Looming Murder (19 page)

J
e
nny helped me take the cups to the kitchen. She set them in the sink and turned on the tap. Suddenly I remembered the second page of the list. “Where’s that list of investors? I’d like to take a look at it again.”

“You left it on the desk. I’ll get it for you.”

She disappeared down the hall and returned a moment later, brandishing the list. “Got it.” She handed it to me. And then, peering over my shoulder, she said, “Well, well. Will you look at who we have here?” She pointed to a name—D. Symons. “Do you know who this is?”

“Not a clue. Don’t forget, I’m still new in town.”

“D. Symons is none other than Dolores Hanson. Symons is her maiden name.”

My mouth dropped open. “Dolores Hanson is D. Symons? You’re kidding.”

“No joke.”

“Just between you and me, something tells me the person Susan suspects is Dolores. She thinks she and Jeremy were involved. Mind you, Matthew is convinced Dolores didn’t kill her husband. It turns out she has even more money than he did.”

“Money isn’t always the only motive.” She sat across from me, worry lines appearing between her eyebrows. “If Susan plans to confront Dolores, she’d better be careful.”

“You’re really concerned for her, aren’t you?”

She nodded, tears suddenly swimming in her eyes. “She thought my warning was all in good fun. If something happens to her, I, I—” She shook her head, at a loss for words. “I’m beginning to feel like Typhoid Mary. Everyone I go near gets killed. Maybe I should stop giving readings.”

“Hey, I’m still alive.” I grinned, and then more seriously, I added, “Don’t be silly. It’s not as if you’re causing anything to happen.” I was tempted to reason with her that all these premonitions of hers were—certainly in most cases—nothing more than hindsight. The perfect example was when I called her from the hospital. It was obvious that her “bad feeling” appeared the moment she saw where the call was from. And in Susan’s case, anybody with half a brain would be at least somewhat concerned when she announced that she knew the identity of a killer. Even I had been—until I realized she was just trying to make herself important. “Look at it this way. What you’re doing is warning people. If they took your advice instead of dismissing it, you might have saved them.”

She nodded, the frown lines on her forehead softening. “Thank you for saying that. But I’d feel better if I’d been more insistent with Jeremy.”

I glanced at her, puzzled. “What are you talking about?”

“I gave Jeremy a reading last week and I warned him that someone was wishing him harm.”

“Are you telling me that you predicted both Greg Hanson’s and Jeremy Fox’s deaths?”

“Not
predicted
, exactly. I saw danger around them—
grave
danger.”

“Are you serious?”

She nodded miserably.

I thought for a second. “Of course somebody was wishing him harm. The man had conned half the town. It’s not as if giving him a reading caused his death, Jenny.”

“I know you think I’m bonkers.” She shrugged. “I shouldn’t have told you. I just needed to get it off my chest.”

“It’s okay,” I said weakly. “But I still think you’re making yourself miserable for something you had nothing to do with.”

“You’re right, of course.”

“If you’re really worried about Susan, maybe you should tell Mike. He
is
a cop, after all. Maybe he can keep an eye on her.”

Jenny cupped her chin in her hands, nodding pensively. “You call him. Mike won’t talk to me. Besides, even when we were together, he never took my feelings seriously.”

Talking to Mike Davis was just about the last thing I wanted to do—but what the heck. It wouldn’t hurt me, and it might help Susan. “I can do that.” I picked up the phone.

Jenny recited the number and I punched it in. A moment later I had her ex on the line.

“You’re saying that Susan Wood knows who killed Jeremy Fox?” He sounded exactly the way I’d expected him to—skeptical. “Did she give you the name of this person?”

“No. She said she didn’t want to get anybody in trouble in case she was wrong, but that she’d have proof tomorrow tonight. She sounded really sure of herself.”

I heard the derision in his voice. “Ri-i-ight. Do you have any idea how many people have called to report that they know who killed Fox? I get at least one call an hour.”

“But this is different. Susan worked with Jeremy. She knows everybody who invested in his company. She even knows everyone he was involved with romantically. I’m worried about her. If she confronts the killer—which I’m sure she’s planning to do—and he’s killed once, he won’t hesitate to kill her.”

He sounded sarcastically. “Maybe you should work for the police, Miss Wright.” Or maybe I should hire Susan Wood to head the investigation.”

