Killer Listing (6 page)

“Nah. Whatever comes my way.” He scanned the streets and turned down the leafy road where Darby had been running only minutes before. “Generally, this is a pretty boring jurisdiction. White collar crime, your occasional crime of passion, but none of the random violence you find in Tampa or Miami.” He glanced over at Darby. “The murder of Kyle Cameron is very unusual. A first in my fifteen years with the department.”

“How did you know it was part of a series of killings?”

“We relayed the information to OSI—that’s the Office of Statewide Intelligence, a fusion center for data—and they got a hit. The guy’s MO is the same. He preys on attractive real estate agents, ambushing them at an open house just before it begins. His weapon is a long, thin, blade. The victims are stabbed multiple times in the throat and chest area, and there is no sign of sexual assault. All three have been found by clients coming to look at the property.”

Darby shivered and Jonas Briggs adjusted the air conditioning, although her shiver had nothing to do with the temperature.

“How will the investigation be handled?”

“I’ll work with the guys on the East Coast through the Department of Legal Enforcement,” he said. “The pressure is on to solve it quickly, before a statewide panic sets in. But these are the crimes that generally take a while. You’re not dealing with someone who’s jealous of a co-worker, or mad at his ex-wife. You’re dealing with a psycho, and getting into their mindset is pretty tricky.”

Darby nodded and Detective Briggs turned into Helen’s neat little driveway. “Here you go. I hope you’re being careful about jogging alone around here. It’s pretty safe, but still …”

Darby held up the palm-sized can of pepper spray and smiled. “I bring along a friend.” She didn’t tell the detective that she was a graduate of San Diego’s coveted Akido Academy and had competed in countless martial arts competitions.

“Good.” Jonas Briggs put the car in park and opened his door. To Darby’s amazement, he came around the Volvo and opened hers with a flourish. “There. I hope I’ve in some way made up for my rude manners this morning.”

“Yes,” Darby said, emerging once more into the heat. “Your mother would be proud.”

_____

After a shower and a check of her e-mails, Darby drove the black Mustang to Helen Near’s office on Serenidad’s main street. She found Helen on the phone, an intense look of concentration on her face.

“Tomorrow morning will be fine,” she said, jotting something down on a yellow pad of paper. “Nine a.m., and I’ll bring my partner.”

She hung up and gave Darby a huge smile. “You will never guess who I have been talking to.”

“Tag Gunnerson.”

Helen’s smile turned to incredulity. “Yes! Well, not Tag exactly, but his assistant. How in the world did you guess?”

“You have that ‘I just spoke to a celebrity’s assistant’ look on your face.”

Helen shook her head back and forth in slow motion. “You’ve got some kind of sixth sense, Darby Farr. How in God’s good name …”

Darby could not contain her laughter any longer. Pointing at Helen’s legal pad, she said, “I don’t need special powers to see that you’ve doodled the word ‘Tag’ with dollar signs all around it.”

Helen glanced down at her handiwork and gave her booming laugh. “Well, so I have,” she said. “Talk about your confidential conversations! Come on, girl, I’ve got a lot to tell you.”

“Where are we headed?”

“A little place called the Dive. Best grouper sandwiches in Sarasota County.” Her lips tightened as she hauled up her purse. “It’s Jack Cameron’s
other
restaurant—the one that didn’t burn to a crisp.”

_____

The Dive was a cozy place, right on the water, with a large dock holding fifteen or so small tables under an awning strung with seagull netting. Artifacts from shipwrecks—the prow of a boat, several rusted compasses, a huge wheel—constituted the majority of the décor.

“Let me guess—Jack’s a diver,” Darby surmised. “And he likes to dive wrecks.”

“That’s right. He got the diving bug back when he was a teen, and it’s how he spends his free time, along with fishing.” Helen looked around the restaurant’s full tables and waiting line. The smell of grilled burgers wafted on a slight breeze. “This place is always busy, and Mitzi says that Jack makes a good living—not that he or his sister really have to work, but don’t get me started.” She lowered her voice. “His other place—Belle Haven—was a flop from the get-go. Can you believe it burned last night? Mitzi called and told me after you left for your run.”

