Killer Listing (11 page)

Darby followed her gaze to a curving tiled wall holding a shallow pool from which a spray of water cascaded. It was placed squarely in the center of the circular drive, a beautiful backdrop for visitors as they parked their cars.

“My goodness,” Helen exclaimed, slamming her car door. “This is going to be one fun listing.”

They walked toward a massive front door made of weathered, wide-planked wood, which was opened almost immediately by a small man with a receding hairline and wire-rimmed glasses. “You’re here,” he said, allowing them to enter the cool foyer. Arches framed a wrought-iron stairway that contrasted with the bleached stucco walls. “Tag!” he yelled up the stairs. “The real estate brokers are here.”

He gave a quick nervous smile. “I’m Bernie Schultz. Tag will be down in a minute.”

He led Helen and Darby to a grand living room with rustic wooden beams against white-washed walls. They sat down on a worn leather couch with vibrant red and yellow pillows while Bernie Schultz looked anxiously toward the door. “He’s got appointments all day,” he confided. “It isn’t the easiest thing to keep him on track.”

“Keep me on track? Are you complaining again, Schultz?” The tall, larger-than-life persona of one of the world’s most recognizable golfers filled the room, and both women found themselves rising to their feet.

“Ladies, ladies, no need to get up,” Tag Gunnerson boomed. He was tanned and boyishly handsome, with a full head of thick blonde hair and wide shoulders. He had an athlete’s trim but powerful physique, and the muscles in his arms and thighs rippled under his well-tailored clothes. He was bigger than Darby imagined, and, as he reached out to shake both their hands, the force of his grip was strong and confident
. Magnetic
, Darby thought.

Tag Gunnerson cocked a thumb in Bernie Schultz’s direction and grinned. “I keep him around because he reminds me of that old World War Two show, ‘Hogan’s Heroes.’ Remember Schultz? The fat guy with the mustache?” He chuckled.

Bernie Schultz gave a shrug as if he’d heard the joke many times before. “Tag, these are the brokers from Near & Farr Realty.”

“Yes, yes,” Tag said, motioning for them to sit. “Kyle Cameron’s friends.”

Helen nodded. “Yes, I was quite fond of Kyle.” She smoothed her skirt, and Darby knew she was composing herself. Meeting an idol didn’t happen every day, but Darby could tell she was determined to remain professional.

“I’m Helen Near, and this is my colleague, Darby Farr. Unfortunately, Darby didn’t get the opportunity to meet Kyle.” Helen tried to give a bright smile. “Your home and grounds are beautiful, Mr. Gunnerson.”

“Please, call me Tag.” He gave an affable smile and looked around. “It is a pretty place. Thanks for saying so.”

“May I ask why you are interested in selling?”

Tag nodded. “Sure. It’s no secret that I’ve been helping care for my nephew Charlie since he was born. He’s got a rare form of leukemia, and it’s a lot for Gretchen—that’s my sister—to handle. As much as my schedule permits, I like to help out.” He raised his eyebrows, all mirth gone from his demeanor. “I want to be closer to them, and they live outside of Phoenix. Long story short, I’m relocating to Arizona.”

Bernie Schultz gave a small cough. “Tag’s career allows him to live anywhere as long as there are challenging golf courses nearby.”

“Which there certainly are in south central Arizona,” said Helen.

“Have you played there?” asked Tag.

“Several times. I love the Scottsdale courses, especially Whisper Rock, Troon, and the Desert Mountain Club.”

“I’m impressed,” Tag said. “None of them are easy holes.”

“I’m not a big fan of easy.”

Tag laughed. “Me neither.” He turned to Bernie. “Go through the paperwork with Helen, Schultz, and take her on the grand tour of St. Andrew’s Isle. Anyone who knows Arizona golfing like she does is the one for me.” He turned to Darby. “I understand you may be helping Mr. Kobayashi should he decide to buy this place.”

Darby nodded. “I’ve got to get some licensing requirements out of the way, but once that’s done, I’d be happy to represent him. Is he in Florida now?”

“He will be here on Friday and asked if I might set up a meeting with you. He’s pleased to work with someone who shares his ethnicity.”

“I’m sure Helen told you that I’m only half Japanese, on my mother’s side.”

