Killer Listing (25 page)

Mitzi Cameron pursed her lips. “The first thing we do—the first thing I do—is speak with the authorities. I hope Detective Briggs will see me this afternoon, even if it is a Sunday.” She paused. “I felt I owed you two an explanation of what is happening, but I do not want you to get involved. He is, after all, your father.”

Jack gave a rueful laugh. “Not get involved? When he framed me for arson?”

Mitzi’s eyes flashed. “I know you were wronged, but I am asking for the sake of the family that you let me handle this.” She turned to Alexandra and the anger left her voice. “I don’t want to put you in the middle, Alexandra. Do you understand?”

She nodded, her face a beautiful mask. Rising from the cream-colored chair where she had been sitting, Alexandra took a breath and exhaled slowly.

“I need to go out for a while. I don’t want to be here when the police arrive, so I’ll be on Alligator Key until I hear from you.” She went to Mitzi and gave her a stiff hug. She turned slowly toward her brother. “I’m glad for you, Jack. After all you’ve been through …”

Jack nodded. “Thanks.” He watched her go, long and lean in her jeans and tee shirt. He looked back at his mother.

“She’ll be okay.”

Mitzi gave a small nod. “I know. Still, it’s hard when someone is knocked off a pedestal.”

Jack rose from his chair and strode to the window. He looked out at the beautiful tropical plantings, the very picture of perfection, and yet beneath the expertly smoothed mulch were hundreds of crawling creatures feasting on the sodden wood chips. He turned back toward his mother and nearly echoed the words his sister had asked. “What happens next?”

Mitzi Cameron gave a long sigh and shrugged, a gesture so striking in its eloquence that Jack nearly wept. “I don’t know,” she confessed. “I truly do not know.”

_____

“You are a feast for tired eyes,” said Miles Porter, appearing via Skype on Darby’s computer screen. He had not shaved in days, and yet his British-accented voice was chipper and he gave the same lopsided grin she remembered from Maine. “God, it is good to talk to you.”

“You too,” Darby said. “I’m so glad you are safe. I heard about the reporter from Canada …”

“Claudette.” His tone was somber. “She was a wonderful journalist, and a good friend.” He paused. “Darby, if I should end up on the wrong end of an IED …”

“You’re not going to,” she interrupted. “You are going to be fine.”

“I daresay you are right. But just the same, let me tell you something, please?”

Darby swallowed. “Yes?”

“I think you are a remarkable woman, one that I could enjoy knowing for the rest of my life.”

Darby bit her lip, her heart pounding.

“You know I can’t boil water, right?”

She saw him smile and look off to the side. “Yes, you informed me of that fact while in Maine.” He grinned again. “I’m not going to get all mushy on you. I know that’s not your style, and it’s not usually mine, either, except that in a war zone one feels differently about sharing feelings.” He gave her a direct look and she felt her face grow hot. “I plan to come out of this in one piece, and when I do, my first destination is wherever you are.”

Darby nodded. “Be careful,” she whispered, wondering if he could see the tears in her eyes. “Please.”

“I shall.” He blew a little kiss and smiled. “You be careful as well. No getting mixed up in any murders, right?”

Darby nodded. No need to tell Miles that it was too late. She was already far too involved to retreat.

“I am so happy
to be home,” Helen announced, looking up at her little Caribbean-style cottage. She was holding on to the side of Darby’s Mustang as she spoke, and Darby watched to see if she was dizzy or lightheaded. But Helen moved purposefully toward the porch, unlocked the front door, and stepped in. She smiled, her lips brightened by the coral lipstick she favored, and looked over the sunny room.

“Thank you for watching my little house, Darby. How rude of me to go and have a heart attack while you were visiting!”

“That’s exactly what I was thinking,” Darby said as she carried in Helen’s bag. “How can Helen be so thoughtless?” Both women laughed.

“Oh, it feels good to be home,” Helen sighed. “You have a little experience like that and it sure makes you glad to be alive.”

Darby nodded, thinking about Miles and his comments regarding the slain Canadian journalist. Certainly his brushes with mortality were changing him, making him more intentional, at least where she was concerned.

“What kinds of activity can you do today, Helen?”

“I have to take it easy today and tomorrow, and then I can ease back into my routine.” She rolled her eyes. “What a giant pain.”

Darby smiled. “There is plenty of time for you to run around at your old pace once you’re better. Meanwhile, why don’t I get you up to speed on Kyle Cameron’s case?”

Helen’s eyes widened. “Have there been any new developments?”

Darby nodded and told Helen about the slaying of Candy Sutton. “Jonas Briggs feels there’s a connection, and I do, too. Did you know that Kyle was Candy’s broker?”