“Why did the restaurant fail? Seems like it was in a good location, downtown by the upscale shops.”

“Yeah, that’s true, but it just never took off. The chefs kept quitting and the menu kept changing. It was too expensive for some people and not pricey enough for others. I think it was doomed from the beginning.”

“Why’s that?” Darby put up two fingers to answer the hostess’ question about how many people were in the party. She and Helen then followed her to a table in the center of the room. Helen took a seat, examined a basket of bread, and resumed her explanation.

“Jack’s heart wasn’t in it. He started Belle Haven to impress Kyle, that’s what I think. He thought he could win her back with a fancier place.” She looked around The Dive. “Now, this place is Jack Cameron. That other restaurant was him trying to be someone else. Someone like Foster McFarlin.”

“The developer of Esperanza Shores?”

“That’s right. Kyle and McFarlin were having an affair. I’m sure they thought they were discreet, but everyone in the state knew. Nobody thought it would last, but it broke Jack’s heart and spirit to see her hanging on his arm.”

Darby looked up as a pert woman with a notepad materialized at their table. “Do you need more time?” Her pen was poised to write their order.

“Nah.” Helen looked at Darby. “We want grouper sandwiches, right?”

Darby nodded. “And an iced tea.”

“I’ll have the same,” said Helen. “Except bring me a beer.”

The waitress nodded, her blonde ponytail bobbing, and turned her attention to a family just taking their seats nearby. Overhead a frustrated seagull shrieked, hoping to swoop down on an unsuspecting diner’s French fries.

“Foster McFarlin is married to the lieutenant governor of Florida, right?” Darby asked. “I think I read that in the morning paper.”

Helen nodded. “Chellie Howe. She’s got her eye on the governor’s mansion, if you ask me.” She gave a weary sigh. “I heard her on the radio pounding home her tough-on-crime routine, using Kyle’s death as the prime example of why we need new state leadership.” She shrugged. “If a real estate agent can get butchered just for holding an open house, maybe Chellie is right.”

Their beverages arrived and both took a long drink. “How are the Camerons holding up?” Darby asked.

“Mitzi is exhausted. I’m worried about her. Alexandra stayed at the house to keep an eye on Jack, who seems to be coming to grips with the whole thing. Poor Jack. He’s a mess, but he’s planning Kyle’s service for tomorrow afternoon.” She lowered her voice. “Tell you the truth, I’m kind of surprised that this place is open for business. Maybe there was some reason Jack couldn’t close.”

Helen took a quick sip of beer, then gave a quick intake of breath. “Shoot! What time did I make that appointment with the golfer?”

“You said ‘nine,’” reminded Darby. “You also said you’d bring your partner.” She raised her eyebrows expectantly.

Helen gave Darby a sheepish grin. “Yeah, I was going to bring that up.” She looked up as the waitress delivered their sandwiches. “First, taste your lunch. You’re going to love it.”

Darby lifted the sandwich. Lettuce poked out of a soft, sesame-seed sprinkled bun, and Darby could see a slice of tomato and a white sauce slathered on a generous wedge of broiled fish. She inhaled. “Smells delicious.” Taking a bite of the delicately seasoned fish, she nodded. “Yum.”

“Your Aunt Jane is up in heaven smiling,” Helen said. “She loved a good grouper sandwich. She told me once that the lobster rolls up in Maine were pretty darn good, but that nothing could beat this.”

They ate in silence for a few minutes, enjoying the simple but satisfying flavors. After wiping her mouth with her napkin, Helen gave Darby a frank look.

“Okay, now I’ve got to come clean. I really need your help tomorrow. Let me tell you the situation, and then I hope you’ll agree to stay in Florida a few more days.”

Darby regarded the older woman over the table. “I’m listening.”

“Kyle Cameron told me she was going to be signing up a new listing. She wanted to wait until we’d finalized our partnership and she was no longer an agent with Barnaby’s. She was thrilled about the property, said it would be quite an achievement to sell it, never mind the commission. I didn’t know where or what it was, but I knew it was big.”

