I was up early the next morning, my sleep restless and filled with dreams about missing keys, Jack Healy as The Swede in The Killers, waiting in a dim apartment waiting for his murderers, and Humphrey Bogart helping me find the Maltese falcon that was buried in Ned Healy’s backyard. Maybe it was the pepperoni and onion pizza I ate with the Goofball Brothers when I returned home the previous night.
I showered and dressed casually in Dockers and a polo shirt, ate a quick breakfast of orange juice and a bagel, and drove to the office, carting along the Bogart poster that Jack had given me. I had decided on the ride home from the Mountain View Apartments that I would hang it in my office alongside my other film noir poster.
First thing on my list was to call the seller’s agent for 210 Madison Avenue. I leaned the Bogart poster up against the wall, under the framed poster of The Big Sleep. I contemplated where to hang it as I dialed the number. After two rings, he answered.
“I’m Franklin Hardy,” I began, elated that I had actually reached a person and not voice mail. “I’m interested in 210 Madison Avenue, and was hoping I could see the property.”
“210 Madison?” I heard papers rustling in the background. “That’s under contract right now.”
“Yes, I'm aware of that, but I’d like to see the house anyway.”
“I’m sorry, Mr., er, what was your name?”
“Hardy. Franklin Hardy.” Unless he was a reader of the Hardy Boy mystery series, I didn’t think the name of the duo’s detective father would ring a bell.
“I hate to tell you this, Mr. Hardy, but the house is unavailable.” He didn’t sound like he hated telling me that; he sounded gleeful. “I’ve got a solid contract on it now, and we’re just waiting for the closing date, so there’s really no point in seeing the place.”
“I’d love to look around the house anyway. The designs of those old homes are fantastic.”
“I really can’t allow that.” I detected a note of irritation in his voice.
“Who’s the buyer? Maybe I could talk to him or her about that?”
“I can’t divulge that information, Mr. Hardy. Is there anything else I can do? Show you another home? I’m listing some other nice properties in that area.”
“Let me give that some thought, and I’ll get back to you.” I disconnected before he could get his sales pitch into gear.
I perused the files for 210 Madison Avenue and found the number for the owner, Edna Mills. An answering machine responded on the fourth ring, but I hung up before the techno-voice finished speaking. I noticed her current address was in Evergreen, a mountain community west of Denver. I mused on some ideas and formulated a plan.
I picked up the phone again and dialed. “I’ll be there at ten,” I said without fanfare, “and we’re going for a bike ride.”
“No,” Cal whined before I’d finished. “It’ll take us almost two hours to get there, and I’ve got too much to do.”
“You’ll have it done before I can say Dick Tracy, genius. You said you’d do this, so no more excuses.”
“All right.” I heard a creative string of obscenities as I hung up the phone.
*****
“Do you know how tempting it is to run you right off the trail?” Cal huffed at me.
“You have to catch me first.” I pumped hard, my legs burning as I rode up a steep incline. On either side of the trail, aspen and evergreen trees towered over us, branches intertwined like locked fingers. At the base of the trees, parched bushes and other scrub brush created thick, dry foliage, a firefighter’s worst nightmare. Fifteen feet behind me, Cal was pedaling furiously and losing ground fast.
“I should never have let you talk me into this.” Cal had agreed that he would put aside his disdain for the outside world and go cycling with me at least once a week throughout the summer. This was our second trip and I had my doubts that we’d make it a third. I didn’t know how much of his grumbling I could take. But when I glanced back a time or two, I almost saw a smile crease his sweaty face. Underneath all his grumbling, I think he was beginning to enjoy himself.
For a while the only sound came from our bikes and our lungs. The air smelled fresh and clean, and a slight breeze carried the scent of pine. I pushed the pace until I found the spot I was searching for.
“Here it is,” I said, coming to a stop at a rock outcropping. We were on Mount Princeton trail, at the same spot where Ned Healy had fallen to his death. The trail traversed partially buried boulders that made a wavy, washboard pattern before joining the dirt path on the other side. The exposed rock surface was about three feet from side to side, with a sharp drop-off on one side, and a cluster of trees on the other. Someone had tied a red ribbon head-high on a tall pine tree. I wondered if it was a reminder of Ned’s death or another accident.
“Whoa,” Cal said, screeching to a halt behind me. “You’re crazy if you think I’m going over that.”
“It’s not too bad, if you stay close to the trees,” I said.
Cal craned his neck to look out over the ravine. He couldn’t have gotten much of a look from his vantage point by the trees. “Is this where Ned died?”
“Yes.” I got off the bike, leaned it against an aspen tree, and walked along the trail, my eyes roving around. I stared down at where Ned had fallen. If someone rode too close to the edge, a slip of the tires or a bad turn of the wheel could send them over. I shuddered.
