Dying to Sell Page 9

  I found my own car and headed back into traffic. The locksmith would be arriving at the Schuster home shortly. My mind buzzed with questions. Should I tell Bill what I had discovered? Exactly what had I discovered? Evidence of possible embezzlement on Mark Schuster's part was the only solid evidence of wrongdoing I'd uncovered. And it was against Mark. But it led to Ackerman. I decided to take the disc to Bill, and let his detectives follow up. Meanwhile, I wouldn't even mention Cheryl Krane. All I had was gossip and testimony from an eight-year-old boy, who'd go silent as a stone if police came around. My own suspicions wouldn't count with Bill Levitz. And, above all, I would not mention the late-night prowler. Bill would hit the roof. Then I would really be in trouble.

  Yeah, like you're not already there, the Warning Voice said, as I caught the tail of a yellow light. Checking the time, I mentally ran through my schedule. I'd be lucky to finish at the Schuster house with enough time to head home and change, before reporting in to Marilyn for dinner duty.

  With everything that had happened in the last couple of days, I didn't think I had an evening of small-talk in me. Surely I would drift off in the middle of a conversation, conjuring motives and murderers. Knowing my own low threshold for arranged evenings, I was already impatient and it wasn't even dinnertime yet. I slowed the car into an intersection and stopped. Then I closed my eyes and prayed this evening would be both merciful and swift.

  Chapter 11

  It was midmorning the next day before I visited Bill at the police department. I'd planned to arrive earlier, but I'd been unable to pry myself out of bed at the usual time. Compassionate listening took a lot of energy, and I'd spent almost the entire night doing just that. It was clear that my dinner partner, Finley, hadn't had a sympathetic listener in a long time, so it was nearly midnight before I could escape. Anyone can escape, but escaping without bruising takes some doing. And energy. I was exhausted.

  Sipping my coffee, I tried to look relaxed while Bill read the documents I'd printed out from Mark's secret files. Unfortunately, a police department does not tend to make anyone feel relaxed, especially someone who's concealing information like I was. Knowing my tendency toward transparency, I distracted myself by remembering every defect I'd read in an inspection report earlier that morning. My young buyers had been shocked. Their dream house had problems.

  Bill turned the last page, read, and paused, then eyed me over the rim of his glasses. "What made you check Mark Schuster's computer, Kate? Did Amanda ask you?"

  "Of course not," I said, shocked that he'd asked. A cold spot settled in my stomach. His comment indicated Amanda was still Bill's Suspect Number One. "I was checking to see if I could find anything which might give a clue as to who the murderer was. I was hoping there'd be some letter or something that would point to someone—"

  "Someone other than Amanda, you mean." He peered at me none-too-kindly. "Kate, you know better than to go poking your nose into a police investigation. You had permission to pack up the study, so you could sell the house. That didn't give you the right to go through evidence."

  "I didn't see you folks checking out the computer, so I figured I'd help you out," I volunteered brightly.

  "We know how to do our jobs, Kate. We don't need help."

  "Well, you missed this, didn't you?" I couldn't resist digging him. "So, admit it. I helped."

  Bill scowled. "We'll look into it," he said tersely and tossed the report on his desk.

  Leaning forward so no one else could hear, I decided to push what little advantage I had. "I think you should check out Ackerman. After all, I caught him sneaking into the house early in the morning, so he could go through Mark's files. He admitted it himself when I confronted him. And if looks could kill, I'd be dead right now. Just because I'd demanded the key back. I'd say he had plenty of reason to kill Mark. Two hundred thousand dollars' worth of reason, if I read those figures right." I sat back, convinced I'd scored some points, even if Bill would never admit it.

  "I said we'd look into it, Kate. Now go back to the office and stay out of trouble." He pointed a stubby finger at me. "Stop poking around. That's an order."

  "Absolutely. No problem." That wasn't lying, really. I'd only promised not to poke around Mark's study anymore. No reason to now. I sprang out of my chair, eager to make a quick getaway before Bill could read my mind.

  "Oh, yeah," Bill said, leaning back in his squeaky chair. "Mary and I want you to come for dinner some time next week. We've got someone we want you to meet." He grinned.

