Authors: Kate Aster
“There’s always a remote chance. But the
longer you have your house sit on the market, the lower the bids will be. I can
draw up some recent examples, if you’d like.”
“I just don’t feel comfortable lowering my
price.”
Lacey had to grip the arm of her office
chair to keep from smacking her cell phone onto her desk. “Well, the choice is
yours. You don’t want to counter their offer at all?”
The pause on the other end brought Lacey
the faintest glimmer of hope. “I just don’t know. I can’t make any decisions
right now.”
Lacey could hear the anxiety in her voice.
“Is everything all right?”
“I’m just a bit shook up. My duplex was
broken into last week, and I’m trying to switch to a two bedroom apartment in
their main facility now, the one with the front desk and better security. I
think I’d feel safer there. My son told me I was too old to be living on my
own, and I’m starting to see he’s right.”
“Oh, Carolyn. I’m so sorry. Were you
home?”
“No, I wasn’t, thank heaven. And they
didn’t even steal anything, oddly enough. Just made a mess of the place.” She
let out a little laugh. “I guess even my TV is too old for a thief to want.”
“I’m so glad you are all right. If
you’d like, I can explain the situation to the buyer and they might give you a
little more time to think things over.”
“Would you mind? I’m just so focused on
trying to find a different home right now. They might have a vacancy coming up
this week, and I’m on pins and needles.”
“Of course. I’ll contact the buyer’s agent
and see what I can do.”
“Thank you, Lacey.”
Frowning, Lacey clicked off her phone. She
knew Carolyn still wouldn’t counter the offer and was annoyed with herself that
she even offered to buy her some time. Her first waterfront listing was
slipping through her fingers. It was only a matter of weeks before her contract
ran out on the property, and Carolyn’s son would convince his mother to try a
different agent. All the work she put into having the place staged was going to
be a loss.
It was just like Vi always said: Lacey let
people walk all over her.
Well, at least the woman wasn’t avoiding
her. After leaving three unreturned messages, Lacey was starting to wonder. Who
would have guessed her duplex had been broken into? Lacey was all too familiar
with that feeling—first when Maeve’s house was broken into, and then her
own car.
Funny how nothing was missing in those
cases either.
Lacey leaned back in her chair
thoughtfully. Three break-ins and all with nothing stolen?
Hell of a coincidence.
***
Heading to Bess’s doctor’s appointment, Maeve
had the heat on high in the convertible and the top down. It was 55 degrees,
which was balmy compared to last week, and she was going to enjoy this first
hint of spring.
“Aren’t we taking Spa Road, Maeve?”
“No, let’s cut through downtown. You
haven’t been outside in ages. You need a little diversion. And it’s actually
nice out.”
Glancing at Bess as they reached the
stoplight on Main, Maeve smiled seeing her friend relaxed in the car’s heated
seats and enjoying watching people bustle in and out of the historic buildings
that line Main Street. The poor girl really needed to get out more.
A man in a Navy uniform walking
purposefully down the street caught Maeve’s eye. “Is that Mick?”
“Yeah, that’s him. Honk your—wait! Don’t!”
She rested her hand on Maeve’s arm.
“What? Why not?”
“Isn’t that a jewelry shop he just walked
into?”
Maeve shrugged. “Yeah, so?” Realization
washed over her face. “Whoa. You think?”
They exchanged a look as Maeve pulled up
slowly to the window of the store. “Can you see him in there?”
“No. Too many reflections. Wait. I think
that’s him by the last counter. It’s hard to tell.”
“He didn’t see us, did he?”
“I’m sure he didn’t.”
Maeve’s eyes narrowed. “Should we turn
around and take another pass?” she asked as they drove on.
“No. We shouldn’t risk it.”
Reaching another red light on Church
Circle, they sat silently contemplating.
“I wonder why he’s in a jewelry store,”
Bess finally dared to say aloud.
Maeve raised her eyebrows in silent answer.
“Do you really think, Maeve?”
“I don’t know. Maybe he just needed to get
a new watch battery or something. Or that graduation ring he always wears? Maybe
he needed it cleaned.”
“Or maybe he’s looking for something for
Lacey.”
Maeve couldn’t suppress a grin. “Maybe.”
“Maybe even something sparkly for her
finger.”
Warming at the thought, Maeve looked in
the rear view mirror in the direction of the jewelry store. “Maybe.”
“But we don’t know for sure…”
“…so we better not mention anything,”
Maeve finished for her.
“Right. Chances are, it was a watch
battery he was buying. Right?”
Maeve’s phone rang, and she pressed the
speaker button. “Hey, we were just talking about you, Lacey.”
Bess shot her a look.
Maeve clarified. “And wondering if you
need anything at the store. We’re headed there after Bess’s doctor’s
appointment.”
“Actually, I could use some dental floss.”
“Mint, right?”
“Yep.”
“Got it.”
“Are you going into your office at all
today, Maeve?”
“Yep. I have a client coming in at three.”
Lacey paused. “Well, would you mind
bringing home those boxes that I asked you to store?”
“The ones I put in storage? Sure. That
Carolyn woman is finally ready to go through them?”
“No. I don’t think she’s given them a
second thought. Neither did I, till today. I just heard that her duplex in the
retirement village was broken into. But nothing was stolen. Just like my car.”
“And the house,” Bess chimed in.
“So I got to wondering if the three were
linked. And I remembered those boxes. I know this is a stretch and I don’t want
to get all Nancy Drew on you…”
“…or Charlie’s Angels. I think that works
better considering there are three of us,” Maeve interrupted.
