Real Estate and Murder (A Port Grace Cozy Mystery Book 1)

C
opyright © 2016 Emily Page

All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher

G
eorgia rolled
down her window to let in the familiar warmth and salty smell of Port Grace. She hadn’t been back to her seaside childhood home in over three years. But despite living in New York and having personal properties spaced all over the US, Port Grace would always be home.

In the passenger seat, Mittens stretched up to look out the window and meowed.

“Glad to be back, too, girl?” said Georgia as she pulled into the roundabout driveway of the immaculate beach house.

In response, the brown and white tabby gripped the edge of the half-rolled window and hoisted herself up.

“Mittens, no!” said Georgia, slamming the brake as the Tabby leapt from the moving vehicle.

Georgia sighed as she opened the door of the Rolls Royce and got out with all the grace of royalty in her light, asymmetrical blue dress and strappy silver heels. She had a penchant for dressing with both elegance and versatility. On her, the ensemble could appear just as appropriate for a board meeting as a movie premier or shopping on the downtown strip.

Georgia flipped her long, black fishtail braid over her shoulder and turned to look for Mittens only to look down and find the tabby sitting by her feet and looking impatiently up at her.

Mittens licked her lips and made a sound that clearly meant, “What are you waiting for?”

Georgia laughed and went around to the trunk. This time she wasn’t staying just for the holidays with Dad. She was here to revamp the original home office of Mason Real Estate. The trunk was packed to the brink with designer bags and suitcases. As she began to unload them, she started laying out preliminary strategies for turning around the local office in her head.

She had been shocked by the steady decline in revenue from the Port Grace branch of her family’s real estate business when she was pouring over year-end reports. It seemed as soon as her father had slipped into semi-retirement, the Port Grace office, the first office her had father opened over thirty years ago, had sunk into disaster. She planned to get to the bottom of it.

Georgia looked around the open floor plan of the beach house, taking in the large living room, kitchen, and the wide glass door to the patio in just a few flicks of her eyes. Just the same as when she left them. She looked down at the pile of luggage next to the staircase and forced a puff of air through her closed lips.

“Unpacking can wait, don’t you think, Mittens?”

As usual, Mittens responded, this time with enthusiastic agreement, purring as she wound her way through Georgia’s legs.

“Let’s go see Dad.”

She didn’t have far to go. She locked the door, picked up Mittens, and started the walk to her father’s place four houses down. A slight breeze waved the palm trees and brought the scent and sound of the ocean to Georgia’s nose and ears. She breathed deeply, appreciating the lack of that fishy smell that seemed inescapable in other parts of Port Grace. Mango Grove was prime real estate because it was about as far away from the docks (the town’s main source of revenue) as you could get.

Bill Mason’s house was essentially the same style as his daughter’s but slightly bigger. There was a study on the main floor and a few extra rooms upstairs, not to mention the gorgeous dock that went out over the ocean right in his backyard.

Georgia rang the doorbell with some difficulty, because Mittens was squirming and mewling in her arms. She did not like to be carried around like a handbag.

Her father—tall, slightly portly, with iron-gray hair and ruddy cheeks—opened the door wearing his golfing clothes and a giant smile.

“There’s my gal!” he said, opening his arms wide for a hug.

Georgia ushered Mittens inside and hugged her father, cushioned by the decent-sized belly her father had only started to grow in the past five years. The one time she had fretted about his weight gain, he’d said, “Georgia, honey, I’m old. There’s no denying it. Now that your mother’s gone, I might as well enjoy my last years in the company of my second great love, good food. Besides, I’m not the face of the company anymore. You are.”

“You want anything to drink or eat?” he said now. “Rosy made some enchiladas that are almost as good as your mother’s.”

“Somehow I doubt that, but I’m starving. I’ll give it a try.”

Georgia’s mother’s great grandparents had come from Spain, and her mother had been raised in New Mexico, home of the only green chilies worth eating. Her mother’s heritage was the source of Georgia’s black hair, big brown eyes, and her love of all things spicy. It had also sparked her interest in becoming fluent in Spanish, which had served her well in real estate.

“So, how are things?” said Bill as he warmed up the leftover enchiladas. “You got a steady fella yet?”

“Daddy,” said Georgia with a small laugh and an eye roll.

“What?” said Bill, throwing up his hands and flashing her a silly, cross-eyed face like he’d done since she was little.

“No, there isn’t. I’ve been there, done that, and I have more important things to focus on. Now drop it. I’m here for business, remember?”

“Yeah, yeah,” said Bill with a flick of his hand.