Mike Davis was seriously getting on my nerves. “I’m sorry I bothered you.” I knew I was being snarky, but I was beyond caring. “I was under the impression the police welcomed information from concerned citizens. I must have been wrong. Don’t worry. I won’t take up any more of your precious time.” I dropped the phone into its cradle.

Jenny stared at me, her face drained of blood. “He didn’t believe you, did he?”

I shook my head, scowling. “I guess I didn’t do a very good job of convincing him.”

“It’s not you. Mike was always like that. He’s a good police officer, but he never once considered my opinion, and whenever I turned out to be right—which was more often than not—it irritated him. In time, I learned to keep my mouth shut.” She shrugged apologetically. “I guess our marriage wasn’t quite as perfect as I like to remember it.”

I smiled. “Congratulations. I think you just took the first step toward getting over him.”

She grimaced. “I still have a long way to go.”

J
e
nny glanced at her watch. “It’s five forty-five already. I have to get going. Do you want to take a look at Jeremy’s condo project? It’s only minutes away, on Mountain View Road, but I never go that way. I wouldn’t mind taking a look at it myself.”

I jumped at the chance. “And if you don’t mind, could you drop me off at Marnie’s on the way back? She asked me to come by after work.”

“No problem,” she said, picking up her car keys and her bag. Luckily she didn’t ask me why Marnie had invited me over, which meant I didn’t have to make up a story. I still couldn’t bring myself to tell anyone about her gun.

Jenny clicked her seat belt in place and we took off. For a city girl used to driving half an hour just to get from downtown to the city outskirts, it never ceased to surprise me just how close everything was in Briar Hollow. One could drive clear across town, from one end to the other, in no more than three minutes.

This time Jenny drove north along King Street, a direction I had never taken. Minutes later we pulled up in front of a long trailer with a sign reading
SHOWROOM AND SALES OFFICES TO NORTH CAROLINA’S MOST EXCLUSIVE LUXURY DEVELOPMENT
. In smaller letters it read,
17 OF 60 UNITS SOLD
.

I couldn’t see anything elegant or impressive about it. In fact, it was quite the opposite. The trailer stood at one end of the property jacked up on cinder blocks. Behind it lay a large, rocky expanse of land with the mountains rising in the background.

“It’s not very impressive, is it?” I said, as she pulled to a stop next to the trailer.

We sat in the car, taking it in for a few minutes. I tried to visualize a modern building with beautiful landscaping, but the spot seemed all wrong for that kind of project. Sure, Briar Hollow attracted tourists, but these were people who worked in the city. They flocked to Briar Hollow and rented quaint cabins and cottages to get away from their stressful lives. The last thing they’d want would be to purchase city-type condos out here. A sixty-unit building was an awfully large project for a small town. Most of the locals were middle-class people and couldn’t afford luxury condos. I turned to Jenny. “Who did Jeremy think would buy his condos?”

“I think the project was a con right from the start. That’s the only explanation that makes sense,” she said.

“It certainly looks that way.”

She climbed out of the car and walked around to the passenger side. She opened the door and handed me my crutches from the backseat. I hurried after her.

“I can’t tell where the plot of land begins or ends,” I said. Swinging from my crutches, I kicked at a lump of dry soil with my good foot and lost my balance.

“Careful there,” said Jenny, grabbing my arm and steadying me. “Let’s go back. This isn’t the kind of terrain you should be walking around on.”

I followed her to her car and climbed in. “Isn’t it scary how a good salesperson can sell just about anything? Jeremy put up a billboard, printed a few floor plans and people fell for it,” I said as she put the car in gear.

She nodded. “Thank goodness Susan leaked the environmental report or even more people would have lost money.”

A few minutes later we pulled up in front of a bright pink house with white trim and black shutters. Along the front grew a wild medley of colorful flowers.

I chuckled. Marnie’s house suited her to a T.

“Need help?” said Jenny as I climbed out of the car. But I was already scooping my crutches from the backseat.

“I’m good,” I called out. “Thanks for the ride.”

She took off with a wave, and I made my way up the path to the front door. It swung open just as I reached for the bell.

