Killer Listing (7 page)

Kyle had once been pure and good. They had enjoyed an innocent love, a desire to live a simple life, raise a family, run a business. But she had changed—rotted like a peach left too long in the sun, and it was her career that was to blame.

Jack heard a movement outside of the storeroom. It was only a matter of time before one of the wait staff tried the door, and then he’d have some explaining to do. He rose slowly and blinked a few times. Acting normal was the key. No more crazy Jack if his plan was to succeed.

He opened the door to the storeroom. Stepping cautiously into the hallway, he hoped the voice in his head had finally stopped, until he heard a high-pitched giggle that he knew belonged to Kyle.

_____

Helen gave the waitress her credit card and waved away Darby’s thanks. “With all you’re doing for me, lunch is the least I can do.” Finishing her beer with a gulp, she suddenly gasped in delight. “Jack! I didn’t know you were here? Get over here and give me a hug!”

Darby followed Helen’s gaze to the sturdy, tanned man making his way to their table. He had sandy blonde hair and deep blue eyes, and his grin revealed a set of perfectly straight white teeth.

He hugged Helen tightly. “It’s good to see you,” he said.

“You sweet boy. You haven’t been properly introduced to Darby.”

Jack turned his blue eyes on Darby and she saw a flash of fear flit across his face, but it was quickly replaced by his boyish grin.

“It’s the winner of the Jack Cameron treasure hunt,” he said. “I understand I have you to thank for finding me yesterday.”

Darby nodded. “I hope you’re feeling better.”

“Much. Thanks to Dr. Menendez and the miracle of pharmaceuticals, I’m back to my old self.” His eyes grazed over Darby and once more she felt an undercurrent of powerful emotion beneath his benign charm.

“What brings you to Sarasota?” he asked.

“A visit with Helen.”

“Remember my partner, Jane Farr?” Helen pointed in Darby’s direction. “Darby is her niece.”

Jack nodded. His eyes strayed over the tables, still full of diners enjoying the noonday heat. “Did you hear about the fire at Belle Haven?”

“I did,” Helen sighed. “Jack, I’m sorry.”

He shook his head and Darby thought he might cry. Instead he shrugged his shoulders. “Probably for the best. With Kyle gone …” He looked over the water and swallowed. “With Kyle gone I have to rethink everything.” He clenched his hands. It seemed to take a tremendous effort for Jack Cameron to converse. “Please excuse me, ladies, I’m needed in the kitchen.”

Darby and Helen watched him weave through the tables. Moments later he had disappeared inside the restaurant.

“That is one hurting man,” Helen whispered. “I can’t bear to see him like that.”

Darby nodded. She knew the pain of losing loved ones in a sudden and random way, and recognized Jack Cameron’s agony. She looked into her friend’s concerned face. “He needs professional help.”

Helen gave a sad nod. “I know.”

“Aren’t Mitzi and Alexandra concerned?”

“They are doing what they can. But John … he blocks every effort to help that boy.”

“Why?”

“Darby, I have asked myself that for years.” She picked up her purse. “Tell you what. Let’s stop at the office, then head to Casa Cameron and pay that family another visit. It’s high time you met John Cameron.”

Darby grabbed her pocketbook and prepared to follow Helen. As she walked around the tables and past the bar, an angular man in a black baseball cap swiveled slightly in his seat and snapped her photograph, but Darby, deep in thought, did not see.

_____

From his vantage point on a stool at the Dive’s bar, Clyde Hensley put down his camera and watched the two women as they wove between the tables and out of the restaurant. He turned back toward the bar and motioned to the bartender for his tab. Plunking down a twenty-dollar bill, he forced a casual tone to his voice. “I know that woman who was here with the Asian girl,” he lied. “But I can’t for the life of me remember her name.”

“Helen?” the bartender offered. He wiped the counter with a dingy rag. “That’s Helen Near. She’s a regular here. Old family friends with Jack.” He took the money and lowered his voice. “I didn’t know the other one. Quite the looker, huh?”

