine yet. I could grab a mocha from my favorite coffee shop. I pulled open the door and smiled in delight. The customer standing in front of the register beamed back. He shoved a few bills into his wallet and hurtled toward me.

  Speak of the devil. Stan placed his hands on my shoulders as he scrutinized me from the tips of my bangs down to my battered sandals.

  “Laurel, you’re looking…” His voice trailed off as he searched for an appropriate adjective. “Comfortable,” he managed, my fashionista friend’s tactful way of saying I looked like I’d thrown my clothes on this morning.

  Totally not true. I’d spent at least twenty seconds on my wardrobe selection.

  “So what’s new?” I asked. “It’s been ages since I’ve seen you.”

  “There is so much going on at the bank. You wouldn’t believe it. We have to squeeze in a gabfest.”

  I mentally perused today’s calendar. Blank as usual. Which reminded me of tomorrow’s meeting with my former boss.

  “Hey, is anything weird going on with Adriana? She called the agency and…” My voice dropped when I realized client confidentiality meant I couldn’t actually tell Stan that Adriana was a potential client. Okay, that totally sucked.

  Stan’s gray eyes widened behind his nerd-chic wire-rims. “OMG. So much to dish.” He peeked at his watch. “I’m late. I know your schedule must be crazy busy with your cases, but are you doing anything for lunch today?”

  I hesitated to tell Stan today’s lunch hour was a designated Costco run. I didn’t want to burst his bubble about the glamourous nature of my new job.

  “I’ll reschedule. Let’s meet at Cascada.”

  “You’re on.” He gave me a quick hug before racing out the door. I walked to the counter but found myself concentrating more on Stan’s purported gossip than the pastries lined up in front of me. I finally decided to get a half dozen assorted donuts since both guys were expected to pop into the office today and they were former cops.

  Enough said.

  I arrived at our office and was attempting to juggle the donuts, my mocha and my keys when the front door opened with a whoosh. Bradford’s craggy face lit up as he caught sight of the pink box.

  “Let me help you.” He grabbed the box with one of his ham-hock-sized hands.

  Robert Bradford and I first met during a murder investigation when he was determined to pin the murders on me. The crotchety detective, whom I’d dubbed Tall, Bald and Homely, had interviewed my mother, who informed him her daughter was far too disorganized to commit a murder.

  Once I was proven innocent, to everyone’s surprise, including his, Robert Bradford fell in love with Mother. Even more
surprising, she fell in love with him. Although I grudgingly accepted their engagement at the time, it wasn’t until he risked his own life to save mine that I learned not only to respect him, but love him.

  I set my mocha and my purse on my desk, following Bradford into our tiny breakroom, barely larger than my kitchen pantry.

  “Thanks for helping with Gran’s situation,” I said. “How did it go?”

  He reached into the box, grabbed a chocolate-covered cream-filled donut, and took a hefty bite before replying.

  “Well, you know your grandmother. She can be a tad—”

  “Cantankerous,” I suggested.

  He nodded. “Yeah, that works. They’d originally asked your grandmother, Iris, and Herb to wait at one of the sidewalk tables in front of that pizza place. But Ginny kept popping back into the office and getting in the crime techs’ way, giving them pointers on how to do their job. They finally stuffed all three of them in the back of a squad car. That woman watches way too many crime shows.”

  I giggled. I could totally visualize my petite grandmother bossing the CSI team around.

  “So what’s your take on the murder? Was the detective willing to share anything with you?” I tore off half a glazed donut and bit into it. Yum.

  Bradford polished off his own donut before answering. “Someone clobbered the vic on the back of his head. The techs found a trophy covered with blood, but they’ll have to check to see if there’s a second blood type or DNA left behind.”

  “The cops don’t seriously suspect Gran or Iris, do they?”

  “I wouldn’t think so, given their size and age. Although your grandmother told me they’ll probably find her prints on the trophy from the day before. That won’t help. Especially since the murder seems to have occurred not too long before she and her friends walked in. Must have just missed the killer.”

  “No one else was in the office when they arrived?”

  “Your grandmother said the door was ajar so she walked right in. She waited a bit, then decided to cruise through the office. She discovered him on the floor. The office manager and some other fellow supposedly wandered in right after your Gran found him. Your grandmother had already dialed 911 and an ambulance and cops were on their way.”

  “Did they seem shocked?” I asked.

  “Who? Your grandmother or the guy’s co-workers?”

  “His co-workers. Nothing fazes Gran.”

  Bradford rocked back on the heels of his sturdy size-thirteen Rockports. “I couldn’t honestly tell. The office manager kept asking Henry, the lead on the case, when they would be done. Claimed she had work to do and the crime scene tape was a customer deterrent.”

  My jaw dropped. That Kimberly had some nerve. “Did she look guilty?” I asked.

  “Mostly pissed off. Like the victim had ruined the décor or something.”

  “Crabby.”

  He shrugged. “She’s a piece of work all right. The sales guy with her looked scared enough to pee himself.”

  “I’d be freaked out, too. Maybe he’s worried about a serial killer offing all the timeshare salespeople. I’m sure Iris isn’t the only person who’s been screwed by their company.”

  “Which means there could be a very long suspect list,” Bradford said.

  “And it could make my investigation into Iris’s situation far more complex. I should check in with her today, see if she wants me to continue or not, given the situation.”

  Bradford snorted. “Are you kidding? Your grandmother is even more fired up than before. I’m kind of surprised she didn’t beat us into the office today.”

  The office phone rang and I hotfooted it out of the breakroom, hoping the caller on the other end would be another new client.