He set the enchiladas in front of her, and she tried to focus on them instead of the fact that she was a forty-one-year-old divorcée with no children. She had a stellar career. That was what she had chosen to focus on, and it was enough.

“Wow. These are pretty good,” she said after swallowing the first bite.

“Told you.”

“You did. Now tell me something else,” said Georgia, unconsciously putting on her business face. “What’s up with the local branch? Who’s running it into the ground, and why are you letting them?”

Bill sighed and leaned against the counter.

“I left the branch under Bruce Fowler’s management. You remember Bruce, right?”

“Of course. He came for dinner a few times when I was little.”

“Well, he’s one of my oldest friends, but I’m not so sure leaving him in charge was the brightest idea I’ve ever had.”

W
hile Georgia sat
at her father’s table eating enchiladas, Bruce Fowler sat with one leg on his secretary’s polished wood desk. At sixty-five, the suave pose was a little precarious, but he was well practiced.

“I’m serious,” he said. “You must let me know where you got it so I can get you ten more just like it.”

Cynthia fingered the pleated blouse Bruce loved so much (probably because only two of the four little buttons down the top were fastened) and waved a playfully dismissive hand at her boss while she giggled.

“You’ll do no such thing,” she said, tucking a strand of her red hair behind her ear demurely.

“I will,” said Bruce, flashing his pristine smile that always distracted from the age lines on his face. “I think I’ll make that blouse office dress code.”

“This blouse is from a boutique in New York. It’s very expensive,” said Cynthia, twiddling a pen between her polished fingernails and holding Bruce’s eyes with her own.

“Beautiful women are entitled to beautiful things, no matter the cost,” said Bruce with a wink.

Cynthia blushed and giggled again, but the ringing of the phone interrupted her response. Bruce got himself down from the desk, careful not to lose his balance, and watched Cynthia answer. Cynthia’s mouth pulled down in a subtle frown, and she held the phone out to Bruce a little aggressively.

“It’s your wife. Do you want to take it here or in your office?”

“Here’s fine.”

Before he took the phone, Bruce adjusted his suit and ran a hand along the side of his gelled, fake brown hair, composing himself.

“Hello, Victoria, darling. Yes, dinner sounds wonderful, so long as I can get away in time. Victoria, you know I have a job to do, and sometimes…” Bruce sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Don’t start with me. If I can make it, I’ll make it. If not, that’s the way it is.” There was a long pause while Bruce listened and stared at the ceiling. “Fine. Bring the car around if you want, but don’t get angry if you have to wait out there a while. I love you too, darling. Yes. Yes. Goodbye.”

Bruce handed the phone back to the now stormy-faced Cynthia. He threw her a wink that softened her features. Bruce flashed another smile and made to go into his office, but a young blonde in a red blazer and pencil skirt entered the lobby, the click of her red heels muted by the carpet.

“Mr. Fowler, can I have a moment?” she said, running up to him as best she could in her three-inch heels, a leather binder clutched to her chest.

Bruce gave her an appreciative sweep with his eyes, his signature smile lighting his face.

“Delia, dear, I always have a moment for you.”

“Should we speak here or…?” She paused to bite her bottom lip and flick her hazel eyes to the door behind him before saying, “In your office?”

Bruce’s chuckle was lighthearted, but he shot a glance toward Cynthia’s desk and caught her watching from the corner of her eye.

“Come on in, but, uh, leave the door open. It gets stuffy.”

Delia sat herself down in the leather chair across the mahogany desk from Bruce, the slit on her red pencil skirt demanding his attention when she crossed her legs.

Outside the office, Cynthia’s typing quieted, and she put a few calls on hold, straining her ears toward the office. A small smile played at the edges of her mouth once she had satisfied herself that the conversation was simply about a property that had failed an inspection.

Soon, Delia’s muffled heel clicks headed toward the office door.

“Shut it, please, would you, Delia?”

Delia’s right eyebrow climbed her forehead.

“I thought it was too stuffy.”

“I’m used to it, dear. I was only concerned about your comfort.”

“Mm-hmm,” said Delia, trying to look cross but smirking a little despite herself.

She shut the office door and strutted back out the way she’d come in without sparing Cynthia a glance or a single word.

The office door stayed shut with Bruce holed up inside it as the sunny afternoon turned into a balmy night. He knew the trouble the branch was in as well as Georgia did, though he didn’t ever show it outside the comfort of his own office. Bruce was a man of fine taste—in wine, suits, cigars, cars, and women. In that order. And he wasn’t about to change his lifestyle because the numbers on his computer screen were shrinking. However, holed up in the office, he worked away the hours with sweat on his brow, trying to come up with a fast solution to turn things around. Around dinnertime, his cell phone rang several times. He never picked it up.