“What do you do if you don’t want to ride over this?” Cal asked.
“You get off and walk.” With exaggerated movements, I showed him how easily I was walking over the rocks. The guy was a computer genius, but take him out of his element...
Cal nodded, but he stayed put, balancing on the bike with one foot on the ground.
“If two people were riding this, it wouldn’t take much for one person to shove another person over,” I observed. “Stick out your foot and nudge them. It could easily be made to look like an accident.”
“If it’s that easy, why do they let people come through here?”
“They don’t. Remember that turn we took back there? This is an old part of the trail that isn’t generally used anymore. But in the woods like this, you can’t do much to stop people.”
Cal nodded again, but still didn’t move.
I walked back to my bike. “Ready to go?”
“I’m not going over that.”
He gripped the handlebars, his knuckles turning white. The look on his face told me I’d have better luck trying to move the mountain than to move him across the trail.
“All right. Let’s head back to the car.” I turned my bike around and mounted.
“Now you’re talking.” Cal whipped his bike around, but before he could get going, I was already ahead of him. I kept a steady pace as we pedaled back over the trail.
“Just a little farther,” I hollered after a bit.
We rode in silence for a few more minutes, and I let him catch up. “I need another favor.”
“Being your cycling partner isn’t enough?” Cal wheezed, standing up on his bike as we bounced over a rocky part of the trail. “Dragging me to a place like that?”
“This is fun.” I leaned forward, working hard.
“Yeah, tell that to my legs.” Cal huffed for a moment. “Don’t you even want to know about the other files you sent, or was finding that place on the trail your only mission?”
“I was going to ask what you found out, but since you can’t wait...”
“It’s really not that exciting. I didn’t notice duplicate addresses in any of the files.” He sucked in a few breaths. “The one on 210 Madison is the only one that Ned had two contracts for.”
I eased back as we headed down a slope, braking carefully so my tires didn’t slide. “I didn’t find any on the hard copies either. That shoots my theory that Ned was scamming buyers for extra commission.”
“What else did you need?”
“I want everything you can find on Garrett Owens and Dominic Saunders. And see if you can find where Dominic moved to.” Although the Internet was full of sites claiming to do background checks on people, using Cal was almost like having access to an FBI database: if there was something to find on someone, Cal would unearth it. I didn’t ask how, but it was easier than me trying to do it. And Cal didn’t charge me anything for his services.
“And see what information you can get me on 210 Madison Avenue. Old real estate records, liens, anything unusual about the house,” I said.
“That shouldn’t take very long.” Cal may not be athletic, but on the computer he was Michael Jordan, John Elway, and Wayne Gretsky all rolled in one. I could spend days searching for the information that he would have a slam-dunk-hat-trick before the first quarter was up. “What’s so important about those guys?” Cal’s breathing had slowed enough that he could almost carry on a conversation without wheezing.
I explained my visit to the Mountain View Apartments, and bumping into Garrett Owens. “I still don’t get why Ned would try to lose the deal for Garrett, but it sure seems like more than coincidence that Ned had a back-up buyer who lived in the same complex as Garrett.”
“Maybe Garrett talked to Dominic about it.”
“Only two more miles back to the car,” I yelled over my shoulder, pushing for a burst of speed.
Cal kept pace with me as we rode down the trail and back to my 4-Runner.
“You owe me,” he said, gulping for air as he skidded to a stop.
“Your heart thanks you, and cedes any payments I might owe.”
Cal arched his eyebrows. “Does your mother know what you’re doing to me?”
“Oh, that’s cold,” I said.
Cal chuckled as he helped me load the bikes onto the rack on the back of the car.
“Why would Garrett talk to someone in his apartment complex about buying a house?” I mused, thinking about what Cal had said.
Cal held up a hand as he caught his breath, then wiped the sweat off his face and neck as he talked. “Maybe the two were chatting while they got their mail or something, and Garrett says too much about this great house he’s buying. Dominic sees dollar signs and then decides to put his own bid on the house.”
“Could be,” I said, pulling my car keys from my jersey pocket. “But that doesn’t explain Ned’s involvement with both of them. And Garrett is still pretty angry about the whole thing.”
“Angry enough to kill Ned?”
“I don’t know.”
“Okay, you figure it out, Sherlock.” Cal chuckled as we piled into the car. “How are your parents?”
Cal and I had been friends since we were little kids and played on the same soccer team, and he was like family. Cal was quite familiar with my mother’s fear that I wouldn’t meet a nice lady, settle down, marry, and have a few kids. Producing grandchildren was her sole goal in life. That and getting me out of the detection business. Since I’d been shot in the rear, on my first case, nothing could’ve pleased my mother more than if I’d give up my profession and find a more respectable and less dangerous job.
