Apples, Appaloosa and Alibis Page 6

  “Your office’s Kassandra? Is she still seeing Tommy?”

  “What? No. She broke up with my ex-husband months ago. No. Kassandra said she saw on the morning news that there was a dead body over at—you know—Tristan’s place.”

  “Wait, wait. It’s nine a.m. Judging by your mood I assume you just woke up and didn’t have your coffee yet... and the office secretary or whatever her title is, called you to discuss a dead body found at the Dumonts’ residence? Why? I mean, why you?”

  Didn’t see that coming.

  “Oh, you know Kassandra. She likes to gossip. She wants me to watch the news at the office, because I don’t know... she... I...”

  “Spit it out young lady. You what?”

  Mercy me, what now? “Apparently the dead person is an older woman, according to the news people, so Kassandra is—betting.” God, what was I saying? “Huh, guessing that it’s Angelique. Brenda, Brenda, I don’t believe it. Please, don’t tell anybody. This is so confusing. Maybe I should get some coffee.”

  “Good idea. While you do that, I’ll go tell Angelique to get in her car pronto and get to Phoenix to figure out what’s really going on. Possibly before Tristan gets home.”

  “Tristan? Oh, he’s home. I picked him up at the airport. Him and Jessie Smith, don’t know if you remember her. Dropped them off and came home. Okay, coffee is done,” I lied. “Catch you later.” OMG! Why did I call Brenda? What did I start? Well, now I could tell Kassandra that Angelique was down at the ranch, alive and well.

  The next hour was like a fog, I did all I had to do, trying to function normally on three hours’ sleep with so many nefarious thoughts twirling in my head I couldn’t imagine making it through the day without doing something stupid like phoning Tristan.

  By the time I got into the car, I was so depressed I even considered calling Officer Clarke, Brenda’s ‘just friends’ buddy. Luckily before I succumbed to more stupid decisions, I saw his car parked across the street, in front of the widow’s house, and by the dew on the windshield, he hadn’t just come by for morning coffee either.

  Brava, Monica, really good. Kassandra wasn’t the only one with her mind in the gutter. I was right behind her and catching up fast.

  I drove all the way to the office with my sunglasses on looking straight ahead, afraid someone would recognize me. Hello? Recognize me? Such a well-known celebrity I was.

  The only vehicles in the parking lot of Desert Homes Realty were Kassandra’s, Scott’s, and a white Honda with a temporary plate belonging to a woman who transferred her license from another real estate brokerage. Kassandra said she was a social media influencer who’d come highly recommended by Dale Wolf, our soon to be business partner.

  The moment I crossed the threshold some funky smell crawled up my nostrils, and I heard giggles and laughs coming from the kitchen. No one had bothered to see who had just walked into the lobby. What is that thing both Americans and Italians alike say? When the cat's away the mice will play. Time to check out the mice’s status.

  Kassandra wasn’t kidding when she suggested we hole up in the kitchen. Both Kassandra and Scott sat around the small table, he had his boot-clad feet propped up on the back of the only unoccupied chair. A third person who I assumed to be the new hire sat with them—what was her name again? Couldn’t think of it, and since the three of them seemed hypnotized by something on the table, I announced myself in a rather cranky way.

  “What are you all up to? Who ran over a skunk and then stepped on it?” Chaos followed my innocent questions.

  Scott’s feet dropped to the ground with a thud. New hire, holding a glass object that reminded me of the glass tube Brenda’s friends smoked weed from, almost jumped out of her skin. And Kassandra, the keeper of the front door, turned to look at me with crazy eyes. No doubt whatever they had smoked was a contributing factor to their reactions and to the stink.

  Before I could say another word, the new person walked toward me, brandishing the glass thingy as if it were a weapon. “I’m allowed to smoke,” she screeched. “I have a medical marijuana card that says so.”

  For a long moment no one spoke. I looked at the three fools who must have shared the skunky stuff, and before really pausing to think, I said, “Hold on to that worthless piece of paper. It may come in handy to wipe your butt after you get fired.” I turned around and stamped to the back of the office where my personal cubicle awaited.