  I grimaced. "Sorry, Bill. Marilyn just trotted out someone last night. I can't take this twice in one month. Call me next spring." I practically vaulted a chair in my haste to escape the office before he could strike again.

  "C'mon, Kate," he wheedled. "How're you ever gonna meet someone?"

  "Are you kidding?" I replied, incredulous. "I meet all kinds of people every day. The good, the bad, and the ugly."

  "What was the guy last night?" Bill teased. "The latter?"

  I paused, almost to the door. "No, he was one of the good."

  Bill brightened. "Great!"

  "Not interested," I said, dashing his hopes.

  His round, care-worn face wrinkled into a frown. "Jeez, Kate, you're impossible."

  "I know. It's a character defect I've been cultivating." This time I actually made it halfway out the door, when Bill's voice called me back. There was a plaintive sound to it.

  "Have you heard from Katherine lately?" he asked.

  I leaned on the doorframe. "Yeah, I got an email from her last week. She's so excited. They've already deployed and are heading out to sea. I'm so proud of her, Bill." My niece and namesake was like a third daughter to me. We'd grown especially close, since my sister died two years ago.

  He glanced down. "Yeah, I am too. I just wish I'd hear from her. She hasn't sent me a thing."

  And I knew why. Being a parent was hard. So I gave him the best advice I could. "She mentioned you chewed her out for not calling. C'mon, Bill. She's a junior officer on her first command. She's up to her neck in duties, and you expect her to check in? Get a grip," I scolded gently. Bill was as over-protective as he was gruff.

  "Yeah, well, I just worry. She could at least email me too," he said, his voice petulant.

  "She's probably convinced you'll yell at her electronically. Ease up and stop worrying. She's on an aircraft carrier in the middle of the Pacific, for Pete's sake. Even if they get close to action, she won't get hurt. The worst that could happen is she'd slip in the corridor on the way to chow."

  "Ha! She's in Flight Operations. She could fall off the damn carrier! No one would see in the dark. I've heard those things happen."

  I stared at him, amazed that this hard-nosed detective could lose his objectivity when it came to his only child. "Bill, she's up in the Command Center talking to the pilots, not standing on the Flight Deck holding the trap wire. C'mon." Bill scowled. "Well, she could still write to me."

  "She will, if you write first and tell her how proud you are of her and how you want to hear everything she's doing. That's what I tell her. But no fussing or complaining! Understand? That's an order," I mimicked. "I'll think about it."

  "Good. Now I've got to go put out some fires. Dream house, nightmare inspection. Take care." I pushed away, determined to leave this time. Once again, however, Bill's voice caught my attention.

  "Amanda's hired a criminal defense attorney," was all he said.

  I slowed down but didn't stop. There was nothing to say.

  * * *

  "Bastard," Amanda muttered softly as she read Mark's correspondence with his secret bankers, but there was no passion in her voice now, as there had been weeks before. Leaning back into Amanda's sinfully soft sofa, I sat and sipped her great coffee. She liked it the same way I did—strong and dark. I was somewhat uneasy, since I'd neglected to tell Bill I'd made two copies of the files. Amanda and Jonathan had been searching for weeks, trying to locate all of Mark's clandestine accounts. I was only help
ing. The file containing Mark's purloined transfers I included in a separate envelope, without explanation. Jonathan would recognize it for what it was. He and Amanda could take it from there.

  "I knew he had hidden files. I just knew it," she said, peering at me. "How'd you find this stuff, Kate? I saw none of these files when I went looking a month ago."

  I nearly choked on my coffee. "What do you mean? You went looking where?"

  "On Mark's computer," she said. "I went over when I knew he had a long meeting, and I went through every file. I still knew his password. I was certain he was hiding stuff. But I never saw these files." She grabbed her coffee cup and leaned into the creamy leather.

  Her statement took me by surprise. She'd admitted sneaking around Mark's office when he wasn't there. That didn't sound like Amanda. But then, divorce can make people do things they normally wouldn't. A very scary thought emerged from the back of my mind. What if Amanda really had killed Mark and was simply playing me for a fool and a friend? I almost shuddered, then shook the thought away. No. I knew her better than that.

