DEATH COMES TO AN OPEN HOUSE (19 page)

Jean still didn’t say anything. Why were people always telling her she knew things she didn’t?

“I would never even think of killing Theresa. I don’t think that way. She wouldn’t turn me in, for one thing. She was enjoying her feeling of superiority too much. And Jean …” There was a compelling intensity in Rita’s voice. “Nobody pays for my mistakes but me. What I did was wrong and stupid. I deserved Theresa’s treatment. And you know that if you were arrested, I’d tell the police myself. Then they’d have to pick between us. We’d sort of be a defense for each other. Two good suspects are much worse than one. That’s why I wasn’t so worried about you.”

It took a few moments for Jean to digest those words and then relief began to seep its way into tense muscles. The words were absolutely right and true.

“Jean?”

The silence had gone on too long.

“Jean? Are you crying?”

“Kinda. Didn’t sleep much last night. Listen.” Jean was trying to talk, but her voice wouldn’t cooperate. She took a few deep breaths. “I believe you. I really do. And I need you to be my friend.”

“You sure you’re okay with that?”

“Yeah. I’m sure.”

“Sweet Jesus! I think I’m going to cry, too. Thanks, Jeannie. Shit! I
am
crying. I didn’t sleep last night, either. We can use the same excuse.”

They cried together a little longer and then they laughed at themselves and said they would see each other at the office and then hung up. The phone once again was on the end table, but the warmth of the connection remained.

 
Chapter 32

The group at the sales meeting Tuesday morning was radically different from the familiar one of two weeks ago. Theresa, Harold, Marian and Rita were all missing, half their staff. Jean understood Rita’s absence. She was having trouble sleeping, too, but missing this first meeting with Wayne wasn’t an option. Stan seemed to have a similar problem, his elbows on his desk, his head held up with his palms, possibly awake. Hua was there, now their financial cornerstone, and Kevin, sitting at the end of her desk. Hua was now his only small source of income from this office. Perhaps he had nowhere else to go. Four family members missing but three new ones. Vivian had claimed Theresa’s expensive chair. Ed was looking good and there was a new bounce in his voice as he introduced the truncated staff to Wayne Schumacher and Earl Thomas and asked them to explain their proposed functions.

Wayne bestowed on them what Jean now recognized as a professionally warm smile. His voice was professional, too, relaxed and confident. It was clear the two men hadn’t bought their suits at the same shop. Wayne was in what had to be tailor-made navy with a pale blue shirt and a gold tie that matched his hair. The other man stood back slightly. His skin was that deep black that almost seemed to have a touch of blue, small, rounded features and hair buzzed almost to extinction. His suit was a light-weight pale gray that made Jean think of her own. Definitely polyester.

“Business is slow,” Wayne began. “A few months ago, I looked at the market, the low prices of houses and decided to give up on the sales end and start a real estate investment trust, an REIT.”

There were no blank looks. Word had gotten around the office.

“I’m looking for modest, easy care homes, bargains. Nothing fancy, small yards. Condos are good. Your listings will be of prime interest, of course, as I will earn a sales commission. Jean will be scouting for appropriate properties, answering the phone and keeping records while I’m out making my pitch and deciding on purchases. Earl here is starting up a business as a free-lance mortgage broker. People—but I’ll let him tell you himself.”

Wayne turned to the man behind him, who stepped forward, ducked his head once in acknowledgment and offered a half-smile that announced a less dominant personality.

“A lot of people are refinancing now that rates are down,” he said in a voice made for lullabies. “It’s a huge market so, like Wayne here, I’m going to try to take advantage of this economic climate. I know my stuff, was at
Johnson & Evans
for ten years. Of course, I would appreciate your sending any of your buyers to me, but I don’t want you to feel you have to. I’ll be dealing with a number of mortgage sources, so I have a good variety of products to offer. I’m here because it’s a fine location and because Wayne is going to use me for all his purchases. I’m of course hoping your customers will be more comfortable dealing with a person and a place that’s familiar.”

“Ve-e-e-e-ry nice!” Hua interrupted. “Very nice for
me!
No like drive. I stay here, get mortgages from you! Good have more black face. My
yellow
face!” Hua made a circle around her broad face with one finger.”