  Nope. Just the same old bossy one.

  “Good morning, Gran. Have you recovered from your frightful experience yesterday?”

  “Are you referring to your mother’s driving us back to Placerville?” she replied. “I think Iris and I would have been safer with Herb, even if he can barely see over the steering wheel. Or at night. Barbara drives slower than the Wagon Train when it rolls down the hill.”

  Gran must have woken up on the wrong side of her sleigh bed this morning.

  “How come Bradford didn’t drive?”

  “Your mother says she gets carsick if someone else is driving that winding road.”

  My mother is also a control freak with a capital C.

  “Does Iris still want me to follow up on her timeshare problem?”

  “Sure. Why wouldn’t she?” Gran asked.

  “Okay, let me do some more research and I’ll get back to you. Try to stay out of trouble today.”

  She hung up without assenting to my request. Hopefully her busy schedule involved something tamer than a murder investigation. Like her weekly bridge group. Although I’d seen her group in action. When it came to cards, those ladies were out for blood.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Stan was already seated at Cascada when I arrived. A large turquoise Kate Spade purse perched on the chair next to him. I’d invited Liz to join us for lunch, and it looked like she’d been able to escape from the spa she owned in El Dorado Hills. With a baby due in a month, today’s lunch could be one of the last times we dined together without the background accompaniment of a squalling infant.

  Not that Liz would allow her child to cry or behave less than perfect in public. My demanding friend would find that totally unacceptable.

  Liz duck-walked toward us, her ankles swollen and her belly so huge she looked as if she would be giving birth to both a basketball player and a basketball. But dressed in designer maternity togs, her golden-blond hair cut in a sleek bob, she remained the classy Brit I’d known since we’d met twenty years earlier at a fraternity party. After our dates decided to drink themselves into a stupor, we bonded over the three-mile hike back to campus.

  We’d been best friends ever since, through thick and thin, marriage, divorce, pregnancy—and the occasional murder investigation.

  Liz lifted her hefty purse from the chair and dropped it on the floor before plopping into the wooden seat. The chair and Liz both groaned in protest.

  “I’ve decided I’m too old to bear a child,” she announced, as she squirmed on the hard surface.

  “Perhaps you should have come to that conclusion eight months ago,” suggested Stan.

  “Only four more weeks to go until D-day,” I said. “And once you deliver your little bundle of joy, you’ll be filled with joy.” Not to mention her life would be filled with dirty diapers. But now was not the time to share how much my friend’s life would change. Or to warn her the early years were the easiest. With my eldest going off to college, there would be a host of new things for me to worry about.

  “So why are we all here today?” asked Liz with a grimace.

  “Just wanted to see your smiling face,” I replied with a grin of my own.

  “Not really,” Stan corrected me. “I mean, of course, we want to spend time with you before you pop your little Cinnabun out of the oven. But I have dirt to share—on Adriana Menzinger.”

  Just the mention of my former boss and nemesis gave me heartburn. But since it looked like Adriana might become a new client, the more dirt, I mean, information I could gather in advance, the better.

  Stan lowered his voice so Liz and I leaned forward to catch every word of his scoop. Or rather, I leaned in and Liz hunched herself forward to better hear him.

  “Adriana met this hot guy through some online dating site a few months ago. Had to tell the entire office about how great he was, blah, blah, blah. So annoying for some of us,” voiced Stan, whose partner, Zac, a stage director, was traveling across the United States on a three-month tour.

  “That’s your idea of dirt?” Liz curled her lip at him. Stan’s news wasn’t exactly on the scale of TMZ celebrity reports.

  “Let me finish, ladies. Two weeks ago she came into the office flashing a huge diamond. She met with the president of Hangt
own Bank and gave him three weeks’ notice.”

  “She quit?” I practically shouted at him. “After stealing that job away from me?” Despite my gratitude toward my husband and stepfather for inviting me to join the detective agency, I was still ticked off at Adriana for snatching the marketing director position after my boss retired last fall.

  “Supposedly. That’s what the bank rumor mill was churning out all week. Then yesterday we heard Adriana changed her mind and she’s staying after all. She’s still wearing that mega diamond, but there hasn’t been any talk of her fiancé for a few days. Sounds suspicious to me. What do you think?”

  What did I think?

  I smiled, thinking how wonderful it was my friends were such excellent gossips. It certainly made my job easier.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  The next morning was even more chaotic than usual. With a client meeting scheduled with my former boss, I needed to present the appearance of a successful private detective, even if I hadn’t quite succeeded in that capacity yet. I pawed through my closet and finally settled on what I refer to as “vintage” and what most fashionistas would describe as “old.” But the black gabardine suit fulfilled all my criteria: It was clean and it still fit.

  Since Tom was providing chauffeur service today, I hugged all three kids goodbye, stepped into the Subaru, and backed out of the garage. I was running late so I gunned all four cylinders. I zipped up Highway 50 in record time, my tires squealing as I slid into my parking space at 8:27. Which gave me three minutes to trot down the sidewalk and greet our new client. If I was lucky, she’d be running late.

  No such luck. With a frown on her cherry-red lips, and her arms firmly crossed, Adriana stood outside our office, one four-inch heel tapping the sidewalk in frustration. I quickly opened the door to the agency and ushered her inside.

  Her frown morphed into a quizzical expression as I hit the light switches and opened the blinds. “What are you doing here?” she asked.

  “I work here. Remember, that’s why I left the bank?” Actually I left the bank for multiple reasons. An enormous dislike of my former boss—the one standing in front of me, her arms still crossed. And a huge like for my current partners and family members.