  I sat there without opening my briefcase or turning on my computer. I had no idea why I acted that way. This wasn’t my house; this was the place where I worked, and I had always tried to be kind to everyone—okay, with the exception of Celine, Sunny’s spoiled brat daughter. One thing I was sure of, while medical pot was legal in Arizona and easy to get, there was no smoking at Desert Homes Realty, of any kind.

  Talk about first impressions... I bet Ms. Medical Marijuana will have no problem remembering me. Although I wasn’t willing to admit it, I had been looking forward to seeing what was happening at the Dumonts’ place through Scott’s tablet. The not knowing was eating me up inside. To clear my mind, I checked for real estate related messages. I had a text from Greg Coste. How did I miss it? It had come in around seven a.m.; he was an early riser. Monica, have a meeting with my banker late morning. As soon as I have all the numbers will contact you, and we can move forward.

  The man was right to the point, all business. I liked that. Not having to guess made my job so much easier.

  It didn’t matter how much I faked it, all I could think about was Tristan and the poor dead woman on the floor. How long had she been there? What a terrible way to die, all alone in a strange house. How had she died—instantly or did she bleed to death? And every time I thought about it, the silver Escalade entered the mental picture.

  I looked up from my phone. Kassandra stood close to my chair. She rested my coffee mug on my desk. “Peace offering, just as you like it. And you were right. Don’t worry, I didn’t inhale.” She winked at me, turned around, and walked back to her desk on her platform. I found myself smiling.

  The agent who specialized in churches walked by me on the way to his desk. He waved. “Morning.” He pinched his nose with two fingers and winked.

  I smiled, nodded knowingly, and waved back. He always looked and acted professional. Voices could be heard up front by Kassandra’s throne as we jokingly called her desk. It sounded like our mailman. In the back room the printer clicked away. To the world it was business as usual.

  I couldn’t stand it. I grabbed my mug and moseyed on up to the front where the action was. The mailman was stacking the legit mail on Kassandra’s desk, magazines and junk mail next to it.

  “Wow,” I said. “That’s a lot of wasted postage.”

  “That wasted postage, as you call it, young lady, is what keeps the USPS in business. With emailing and texting and all that nonsense, no one buys stamps anymore.”

  I nodded. “You know, I never thought about it that way, but you’re right. I agree; I hardly ever get mail anymore, except from my family in Italy. My mom, she’s old fashioned, no email or even a cell phone. Then again, I had no idea agents received mail here at the office.”

  “Of course they do. That’s why each agent has his/her little mail slot,” Kassandra said.

  “I’ve got to get on the road. See you tomorrow, my gorgeous Amazon.” That was the mailman’s nickname for Kassandra who was almost twice his size. He nodded at me and left.

  “I didn’t know about the mail slots, probably because I never get mail and...” Kassandra wasn’t paying attention to me. Her eyes stared above my head, at the front door where the mailman had just left.

  I turned around and found myself face-to-face with half of the Adam and Eve team, as we called them around here, Detective Liz Reid. “Hi, Monica, just the person I wanted to see. Where can we talk?”

  “It depends, talk about what?” I joked, hoping my voice didn’t betray the sudden unexplained fear that came over me.

  “Silvia De Aguilar,�
�� the detective said.

  I could see Kassandra giving me the look. What was she trying to tell me?

  “Silvia who?” I asked.

  Detective Reid didn’t seem fazed. “That’s my question. Can we sit somewhere and talk? Or you can come down to the station. Your call.”

  “How about the kitchen?” I suggested. “How is your partner, Detective Ross, doing?”

  “He’s over at the Dumonts’ residence, working with the forensic squad.” She kept her eyes on me as she spoke, and I knew that she knew. I pointed the way to the kitchen.

  NINE

  WE SAT FACING each other. I was so freaked out about what she might or might not ask, I felt sick. “Can I get you some coffee? Water?” Anything to get out of my chair.

  She shook her head, no smile. I was determined to be calm and pleasant—okay, make that to pretend to be calm.