“When we set up our appointment for Monday, Kyle mentioned that she was going for cocktails somewhere that evening. She hinted that it had to do with her big listing. She laughed and said, “You’ll never believe this, Helen, but I may already have it sold!” Again, I didn’t press her for details. That’s not my way, and I trusted her. Heck, I’ve known the Camerons for years.”

“This morning, Tag Gunnerson’s assistant, a fellow named Bernie Shultz, called. He said he was sorry to hear of Kyle’s death. He said that her passing hadn’t influenced Tag’s decision to list with Near & Farr Realty. He said that from everything Kyle had said, Tag knew Near & Farr was the right agency.”

“Darby, he was talking to me as if I knew all about Kyle’s business, and I confess that I played along. He set up a meeting for tomorrow at nine, and asked for my business partner to come along.”

“I don’t see why you need me, Helen. You’re perfectly capable of landing all kinds of listings without me around. How could I possibly help you?”

“Tag Gunnerson will be there.”

“So? You’ll charm the pants off the guy.”

Helen smiled. “Thanks. Can’t say that I wouldn’t mind doing that.” She paused. “Darby, aside from the fact that two agents always look more powerful than one, there’s another reason your presence would help.”

“And what’s that?”

“The buyer for the property—the one Kyle hinted at—may be there as well.”

“So?”

Helen looked around the restaurant quickly and lowered her voice. “I was thinking you could represent him if he wants to make an offer.”

“One small problem: I’m not licensed in Florida.”

Helen shrugged. “We can work on that.”

Darby took another bite of her sandwich and chewed thoughtfully. “Why do I feel there’s something else you’re not telling me?”

The older woman squirmed in her seat. “Okay, okay.” She let out a sigh. “It’s the buyer. He’s from—well, he’s Asian.”

Darby sat back in her plastic chair. “Tell me you’re kidding.” She folded her napkin and gave Helen a level look. The older woman shook her head.

“Afraid not.”

“You’re playing the Japanese card, Helen Near. That’s totally unfair, not to mention discriminatory.”

“Come on, it’s no different than wearing a designer suit or driving a Lexus to impress your clients. It’s tailoring your presentation to fit the customer, that’s all.”

“You call choosing an agent to accompany you based on her race the same as picking out a skirt and jacket? It’s profiling, that’s what it is.”

“Obviously I want you along for more reasons than your ethnicity,” huffed Helen. “It’s just that—”

“I get it.” Darby toyed with her grouper sandwich as if deep in thought, keeping her companion waiting for several seconds. She wasn’t really annoyed, but it had been entertaining to watch Helen think about the implications of her words. Finally, she blew air out of her mouth as if arriving at a tough decision.

“I’ll tell you what. I’ll check with my office assistant back in California. If he can handle things without me for a few more days, I’ll change my flight and keep working on my Florida tan.”

Helen clapped her hands. “We’re going to make a pile of money, Darby Farr. You just wait and see.” She took a swig of beer and smiled. “Fifty acres. Three pools! Oh, I absolutely cannot wait.”

_____

Jack Cameron sat on the floor of the storeroom, his back against the door and his head in his hands. Restaurant supplies—canned and paper goods, jars of tartar sauce, rolls of aluminum foil, boxes of bagged potato chips—were stacked on shelves around him, and his knees were up against a large plastic container of mayonnaise. There was scarcely room for anything else in the cramped space, which truthfully was little more than a glorified closet. Overhead the fluorescent light buzzed, a steady drone that seemed to Jack like a drill honing in on his skull.

Kyle would not leave his thoughts, would not stop laughing at him. He pushed his thumbs into his temples trying to make her disappear, but she was there, her head thrown back, laughing at him so hard tears were running down her face. “I know about Belle Haven,” she was saying, her voice high, singsong-y, like a girl doing jump rope. Jack wanted to scream at her to stop, to leave him alone, but he knew she wasn’t going anywhere.

She was dead, he knew that, he’d seen her lifeless body, but she was the type of evil spirit that would not disappear.
Mabuya
. A spectre that never left, that would haunt his soul until he joined her in the underworld.