Forever

Chapter 2-6

Oddly enough, there was no wall-to-wall carpeting. The wood floor looked a little dull, but I had no doubt it could be buffed to a high gloss and made to look really classy.

Another set of French doors, these covered with plantation shutters—pink, and I flinched—opened onto the terrace. I opened them up and stepped out to have a look around.

“The balcony runs the entire length of this unit. It’s quite lovely, isn’t it?” Francesca gushed. “That’s the summer kitchen at the far end. It also has a mini fridge and a dishwasher, and not only a cooktop, but a barbecue as well! Gas, of course! As you can see, this entire area is roofed in! Inclement weather won’t stop you from enjoying an evening on the terrace with friends!” Her enthusiasm was beginning to sound false.

I made a noncommittal sound and she rushed on.

“There,” she said as she waved her hand, “you can see the area for outdoor dining, and here by the master, we have a splendid conversation area, with a firepit which has a number of chaises grouped around it. The coffee table and small tables are convenient for holding drinks and snacks.”

“I’d need to buy outdoor furniture.”

“Oh, you could always purchase this set. It goes so well with this space, don’t you think?”

“You’d get a commission on that, wouldn’t you?” I gave her a look, which she returned with a tight smile.

“There’s a sound system that will allow you to play either preprogrammed music or listen to your favorite radio station!”

Jesus, she was really pushing it now.

I turned to look at the view. To the right was the golf course, but to the left….

“Oh, that’s the preserve view, the lawn growing down to the trees for which this complex was named, the aspen. Isn’t it gorgeous? One has the feeling of living in untrammeled beauty!”

I frowned. I was a city boy, and it didn’t matter much to me if I didn’t see grass and trees outside the park, but that wasn’t to say other people wouldn’t enjoy it. In spite of the way I’d been picking this condo to shreds, it could be a decent home. Why hadn’t any of the prospective buyers bought it?

I stepped back into the master. At the far end of the bedroom was a single pocket door. I slid it back to find a long hallway, and there was carpeting here. To the left was a walk-in closet that was large enough to house a small third-world country. I could picture Quinn’s suits hanging in it beside mine. There were built-in shelves and a slide-out shoe rack that would hold at least a couple of dozen pairs of shoes.

To the right was a small gym. Sure, why not? If the weather was bad, you could avoid going out and getting wet.

At the end of the hallway was the bathroom, and that was everything Mrs. Mann had told me and more: a double vanity topped with pink—what else?—marble; vessel sinks, also pink marble, and gold-plated fixtures; a shower with multiple heads; and a Jacuzzi that was large enough to hold two men in sybaritic comfort, even if one of them was six foot three.

Behind a smoky glass-block wall was the john. And the bidet.

“The towel bars are also warming bars!”

“Sweet.”

Mrs. Mann gave a silent sigh, and I smiled, an apologetic twist of my lips.

“So. Would you like to make an offer, Mark?”

“I’d like to discuss this with him for a moment, if you don’t mind, Francesca?” Mrs. Mann’s expression was cool. God, I would have loved to have seen her in action.

I could see Francesca didn’t care for Mrs. Mann’s use of her first name, but she gave a gracious nod. “I’ll wait in the foyer.” She stalked out stiffly, probably certain the afternoon had been a bust and that she wasn’t going to make the sale.

“This condo has been on the market for a while, Mark.”

“Has it? I’ve done my homework; if a place has been for sale for more than thirty days, I can offer something like 15 percent less than what they’re asking. And the way you were picking at everything, I think I should be able to get it for way less than what they’re asking.”

She nodded thoughtfully. “Do you really want it?”

A place this big, and this close to Quinn? “Yeah.” But there was still something that was bothering me. “Look, can you distract her for about ten minutes? I want to see what’s up on the roof.”

“I thought you might. I’ll suggest I want to examine the dining room again.”

“Thanks. You’re a honey.”

“I. Beg. Your. Pardon?”

But I could see she wasn’t offended.

We walked back into the empty bedroom, and I came to an abrupt standstill.

“Mark?”

“Mrs. Mann, the other bedroom had carpeting, and the bed was made, almost like a…a showplace. Dressed to sell, if you follow me?”

“Yes, I see what you mean. There’s no carpeting in this room, but there is in the hall leading to the bathroom; there’s nothing on the bed beyond a rather nondescript duvet—no sheets, no pillows or shams.”

Something in a corner caught my eye, and I crouched down to examine it. “The previous owner must have been seriously unhappy with the carpeting.” Cotton candy pink didn’t do anything for me, but I wouldn’t have ripped it out so carelessly that tufts were left where the floor joined with the wall.

I went to the bed and pulled back the duvet, then raised the mattress up enough so that I could see under it. I let it down gently.

“Mark?”

I smoothed the duvet back in place and ran my palm over the headboard. “There’s nothing there, but I wonder…if I spritz this headboard with luminol, will it turn blue?”