The sound of feet outside the office around eleven made him look up with his brow wrinkled. He’d thought Cynthia had already gone home.

“Cynthia? Is that you? Overtime’s not worth it unless I get to look at that pretty face while you’re doing it.”

Silence. Perhaps he had imagined it. He turned his weary eyes back to the computer just as the doorknob twisted with a quiet click. The creak of the door made Bruce look up. The beginnings of his killer smile curled his lips, but then his eyes widened. The bullet hit him square in the chest.

“
O
h my god
, Dad, you still have this same carpet in here?” said Georgia when the elevator doors opened on the second floor.

“It’s been replaced a few times, but yeah. What’s wrong with that? I like this carpet.”

Georgia made a face at the drab, bluish gray floor but didn’t say anything else. She wasn’t here to redecorate. At least the main lobby on the ground floor made a good first impression to customers with its shiny white floors, modern furniture, and framed pictures of their most expensive properties.

Georgia stifled a yawn as she walked down the hall past agents’ office doors.

“When does the staff arrive? Eight?”

“Yeah, but usually Bruce is here early, or at least he used to be,” said Bill as they stopped in front of a door marked
Bruce Fowler: Department Head
. “Usually stays late, too. He may not have been the best choice to run the business, but you can’t say the man doesn’t work hard.”

“Bruce?” Bill called as they entered the lobby area of the office.

When there was no response, Georgia said, “Is he going to have a problem with me running things and giving orders for a while? If he can’t work with female clients, how is he going to take to a woman being his boss?”

“Well, I never said he couldn’t work with female clients.”

“Yes, you did. You let slip that he doesn’t like pushy female clients, and I looked over the records last night. Every deal that Bruce bombed involved a female client who had specific requests or didn’t agree with his choices. If he gives me trouble, I may have to find a new manager. I just want you to know that. Will you back my play?”

Bill looked at his daughter with a mixture of worry and pride.

“I’d hate to do it to Bruce, but I’ll trust whatever decision you make. And if he gets rude with you, let me know. I’ll set him straight,” said Bill, his brow furrowing. “You’re right. Bruce has always been a schmoozer, but any woman who isn’t taken in by his charms gets the cold shoulder. He’s…old fashioned when it comes to women.”

“Doesn’t sound promising,” said Georgia. “Well, I’d like to take a look at the more recent sales before the staff gets here. All the records I have are from the year-end report.”

“It should all be in the office. It’s probably locked, though. I don’t have that key anymore.”

Georgia tried the knob anyway and the door swung open easily. She took a step into the office before she saw the body. It took a few heart-racing seconds to pull in the air necessary to scream.

P
olice Chief Cooper Harris
was a Port Grace local and something of a town celebrity. Tall, tan, with chocolatey hair, stunning blue eyes, and a movie star’s rugged jaw, he turned plenty of heads. Being the only candidate without a donut problem or waning hearing or eyesight helped his advancement as well. Although, at forty-eight, he wasn’t totally without signs of age either. However, the flecks of silver in his hair and the smile lines around his mouth and eyes did nothing to detract from his charm.

Georgia looked him over appreciatively when he first entered, but the shock of finding a dead body was still making her heart beat erratically, and she didn’t give his looks a second thought.

Cooper, however, did a double take when he saw Georgia standing in the office lobby. The crime scene techs had arrived first, and there was already crime scene tape across the inner office doorway, and the whole room was abuzz with movement and camera flashes.

“Are you the woman who found the body?”

“Uh, yes,” said Georgia. She took a deep breath to calm her shaky voice and held out a hand. “Georgia Mason. This is my father, Bill Mason. He was with me when I found Bruce.”

“Mason, as in the name on the building?” said Cooper, impressed by the firm confidence of Georgia’s handshake.

“Yes. My father and I are co-owners of Mason Real Estate, but I handle most of the business now,” said Georgia, forcing herself not to bite her nails. She kept seeing Bruce slumped over his desk.

“Well, it’s a pleasure to meet you both, though the circumstances aren’t pleasurable,” said Cooper with a sad smile that he hoped would win him Georgia’s eye contact, but she kept looking from her father to the taped-off office door. “I’m Chief Harris. Is there anywhere we can sit down and talk away from all this noise?”

“Chief?” said Georgia, finally looking him in the eye. “What are you doing at a crime scene? Isn’t that your detectives’ job?”

“I see you know a bit about police work,” said Cooper with a small laugh.