  The detective shuffled some folders she had brought with her. “You say you don’t know who Silvia De Aguilar is, correct?”

  “No clue, why?”

  Without a word, she plucked a clear plastic envelope from one of her folders, slid it toward me, while keeping her fingers on it. “She knew you.” Ah, that gotcha tone.

  I reached for the envelope. She pulled it back. “Evidence,” said the b***h.

  “What is it? I can’t tell with your hand over it.”

  She lifted her hand then slid the envelope a little closer.

  Nooo. A ripped business card, my business card. The one I had given to the gray-haired woman I met at the Dumont house.

  “Oh, that.” My relief must have been obvious because even in my stressed-to-the-limit state I noticed the disappointment in Liz Reid’s eyes. Her performance wasn’t up to par. Apparently, she did better with a partner. Too bad. I readjusted myself on the chair and waited.

  “Monica, this card is evidence in a murder investigation. Care to explain?” She tapped her fingers on top of the envelope.

  I shrugged. “Some woman showed up at the Dumonts’ house the day I was picking up the mail for Angelique Dumont. She didn’t tell me her name, just insisted on speaking to Mr. Dumont. I handed her my business card and explained I was a Realtor, not related to the Dumonts. The woman ripped my card in two right in front of me and scribbled on the half she handed back. Then she turned around and was walking down the driveway before I could say boo. The end. I had no clue about her name. So, is she the Silvia De Aguilar you asked me about?”

  “Was.” She had a little frown above her nose, right between her eyes as she spoke. Reminded me of a large owl I once saw sitting on the roof of a porch at a house by the mountain preserve.

  “Wait, is she the dead woman at the Dumonts’ house?” I didn’t like the glee in her eyes, I quickly added, “Kassandra told me. She said it was on the news.”

  “What did you do with the other half of the business card?” Apparently she was here to ask questions, not to provide answers.

  “Oh, that. I think it’s in one of my purses,” I lied, I only had one good purse.

  “I’m going to need that. Now. Do you want to check your purse? Should we drive to your house? What did it say on the card?” Her adrenaline must have been pumping at full speed. I think even her cheek gained some rosy color. I got up.

  “Where are you going?” She stood.

  “To check my purse.” Calling her a b***h had been an understatement.

  I headed toward my cubicle with Detective Reid on my heels.

  I couldn’t believe how calm I felt. Any minute now I’d be coming unglued. If only Tristan had called and put me up to date. To date about what?

  I picked up my purse from under the chair and sat it on my tiny desk.

  “You store your purse with your personal belongings under a chair?” Ah, the disapproval in the detective’s voice.

  “Yes, Mommy Dearest.” I couldn’t help it.

  If looks could kill. And the little frown between her eyes deepened. How come I had never noticed that before? Probably because it was my first time alone with her, and hopefully my last. Ms. Reid wasn’t fun at all. I sensed the little wheels churning in her brain as if that would get me to dig in the purse a little faster... ah. Then I remembered—it was in my wallet, because I had planned on giving it to Tristan at the airport. I pulled it out.

  The detective snatched it from my fingers before I had a chance to say a word.

  She laid my half next to the one in the envelope, on top of the plastic cover, sliding the edges as close as possible. It was an obvious match. Only then did she actually turn the card over, carefully, with the tips of her fingers. She looked at the card with the scribbled phone number and the message then looked at me. Did that a few times. Finally she pulled out a new, empty plastic envelope and slid my half of the card inside. Both envelopes disappeared into the folder. She gifted me another long look.

  “Thanks, for now. I must get back to the office, but we will need to talk to you about this.” We, I assumed included Ryan Ross, her partner. I still liked Adam and Eve better.

  I put my wallet back in my purse and was going to walk over to Kassandra’s desk when—bam—Detective Liz Reid was back. “By the way, do you remember what day it was when you met Silvia De Aguilar at the Dumonts’ residence?”

  “Huh, Tuesday? Yeah, it had to be Tuesday because Wednesday I was at the office in the morning, it was my turn to take calls—”

  “This past Tuesday?” she rudely interrupted me.