  "Amanda, I've given the same files to Bill and the police. So there may be more questions coming. Bill doesn't know I made a copy for you. So keep quiet about it, please. Tell Jonathan, too. I don't want to get in any more trouble. But I figured you ought to have this information." I was able to say this with complete sincerity.

  Amanda sipped her coffee. "More questions. That should be fun," she said in a subdued voice. "I was over there for two hours on Monday. I don't think I could have done it without Bob Carruthers. He was wonderful. He told me what to say and when to say it." She closed her eyes.

  I could feel her fear radiating outward. "So, you like him? You feel confident with him?"

  "Yes. He's everything Jonathan said he'd be. He took over entirely and told me step-by-step what to do. And you know how hard it is for me to take orders, Kate."

  Despite the circumstances, I had to laugh. "Yes, I do."

  "Even so, I was terrified. I really was. The detectives may act polite and all, but you could tell they still think I'm guilty."

  Hoping to distract her, I said, "Amanda, think back. You've mentioned before that Mark had made enemies in town. Was there any one of them that might have been angry enough to do this? Anyone at all?"

  Amanda stared off. "I've tried, Kate. And the only one who comes to mind is that builder, Rupert McKenzie. The one who lost out in the bidding for some land Mark was dangling, playing off one developer against another. You know how he worked."

  McKenzie. I'd almost forgotten. He nearly went bankrupt when he lost out on one of Mark's deals two years ago. And ever since then, he'd bad-mouth Mark at every opportunity. But, killing? "You're right. I'd forgotten about McKenzie. I'll check it out with Ronnie. She knows all those builders."

  "I don't know how to thank you, Kate. Please don't get into any more trouble for my sake, okay?"

  I nodded and finished my coffee. It was too late for that.

  * * *

  On the way back to the office, I listened to my cell phone messages and heard a typically cryptic one from Jake Chekov. He'd be at Coffee Connection at 3:00 p.m., if I wanted to discuss the Schuster appraisal. I wondered if his choice of meeting place was another dig, but let it slide. It was one of my favorites, so at least that would help the appraisal go down.

  As I raced through the back door to my office, I figured I'd have just enough time to check in with my young buyers and take their pulse about the inspection results, finish some paperwork, then zoom over to meet with Mr. Chekov. Just enough time. However, I hadn't figured on Ronnie. She waylaid me as I hurried down the hall.

  "Kate, step in here for a moment, please," was all she said, but it was the tone. I immediately complied.

  "Hey, Ronnie. Everything's coming into place for this weekend," I said, plopping into a comfy chair. "I'm meeting with Jake Chekov in an hour to go over the appraisal, so I'll be all set."

  Ronnie leaned back in her chair, a sign she was going to talk about something important. Uh-oh, I thought uneasily.

  "Kate, you've been anxious and more rushed than usual, and that's going some. What's been happening? There's something you're not telling me, and it has to do with the Schuster house, not with Amanda. I sense it. Something has worried you over and above selling that sucker. Now, what is it?"

  "Uhhhhh," I began.

  "Come on, Kate. Tell me everything. That's an order."

  Orders. First from Bill, now from Ronnie. I ignored Bill, but Ronnie, no way. She was my managing broker. Plus, I respected her more than anyone I knew.

  "Okay, okay. It's kind of complicated."

  "I figured."

  I took a deep breath and recounted everything that had happened—Ackerman sneaking into the house, my pumping the neighborhood boys for clues, searching Mark's computer with special software. I detailed everything I found, including the midnight intruder and my confrontation with Cheryl. Listening to the litany myself, I had to admit it was quite a list.

  Ronnie sat silently for a full minute. "Have you told Bill?"

  "Only about Ackerman, and only after I'd found those incriminating files. There's nothing to tell him about Cheryl. Some young boys remembering a white Rabbit, that's all. The rest are just suspicions."

  "Your suspicions, too."

  "Well, she sure acted guilty when I told her about the intruder."

  "Maybe. Maybe she was simply angry at being accosted in a parking lot. But Cheryl doesn't concern me. The intruder does. You did tell Bill about that, didn't you?"