“You’re suggesting someone might have been killed here?”

“All this time on the market, and all those prospective buyers backing out, not to mention the way the carpet was yanked out? Yeah. And now I really want to see what’s up on the roof.” I toed off my shoes and picked them up.

“Give me a second. I’ll keep her distracted.” She walked out of the bedroom. “Oh, Francesca? Would you mind if we looked at the dining room again? I believe I have a Cézanne that will fit perfectly on the wall…” Her voice faded, and I waited a beat, then ran to the other end of the condo.

I took a slim leather case from the inner pocket of my suit jacket, selected a slender pick, and got the door to the roof open. I made my way cautiously up the stairs. Fortunately, none of them creaked.

The door at the top was also locked, and I made a note to be certain the condo association turned over two keys to me. I picked the second lock and opened the door. There was a possibility I could be seen if I stepped out onto the roof, and I decided I’d be better off studying the flat expanse from this viewpoint.

The air was turning cool, and there was a slight breeze. The breeze caused the remains of yellow crime scene tape to snap.

Interesting. And no doubt the reason why this particular condominium was having a hard time being sold. Investigating it had definitely been called for. I took my PDA from another pocket and powered it up. Within minutes, I had the information that my computer had downloaded to it.

On January 4 of this year, Delilah Carson, a very high-priced call girl, had been killed, viciously and thoroughly. The cops blamed her druggy boyfriend, who had taken a header off the roof. Groundskeepers had found him, his brains splattered on the concrete below.

I tucked the PDA back into my pocket and went back down, locking the doors behind me, and put the pick away and my shoes back on. Then I strolled down the hallway, whistling through my teeth.

“Mark? Precious, we’re in the dining room.”

They were sitting at the table, papers spread out. I leaned down and brushed my lips over her cheek. “Thanks, honey.”

“Have you decided to make an offer?” Francesca was looking tense.

“Yeah.” I told her how much, and she turned pale.

“They’ll never accept that.”

“You mean the executors of Delilah Carson’s estate? We’ll never know unless you present it to them. If they drag their feet…. Well, I don’t think they will, because as soon as prospective buyers have learned that the previous owner was eviscerated in her bedroom, they’ve backed out on the deal.” I scrawled my name at the bottom of each page. “Here’s my business card. Call me. Hon…Mrs. Mann? Shall we be going?”

“Of course, Mark.” She took my arm, and we each gave Francesca a smile goodbye.

* * * *

“‘Honey’?”

“Excuse me?” I flipped on the blinker, looked over my shoulder, and then accelerated and merged with the flow of traffic on I-495. As soon as I could, I got into the middle lane and set the cruise control for a speed that corresponded with the cars around me. It happened to be five miles over the speed limit.

“Mark, you called me ‘honey’!” She was laughing softly.

“Well….” I gave a slight grin myself. “I thought it was the kind of pet name a guy would call the woman who was keeping him. I hope you didn’t mind pretending to be my sugar momma.”

“Not at all. I haven’t had such fun….” She laughed again.

“If this falls through, I hope you’ll go house-hunting with me again.”

“It had better not fall through. Much as I like Allison, I won’t deal with that woman again.”

“Mrs. Mann, what was it about La Dashwood that drew your attention when we met her outside the clubhouse?”

“I should have realized you’d notice that. Her earrings, Mark. Those rubies were given to Allison by Clarkson Palmer, her first husband. Quite garish, but quite expensive. He asked for them back when the marriage collapsed, but after twenty-five years, she refused to return them. She told me she’d earned them, that after all the aggravation he put her through with one midlife crisis after another, she’d be damned if she’d let him give those rubies to his…child bride.”

I had a feeling those weren’t the words Mrs. Mann’s friend had used to describe the young woman who had snared her husband.

“Could they be fakes?”

“Hmm. I hadn’t thought of that. I suppose it’s possible, but they looked real to me.”

“So why would she give them to her present husband’s sister?”

“I don’t know, Mark. But I intend to find out.”

“If I can be of any help—” My cell phone rang. “Excuse me.” I took my eyes from the road long enough to check the readout. I recognized the number from the business card I’d been handed earlier. “Hello, Francesca. What news?”

“You don’t believe in the pleasantries, do you?”

Not with her. “I was under the impression this was a business call.”

“It is. They’ve accepted your offer.” She sounded less than pleased. 4 percent of what her clients were going to get wasn’t a patch on the 4 percent she’d have collected if I’d agreed to the original price that had been quoted to Mrs. Mann.

“I’m glad to hear that. When and where do they want to get together to finalize this?”

She named the day and time the following week, and the location, which was in Alexandria. “You should have ownership then. Congratulations on becoming a new homeowner.”

“Thanks. It’s been…” There was a click in my ear as she disconnected. “…a pleasure.” I laughed softly, pressed end, and dropped my phone onto the seat beside me. “I don’t think she’s too happy with me.”