Dying to Sell Page 6

  Greg, who'd gone mute as well as turned a bright red with the sound of his friends' laughter, seemed to draw himself taller. "I'm not lying!" he said hotly. "I remember seeing that guy. I wiped out right in front of the Schuster house when he was coming down the walk. I couldn't miss him!"

  "You wipe out in your own driveway," Freckles said, then jumped on his skateboard and pushed off.

  "Bogus, Greg, totally bogus," yelled Blondie as he shoved off.

  Greg scowled after them for a second, then hopped on his board and pushed off. He moved so quickly I was caught totally by surprise. "Wait, Greg!" I called helplessly, watching my little gold mine speed away. "Where do you live? What's your last name? What—"

  I stopped, realizing it was futile. They had tired of the questioning. I'd been lucky to learn what I did. Finally I had some real information to give to Bill. "A funny, fat jogger." My heart beat even faster at the thought. Now, that sounded suspicious. Even Bill would have to admit that, wouldn't he?

  Just then, Jerry's old, blue pickup truck turned into the Schusters' driveway behind me. Dinner had arrived. I waved to Jerry as he exited the car with two large pizza boxes in hand and some soft drinks under his arm. I hastened back to the house, my mind racing.

  I had to find the right way to present this information to Bill Levitz. He might be family, but that didn't mean he'd pay attention. I'd have to have more than the funny, fat jogger story, as told by neighborhood children.

  Rachel beckoned to me from the front door, and I sped up. Somehow, I would have to gather more information. Then, even hard-nosed Bill Levitz would pay attention.

  Chapter 8

  Braking for the red light, I slowed into the intersection while I waited for the appraiser's voice-mail greeting to finish. We were still playing phone tag. I really wanted to schedule him for the Schusters' property before the weekend and my planned open house.

  "Mr. Chekov, Kate Doyle again," I said after the beep faded. "Is there any way you could squeeze the Schuster home onto your appraisal schedule this week? I was hoping to have an open house either Saturday or Sunday. Please let me know. Thank you." Thanks in advance never hurt.

  The red light switched to green, and I headed toward the Schusters' upscale subdivision, Burgundy Acres. Small lots and huge houses. They were all the rage. Burgundy Acres had been the first to build the mini-estates. Now, they practically encircled Fort Collins.

  Wheeling around a corner, I took a large sip of my coffee and punched in another phone number. This one answered. "Freddy, this is Kate. Have you scheduled the Kerchoffs' inspection yet? I didn't see it on our calendar. I thought they talked with you last week."

  "Had to reschedule, Kate. I just called your office. I've got it on for this morning." Freddy's voice sounded whiskey-rough. He was outside in the wind, judging from the static.

  "Great. Don't forget, they're paying to have Ted check the heat exchanger. This is the original furnace and it's prime age. We want to know if there's anything waiting to jump out at us."

  "Will do. I'll have a report to you tomorrow, Kate. Gotta go." He clicked off.

  While waiting for a yellow school bus to lumber along the Schusters' street, I finished my coffee; 7:30 in the morning was the best time to check the house. Rachel and I had stayed late to finish, and night was not a good time to judge a home. You needed the naked light of day to reveal any flaws, especially the unforgiving morning light. I wanted to see if it looked as good as we thought before we staggered home, bone-tired.

  The school bus picked up speed and I aimed for the Schusters' driveway, only to see another car already parked there. A bright red sports car, no less. Who else would be here at this hour, I wondered. Maybe the appraiser had a cancellation. I pulled up and parked, delighted that this Jake Chekov had been so cooperative, even if his choice of vehicles was out of character. Admiring the sexy Viper as I scooted past, I hoped the guy had a four-by-four for the mountain properties.

  Once inside, I paused in the foyer for just a minute and looked around, letting my gaze travel slowly from the vaulted ceilings to the linen-papered walls to the muted sheen of the oak floors. I felt my insides relax. The house was beautiful. I closed the door and was about to call out "hello" when something stopped me. I didn't know what. Instead, ambling slowly past the great room and heading for the kitchen, I listened for the sound of another person.