“Half’s a whole lot more than nothing is the way I see it.” Tag Gunnerson turned to Bernie. “Give Darby the details on Kobayashi’s flights and set up a convenient time for them to get together.” He smiled his expansive smile and rose to his feet. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to speak to my agent about some upcoming tour dates.” He grinned and pointed a finger at Helen, cocking it as if it were a gun. “I very much look forward to working with you.”

“Likewise, Tag.” Helen lifted her briefcase. “We’ll discuss pricing options some other time?”

“Nah.” Tag Gunnerson grinned. “That’s what I’ve got old Schultz for.” He glanced at his watch and waved. “
Adios
, ladies. Hit ’em straight and long.”

They watched as he strode out of the room.

“Well,” Bernie Schultz said, giving another of his delicate coughs. “Tag has spoken, so let’s get the show on the road. I believe you met Justin Fleischman. He’s waiting to take you through the houses and grounds.” He eyed Helen’s briefcase. “Have you brought the listing papers?”

Helen nodded and pulled them out.

“And what price are you suggesting?”

“Forty-five million,” Helen said. “We may adjust that after we see the property, but I think you’ll find our analysis to be quite thorough.”

“Very good. I’ll go over everything with Tag and call you tonight or tomorrow.” He handed Darby a disk. “Hideki Kobayashi’s itinerary as well as some background information that may be helpful.” He rose to his feet. “You ladies will see that Tag is a very hands-off client. He’ll trust the number you’ve come up with and will expect the transaction with Kobayashi—if indeed he decides to go forth—to be a smooth one.” He gave a condescending smile. “I doubt that many of your sellers are as easy to deal with.”

Helen and Darby both stood. Helen extended her hand and smiled.

“I look forward to working with you, Bernie. Call me and we’ll get the show on the road as you suggested.”

Darby thanked him for the disk and his time. She paused as they were heading out of the room.

“Bernie, I have a quick question. Was this property ever offered to Barnaby’s International Realty?”

He stopped and thought a moment. “Last year I called Barnaby’s and a gentleman—Peter? Paul?—came out to meet us. He was nice enough, but Tag wasn’t quite ready to sell, so that’s where it ended.”

“Did you contact Barnaby’s recently? When Tag decided it was time to list the property?”

“Yes. I called them to get in touch with Kyle Cameron. She was the one Tag wanted.”

“Had Kyle contacted Tag?”

“He met her at a charity dinner a few months ago, and asked me to set something up. She was supposed to come to a little cocktail party Tag hosted Monday night. Of course, given what happened, she didn’t show.” He shrugged. “She must have told him she was joining your agency, or he wouldn’t have asked me to call you.” He gave them an expectant look, clearly ready to be done with all the questions. “And now if you’re through, Justin is waiting …”

“Yes,” Darby said, following Helen back into the tiled foyer. “We’re ready to take the tour.”

_____

When they were back in Helen’s Lexus and zooming away from St. Andrew’s Isle, Helen looked at Darby and gave her big, booming laugh.

“Can you believe that place? What about the movie theatre? Pretty nifty!”

“I’d rather watch Hitchcock movies than endless rounds of golf, but it was cool.” Darby glanced up at the canopy of palms that lined the roadway. “The house is magnificent, but I really loved the gardens. The way they were so private, as if they were little secret hideaways.”

Helen gave another booming laugh. “The whole place is amazing. A killer listing, that’s what Kyle would have said.” She glanced over at Darby, her eyes dancing. “Tag doesn’t even want to talk price! So I have to put up with that prissy assistant Bernie, but who cares?”

Darby agreed. “Tag’s whole focus is on his game and getting to Arizona. Wouldn’t it be nice if all our clients were that uncomplicated?”

“No kidding.” Helen’s look turned shrewd. “I’ve been thinking about how we can handle your representation of Mr. Kobayashi. Do you really have to go to all the trouble of taking that exam?”

Darby laughed. “Yes! If I want to stay on the right side of the Florida Real Estate commission, I have to play by the rules.” She grinned. “It’s no big deal, Helen. I’ll study after the service and take the test on Thursday morning. Believe me, I do not want to pass up the chance to help Mr. Kobayashi buy St. Andrew’s Isle.”

