DEATH COMES TO AN OPEN HOUSE (14 page)

Jean didn’t respond immediately. Cheap, decent apartments were hard to find.

“I’ll think about it,” she said.

“I would, Jeannie.”

At least, she thought, with no business, I have plenty of time to look.

Kendall Allen arrived, as he had told Ed he would, at eleven. The attorney was elegant, a bit old-fashioned in his obviously expensive double breasted charcoal suit, white shirt and maroon tie. He looked like many of the politicians on TV. His silver hair reminded Jean of Theresa. They would have made a handsome older couple.

“You are Jean Constance Terrence?” He asked.

Jean couldn’t remember when she had last heard her middle name.

“Yes,” she assured him.

“Could we, uh … I believe Mr. Brumm said something about a conference room?”

“Yes, of course.”

Wondering why there was so much fuss, Jean arranged for Hua to take over the duty desk and led the man upstairs. Perhaps he felt this would be upsetting for her. A few days ago, it would have been but, as Rita had surmised, one got over Theresa’s death quickly. It was now finding her body, that vivid picture in her mind, that was upsetting.

Seated on opposite sides of the long table, the attorney opened his impressive black briefcase and took out several papers.

“Ms. Vanderhoff was a very organized lady. She enjoyed reviewing her estate. All is up to date and in order.” His pale, long-fingered hands fluttered over the display. “Now,” he said, bringing out a flat, black box. “A few months ago, we were given this small, it seems to me very appropriate, item to give to you.”

Taking the box, there was an immediate stir of excitement. Theresa had expensive jewelry. Although it would probably be ungrateful, perhaps she could sell or pawn the gift. Money was what mattered right now.

Jean lifted the lid.

It was indeed appropriate. It was a very large gold and black “R” in the usual Realtor’s script inlaid with some dull red stones on a heavy gold chain. It was not Theresa’s style of jewelry, nor was it Jean’s.

“The stones …” she said hopefully, rubies sparkling in her head.

“Garnets.”

The attorney seemed apologetic. He probably knew Theresa always wore precious stones.

“So this is what she left me?”

“Oh, dear me, not
all
.”

The attorney smiled as he shook his head emphatically. “We cannot settle this estate entirely until Mr. Vanderhoff has been located or until the statutory period has passed. However, we can deal with a trust Ms. Vanderhoff has set up for—I hope this isn’t insulting—needy young Realtors. They are to be chosen by a designated group that includes me. As long as the trust provides enough money, each person is to receive fifty thousand dollars.”

A jolt of adrenaline shot through Jean. Could she have misunderstood?

“I must say—” he smiled—“I am happy that her will was recently updated. Previously, the recipients were to be the winners of an essay contest. She seemed pleased to be able to name you as the first.”

“Why didn’t she tell me?”

“Yes.” The attorney dipped his head once, understanding the question. They both knew Theresa liked taking credit for anything she had done. “She planned to have an office party to celebrate your first sale or the annual anniversary of your being licensed and announce the arrangement at that time. She died just before such a party would have been appropriate, I understand.”

That threw some sadness over exploding joy. Either Jean’s first listing or its sale would have provided an excuse. The attorney was still talking. She had missed a few words.

“… are several conditions attached to this bequest.”

More adrenaline, not as good as the first kind, as the man’s smile was replaced by a cautionary look.

“This amount is to assure that you are financially able to remain licensed, at least for a time, in the real estate industry. It is, as she put in her will, “to provide some support while you mature and begin to earn enough to support yourself.”

Jean relaxed a little.
That sounded all right
.
No. That sounded really good!

“You must remain a licensed agent for five years with two distributions of twenty-five thousand per year for the first two years.”

“But what if I can’t make it the third year?”

“She agreed that two years is an adequate attempt. There is no need to repay any of the bequest if you provide the supervisory group with an acceptable reason for relinquishing your license. In any case, I understand that very little activity is required for some brokers to allow you to remain licensed under them. You must also remain unmarried for these two years.” The attorney coughed. “She did not have a high opinion of the institution, I fear.”