  I heard it. The sound of movement came from... where? The garage? That was it. Bumps and paper rattling. Whatever is he doing out there, I wondered, and pushed open the partially-closed door to the garage.

  An impeccably-tailored, silver-haired gentleman jerked his head around to stare at me. I blinked. Henry Ackerman, Mark Schuster's law partner. What was he doing here? And why was he rifling through the boxes that I'd carefully packed yesterday? Boxes that contained the contents of Mark Schuster's office.

  "Henry Ackerman," I said. "What the heck are you doing here?"

  The brief look of surprise that claimed Ackerman's face disappeared, and a smooth, lawyerly demeanor slipped into place. "Oh, hello, Kate. I just needed to get some office files Mark kept at home. He gave me a key years ago." Ackerman flashed me a bright smile.

  I wasn't having any of it. The only box he was rummaging through was the one that contained Mark's computer. There were no other files in that box. I packed it myself. Besides, this house was the scene of a murder. Unauthorized persons didn't go mucking around a murder scene whenever they felt like it. I'd learned that much from Bill over the years.

  "Henry, you'll have to hand that key over to me," I said as authoritatively as I could. "The police informed me only authorized persons were allowed in the house. I even had to get permission to hold an open house this weekend, and the garage is strictly off-limits." I advanced toward him, palm outstretched, hoping he would cooperate.

  His eyes narrowed, and anger registered there briefly. Then the lawyer returned. "No need to get all huffy, Kate," he said in a silky voice, as he reached into his pocket. "I just need a couple of files. After all, our partnership was ending."

  He dropped the key into my hand.

  Huffy? I couldn't remember the last time I'd huffed at anything. This was plain old-fashioned indignation he was witnessing. I resisted his oily reasoning. "That may be the case, Henry. But everything from Mark's office is still classified as evidence. So the police would frown on anything being removed. I'm sure Amanda will see that you receive any files you need, after this ordeal is over. After all, she's heir to her husband's estate. And your partnership is still intact, am I not correct?" I deliberately locked my steady gaze on his.

  Ackerman didn't even bother to respond. He shot me a glare which sent a chill up my spine; then he turned on his heel and stalked from the garage. I followed behind him.

  "I do not need an escort," he declared icily as he strode through the kitchen.

  "Just doing my duty," I said.

  A slammed front door was Ackerman's last comment. I stood and breathed deeply for a moment, wondering what had just happened. Had I thwarted the murderer's plan to steal evidence, or had I just annoyed a social acquaintance? Probably the latter. Ackerman didn't look like enough passion flowed through his veins to commit such a crime. Then I remembered that glare of hostility he'd sent me, and thought again. What could be on Mark's computer that Ackerman wanted so badly he'd lie about it?

  I wandered back to the garage. The computer poked from its box. Ackerman must have been in the process of lifting it out. Pretty sneaky, showing up so early on a weekday morning. I'm sure he thought no one would ever see him, even if he sat at the kitchen table, plugged the sucker in, and fired it up. He hadn't figured on a real estate agent. We're liable to turn up anywhere, anytime.

  Curiosity prodded. Maybe I should take a look. After all, I was an "authorized" person. The familiar Voice of Caution whispered in the back of my mind that I was "getting into trouble," but I ignored it. Besides, I'd vowed to help Amanda, hadn't I? Well, this was helping.


  Before I could think about it too much, I grabbed the box and carried it into the kitchen. Lifting the computer onto the glass-topped kitchen table, I attached the cables and plugs and fired it up myself. I only hoped my brother-in-law didn't walk in on me.

  Desktop icons flashed into place, and I was surprised there were only a few. Maybe Mark kept most of his files on his office computer. But Ackerman certainly would have checked that one first. Obviously, whatever he was looking for wasn't on the office computer. Otherwise, he wouldn't risk sneaking in here.

  I methodically started opening files and perusing the contents, wishing I had another coffee at my elbow. This was office work, so it called for accompanying support. Strong coffee. Even though I knew where the coffee was in the cabinets, I resisted the urge to get up and make some. Instead, I opted for speedy efficiency, just in case someone walked in on me.