“Gotcha. Hey, how about that whole discussion regarding Barnaby’s? It certainly doesn’t sound like they had any real client relationship with Tag.”

“I agree. Maybe Marty Glickman is posturing, hoping to end up with some of the money. It would be interesting to talk to the other broker—what did you say his name was?”

“Peter Janssen. I’m sure you’ll get your chance, Darby. I’m betting he’ll be at Kyle’s service.” She checked her watch. “We’ve just got time to get dressed. I’d have a quick sandwich, but Mitzi will have plenty of food at Casa Cameron. She always puts out a big spread.”

Darby glanced out the window. Coconut palms had given way to large slash pines.

“It’s not going to be an easy time for Jack,” Darby noted, watching a blue heron swoop over the roadway, a small fish in his beak. “Maybe once the service is over, he’ll seek some professional help.”

“Maybe,” Helen said darkly. “If it isn’t already too late.”

_____

“You’ve got to pull it together, hear me, Jack? Two hours of your precious time—that’s not a lot to ask. Then you can go and drink yourself into oblivion, if that’s what you want.” John Cameron’s handsome features were contorted in a sarcastic snarl. His hands, balled into tight fists, were on his hips. He tapped his foot, impatient to rejoin the guests gathered to remember Kyle Cameron, one of whom was a very pretty and very well-endowed sales associate from Barnaby’s.

“Yeah, yeah,” Jack muttered, rising from his prone position on the bed. His eyes darted to the bedside table, looking for the bottle of antidepressants Dr. Menendez had prescribed. Gone. No doubt his mother had removed them earlier in the day.

He waved a heavy arm in his father’s direction. “Go on, I’m coming.” His voice was flat, but if his father cared or noticed, he said nothing.

“Fine. I’ll tell your mother you are on your way.”

Jack watched the tall man turn and leave, his suit impeccably tailored, face tanned and healthy looking. Not like his own, blotched and bloated with grief.

Kyle was gone. She was really, truly, gone, and he would never have the chance to say goodbye, much less tell her how sorry he was that he had ruined everything. Now that the voices in his head had stopped, he could sense the raw pain of her death just below the drug-induced numbness. She was not coming back, not ever, and he knew that was a truth he couldn’t face.

Tomorrow, he thought. If I can make it until tomorrow …

He lurched up from the bed and loped to a mirror to adjust his tie. He finger combed his hair and slapped some color into his face. He looked like hell, but it would have to do. One more day, he promised himself. Just one more day.

_____

“Are you Ms. Farr? Ms. Darby Farr?”

A pleasant-looking man in his early sixties approached Darby as she stood by a table laden with salads, cold-cuts, and trays of sliced fruits.

“I am,” she answered, surveying the man. He wore a navy suit with a crimson tie, and held what looked to be a glass of whiskey. “And you are …?”

“Peter Janssen, from Barnaby’s.” He held out his hand and gave a brief smile. “I am—I was—a friend of Kyle’s.”

“I’ve heard your name, Mr. Janssen. I’m sorry for the loss of your colleague.”

He swallowed hard and the pleasantness left his face. “Thank you. This is—very difficult.” He sighed and seemed to collect his emotions. “Won’t you call me Peter? I was headed for the verandah, and I’d love it if you’d join me.”

Darby threaded her way through the groups of people, amazed at how many mourners had come out to Casa Cameron for the reception following Kyle’s funeral. “She was obviously well-known,” Darby commented, as Peter stopped in a relatively quiet spot on one end of the porch.

“Well-known and well-loved,” said Janssen, pausing to indicate even more clusters of people assembled across Casa Cameron’s verdant lawns. “Everyone liked Kyle. You couldn’t help it. She was sunny, energetic, and a hell of a real estate broker.” He pointed at a wrought iron bench. “Care for a seat?”

“Thank you.” Darby sat down, her glass of Chardonnay in hand. She took a sip and regarded Peter Janssen.

“How long did you work with Kyle?”

“Six years at Barnaby’s, but we knew each other before that. You know how it is in real estate. You end up doing deals with other brokers, some of whom you like and respect, others whom you keep an extra sharp eye on. Kyle was one of the best. She was thorough and communicative. Working with her was a pleasure.”