“Right. But what if someone is after
something in those boxes?”
“Do you think we should call the police?” Bess
asked.
“I’d hate to hand over her property to the
police on such a long shot. Don’t you think we should take a look first?”
“Agreed,” Maeve said. “I’ll bring them
home tonight.”
***
Sitting on the living room floor
surrounded by boxes, papers, and file folders, Lacey regretted ever calling
Maeve. “This is just
so
not right.”
Reaching to her, Mick squeezed her hand. “You
did the right thing. Three break-ins and nothing stolen? There has to be a
link. The police would agree.”
“Well, maybe we should just call them
rather than go through all this ourselves.”
Maeve raised her eyebrows. “And tell your
client that you handed over her personal papers to the police on a hunch?”
Bess’s nose was buried in a stack of
manila envelopes. “Honestly, Lacey, I don’t know if there’s really a right
thing to do in this case.”
The boxes were filled with exactly what
Lacey expected: bills, legal documents, expired passports, photographs, even
some of her children’s report cards. From the look of it, Lacey didn’t think Carolyn
had touched the boxes in years.
“What’s this?” Jack leaned back into the
sofa looking at some black and white photographs he had pulled from a large
white envelope. He cringed. “Oh. This doesn’t look good.”
Maeve settled into the couch beside him. “Holy
hell. Who is this guy?”
Mick reached for the photos. “Is this Carolyn’s
husband?” he asked, handing Lacey the pile.
The first two were photos of a
construction site in the middle of a city block. She could see two figures
standing on the steps of a brownstone across the street.
The next two photos closed in on the
figures, revealing them in an embrace. The next three were similar, though
obviously taken later from the progress on the construction. The man was the
same, but each one was with a different woman. Several more photos were taken
from a distance through a window, revealing just enough to be able to guess what
was going on behind closed doors.
Lacey shook her head. “It looks nothing
like him from the photos she had on her wall.”
“Well, whoever he is, he’s a hell of a
player.”
Maeve moved to sit next to Lacey. “He
looks familiar, though. Doesn’t he? I just don’t know where from.”
Lacey massaged the knotted up muscles in
her neck. “Okay, so let’s just talk hypothetically here. These photos obviously
might be incriminating to this guy—whoever he is. If he’s married.”
“You said Carolyn’s husband was a
contractor, right?” Mick pointed out. “That would explain why the photos were
taken at a construction site. So let’s say—again, just hypothetical—that
Carolyn’s husband happens to discover that this guy is screwing around on his
wife with multiple women and decides to blackmail him?”
“Then Carolyn’s husband dies, and this
player guy decides he wants to get the photos back.” There was a gleam of intrigue
in Bess’s eyes.
Maeve frowned. “But how would this guy
know to look here or in Lacey’s car?”
“Wait a second.” Standing up, Lacey began
pacing the floor. “Maeve, remember when I had Carolyn’s open house and I had thought
someone had been in the house?”
“But you found out that it was her son,
right?”
“Right. So what if, now that dear daddy is
dead, the son decides he wants to be cashing in on the blackmail deal. So he
tries to find the photos.”
Maeve snapped her fingers. “And his mom
happens to mention that you are storing some of her stuff, so he decides to try
here. Then in Lacey’s car.”
A brief silence fell over the room.
“Well,” Lacey concluded, “I guess it’s
time to call the police.”
Maeve practically purred. “I hope they
send that cute detective again. The one with the green eyes. Mmm…”
Lacey didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.
Sitting in her car, the motor humming, she
stared at the unpleasant stripes of yellow police tape that now blocked the
entries to her first waterfront listing. Her masterpiece. A house that sparkled
under her exacting eye, perfectly staged for sale. She had transformed it from
a dated eyesore into a jewel with the barest minimum of seller budgets.
Now it was considered a possible crime
scene, unable to be sold until the case was closed.
The past days had been tedious. The
interviews with the police investigators. The removal of her client files. Curious
looks from her co-workers. And the worst part of it—the difficult
conversation with Carolyn after the police commenced the investigation.
But Lacey had made the right move, the
detectives assured her. The man in the photograph turned out to be more than
just your average Joe cheating on his wife. He was a Congressman, now retired,
who had allegedly used federal funds to purchase, renovate, and maintain the brownstone
in the photos solely for his personal use as a meeting place for several
affairs, at least one of which was with a paid escort.
The photos Lacey had given to the police
unleashed a maelstrom of questions about the death of Lou Miron. No longer
convinced that his death was due to natural causes, the police had begun an
investigation. His son was in jail without bond for breaking and entering, and
under investigation for the possible murder of his father.
Lacey searched through her purse for her
ringing cell phone, blinking back frustrated tears. She was a real estate agent,
for God’s sake. They didn’t prepare her for this in any of her real estate
courses.
“Hi, Mick,” she answered it dejectedly.
“I thought I’d check on you. Maeve said
you went to the Miron house.”
Lacey sighed. “Yes, I had to take the
contact information off the sign. I’m kind of tired of explaining the situation
to interested buyers.”
“I’ll bet.”
Lacey looked out the window again,
bewildered. “They have police tape all over the house. I had to get permission
from the police to just take down the stupid sign. It’s surreal.”
“I’m so sorry you’re going through this. Just
keep focused on your other clients.”
“You’re right. Frankly, I’m surprised that
I haven’t lost clients over this. I was afraid my name plastered all over that
front page article in the paper would put the final nail in my casket.” No pun
intended, she thought ruefully, remembering how she had acquired this client in
the first place.