“No.” she paused. “I don’t think I ever met this Candy person, unless she was the woman Kyle brought to see a listing I had over on the Key.” She thought a moment. “Tall, very good looking businesswoman? Blonde?”

“That’s right.”

“Well, that may have been her, then. She didn’t buy the place, so I didn’t pay much attention.” She gave Darby a shrewd glance. “What’s going on with the Cameron family?”

Darby described her meeting with Carlotta and Mitzi’s surprise appearance in the boat house.

“John Cameron! I know firsthand what a snake he is.” She looked up and made a face. “He put the moves on me years ago. But with Carlotta’s daughter? That’s lower than low. And torching Belle Haven? And letting Jack take the rap …” She shook her head ruefully. “He was a bad apple from the beginning. Maybe this will mean that Mitzi will finally send him packing.”

“No one would be surprised if she did.” Darby lifted the tea kettle inquiringly. “Would you like a cup of tea?”

Helen nodded. “Please.” She looked around the kitchen. “I was only in that hospital a day but boy it feels good to be home. There really is nothing quite like the place you hang your hat, now is there?”

“No. I’ve always thought it’s one of the more powerful aspects of our job. We help people find homes—not houses—but homes.” She filled the kettle and set it on the stove to boil.

“Speaking of homes, what are the next steps for St. Andrew’s Isle?” Helen gave a little grin. “That was a fun thing to think about while I was lying in that hospital bed.”

Darby smiled. “I’m hoping to set up the building inspection for Tuesday. If that’s not possible, I’m planning to fly back from California when it’s scheduled.”

“Don’t tell me you’re going home!” Helen looked truly upset and Darby regretted her words.

“I’m not going anywhere for several days, Helen. I’m lucky to have ET who takes care of my transactions so thoroughly. He’s assured me that things are going smoothly, so if I can be of help to you, I’m happy to stay.” Not for the first time, Darby silently thanked her capable assistant, hard at work back in California.

“What about Maine? Any action up there?”

“The business is on hold for a bit.” Darby pictured Tina Ames, tall, thin, and sporting her fire-engine red fingernails. If all went as planned, Tina would have her Maine real estate license by the end of the month.

Helen bit her lip. “My time in the hospital made me so grateful for your presence. You’ve done wonders for me, and I just know you are going to figure out who killed poor Kyle.” She selected a tea bag and handed it to Darby. “The police decided it wasn’t the serial killer on the East Coast. But now two people are dead here. Does that mean we have our own serial killer in Sarasota?”

Darby pondered the question long after the older woman had gone to lie down for a nap. Helen had a point. If Kyle and Candy’s killer were one and the same, the murderer had proven that he or she was willing to take multiple lives to stay unknown.

The questions were once more swirling in Darby’s head, and she grabbed a piece of paper and a pen and began jotting them down. What did Candy know that made her dangerous? What was she going to tell the police? Was it a coincidence that she was killed just before meeting with them, or had someone known about her appointment? Had she inadvertently mentioned something to one of her clients?

She thought about what she knew of as the facts of the case. Kyle Cameron had known her attacker. She was pregnant at the time of her death. She’d been about to leave her position at Barnaby’s to join Helen at Near & Farr.

Sassa Jorgensen had said that Kyle and Foster had called off their relationship the night before her murder. As a jilted lover, McFarlin was a top suspect, and yet his claim that he’d been driving from one end of the state to the other made it impossible for him to have been at Esperanza Shores.

Whom else had Kyle Cameron wronged? Darby felt sure that was the real question. She thought about Chellie Howe, and the humiliation brought on by her husband’s affair. Could she have been disgraced enough to kill her husband’s lover? And Candy as well?

And then there was Alexandra Cameron, and the defeat she had suffered so many years ago because of her future sister-in-law. Could losing a beauty pageant decades earlier cause someone to kill? Darby thought it was doubtful, but what if other indignities had happened since? What if watching her brother suffer at the hands of Kyle Cameron had proven too much to bear?

Finally, there were the brokers at Barnaby’s—Marty Glickman and Peter Janssen. Had Marty been angry enough at Kyle’s departure that he would resort to murder? Was there more to his involvement in the case, and if so, what did Peter Janssen know?

Darby put down her pen and sighed. The case was no clearer now than it had been the day of the murder.
Maybe it’s time for some basic detective work,
she thought.
Putting the old sandal to the pavement
.

She left a quick note for Helen and grabbed her purse and phone. The late afternoon sun was still strong but Darby barely noticed the heat. Starting up the black Mustang, she backed out of Helen’s driveway and headed down Driftwood, steering toward the Sunshine Senior Home in Sarasota.

_____

The staff at the retirement facility was polite, but puzzled. Yes, records showed that an Anna Slivicki had been a resident, but she was long gone and none of the nurses remembered her. As to the residents, there was only one woman, Clara Lunt, who had been present at the time of Anna, and her memory, warned the head nurse with a stern look, was not always reliable.