Clyde licked his lips and nodded. She was attractive, if you were into that kind of foreign scene, and plenty of guys sure were. He himself liked the more traditional all-American girl, with blonde hair and blue eyes, a little on the plump side. He was pushing sixty-five years old and wanted no part of that exotic stuff. And yet, he knew from experience that unusual looks paid top dollar.

The bartender lifted the twenty. “Let me get you change,” he said.

I should hope so
, thought Clyde. He’d only had two beers, and the guy hadn’t quite told him what he wanted.

Like the name of the dark-haired Asian girl. Not that it was important in the scheme of things. He let his thoughts drift to Kyle Cameron, another good-looking piece of ass, and shook his head. Dead, just like his best plan to date.
Shit.

Clyde waited for his change and pictured Darby Farr once more, this time without her clothes. He groaned and nearly laughed aloud. Yesirree, she could very well be the ticket.

_____

Half an hour later Clyde Hensley was at a marina by one of the large bridges spanning the Intracoastal Waterway. He spotted his customers right away, with their sunburned noses and annoyed looks. He hustled up to them and attempted a smile.

“Thought you might be here,” Clyde said, sizing up whether they’d be trouble or not. “I was waiting for you at the pier like we discussed, but people always get confused and show up here instead.”

The girl’s annoyance turned to confusion. She squinted up at him, her blonde hair framing a face that was round and dimpled. “We’re in the wrong place? I thought you said to come to the Causeway, take the first right …”

“Hey, hey,” he soothed. “It’s not a problem. You ladies aren’t known for getting directions one hundred percent correct now, are you?” He winked at the loser standing next to her, probably just a boyfriend by their ring-less fingers, and the guy gave a complicit chuckle.

“Shit, Lisa, he’s got your number right. You couldn’t find your way out of a paper bag if you had to.”

Lisa scowled but decided to let the matter go. “Who cares? He’s here now and we can have the ride of our life.” She reached for her boyfriend’s arm and gave it a squeeze. “I can’t wait.”

Clyde Hensley gave his sunniest smile. “Let’s get the paperwork out of the way and get you up there.” He handed them a standard release form and a pen. They scrawled down their names without reading the papers and handed them back.

He checked over their signatures.

“Okay, so you’re Lisa and Dylan, right?”

They nodded.

“I’ll just need your payment and we’ll get you on the boat and up into the great blue yonder.” He moistened his lips with his tongue. “That’ll be one hundred and forty dollars.”

“You said one hundred on the phone,” Lisa said, her voice wary.

“That’s right. It’s an even hundred if you want to go up nine hundred feet. I thought you wanted to go up to twelve.”

Lisa crinkled up her nose at Dylan. “What do you say, babe? Want to go even higher?”

“Sure.” He pulled out his wallet and counted seven twenties. He handed them to Clyde as if he expected some sort of reward.

Clyde nodded and stuffed them into the pocket of his shorts. “Great. Higher the better, is what I always say.” He hustled them down to the dock and into the speedboat. Moments later, they were rumbling away from the shore and heading under the bridge.

“Hey sport,” Clyde called over the hum of the engine. “Want to steer while I get them harnesses set up?”

Dylan lurched to the front of the boat and took the wheel. Clyde made sure the harnesses were connected to the cable and motioned for Lisa to come to the stern where a dive platform was set up.

“Here you go, sweetheart,” he said. “Fasten on a life jacket and then climb into a harness.” He waited to see if she needed assistance, noticing that her thighs were rapidly becoming a rosy pink. She did as he asked and waited expectantly. “Now let’s get that boyfriend of yours saddled up.”

Clyde took the wheel back from Dylan. “Go on back there and get a life jacket on, then step into the harness like Lisa.” Dylan nodded. He licked his lips nervously and Clyde had to suppress a smile.

Once the two were secured, Clyde let the boat idle while he connected the giant orange parachute. “Now once I start the boat again, she’s gonna take off and it won’t be long and you’ll be lifting up too,” he said. “You just relax while you’re up there and enjoy the ride. Okay?”

Dylan lifted a hand as if he were back in elementary school. “How’re we going to get down?”