He allowed Jean some time to think.

“Do I have to be a full time agent?”

Evidently this was a good question. The attorney smiled approvingly.

“No. There is no such stipulation.”

“So I can go to college?”

After a moment’s hesitation, Mr. Allen said, “I see no reason why not. But there is one more requirement.”

Jean tried to hold her features in place.

“You will be given a plaque, quite attractive, I assure you, of black and gold, identifying you as the recipient of this first award by the trust and displaying the name,
The Theresa Veronica
Vanderhoff
Trust
. This is to be placed prominently in your broker’s real estate office for a minimum of five years. A fine of five hundred dollars will be assessed if it is not in place.”

Jean tried not to smile. This was
so
Theresa!

The attorney returned her smile, apologetically, it seemed.

“This, however,” he added, “is not likely to be severely supervised.”

“That will be very nice,” Jean assured him and the memory of all that Theresa had done for her surfaced. “I’m sure my broker will have no problem with that.”

“You may call me any time with further questions. I am also available for advice as to how to manage this sum with no charge to you.”

Kendall Allen’s gravity was almost too much to accommodate. Jean wanted to jump up and down, maybe let out a scream or two of joy. She couldn’t wait to tell Rita!

There were papers to sign. She was supposed to read them. Instead, she trusted the attorney, who was enjoying explaining the meaning of each one.

It was wonderful, exciting, but also overwhelming. She needed time to adjust to her new wealth. She also needed food. This had taken a long time and she was grateful when at last the man stood up and gave her his card.

“Please don’t get up,” he said. “I can see you have a lot to think about. There is no need to see me downstairs.”

A lot to think about, for sure!

Fifty thousand dollars!

College!

Food!

And then, suddenly, the less happy thought:
motive!

Jean froze halfway out of her chair.

This was why Jack Turok had given her that funny look when she said Theresa’s death would be a financial loss to her! He knew! Did he believe she didn’t? She had motive, access to the weapon and she was right there, where she didn’t need to be! In fact, she was the
only
one with all three of those things!

Jean dropped back into the chair and gripped the papers that had brought her financial independence, happiness and perhaps the end of a life that had just begun.

 
Chapter 24

Waiting for Rita was an emotional torment inhabited by visions of herself sitting in prison, unable to live the life this inheritance offered. When at last her slightly disheveled friend walked through the door, only Ed’s presence in his nearby office prevented her from shouting.

“We need to interview Joshua Evanston and Evelyn!”

Rita received the verbal attack without apparent distress. Rita was raised with verbal attacks.

“Yeah, we were going to do that. Why this sudden anxiety? And why are you still here? It’s way past one o’clock.”

“Kevin didn’t show up for duty and I don’t have a key to your apartment.”

“Got to get you one.”

“No. I’ve got to move out. But, more important, we’ve got to find out for sure who killed Theresa!”

Rita sat down on the couch and raised her eyebrows in invitation.

Jean explained.

“So now I’m
it, the
suspect!” she finished.

Rita was leaning back on the couch, twisting a lock of her hair between two fingers. She didn’t seem at all concerned.

“You were with her all the time,” she mused. “You could have killed her at a better time and not hung around and called the police.”

That sounded good.

“And you’re not in jail.”

That was a big one. Jean took a deep breath. Her shoulders dropped an inch or two.

“Rita, I love you.”

Rita frowned.

“My family doesn’t say things like that. Unless you’re programming sex. But thanks.”

“Still, I am the only one with opportunity and motive. And I had access to the opener, although there’s just no reasonable explanation why I would have used it.”

“Unless, like we said, it’s so crazy it just might be a good defense.”

“Go back to being helpful.”

“Got to be realistic.”

Rita lay down on the couch, sandaled feet propped on one wooden arm, and closed her eyes. Jean tried again.

“Okay, then explain why I would take the opener to take to her open house when I didn’t know I’d write an offer and have an excuse to go there.”