  I examined my manicure. "Not yet. He'd just yell. Besides, I've had all the locks changed, so whoever had a key is out of luck. It's tighter than a bank vault now. I've even got locks between the garage and kitchen. Believe me, no one's getting in there without my knowing." When I dared glance at Ronnie, she was shaking her head.

  "Kate, Kate... you better be careful. Whoever did this awful thing is still out there. I understand your wanting to help Amanda, but don't let your feelings drag you too deep. Don't let Amanda convince you either."

  That comment surprised me. "Amanda's never asked me to do anything, Ronnie. In fact, she asked me not to get into any more trouble for her sake."

  "Yes, and I'm sure she looked pathetic when she asked. Don't let Amanda's neediness suck you into a situation, okay? She's a big girl, and appearances to the contrary, she can take care of herself. Incidentally, how much have you told Amanda?"

  "Everything except the intruder and Cheryl Krane. I didn't want to upset her." Suddenly I remembered something else Amanda and I discussed. "Oh, yes, before I forget. What do you know about Rupert McKenzie?"

  "What I know about Rupert would fill a book, Kate," Ronnie said with a wry smile. "He's been a brilliant, if erratic, businessman and builder for years. And you can take him right off your list of suspects."

  She'd done it again. Read my mind. This was becoming unnerving. "But, Ronnie, Mark's double-dealing nearly drove him into bankruptcy. He had motive, for sure."

  "Maybe so, but I think he was in Denver giving a speech with the Metro Council that afternoon."

  "Are you sure it was that same Monday, the day Mark was killed?"

  "I'm pretty sure it was that same afternoon, Kate, so you can forget about Rupert." The phone at her elbow gave a low-pitched bleat. "Now, I've got to take this call. Be careful, Kate. Promise?"

  I pondered Ronnie's advice, as I grabbed my briefcase and headed for the door, "Okay, Ronnie. I promise." Maybe I meant it this time. Naw, not really. I was already thinking of whom I could call at the Denver Metro Council to check on McKenzie's whereabouts that afternoon.

  * * *

  I scanned the Coffee Connection's large, pleasantly-cluttered interior while waiting for one of my weaknesses, a Breve Latte. The random assortment of old worn-out furniture gave the place a certain funky charm. Almost every sprung sofa or tattered chair was filled with someone—students studying/sleeping, office workers taking a break, retirees co
nducting book clubs, whatever. I'd even stumbled upon a Twelve-Step program one night in my search for caffeine.

  Finally, I spied Chekov seated in the corner by the front windows. Another man stood by the table and talked to Chekov. Both men laughed; then the visitor waved goodbye and left. My cue. Time to get this over with. I wasn't looking forward to bad news.

  "You holding court?" I asked, as I set my coffee on the table and sat down.

  Chekov looked up with a smile. "Whenever I come in here, I see people I know." Pointing to my coffee, he added, "What're you drinking? It looks different than what you had the other day."

  Surprised that he noticed such small details, I took a sip before answering. "It's a Breve. A shot of espresso and half-and-half. I have it whenever I need to mellow out. And I figured I better be mellow to listen to what you're going to say."

  "I have a feeling your idea of mellow is a pause between breaths."

  I deliberately let that one pass, even though it was difficult. I'd promised myself I would not let this annoying man get to me. I just smiled and sipped.

  Chekov grinned. "Not going to take the bait, huh?"

  "Nope. It's the cream. It's already working. Go ahead. Hit me with your best shot, Chekov. Annoy away."

  He laughed as he reached into a weathered briefcase on the chair beside him and withdrew a legal-sized packet. "I'm not going to hit you with anything, Kate."

  "It's Ms. Doyle to you."

  "Okay, Ms. Doyle. You can relax. It's not that bad. See for yourself." He handed it over.

  I proceeded to read the appraisal, line item by line item, while I sipped my decadent coffee. He was certainly meticulous and accurate as hell. He'd found every fact and every flaw. Had to hand it to him, he was good. My stomach tightened as I turned the pages, afraid of the final verdict. How much lower would his price be than my ballpark? Chekov sat quietly while I read.