  It took just over a half-hour to open and scan every file Mark had. There was nothing suspicious at all, or even very interesting. They were mostly short briefs or correspondence with other attorneys. There was nothing about himself, or Ackerman for that matter. I had to confess, I was disappointed. Part of me expected to find some detailed document that mentioned Ackerman or the partnership. Nothing like that could be found.

  I glanced at my watch and realized I had fifteen minutes to get back to the office in time for the weekly sales meeting. Muttering under my breath, I disconnected the computer cables and quickly transferred everything back to its box in the garage. I checked to make sure all doors were secure, then raced to my car. Ten minutes and counting, and I didn't have a prayer of making it on time.

  As I wheeled out of the driveway and sped down the street, a tiny thought came out of nowhere. For someone who worked at home a lot, Mark certainly didn't have many files. Maybe he'd deleted some.

  Another thought teased its way forward. Wasn't there a way to retrieve deleted files? Maybe someone at the university could help me out. They'd have computer jocks there who could make any machine give up its secrets.

  * * *

  "How does the house look, Kate?" Ronnie asked, scooping a sheaf of listings off the conference room table as she headed toward the door. Everyone else had already left the room, racing to meetings with clients, other real estate agents, lenders, appraisers, inspectors, lawyers. Our jobs were a never-ending stream of meetings—talking, talking, talking. It was draining, even for us life-long communicators.

  I pushed the upholstered chair under the table and followed Ronnie through the door. "Well, thanks to Rachel and me, it looks beautiful. I mean, it wasn't messy before the, uh... the murder, but the police crew left dirty footprints and dust-stuff over everything. Even the yellow police tape left a gummy residue on the doors and railings outside."

  "How long did you stay last night?" She peered at me.

  "Till ten."

  Ronnie shook her head as she stopped in our small kitchen. "Well, Kate, I really hope all this work pays off. You've certainly done more than your part, for sure." She poured a stream of coffee into her mug.

  The aroma wafted up and teased. I followed suit, grabbing one of the multitude of monogrammed mugs that sat beside the coffee station. Lender mugs, builder mugs, title company mugs, and, of course, real estate agent mugs. Everyone knew the way to our hearts and into our memories was to feed us and give us free stuff that we'd use. "Keep your fingers crossed, Ronnie. I've gotten some emails from out-of-town folks who're looking for a home like this. They said they'd try to schedule a quick trip." I took a sip and almost gagged. Lisa must have made the coffee. Someone had to take that girl in hand. How Ronnie could drink that weak brew was beyond me.

  She grinned at my reaction. "Has Jake Chekov been there yet?"

  "He's going this afternoon. Got another message from him. Haven't talked to the guy in person yet."

  "Well, Jake will do a good job. He'll also give advice, if he thinks it necessary. Pay attention." She glanced at her watch. "See you later, Kate, and good luck. Keep me in the loop, okay?" she said as she headed toward her office.

  "You got it."

  Ronnie paused at her door and gave me an appraising glance. "And when you have a spare moment, let's sit and talk. I can tell you're up to something. Maybe something you shouldn't be. We need to talk."

  "I... uh, I..."

  "Don't deny it, Kate. You've got that look in your eye. Talk to me later. Meanwhile, stay out of trouble. And if you can't, for heaven's sake, be careful." She was gone.

  How did she do that, I wondered. It was as if she could read my mind. Good thing she couldn't tell everything. Otherwise she'd hit the ceiling. I glanced at my watch, then headed back to my own office and grabbed my briefcase. There was just enough time to talk to that computer guy at the university.

  My daughter Jeannie had recommended him. A fellow classmate and computer genius. According to her, Chester Yosarian could make a computer give up any secret it ever knew.

  I headed for the back door. Rounding a corner at my usual fast pace, I nearly ran right into Lisa. She jumped back with a squeak, hands up in the air. "Whoa, Kate! You gotta signal around those curves," she joked.

  "Sorry, Lisa," I said. "I'm always in such a hurry that I forget to look." Pointing to the walls, I added, "Maybe we can invest in truck mirrors up there. It would help."

  "I was just coming down the hall to introduce Ted Sandowski. He's joining the agency." She gestured to the smartly-dressed, balding man standing behind her, wisely out of the way of traffic. "Ted, this is Kate Doyle, one of our junior brokers. Kate, meet Ted Sandowski."