Clyde gave a patient nod. “Same way you’re getting up. I’ll lower you back down and you’ll come right back on the platform. Done it a million times.”

“Shouldn’t you have another person here? To watch us? You know, a spotter?”

Clyde snorted. Why were the men always the scaredy cats? Lisa was itching to get up and see the view, while Dylan was thinking of every reason in the book why they should abort.

“I’ve done it both ways, Dylan, with spotters and without.” He nodded as if he were giving the matter some thought. “I find that if it’s just me, I can really concentrate on my customers, give them the kind of personal service they really deserve. If I’ve got another guy, we’re liable to start chatting about the Marlins game, what kind of beer we like, you know, guy stuff. Alone I am much more focused on you, my valued customers.” He paused and gave what he hoped was a convincing smile. “Trust me, you are going to enjoy yourself.”

He slammed the boat into gear and it leapt forward. “Ready?” he yelled over the roar of the motor. He sped into the center of the channel, enjoying the wind on his short silver hair. It was a beautiful day, the sky a clear blue to match the sparkling water.

Clyde Hensley heard the winches releasing more cable. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw his customers, sunburned legs dangling, rising slowly into the sky.

Back at Near &
Farr Realty, her grouper sandwich now a pleasant memory, Darby used her cell to call Enrique Tomaso Gomez, or “ET” as she called him. Her assistant answered the phone with a smooth, “Pacific Coast Realty, Darby Farr’s office,” and gave a loud exclamation when he heard his boss’ voice.

“Darby! How lovely to hear from you. How are things in the Sunshine State?”

Darby explained what had happened to Kyle Cameron and ET made a tsk-tsking sound.

“How often have I told you, those open houses are dangerous. That poor woman. Do the police have any leads?”

“I don’t know. I ran into one of the detectives this morning and it didn’t sound like they had anything just yet.” She paused. “ET, Helen has asked me to stay a few more days and help her land—and hopefully sell—an amazing listing.”

“How intriguing. Tell me more.”

Darby described what little she knew of Tag Gunnerson’s fifty acre island property and explained that a buyer was already interested. “The buyer is Asian, so Helen thinks I’m the perfect person to work with him.” She paused. “I read her the riot act on that one, but the truth is, if it all works, we’ll make some good money. Helen hasn’t valued the estate yet, but from what I know of waterfront property, it’s worth at least thirty million dollars, possibly more.”

ET was silent for a few minutes. Darby was about to ask if he was still on the line when he cleared his throat and spoke.

“I know you are anxious to come home,” he said. “But this opportunity brings up an issue I’ve been struggling with for some time now.” Darby heard him swallow. Obviously this was not an easy conversation for her friend.

“A family member is in trouble, and I need money. I know it’s a lot to ask, but perhaps if this sale goes through, we might talk about a loan.”

“There’s nothing to discuss, ET. You know I’m willing to help you out, whether this sale happens or not. How much do you need?”

There was a sigh. “It’s quite a large sum. Half a million dollars.”

Darby did some quick math in her head. If indeed the St. Andrew’s Isle deal did take place, Darby would make more than enough money to lend her friend the amount required.

“Listen,” she told ET. “You and I can do this if we keep all the bases covered. What’s going on there? Is there anything I need to know?”

He exhaled. “The O’Hara estate. I’m close to getting an offer, and I hope I will have good news soon. Everything else is moving along.”

“That’s great. Here’s what I’m thinking. See if you can find out how I can get a license to work with a buyer here in Florida. I’ll do my best to land this deal and get you what you need. Even if the sale doesn’t work out, you can count on me.”

He thanked her, and she could hear emotion in the usually calm man’s voice. What was going on? Why such a huge sum of money? Darby wasn’t going to pry. She trusted ET implicitly. Whatever he needed, she would get him—no questions asked.

_____

Clyde Hensley cracked open a beer and took a long swig. The sun was merciless and the humidity still high, but the cold pungent taste of the beer never failed to help.
This isn’t such a bad way to spend the time
, he thought,
in between higher paying jobs. Gets me out of the house and away from my computer.
He gave a half-hearted glance at Lisa and Dylan, still soaring hundreds of feet in the air.
Time to bring them down
, he thought.
As soon as I finish this beer.