“There you are. I was worried you wouldn’t show up.” Marnie threw her arms around me in a bear hug. “I’m so glad you’re here. I wouldn’t have the nerve to bring up my missing gun all on my own.” She took a step back. “Come in. Come in.”

I crossed the threshold and stopped. My eyes darted around, jumping from one outrageous piece of furniture to another. In the middle of the room was a sofa shaped like a pair of giant red lips. On either side were Hawaiian hula-dancer lamps. In a far corner was a plastic palm tree with a stuffed toy monkey clinging to its trunk. Across the room was a penny arcade fortune-telling machine—a gypsy looking into a crystal ball. I walked over for a closer look.

“Oh, this is incredible. Jenny would love this.”

“Everybody loves it. Can I get you a cup of coffee?” she asked. “And I just made some lovely chocolate cake. Would you like a piece?”

I didn’t need any arm twisting. She disappeared into the kitchen and I settled on the lips sofa, still looking around. By the window I noticed a birdcage with a stuffed parrot. Next to it was a Victorian porcelain doll with a cracked face. This place was like a museum of oddities. It suited its owner perfectly.

I stifled a giggle just as Marnie reappeared.

She set the tray on the coffee table and poured. “Mercedes should be here any second,” she said, handing me a generous piece of cake. “How do you think I should approach the subject?”

Before I could answer, the doorbell rang and she jumped up and rushed over. “Come on in, Mercedes,” she said, opening the door. “I just made some cake. Would you like a piece?”

Mercedes appeared, dressed in black as usual, but today she wore safety-pin earrings instead of her usual skull and crossbones. “Oh, hi,” she said, seeing me.

Marnie disappeared into the kitchen and returned with another piece of cake. “Here you go.” She handed it to the girl. “I’ll go get my blankets. In the meantime, maybe you want to take a look at this.” She pointed to a stack of weaving magazines on the coffee table. “Feel free to borrow a couple if you like.”

Mercedes took a seat next to me. She put down the cake and picked up a magazine. She flipped through pages, pausing at some of the pictures. “Do you know how to do all of these?”

“I do. It’s not nearly as complicated as it looks. As long as you know how to read a pattern, you can do just about anything.”

“I guess I need to practice.”

“Yes, it’s all about practice. If you like, I can give you a private lesson—no charge. Do you want to come over one evening?”

“Really? You mean it?”

Marnie reappeared, carrying a stack of folded blankets. “Here they are,” she said, unfolding them on one of the armchairs.

I ran a finger along the length of the top blanket. The tension was impeccable, tight and even. “Oh, Marnie, these are beautiful.”

Next to me Mercedes stared, mesmerized. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything so pretty.”

Marnie’s blankets, like mine, were assembled from strips, but she had woven each strip in stripes or checks. The effect was gorgeous.

She smiled. “I’m glad you like them.”

She settled in the armchair across from Mercedes and took a sip of coffee. Then she put her cup down and furrowed her brow, searching for the right words. “Mercedes, there’s something I want to ask you. Would you happen to still have the key I gave you a couple of years ago?”

Mercedes took a bite of cake and answered with her mouth full. “Do you want it back?”

“Er, well, yes. But there’s something else I want to ask you.”

The girl’s eyes darted from me to Marnie and back again, looking trapped. “What?”

“I used to keep a gun in the back of my bedroom closet. I went to look for it yesterday, and it’s no longer there. Would you happen to know where it is?”

Mercedes’s blush crept up her neck to the top of her head. Her pleasant expression of a moment ago disappeared. She put her plate down with a clatter and jumped to her feet, looking guilty, and then angry. “You think I have it?” she yelled. Before Marnie or I could react, she bolted to the door and flung it open. “For your information, I don’t have your stupid gun.”

“Wait,” Marnie called, looking contrite. “Stop. I just—” But she was already gone.

Marnie walked over to the door and closed it with a sigh. “That went rather well, wouldn’t you say?”

I
stepped into the house and Winston came galloping in from the kitchen, throwing himself at me, almost knocking me over. I should have seen that one coming.

“Whoa, there, big boy!” Luckily, he backed away. “Are you all by yourself?” I asked, following him into the kitchen, where Matthew was settled at the table, typing away on his laptop.

“Hey, look at you!” I exclaimed. “You started your book. That’s great.” I leaned my crutches against the wall, pulled out a chair and sat. “You’ll never believe what I just found out.”