  I nodded and once again she took off like the building was on fire. What a stupid woman. She never asked me if I spoke to Angelique or Tristan about it. She would, at some point, when she remembered she’s a detective. Well, not my problem. I went to talk to Kassandra.

  By now, Scott and his tablet had left the building, and something nagged me to no end—something called guilt, one of my specialties, guilt for not giving the ripped business card to Tristan. No excuses. It was meant for him. And I would have if not for Jessie’s impromptu appearance. Now it was too late, and the stranger, the poor woman named Silvia, was dead. Whatever she needed to say to Tristan regarding his father, she took with her.

  I watched Kassandra on the phone; she looked—excited? When she noticed me she gave me a thumb up. Huh? She didn’t say who it was, just motioned me to answer the phone, not my cell, the office landline. All the rolling of eyes I gave her didn’t help. I rushed back to my cubicle, my heart thumping to the beat of Tristan, Tristan, Tristan. I picked up the phone and... Greg Coste’s sexy voice said, “Good morning, Monica, are we ready to put together an offer?”

  “I am if you are,” I said, forcing myself to delete my cry for Tristan and grabbed my pen and notepad instead.

  Mr. Coste—call me Greg-—had done his homework and knew exactly what he wanted to offer, but being practical, had left room for negotiations. Thanks to our computers we would complete the paperwork with the help of digital signatures. Even so, with a ten-page contract and about five other minor but equally important documents to complete, I told him I would be sending over the ready-to-sign package in about an hour. What I didn’t tell him was that I had never done all this by myself. Either Kay Lewis or Sunny were there to assist me with every previous contract I worked on. Today I was all alone. Fingers crossed.

  In a way it was a blessing. It would keep me from obsessing over Tristan and Detective Reid. I fully expected the detective to show up or call me and order me to her office... or else. She would, just as soon as she figured out she had never asked me who I had told about the ripped business card. But for now... my time and my brain were at Mr. Coste’s service.

  Working was good for me. I had to stay focused so as not to screw up the contract. Lucky for me, Greg Coste had emailed a copy of his bank letter showing his available funds, so I had his legal name with the correct spelling and middle initial as well as his mailing address. However, I only typed with two fingers, sort of an inside joke around the office. Lunchtime came and went, and I was still filling in information with dilig
ence and determination. I saved every page I completed and eventually was ready to send everything in one file.

  The powers above smiled at me because just before I hit send, Kay Lewis approached my desk. She was back from the big merger meeting. “Hi, Monica, you look tired. Everything okay?”

  First I hugged her, and then I asked her to please check my contract. She led me to her closet-size private office that always looked like a page from House Beautiful and I waited. I had missed two spots: the mark about the right to an inspection and the one about Mr. Coste refusing a home warranty. All in all, she was happy with my work, and if Kay was happy, I was elated. Sort of like getting a gold seal of approval, whatever that is. Everyone talked about it, but I had never seen one on anyone’s desk.

  “I heard about that awful thing at the Dumonts’ place,” Kay said.

  “You did? So what are they saying? I’ve been working on this most of the day and haven’t had a chance to watch the news at all. I only know what Kassandra said this morning.”

  “Oh, you poor thing. It was all the talk at the meeting we had with the lawyers. I’m not sure what the connection with the Dumonts is when it comes to Dale Wolf, but he was actually the first one who brought it up.”

  “Dale Wolf? I had no idea he knew Tristan or Angelique.”

  “He doesn’t. His partner went to college with Tristan.”

  “Oh.” What else could I say? Suddenly everybody in town went to college with Tristan. So what? They posted about the dead woman on some University of Arizona newsletter?

  “You okay, Monica? You have a strange look in your eyes.”

  “Yeah, sorry. Working on this contract for hours, I forgot to eat and everything.”

  “The contract is fine; you’ll need a cover letter for the listing agent. You want me to help with that?”

  I shook my head. “No, it’s okay. I have been in contact with him. He is expecting the contract. I’m going to send it on as soon as I collect the signatures from my buyer. Thank you so much. I owe you as usual.”