One led to another and Clyde decided he’d better start the process of bringing the couple down before he fell asleep in the sun or ran out of gas. He hit the button on the automatic winch and the machine began grinding its motor, pulling the parachute and the couple closer to the boat. They had certainly gotten their money’s worth, Clyde thought. What with the sun and the pleasure of drinking a few beers, he’d left them up there for longer than usual.

Clyde’s thoughts drifted to food. He was hungry, and the wad of twenties in his pocket meant he could treat himself to something good for dinner. Snapper, maybe. Grilled with a little butter on his neighbor’s gas grill …

Over the groaning sound of the winch, Clyde heard a loud ping—the unmistakable sound of snapping cable. “Shit!” he spat, glancing up toward the sky. Yes, the cable had snapped like the string on a kid’s balloon, and his customers were already floating away from the boat, carried now by the currents of a stiff breeze toward the shore.

Clyde yanked the wheel of the boat hard. The broken cable was now slithering towards him like an angry water moccasin, and Clyde turned off the winch and hauled it in. He gunned the engine as fast as it would go, racing back toward the pier where he had left the trailer earlier in the day. His mind was a whirl of questions: Would he have time to get the boat out? Would he find anyone to give him a ride? Had he left anything, other than his vehicle, at the marina? He opened the cooler where two beers remained. The release form Dylan and Lisa had signed was in the corner, a soggy mound of disintegrating paper. He exhaled with relief, ripped it to shreds, and threw it in the water.

Still blasting through the water with the motor at top speed, Clyde rummaged in a compartment and pulled out his lucky Dolphins cap. He shoved it on his balding head and used one hand to hold it secure. The pier was only minutes’ away, and he was starting to feel calmer. He could figure this out, just as he had before. He took a deep breath. Plenty of time.

_____

Near & Farr Realty was a pleasant storefront office on the main street of Serenidad Key, next to a bakery and a travel agency. Tropical plants bloomed in the small waiting area, and Darby smiled as Helen absentmindedly picked a few spent blossoms from a flowering hibiscus. A petite woman with short black hair rose from a desk as Helen entered.

“
Hola
, Helen,” she said in a lilting voice. She wore a short sleeved white blouse and a red skirt that draped to just above her knees.

“
Hola
, Maria.” She nodded her head toward Darby. “This is Jane Farr’s niece, Darby. Darby, meet Maria Iglesias. She works at the travel agency next door and babysits this place when I’m not here.”

Darby shook hands with the small woman. “
Hola, como estas
?”

“
Muy bien, gracias
.” Maria raised her eyebrows. “Your accent is very good. Where did you acquire it?”

“I live in Southern California,” Darby explained. “My assistant is from Ensenada and is kind enough to practice with me.” As she mentioned ET, she flashed back to their earlier conversation, wondering what troubles had prompted him to ask for a loan. She hoped her promise to lend him the money had been a comfort.

Maria Iglesias gave a nod. “I’ve always wanted to go to San Diego. Working in a travel agency, I see many wonderful places to visit, so it makes it hard to choose.” She smiled and rubbed her hands together. “I’ll head back to the agency now. Nice to meet you, Darby.” Her skirt swirled as she went out the door.

Helen beckoned Darby to the back of the office, where two large oak desks commanded most of the space.

“This was going to be Kyle’s desk,” Helen said, her voice heavy with sadness. “You know, I think it’s all just starting to sink in. I was looking forward to working with her. She had such a wonderful energy, a vivacity that would have really perked this place up.” She looked around and sighed. “I’ve been thinking about what I’ll do. I’m not sure if I have the energy to recruit someone else.”

“Don’t make any decisions now,” Darby advised. “It’s too soon.” She reached over and put a hand on Helen’s shoulder. In a softer voice she added, “Grief isn’t something you can rush through, my friend. Give yourself some time.”

Helen nodded. “I suppose you’re right.” She checked her watch. “Want to work on Tag’s property before we head over to Casa Cameron? I can start Kyle’s computer for you.”