Without taking his eyes off his screen, he put up a hand. “Can it wait? I’m on a roll and I’d like to keep going.”

“Oh, of course,” I said, already getting up.

He paused and looked at me. “Just give me half an hour. I’ve given myself a goal of a thousand words a day and I don’t want to take a break until I’m done. It won’t be long. I’m almost there.”

“Of course—take all the time you need.” I hobbled over to the studio and settled at my loom. I’d been surprised that Marnie had already completed three blankets, when I was only halfway through my second one. I set to work with a vengeance, and suddenly Matthew appeared, standing next to me. I’d been so concentrated on my work I hadn’t heard him come in.

“Are you all done with your writing for the day?”

He grinned. “I did almost double what I was aiming for.” He looked down at the yards of woven fabric wound tightly onto the cloth beam. “And it looks like you’re doing well too.”

“This is the last piece I need to complete my second baby blanket.”

“If you need a break, I’ve got dinner ready and waiting.”

At the mention of dinner, my stomach rumbled. “Coming,” I said, putting away my shuttle.

I hurried to the kitchen, where—to my surprise—I found soup was simmering on the stove. I spotted an empty can of Campbell’s vegetable soup on the counter and stifled a laugh.

I turned and noticed that the table was set for two, with a plate of crackers and cheese. “Not quite the dinner I expected, but it’s sweet of you all the same.”

“I know I promised you ribs tonight, but I forgot to do the shopping. Time flies when I’m writing. Tomorrow,” he said. “I promise.”

“Don’t worry about it. I’m not all that hungry.” That wasn’t quite true. The smell of the soup had awakened my appetite. I was famished.

He took bowls from the cupboard and set them on the counter. “I’ve come up with a plan,” he said, ladling soup into the bowls. “Tell me if you like it.”

“Sure.” I leaned my crutches against the wall and sat.

“I think the kitchen might not be the best place for me to work,” he said, setting a steaming bowl of soup in front of me. “At least not until your shop opens in the afternoon. So here’s what I propose. Mornings, I can write at the desk in the front room, and you won’t have to tiptoe around me when you’re in the kitchen. And if I haven’t finished my writing for the day by one o’clock, I’ll come and work at the table. What do you think?” He picked up his bowl and filled it.

His solution was logical, but I was filled with guilt. “This is your house, and here you are, trying to stay out of my way. It’s not fair.”

“Don’t worry about it. I don’t mind.” Seeing the look on my face, he added, “I mean it.”

“I guess if you’re okay with it, but only until I can come up with a better solution. Speaking of which, David is coming over in a while to present the counteroffer.”

“You got a counteroffer? That’s great.” He picked up a few crackers and crumbled them into his soup.

“I don’t know what’s so great about it. The offer I made was already the absolute best I could do. I can’t offer a penny more.” I finished my soup and stared at the bottom of my bowl. I glanced at him. He was gazing at his empty bowl too, looking even hungrier than I was.

He smiled ruefully. “I guess I should have made more food.”

“Leave it to me.” I pushed back my chair, opened the refrigerator and shuffled through the contents until I found some smoked turkey, a bottle of Dijon mustard and some more cheese. I popped bread into the toaster and said, “How about a smoked turkey sandwich?”

Matthew’s smile was triumphant. He tilted his chair back, hands clasped behind his head. “I knew you’d come through. You’re the best, kiddo.”

“You rat.” I wagged a finger at him, laughing. “You played me, didn’t you? You knew I’d take pity on you. You totally took advantage of my good nature.”

His smile became suggestive. “Sweetheart, if I took advantage of you, it wouldn’t be for a turkey sandwich.”

I swung around and faced the counter before he could see me blush. I busied myself buttering the bread and assembling the sandwiches, set them on a plate, and plopped them on the table. “Consider yourself lucky there’s no arsenic in them.”

He burst out laughing. “And that, my dear, proves a point. Women poison. Men stab and shoot.”

•   •   •

Seconds later David arrived, brandishing the papers like a trophy. “Wait till you hear this counteroffer. You won’t believe it.” He handed me one copy and another to Matthew.

Judging from the satisfied smile on his face, he expected to close a sale today. I was not so sure. He sat down across from me, grinning.

