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THE WEEKEND HAD sneaked up on me while I wondered about the lack of news concerning Greg Coste’s contract—that and the death of Silvia De Aguilar. Better keep myself occupied on other things instead of obsessing over the absence of progress on both subjects. And I did miss my old buddy Dior. A good run with him and—poof—stress would have disappeared.
All that heavy thinking before nine a.m. on a Saturday morning? Ouch.
I could make some calls, but not yet. Better start by making coffee. Would Tristan be having breakfast with Angelique? Their spacious white kitchen must be lovely with the morning sun filtering through the shutters. I closed my eyes trying to remember if there was a breakfast room, but I couldn’t think of one. All I could think about was Silvia De Aguilar’s body on the den floor. What kind of monster would leave a human being to die alone in the dark? Could she had been saved?
I had just replaced the filter in my Mr. Coffee machine when my cell chimed. Oh, good, maybe the listing agent had a signed contract or a counteroffer? Nope, neither.
“Tristan? Good morning.” Best part of waking up, is Tristan on my phone. I hummed quietly. The jingle would now stick in my mind for hours.
“Oh, you’re up, good morning.”
“Already made coffee,” I lied then waited.
“Well, Ross, the detective who spent the whole day here at the house, has determined the dead woman, De Aguilar, is definitely the person who came by when you were picking up the mail. Such a strange coincidence. Don’t you think so?”
“Yes. Detective Reid, who is Ross’s partner said the same thing, well, more or less. Does Silvia De Aguilar sound familiar to you?”
“No, not at all. Have absolutely no idea who the poor woman was.”
“She’s the one who wrote that message for you, on the back of the ripped business card. Uh, by the way, I’m really, really sorry about the card, I meant to give it to you at the airport, then forgot and now, uh, Detective Reid took it. She said something about evidence. You should demand it’s returned to you. I feel terrible.”
“Fiat, you had told me about it. It’s not a big deal. All it had on was a phone number, apparently belonging to the dead woman’s cell and then Tristan’s father. But since I have no idea who this woman was, I also don’t know if she meant my adoptive or my biological father. Whatever it was, it doesn’t matter now. So please, don’t stress over it. It’s not your fault. None of this is. Anyway, I called to see if you’d care to join me for breakfast tomorrow.”
“Breakfast—tomorrow?” What had just happened here? “Wait. Tomorrow is Sunday, right? I guess it’s okay. Do you want me to meet you somewhere?” Something felt odd, rehearsed. Fingers crossed Tristan didn’t ask me to have breakfast at his house. There was no way I could sit there and eat while pretending everything was fine. I could never unsee that body on the floor. Except, for the rest of the world, I had not seen the body on the floor. This was just so weird.
“Fiat, are you okay? You don’t have to go if you don’t feel like it. I thought it was nice of Jessie to...”
“Jessie? Jessie from the airport Jessie?” What the hell?
He chuckled. “Relax, it’s a joint invitation—Jessie and Alexander. They asked me and suggested I bring you along since you know Jessie. I think it’s her way of thanking you for giving her a lift.”
For all his cheerful conversation I still couldn’t see why I would be invited. Something wasn’t right unless... unless Jessie and her boss, this Alexander dude, knew about Tristan and me. Knew what?
“It’s at Alexander’s place. We are probably going to catch up on old times, and I thought if you are free, afterward we could all drive down to the ranch and bring Tache home. I cleared all that with the detective in charge. They don’t need to go tramping around anymore. They are sure everything that happened was contained downstairs between the entrance and the den. They didn’t find anything connected to the victim anywhere else.” He stopped and seemed to be waiting for my answer. “Well this isn’t going how I had hoped. I didn’t mean to upset you, Fiat. You know that, don’t you?”
“Oh, Tristan, it’s not you.” I sighed. “Actually I think it’s a great idea, sitting here all alone is getting under my skin. I miss walking Dior and having dinner with Brenda. Yes, I would love to meet this Alexander. I bet he’ll share some pretty interesting college stories.”
Tristan laughed. “Not if I can help it. How about if I pick you up, around... I don’t know... ten o’clock? We can eat and then get into Alexander’s Jag and go down to Tucson. That way I can drive back the horse trailer and Tache. Is your Aunt Brenda still down there?”
“She is. I’m pretty sure she mentioned something about some guy—Leo—a newcomer who I thought was supposed to drive Tache to your house. No?” Why did I say that? I knew very well Leo didn’t.
“Oh, no, no. You know how I feel about my horse. We’ll talk tomorrow then. See you around ten or so. Hope you have a pleasant day.” He let that linger.
I mumbled, “Huh.”
So formal. I just knew he fully assumed someone to be monitoring our calls. Who? The cops? What for? Neither of us knew the dead woman. Although it was weird that she would be killed in Tristan’s home. By whom? A silver Escalade, screamed my subconscious mind.
The smell of fresh coffee trumped my conscience, and I went to toast a bagel and pour some milk and sugar in my cup while counting how many hours until I’d see Tristan.
I was spreading cream cheese on my bagel when an email showed up on my cell, the listing agent had a counter for the property on 8th Place. YES! I replied I would be at the office in thirty minutes and would take it from there. To his credit he didn’t discuss a thing, only told me my buyer had until 6 p.m. to decide. Very professional. I would be the same.
Forty minutes later I arrived at Desert Homes Realty and parked my leased SUV next to Sunny’s Cadillac. Kassandra’s Kia wasn’t there because she had the weekend off. Too bad, oh well. I only needed to take care of Greg Coste’s contract. Fingers crossed the counteroffer was within reason.