“Sure. I wouldn’t mind taking a look at my e-mails on a bigger screen than this.” She held up her Smartphone and watched as Helen started the gleaming new computer and punched in a password.

“There you go,” Helen said.

“Did Kyle ever work on this machine?”

“Not really. It came last week and I showed it to her on Saturday. She sat down and fooled around a little, but I don’t think it was more than that.”

“Who bought it?”

“I did. It was a welcome gift.” Helen sighed and walked back to her chair, her shoulders sagging.

The two women worked quietly for a half hour, Darby replying to some clients in California before turning her attention to the extensive St. Andrew’s Isle property. The barrier island paradise seemed to have it all: a nine-hole golf course, a landing strip for small planes, a palatial main house with three pools and a guest house, as well as a small café where Tag and his golfing buddies could enjoy a few drinks before or after their tee times. Darby shook her head in admiration.

“Helen, this isn’t a listing, it’s a small village!”

The older woman let out one of her booming laughs. “No kidding!”

“I wonder if Kyle did any work to value the property.”

“I don’t know.” Helen thought a moment and pointed at a drawer. “Check in there. When Kyle came by on Saturday, she had a manila folder with her. I remember because I told her I’d order a file cabinet this week. I think she stuck it in there.”

Darby opened the drawer. It was empty except for a single file. She pulled it out and looked inside.

“Well?” Helen asked. “Come on, the suspense is killing me.”

Darby rifled through several pieces of paper. “There’s a listing sheet on a sold property in South Africa.” She scanned the details of a forty-acre island retreat located in South Africa. As with Tag Gunnerson’s estate, there was a landing strip, a large main house, and several guest buildings. “No golf course,” she noted. “But this property boasts a ten-acre wildlife park, complete with gazelles and ostrich.” She looked closer. The property had sold the previous year for $30 million.

“I can’t imagine having ostriches running around my front yard,” said Helen. “Leaving their droppings all over the place. Who handled the sale?”

“Barnaby’s,” commented Darby. She looked at the remaining pieces of paper. “Here’s another comparable sale: Jupiter Island, Florida. That’s over on the Atlantic side, right?”

Helen nodded. “I remember that trade. Twelve acres, couple of houses, forty million bucks, right?”

Darby nodded. She rifled through the file and found one more piece of paper. Handwritten columns of numbers, headed “subject property” and “comparison property one,” and “comparison property two” were written neatly across the page.

“Take a look at this,” said Darby. “Kyle actually did a comparative market analysis—by hand.”

“I’m not surprised,” said Helen. “She was an extremely thorough broker.” She leaned in and looked at the paper. “Wonder why she didn’t do it on the computer? I’m from the dark ages and even I don’t do CMAs on paper.”

Darby scanned the columns of numbers and Kyle’s adjustments for dissimilar features, such as number of bedrooms and bathrooms. She could see Kyle’s mind working: adding, subtracting, and accessing the value.

“What did she come up with?” Helen asked. “I’m dying to know.”

Darby lowered the file and regarded Helen’s eager face.

“I’ll tell you, but you’re not going to believe it.”

“Just try me.”

Darby shook her head in amazement. “Forty-five million dollars. Kyle valued Tag Gunnerson’s estate at forty-five million.”

“Mother of God,” breathed Helen. She picked up her purse and keys. “Let’s hightail it back to my house before we go see Mitzi. I need a Mojito and quick!”

_____

The front door of Casa Cameron opened and Darby and Helen stood before Carlotta. Her angular face registered surprise.

“
Buenas tardes,
Carlotta,” said Helen. “Where’s Harold? Day off?”

She nodded, her eyes darting toward the back of the house. “Señora Cameron is resting,” she said, unwilling to move aside to allow them entrance. “Perhaps you would like to come back later …”

“Nonsense.” A booming voice cut through the house’s silence like a knife through a ripe melon. Darby heard a door slam and brisk footsteps followed. “I haven’t had the pleasure of a visit from my old friend Helen in years.” A tall, gray-haired man strode toward them and grasped Helen’s arm.