Nevertheless, Darby asked to speak with the elderly resident and was shown into a private room cheerfully decorated with cat memorabilia and a brightly patterned chintz chair. An old-fashioned scent hung in the air, and Darby finally identified it as rosewater.

She introduced herself and asked if she could sit down for a visit.

Clara Lunt nodded eagerly. She had a little, wizened face surrounded by a cloud of nearly transparent white hair, and long thin arms that fluttered slightly in her lap.

“Of course I remember Anna,” she said softly, her blue eyes dancing with excitement. “She was my best friend.”

Darby smiled and nodded. “I understand that Anna had a little girl who sometimes stayed here.”

Clara bobbed her head up and down, causing her silver cloud of hair to bounce. “Yes, the little girl was called Kyle. A strange name but a wonderful little thing! She was so sweet and fun, and of course she grew up to be such a pleasant young woman. She visits us quite often, although I haven’t seen her in a few weeks.” She looked around the room as if she had misplaced something. Darby wondered if she should tell Clara Lunt the truth.

“I’m afraid I have sad news about Kyle. She passed away suddenly last week.”

Clara’s eyes dulled and her face puckered. “That’s terrible,” she said. “How did it happen?”

Darby gave a short account of the murder, doing her best not to upset the older woman. She watched as Clara Lunt processed the information.

“Someone killed that girl,” she murmured to herself, shaking her head and clasping her hands. “I wonder if anyone has told Sam.”

“Sam?” Darby felt her interest piqued.

Clara nodded. “Sam Wilson. He and Kyle were working on a project together. It was a story about Anna—how she escaped the Nazis and came to America.” She looked sad. “I suppose that story will never be told if Kyle is dead.”

Darby reached over and squeezed the thin hands gently. “I don’t know, Clara. I’ll visit Sam and encourage him to continue.”

Her smile lit up her entire face. “His room is on the other side of the building, by the gazebo. Tell him I said hello.”

_____

Sam Wilson already knew about Kyle’s murder. He rocked back and forth at a large wooden desk covered in books and papers, a small notebook-type laptop computer perched precariously on top of a stack of magazines.

“Lieutenant Governor Howe is exactly right,” he fumed. “The streets of Florida are too dangerous! Look at what happened to Kyle at Esperanza Shores! Hardly what you would call a bad neighborhood. The muggings, the murders …” his voice trailed off and his bright blue eyes grew misty. “I miss her already,” he said softly. “She was such a fun, lively person. She would come here and we would work on the project, and she made me feel like a million dollars.” He gave a sad grin and Darby’s heart ached.

“Tell me about what you were doing,” she said gently.

He brightened. “Writing a story about Anna Slivicki’s escape from Warsaw, just as the Nazis invaded. It is quite a thrilling tale of survival, and I was helping Kyle with the research and writing.”

He pointed at a stack of papers about two inches tall. “That’s a copy of the manuscript,” he said proudly. “We were trying to find some photographs, but of course that is difficult.”

He pulled a glossy photo out of a folder. “Kyle did have this one.” It was a studio portrait of an elegant woman in her sixties, seated at a table. Her hands were interlaced under her chin, elbows resting on the surface of the wood.

“This is Anna?”

“That’s right. It was taken when she lived here at the home. Kyle wanted to use it because it shows her wearing the ring.”

Darby looked more closely at the photograph. Indeed, Anna Slivicki was wearing an unusual looking cocktail ring on the pinkie of one hand.

Sam Wilson handed her a magnifying glass. “Take a look. It’s a lovely piece. Not just the diamond, but six exquisitely cut sapphires. Of course, it’s how Anna bought her freedom out of Poland.” He gave an excited smile. “She had to sell a few stones at various times but she replaced them as soon as she could.”

Darby put down the magnifying glass. “Where is the ring now?”

“Kyle has it.” He corrected himself. “She had it.”

Darby made a mental note to ask Jack.

“Sam, did Kyle ever mention any problems she was having with anyone? Did she ever seem afraid of anyone?”

He shook his head. “No. She was the most confident person I have ever met. She never complained about anything.” He thought a moment. “Except for one guy. He called her once when we were working. She was pretty curt with him. You know how you just get fed up sometimes?”

Darby nodded. “Who was that?”

“His name escapes me.”

“Was it Foster McFarlin?”

He shook his head.

“Marty Glickman?”

“Yeah, I think that’s it.”

“Do you remember what they talked about?”

“No. She didn’t tell me. We just got back to work on the manuscript.” He paused, and gave Darby a puzzled look. “It couldn’t have been that bad, because everyone liked her, didn’t they?”