“Don’t use that sentence on the stand. The jurors will never follow it,” Rita advised, deadpan. “And the answer is you were clever again. Weird Harold was there to close up for you. You could have taken off immediately at four just to have a chance to discuss your new experience. Killing her at an open house is smart. Opens the door to tons of suspects who could have walked in and also keeps open the possibility of a connection with the earlier murder. You didn’t know then the other murder was solved. Having an offer to review was an unexpected bonus.” Rita pushed her sandals off with her toes and curled her legs up under her. “Let me think. Timing’s a bit tricky, though. Had to be when you would have expected Kevin to be out collecting signs, which is, now that I think of it, just about the time you did get there.”

“Shit!”

“You’re stealing my vocabulary.”

“Rita!”

“Sorry. Okay, go back to you’re not in jail. Probably two reasons for that. The silver slayer, which you would have been nuts to use. Also they haven’t found Wayne. That’s you’re defense. But you’re right. Better see these two guys while you’re still ‘at large’. I’d like to find out why the police eliminated them. They might have used the letter opener to throw suspicion on us. That’s the only way that thing makes sense.”

“Nice to know my agents are making sense.”

Ed came in from the hallway, followed by Wayne Schumacher. Ed put a hand on one of Wayne’s shoulders and smiled with obvious pleasure. Wayne was dressed almost exactly as the attorney had been. He didn’t look at all like a politician.

“Meet our newest agent. I guess he drank enough scotch to buy my story that the guilty party is definitely not on our current staff.”

Jean and Rita looked at each other, then quickly aimed innocent looks at their broker. Ed may have convinced Wayne it was Joshua Evanston, Evelyn Harding or Harold, but he didn’t know about Jean’s inheritance.

Wayne didn’t hide an approving look at the seductively reclining Rita, but his eyes moved to Jean.

“You ready to go to work, Jean?” he asked.

The word caught in her throat for a split second before it came out.

“Absolutely.”

“We’ll talk soon,” he said as the two men moved toward Ed’s office.

“Ed! Joshua Evanston and Eleanor Harding. They in our files?” Rita asked.

Ed’s eyebrows asked a question, but it wasn’t the right time to get into it.

“Eleanor sold one of our listings. Two thousand two or three. Home phone should be there. I’ve got Joshua’s new number.”

Jean followed the men into Ed’s office, wishing she had on something besides her boring white blouse and navy skirt, as Rita sat on the floor in front of the filing cabinet and began pawing through the bottom drawer.

“Crap! They were big years,” Rita was saying as Jean returned. The phone rang. “Get that, will you?”

Floor duty, no longer a prize in this dead market, was becoming a burden with so few agents. Jean took a message for Hua and put it on her desk.

“I got it!” Rita announced from the floor as she got up awkwardly, pulling down her skimpy skirt.

“But now what?” Jean asked. “Are we just going to drop in and throw questions at them? That won’t work. Need an excuse.”

Rita dropped onto the couch again. There were several minutes of silence before Jean sat up straight.

“That looks like an idea,” Rita said.

“It is! Theresa just died. Lots of people who die—I mean, who are dying—no, I mean who are getting older and thinking of death—want to make up for things, bad—whatever—things they did in their lives. So why couldn’t we pretend she left a list of people she wanted to apologize to? Maybe even take them something.”

“Flowers?”

Rita was partial to sarcasm.

Jean frowned. “That’s not right, is it? Box of candy?”

“Old guy’s probably diabetic.”

That made Jean laugh in spite of her situation.

“Seriously, now. Being diabetic isn’t really funny.”

They laughed again.

“How would we know she owed them an apology?” Jean asked.

“Well, we do know about Joshua. We can tell Eleanor we don’t know what the reason was. Don’t bring it up unless she does.”

“Okay, but we have to have a
thing
that must be delivered. What can we snitch from her desk? Is anything still in her desk? Vivian cleaned out the records they needed to pick up on her people. I think they don’t know what to do with the rest. We need to ask Ed.”

“Wayne’s in there,” Rita countered. “We can’t exactly talk about your precarious position or you’ll lose your new job.”