Wine, Dine and Christmas Crimes Maria Swan (read e book txt) 📖

If you were an active Realtor, you didn’t really spend much time ‘home.’ Even with all the advanced virtual websites and virtual home tours, people wanted to physically see the house. And I couldn’t have agreed more. Celebrities weren’t the only ones getting Photoshopped, so were properties, big or small.

Had I been the owner of the business, I would have closed for the holidays, put the phones on voicemail, and saved a bundle on electricity and employees’ compensation. But no one asked me, and as soon I was done sipping coffee I’d get back into my pink Fiat 500 and go visit Kassandra.

I turned on the computer in my little cubicle and started to google ‘gifts for men who own an Appaloosa.’ At first a series of silly mugs, socks, and T-shirts paraded on the computer screen, all with a horse head or a whole horse or a silly horse saying. By the third page it got serious and fascinating...gorgeous and majestic horses with long manes and fancy saddles. By page four the only humans interacting with the Appaloosas were Indians. I clicked on more pages, wanting to know more. Who knew? Appaloosa were a 100-percent American breed, which would explain why some of the photos dated back to before the First World War. And the horses had colorful painted symbols and beaded saddles. I suddenly had a lot more respect for Appaloosas in general and for Tristan and his Tache in particular. That’s when a hand on my shoulder shook me out of my reverie.

“What are you doing here?”

“I work here. How about you? I sure didn’t expected to see you at the office so bright and early after your party last night.”

“Bright and early?” Kay pointed her finger to the low corner of my screen, it showed 11:18 a.m. “Thinking about getting a horse?”

“Oh, no, no.” The rush of blood reached my face before my second denial. “Why is Sunny bothering to keep the office open?” I asked.

“Walk with me to my office,” she said.

I did.

“First, several escrows are still up in the air, and there are people who want to close before the new year for tax purposes. Second, this is where our loyal clients send their Christmas gifts since we don’t give out our personal addresses for obvious reasons.” She laid her briefcase on her neatly organized desk. Before I had a chance to reply in regard to her obvious reasons, Kay looked me in the eyes, and there wasn’t a smidge of a smile in hers. They were red-rimmed. Had she been crying?

Then she asked, “Monica, were you over at The Nest last night?”

I gulped for air, praying my face didn’t self-combust. Then it hit me. “Oh, you found my present.”

She jumped out of her chair so quickly I would have never expected such nimbleness from middle-aged, perfect-do, high-heeled Kay. With two steps she reached my side of the desk, her face so close to mine I could see where her make-up had clogged the pores of her stretched skin and covered a few facial hairs under her nose.

Mercy. “No, I did not find your present. Are you implying you broke into my condo to hide a present? Are you out of your mind? No big surprise that the detectives are looking for you.”

The only thing that struck me was that detectives were looking for me—at her place? The one where the young unknown woman drowned? My mouth had opened and closed at the speed of a motion-activated Walmart door. I couldn’t find my voice, and I was hyperventilating.

“No, no. I gave your present to Brenda and asked her to hide it under your Christmas tree.”

“How did you know I have a tree? I could be of Jewish faith.”

“Huh? The pics you showed us of your condo decorations last week? But never mind that. What detectives are you talking about? I’m pretty sure I don’t have any outstanding traffic tickets and—”

“Monica.” Her voice had dropped a few decibels, and apparently instead of reassuring her, my explanation about the thank-you gift worried her more. Well, goodbye, surprise. Now she knew. Damn.

“Monica,” she repeated. “It was you in the picture the detectives were showing to all the residents. I’m sure of that, and they were knocking at every door. What did you do?”

“Do? When? Where?” The image of Double Wide with his fancy suit and fancier car flashed in my mind’s eye. I chased it away, but not fast enough. Nothing escaped Kay’s eagle sight when it came to details.

“There, I saw it in your eyes. When were you were at The Nest. Why?”

What?

“I wasn’t in the building. Just came by to deliver some items for Brenda, and Leta met me by the service entrance. That’s all.” Not a chance in hell I was going to share my encounter with Double Wide, especially if Kay was in cahoots with him. “I only stopped by the office to see if Kassandra has something in her mail slot. I’m on my way to visit her,” I stated with as much self-assurance as I could muster.

And on that, I turned around and rushed out the door. I never did check Kassandra’s mail slot, either. I was mad at myself mostly and aware that Kay didn’t buy my story about the why my picture had shown up at the high-rise. I’d completely left out the detour I took by the main entrance. That was probably where the photo came from, some security camera. Obviously, the cops were questioning the residents about each and every one of the visitors whose mug got caught by the camera. The visitors who Mr. Gold Buttons called “trespassers.”

Hmm, I wondered to what group Double Wide belonged—welcomed visitor or trespasser? I pulled out of the Desert Homes Realty parking lot just as Sunny’s Cadillac pulled in. Coincidence or was she meeting with Kay? And my heart skipped a beat, was Kay turning in her thirty-day notice? Did Realtors do that?

I found Kassandra sitting comfortably at a table