I opened the front door and the first thing I saw was Miss Medical Marijuana Card sitting at Kassandra’s desk. That killed a big chunk of my enthusiasm, but I managed a smile. “Good morning, I’m expecting a counter and—”
She waved some papers in the air. “Here you go. Found it in the printer when I opened up this morning.” Well, I felt like dirt for having such a negative attitude when I saw her. My mouth was still open when I approached her desk and she handed me what she had waved and some other stuff. “Your mail,” she added matter-of-factly.
“My... mail?”
“Yes, why? You look like I just announced that the IRS is auditing you.” Then she laughed.
I collected the stack of papers and headed to my desk in the very back of the office. I wasn’t going to give her the satisfaction of watching me leaf through the junk mail as most of what the mailman delivered to the office was the equivalent of what I got at home, addressed to resident or occupant.
Anyway, Greg Coste’s counteroffer was my priority. I needed to see what it was so I could discuss it with my buyer without sounding unprepared.
To the weed smoker at the desk’s credit, she had the contract assembled correctly and stapled except for the last page. I checked. All signatures and initials had been completed. Then came the one-page counteroffer. Not bad, the only change request was the sale price. We had offered ninety percent of the asking price. The seller wanted five percent more. That was it. Straight shooters. It was up to me to convince my buyer that this was still a good buy.
Then I side-glanced at the mail. I noticed a folded page of today’s The Arizona Republic’s real estate section—a colorful photo of the home on 8th Place, the same one Greg Coste wanted to buy. Damn. Not good. I read the well-written ad. It was bound to get a few interested lookers. How was that for bad timing? For the ad to run today it had to have been purchased at least two weeks prior. I had to mention that to my buyer, and now I really, really was ashamed for all the bad names I had called the front desk girl. Thank God I never said a word out loud.
I prepared a few written notes as to not get sidetracked and then called Greg. Another surprise awaited. He had already seen the ad in the newspaper and was a little concerned. The rest was easy. Forty-five minutes later I had a signed/accepted counter, and I rushed to scan it and email it to the listing agent. Now all I needed was a confirmation from the agent and I could pack up and go home or go celebrate... or whatever.
One thing I couldn’t do was call Tristan and tell him how I missed him.
I was still in the room we all shared for our scanning, faxing, and printing needs when the seller’s agent called and announced we had a deal. I promised the earnest money would be delivered to the escrow company before noon on Monday, and then I rushed back to my desk to share the good news with Greg Coste. I came around the corner. Someone sat in my chair, at my desk in the bull pen, and was going through my stuff. What the hell?
“Oh, there you are, Monica,” was Detective Liz Reid’s, A.K.A. Eve’s, smug greeting.
I stood next to her since she occupied the only chair, and she didn’t appear in any hurry to get up and leave. “Hope you don’t mind. I have a few questions,” she said.
“Let me guess.” Two can play the smart-ass game. “You want to know who I told about the message on the ripped card. Correct?” I looked her straight in the eyes to let her know just how annoying I found her.
“Very good, very good.” Her fingers played a tap game on top of my piled papers. She waited. The sooner I told her, the faster she’d get out of my chair and my life, at least for now.
“First, I told Tristan since I felt that was implied. He was in France and suggested perhaps the woman was an old friend of either Angelique or his dad. That was it. The next day I called the ranch and spoke to Brenda.”
Liz Reid nodded. “You mean your aunt?”
“You know she is not legally my aunt, but yes, Brenda Baker. She was busy and handed her phone over to Angelique. I gave her the same message, repeated the phone number twice, the end.”
“You really like Tristan Dumont, don’t you?”
Mercy me, where did that come from?
And then I heard myself say, “What’s there not to like?”
She chuckled, nodded. “How about Angelique Dumont?”
“What about Angelique? She’s a nice person. Much better now than when I first met her.”
“Oh, in what way?”
“She wasn’t well. I remember how frail and weak she was. That’s why she had Lois Thomas, her personal assistant, always by her side. But now she’s like a new person, healthy, happy. At least she was the last time I saw her. Why are you asking me all these questions?”
Silver Escalade screamed my brain, but my lips smiled quietly. I must have given her all the right answers because she kept the same fake smile and got up quickly from my chair. She made a sort of funny bow as she moved away, her arm accidentally hit my stack of papers, and everything tumbled to the floor.
“Shit.” It slipped from my lips. We both bent to pick up the contract pages and the spilled junk mail. We grabbed one envelope together, and I heard her “Ah!” before my eyes glanced at the source of her excitement. On the floor under my desk, plain as day, sat a white envelope with my name and the Desert Home Realty address written in a very elegant, old-fashioned cursive. I recognized the handwriting even before seeing the return address of Silvia De Aguilar.
“Oh,” was all I could say while pulling on the letter the detective held in a solid grip. “Excuse me. This is addressed to me.” Another tug.
The frown between her eyes seemed to take on a life of its own, and the yank she gave to the envelope made me lose my balance. I slipped backward but didn’t let go, and the envelope ripped in two. The contents fell to the floor. We looked at each other and then at the envelope that had been inside the ripped one. This one was clearly addressed to TRISTAN DUMONT in the same cursive in all capital letters. I jumped up, grabbed my phone, and started to take pics of both envelopes as something told me that Detective Reid and her Cheshire Cat smile weren’t going to let me touch either one any time soon.