Ed stepped in to explain arrangements.

“Earl’s business is entirely separate. He’ll rent what’s now our storage room upstairs. I’m Wayne’s broker of record, but Wayne is a hundred percenter. I keep none of his sales commissions and he’ll pay rent for his space and our services like answering calls. Gives us a nice, steady income. They’re redecorating and furnishing their own offices, will use desks in this room meanwhile. They’ll need the conference room occasionally so when they’re done, we’ll redo that.”

“We have-a no conference room? My people, they need that room.”

Why they needed it was obvious to anyone who worked with Chinese.

Ed’s response was cheerful.

“Won’t take long, Hua. And Wayne won’t need it much. This arrangement gives us a steady income so we can redecorate down here when we’re done upstairs. About time. Awkward for you for a while. Meet your people in their homes, use restaurants, hotel lobbies, whatever, whenever possible. We’ve all done that before for convenience. Should be able to manage in this slow market. If there are no questions …”

When there was no response, Ed gestured to indicate that the two men could sit. “There are some other changes.”

Even with three new additions, Ed spoke to only seven people. Nevertheless, he looked and sounded thoroughly happy. He wasn’t leaning against the computer table as usual, but was standing tall, shoulders back.

“Harold won’t be back. Get me if he shows up. Took his office key. Board’s been notified he’s no longer associated with this office.” A slight pause for emphasis. “Marian has decided to take a little time off.”

Surprised responses made it clear that word hadn’t gotten around. Even Stan lifted his head.

“Too bad,” he said. “She was a nice ornament.”

Ed frowned. Stan didn’t know that it was an especially inappropriate thing to say under the circumstances.

“Already one new agent.” Ed’s smile grew. “Vivian has decided real estate is less taxing at her age than teaching ice skating.”

Ed went on talking, but Jean’s attention locked onto the face under the wavy blonde hair and stayed there until her daydreams were interrupted by the realization that most of the agents were getting up. The meeting was over.

 
Chapter 33

The tall, unadorned building that housed Jean’s apartment in Gaithersburg wasn’t shabby, but it was clearly several steps down from Rita’s. Jean wasn’t particularly glad to arrive home and there was nothing to do. The wash was finished yesterday, the place was clean, but a book with lunch was always enjoyable and Jean still needed some time to sort out her feelings and take a nap. It had been a bad night. The inheritance, Wayne, the job, were wonderful. Rita’s offer to admit being a second viable suspect even better. All in all, she should have been reasonably happy, but Theresa kept breaking into her thoughts like commercials into a television show and her father’s death had taught her that life was not predictable. Since then, it seemed that her happiness was always stained by a small trace of fear of what might happen tomorrow or next week.

That fear took form as Jean entered the building. Harold was sitting on the third step of the stairs, dressed in one of his many seemingly identical suits, almost filling the width of the stairway, looking like a brown balloon man with a white shirt wedge at his neck and gleaming white teeth. Jean wasn’t sure why she didn’t run back to her car. It didn’t seem a safe thing to do.

“You must have gone out early,” Harold said melodiously.

“Uh, yes. I did. It’s Tuesday. Sales meeting.”

The banister tipped a little as Harold pulled himself up. “Of course. I couldn’t come to the office. Ed made that clear. And you haven’t been answering your phone. Unusual these days not to have an answering machine.”

It seemed odd there was no indication of resentment in any of these statements.

Jean didn’t want to explain that her answering machine had died and she didn’t have the money for a new one. She didn’t want to explain anything to Harold.

“What is it, Harold?”

“I wanted to see you. I thought it was a shame we had so little time at the open house to be together. That was why I volunteered to protect you there. To spend time with you.”

“I thought it was nice it was busy and the house sold,” Jean said and immediately regretted it. She sounded argumentative, not the right tone to take.

“Yes, of course.”

Harold was lurching down the three steps to the floor now, coming much too close for comfort. Jean was afraid to insult him by backing up and afraid not to. She stood her ground, conscious of the elevator a short distance to her left. Usually she preferred the exercise of running up the steps, but the elevator was potentially her savior at this moment.