*****
I showered, cleaned up and changed clothes at Cal’s house, then left him to his research while I drove down Highway 285 to Highway 73. I took a left at the shopping center, a well-known landmark for people traveling from Denver to the Evergreen and Conifer areas. I followed the road for a couple of miles until I came to a section of houses on the left, each built on at least an acre or two of land.
I slowed down and watched for numbers on mailboxes until I found the address for Edna Mills. She lived in a quaint log style home up a long driveway, with a wide front deck and an awesome view of the mountains.
I drove around a circular drive and was just getting out when a light blue Lexus drove past me and pulled into the garage. I heard a door open, then slam shut as I approached.
“Ms. Mills?” I asked as a plump woman in her sixties emerged from the garage with a couple of bags of groceries in her arms. She was smartly dressed, with gray curly hair, dangling gold earrings, and pink lipstick that matched her dress.
“Yes, I’m Edna. How can I help you?”
I introduced myself as Philip Marlowe, not wanting to overuse Sam Spade. “I’m interested in the house on 210 Madison Avenue. It’s such a good price.”
“Oh, that’s already been sold. Didn’t your realtor tell you that?” She had a low voice, just a bit gravelly, but her smile was soft and pleasant. “We listed it low so that it would be sure to sell, you see. We had such trouble the last time we put it on the market.”
“When was that?”
“A couple of years ago. My father owned it. But he had such trouble because it’s an older home. No one wanted a fixer-upper, you see, so he finally gave up the idea. This time around, my husband said we should just list it so low no one could resist buying it. And we sold it.” She beamed at me.
“Yes, I heard that, but I was hoping to get a look inside. I’m interested in the architecture of those old homes.”
“There’s nothing unusual about that home. My parents bought the house when they moved from New York, and Dad lived there until he passed away. That’s why we’re selling it, you see.” She shifted the groceries in her arms. “What did you say your name was?”
“Philip. Can I help you with that?”
“No, let me just set them down.” She placed the bags on the front deck. “Why are you interested in that house?”
“I’m studying architecture. So many of the homes in that area are being torn down and I wanted to take some pictures of the remaining ones,” I said, “before they get demolished.”
“That’s nice.” Edna pursed her lips. “I’m afraid there’s not much to see in that old house. Dad wasn’t able to keep it up in his last few years.”
“I’m sorry about your father. It’s tough.”
“Oh, thank you, but it was months ago, and we knew it was coming. Cancer, you see, so we had a lot of time to prepare.” Edna seemed to let her guard down. “And it took months to get all his records together, and to take care of the will. Then my husband Peter threw out his back, so it just took ages before we were finally able to clear the house out and prepare to put it on the market. And then with all the contracts falling through, it’s a wonder we ever got it sold.”
“How many contracts have fallen through?”
“Oh, just two,” she said with a rusty laugh. “We’re on the third now, so let’s hope it’s the charm.”
“Why didn’t the other buyers work out?” She was making this so easy for me. I wondered if she’d be so trusting if I resembled Al Capone.
“The first one asked for so many changes. Peter and I didn’t feel we needed to spend that much on the place. We were selling it at a great price, after all. We would’ve made a few repairs, you see, but he wanted so many, and most of the things were not just minor changes. I know the house could’ve used some spit and polish, but we didn’t feel like that was something we should have to do before we put it on the market. But structural concerns, walls sagging, the furnace?” She let out a heavy sigh. “The second buyer's financing fell through, you see.”
“The financing fell through?”
She nodded sadly. “Yes, and so soon after his realtor passed away. The realtor committed suicide and then his buyer had to find a new realtor, and then the buyer couldn’t get a loan. It all happened so fast.”
“What was the new realtor’s name?”
“Oh, I’m not sure.” Edna put a finger to her lips, tapping as she thought. “I can’t remember, and I don’t believe I have it written down anywhere.” She shrugged. “Now this third buyer seems right, a nice couple with a baby on the way. He works at a bank downtown and she’s a teacher. They’re so nice, you see, cute as can be.”
I interrupted before she could tell me more about the couple. “Do you think they would mind if I saw the home? You could let me in.”
“Oh, I don’t think I could ask them that.”
“But they seem like such a nice couple.” Like I really knew anything about them, but Edna seemed sure.
She pursed her lips. “I don’t think I should ask. It wouldn’t be proper, you see. Why don’t you wait until they move in, and then you could drop by and ask them yourself?”
I did see. I gave her my number in case she remembered the name of the second buyer’s new realtor, thanked her, and left. Maybe it was because she sounded so much like my own grandmother, but I just couldn’t make myself push her more.