I raised my brows. “I can’t see how I can do any better than what I already offered.” I picked up the offer, already prepared to reject it. The first thing I saw was the strike through the words “offer for a lease-to-rent” at the top, and handwritten over it, “offer to purchase.”

I groaned. “Oh, for God’s sake, David. We’ve already been over this. I can’t afford to buy. I don’t have the money for a down payment.”

Sitting next to me and leaning in so he could read along with me, Matthew was riveted on the offer. “Keep reading, Della.”

I focused on the document, flipping pages until I got to the third one. My eyes widened. “Does this mean what I think it means?” I pointed to a section that was crossed out and above it was handwritten, “seller agrees to provide a first mortgage.”

David’s grin stretched wider. “What it means is that he’s willing to finance the purchase. He’ll lend you the money himself.”

I frowned. “You’re telling me that the seller will hold the mortgage on his own building. That hardly makes sense.”

“It’s not unusual, especially in commercial real estate.”

I looked down at the document again. “But I still don’t have the down payment.”

All he said was, “Keep reading.”

My eyes fell on the next line. “He’s asking only twelve percent as a down payment? That’s— that’s—” I calculated quickly.

David nodded vehemently. “Not a lot. I know.”

“It might not be much to you, but it’s still a lot to me.” I set the offer down. “But, why does he want to get rid of the building so badly? Is there something I should know?”

“Of course not.”

“Then—I don’t get it—why?”

“Don’t forget he already sold the building once, which means he got a down payment from that buyer—a down payment that he kept when the buyer defaulted. So he’s already made some money on the building. He’s been trying to sell it for nearly two years and is probably fed up with it sitting there. Also”—he smiled wickedly—“the police contacted him and told him about the murder. When he and I talked later, I told him the truth: He might not get another offer for a long time.”

I’d need—I calculated quickly—almost exactly the amount I had in my Roth IRA. “I’d have to cash in my retirement fund.” That I would even consider that possibility shocked me.

“I don’t know your financial situation, but in this case maybe cashing in would be the smart thing to do. Think of this building as your retirement plan. Once it’s paid off, it will bring in good income.” He paused. “What do you think?’

I was still trying to get my head around the idea of cleaning out all my savings. “I—I don’t know.”

Matthew, who had been keeping uncharacteristically quiet until then, spoke up. “You’d be crazy to pass this up, all the more now that the seller is willing to provide the financing.”

David rose, shrugging. “Think about it overnight. But whatever you decide, let me know by three o’clock tomorrow. That’s the deadline for the sign back.”

I nodded slowly. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I think you’re right. This is a deal I can’t pass up.”

David beamed. “It sure is. And I’m not saying this because of the nice fat commission I’ll be getting.”

Matthew smiled. “I’m sure you wouldn’t sneeze at it either.”

“It’ll make up for the slow year I’ve been having.” He rose and headed for the door, calling over his shoulder, “Give me a call whatever you decide.”

•   •   •

Matthew followed him to the front and reappeared a moment later. “Why do you want to think it over? I know how much you want that space for your shop.”

I knew he was right, but I was still unsure. “I have until three o’clock tomorrow.” I struggled with my fear quietly for a moment. “It’s such a big commitment. I just want to sleep on it.”

“I understand,” said Matthew in a tone that said he didn’t understand at all.

I clambered to my feet, and made it all the way to the stairs, when, all at once I decided. I returned to the kitchen, grabbed the phone and punched in a number.

Matthew looked at me, puzzled. “What are you doing?”

I smiled coyly. The phone rang once, then twice, and then somebody picked up. “Hello?”

I looked at Matthew and winked. “Hi, David. I changed my mind. If you want to come back, I’ll sign right away.”

Matthew whooped, and Winston, who had been snoozing again, jumped up, startled.

“Sorry, buddy. Daddy just got excited,” I said, hobbling over to pet him. I set the phone back down, laughing.

“That’s because Mommy just took Daddy’s advice,” added Matthew.

I looked at him, stunned. If I was Mommy and he was Daddy, that made us a couple, didn’t it?

And then, almost as if Matthew knew what I was thinking, he blushed. “If you don’t need me, I think I’ll let you and David get your business done. I’ll just go upstairs and do a bit of writing.” He grabbed his laptop and hurried out of the room.