“I’ve been trying to catch you. I thought you might need a friend after Theresa’s death.”

“Oh, I have plenty of friends. That’s why I’ve been out a lot.”

At least, she had enough presence of mind not to mention Rita’s apartment.

He smiled, that brilliant arc on a dark face much too close to hers. Jean decided he must whiten his teeth.
Or did his complexion make it seem so? Hawaii was so nice and far away.
Why didn’t he go home?

“I brought flowers the first few times. You weren’t here, so I quit bringing them.”

That was an alarming statement.
How many times has he been here while I was at
Rita’s?

“It’s been some time now since Theresa’s death. I thought you might be ready to go out to lunch. Or dinner. Anywhere you would like.”

The old high school excuse came back. She rarely had to use it then, but every girl knew it.

“Harold, I’m sorry, but I’m in a serious relationship with another man right now.”

Harold’s face registered no emotion at all. That didn’t seem right.

“You didn’t mention that before.”

“Actually, it’s fairly new.”

“I see.”

He probably thought it was odd to develop a new relationship so soon after Theresa’s death. It certainly seemed odd to her and was apparently not enough to end the conversation.

“Well, I’d better get ready to go to the office.”

Jean took a step sideways toward the elevator.

“I thought you were just there.”

“I forgot …” She had her briefcase. “… my key card.”

“It was fortunate for me that you had to come home.”

Is he trying to trap me in a lie or just making conversation? Harold isn’t as stupid as he looks.

“You should always have that with you.”

He sounded like Theresa. Theresa merely intimidated. Harold’s soft voice was frightening.

“So I have to go get it now.”

Jean walked to the elevator and pushed the “up” button. The doors opened immediately.

Harold had followed her a few steps. He wasn’t through.

“Does he make enough money to keep you comfortable? I know you don’t have much.”

Jean turned slightly toward him, just enough not to be rude. But he had been rude. What he had asked was none of his business.

“I have a lot of money,” he continued. It was stated as a fact, without hint of pride. “Actually, I’m very rich. I wanted Rita first. She said she had a boyfriend, too. That was all right. She didn’t seem quite my type. Her English isn’t as good as yours. You act more like a lady. We can both quit working real estate. We can live anywhere you like. I can do very nice things for you.”

That shouldn’t have been alarming, but it was. Was he implying things Jean didn’t want to think about?

“I’m sorry, Harold. I’m sure you would be a very nice date. But I don’t care that much about money.”
Liar! Liar! “
And I do care a lot about the man I am … involved with now.”

Harold was thinking again. No doubt he would come up with some other incentive. Jean wasn’t about to wait. She stepped inside the elevator and pushed number three.

“It was very nice of you, though, Harold. Thank you for your interest,” she said as the doors closed.

A sudden feeling of safety swept through her. She took a deep breath and quickly dug in her purse for her door key. Surely Harold couldn’t get his bulk up the stairs before the elevator reached her floor, but there was no point taking chances.

It wasn’t until she was on the inside of her locked apartment that her heart began to slow to normal.

The book and the sandwich weren’t pleasant today. The words in the book didn’t register and the sandwich had no taste. One of her favorites, too, peanut butter and mayonnaise. Mention of it prompted a variety of humorous grimaces from her friends, but it was good. Usually. Only the glass of wine was welcome. Before the sandwich was gone, a decision had been reached. She had to tell Ed about Harold. Why Ed, she wasn’t sure. Maybe because he was the office manager. Maybe because he was the nearest thing to a father she had. In any case, it didn’t seem serious enough to call the police and Rita didn’t seem right. Rita was accustomed to taking care of herself and would probably tell her to get a gun. That thought was silly enough to make a laugh break apprehension for a moment.

Jean wandered back and forth in front of her door. A phone call to Ed wasn’t adequate. She wanted to get out of here, to be with other people, to be sure of convincing Ed how serious the situation was. That wasn’t possible unless Harold was gone. There was a back service door but, in the middle of this working day, she had found a parking spot near the front door and Harold would see her from where he was, or had been. Finally she remembered dear little Marie, who loved her first floor apartment near the entrance because of her need for a walker. She was rarely out.