  Somehow I'd never gotten used to being referred to as a "junior," but I guessed it was better than "newbie." With only three years under my belt, I was still gaining experience. But I knew enough to recognize the guy who'd recently snagged Fort Collins Real Estate Agent of the Year. Turn 'Em Ted Sandowski. If it was investment real estate you were after, Ted was your man.

  "Welcome aboard, Ted," I said, extending my hand. "I'm really impressed that Ronnie was able to lure you away from all those high rollers at the big shop across town."

  "She made me an offer I couldn't refuse, Kate, and it's great to meet you, too." He grabbed my hand and pumped enthusiastically, watery blue eyes alight. "Wow, Lisa, are all your junior agents this good-looking?"

  "Just the women, Ted," Lisa said with a laugh.

  "Hurrying to a hot deal, I hope," Ted said, when I pried my hand loose.

  "I wish. No, I'm just going to, uh, make some new contacts." Every word of it is true, I told myself.

  "Atta, girl," he encouraged, fist pumping for emphasis. "That's where the business is. Outside. Not sitting behind a computer in the office."

  We've got a live one with Ted, I thought. That was okay. Every office needed a cheerleader. Ted looked as if he had lots of experience egging on others and himself.

  "Ted's the king of rental real estate in town," Lisa said with a sly grin. "In addition to being Real Estate Agent of the Year."

  "Yes, I know. I was there for the coronation at last spring's banquet," I put in for good measure.

  Ted seemed to grow an inch as he smiled under her praise. "Well, I don't know about being the 'king' but I do a fair share," he said in a slight nod to modesty.

  "How about the grand duke?" I offered with a smile, hoping the extra flattery would allow me to continue on my path to the door.

  Ted just laughed and checked the knot in his tie. "Ahhh, you ladies sure know how to flatter a man."

  I took that as my cue. "Glad to meet you, Ted," I said, backing away. "I know how Ronnie's been looking to increase our share of that market. Sounds like you're perfect for the job. I've got to run now."

  "Go get 'em, Kate!" Ted called, as I escaped into the parking lot.

  If traffic cooperated, I could make it to the university, see this guru, get his advice, then make it back to the south of town and the Schusters' home, in time to meet with the appraiser. I checked my watch again. Obviously, food would be out of the q
uestion, so lunch—once again—would be coffee. Wishing I'd remembered to throw some walnuts into my briefcase, I turned my Explorer into the heavy flow of College Avenue and headed north.

  * * *

  Despite the time crunch, I deliberately slowed down as I drove around the University Oval. Green and gracious, ringed with towering cottonwoods that had already turned golden, the Oval was the very heart of the old campus. Surrounded by some of the original university buildings, it was crisscrossed with pathways and filled with students. I angled down a side lane and began the odious task of trying to find a meter in the guest parking lot. Not easy. Thankfully, a woman backed out, and I grabbed her space.

  I double-timed it across the Oval and aimed for the Engineering wings, which held most of the Computer Science labs. This Chester guru holed up there, Jeannie had said, then added, "He's a little weird, Mom, but he's definitely the one to help you. If he can't find your files, no one can."

  I'd told her I accidentally deleted some of my own files, to cover my need for this guy's services. As for weird, well, real estate attracted the weirdest assortment of people I'd ever met in my life. So, I was definitely comfortable with weird.

  Racing up a second long flight of stairs to the Computer Sciences department, I grabbed the banister and paused to catch my breath. I slowed and walked down the long and empty hallway. In this department, people didn't seem to stand in the hallways and talk, as in other buildings. I spotted Chester Yosarian's door before I even reached it.

  It was covered in a chaotic collage of old movie posters, newspaper clippings, advertisements, and political slogans, all glued or laminated on top of each other in haphazard fashion. Young Frankenstein's Gene Wilder looked as if he were screaming in horror at the UFO that hovered over the "X-Files" ' Scully and Mulder, who scowled at an angry Nixon, who shoved a newspaper in the Dell dude's grinning face. I admired Yosarian's creativity and knocked on the door.

  "Enter if you dare," a deep voice advised from the other side.