“I have a friend who’s sort of in the business,” said Georgia, holding herself a little straighter. “A private investigator. I’ve helped him out a few times.”

“Well, then you may be of more help than most witnesses,” said Cooper, noting Georgia’s small smile. “As for your question, you’re right. On most forces, the chief sits back and barks orders from a desk. And I do my fair share of that, but in Port Grace, murder is rather out of the ordinary. I thought I should handle this one myself.”

“We can talk out in the hall,” said Bill. “There’s a chair or two out there for clients to sit in when they’re waiting on an agent.”

“Excellent. Speaking of agents, are any of the other employees here?”

“They should be here by eight,” said Georgia, looking at her watch. “So not long.”

“Then we’ll wait for them out in the hall,” said Cooper, holding out an arm toward the door.

Out in the hall, they pulled a few chairs together and got settled. Georgia noticed that her father’s hands were shaking on the armrests. She put a hand over his. Cooper pulled out a notepad and pen.

“Can you please tell me how you discovered Mister…?”

“Fowler. Bruce Fowler,” said Georgia, before launching into the short story.

“So, what can you tell me about Mr. Fowler?” said Cooper after she was done.

“Dad would have to tell you what he was like personally,” said Georgia cautiously, glancing sideways at her father, “but I just got in town from New York yesterday because I’m here to get this branch up and running at the standard of our other offices. Since my father went into semi-retirement, Mr. Fowler has been running this branch, and due to problems with clients, he’s let the business…slip a little.”

“What do you mean, problems with clients?” said Cooper, leaning forward and writing on the notepad.

“He seemed unable to work professionally with single female clients. Some complained of unwanted advances. Others cited that he was rude, argumentative, or unwilling to listen to what they wanted, and they withdrew their business.”

“So, uh, not the ladies’ man,” said Cooper with a smirk that Georgia found both mischievous and endearing.

“Actually, Bruce is…was real good at charming women,” said Bill, speaking up for the first time. “He definitely had a type, though. Sort of submissive. He never did well with the headstrong girls, not even back when we were young. He has…had an old-fashioned approach to women. He didn’t like “chatterers,” as he called them. He liked sweet talking girls, but not girls who talked about politics, if you know what I mean. He didn’t want to hire female agents at first. He thought women weren’t cut out for business. I convinced him otherwise though, and he came around. He isn’t too stuck in his ways…wasn’t.”

“I see,” said Cooper, tracing his jaw with his thumb, contemplating. “Was he married?”

“Twice,” said Bill with a strained smile. “The first ended a long time ago. They were too young. He, uh, wasn’t ready for monogamy.”

“He cheated?” said Georgia.

“Well, yes. I told you he could charm women.” Bill cleared his throat awkwardly. “The new wife, Victoria, they’ve been together a few years now. She’s exactly what he needed. I wasn’t surprised when he settled down.”

“What do you mean by that?” said Cooper.

“Well, she’s his type. Lovely, soft-spoken, classy, but not very driven. She doesn’t work. She loves to cook. She’s also…she’s a bit younger than him. But really, that’s what he needed. With a woman like that, he didn’t get the urge to wander. At least, that’s what he told me when they got engaged. He had turned a page in his personal life. I was proud of him. It’s part of the reason I thought he could handle the new responsibility here.”

Cooper leaned back in his chair, eyeing Bill and nodding his head.

“You don’t think he’s been…how did you put it…wandering anymore?”

“No. No, I don’t,” said Bill, jutting his chin a little.

Georgia could tell he hadn’t liked unearthing his friend’s troubles to a stranger. He probably wouldn’t have at all had he not been so shaken.

Cooper put his hands up palm out and said with a smile, “Sorry, have to ask.”

“It’s one of the most common reasons for murder,” said Georgia.

“Right you are,” said Cooper with a wink. Georgia smirked playfully instead of returning it. Cooper looked away for a moment, slightly embarrassed, before continuing. “Do either of you know of anyone who had problems with Mr. Fowler? The ex-wife maybe?”

“Definitely not Elizabeth,” said Bill. “That was decades ago, and last I heard she was living in Miami with a new husband and a few kids. Bruce’s personality could annoy some people, but I don’t know of anyone who had a big enough problem with him to kill him.”

“Mr. Fowler have any kids?”

“No.”

Cooper drummed his fingers on the armchair and then stood up. “I guess that’s all for now. You’re free to go.”

“If it’s all right with you, I’d like to stick around,” said Georgia. “I haven’t even met the staff yet, and with all this going on, they’re going to need to know that somebody will be around to reestablish normalcy. I’d like to be there for them.”

Cooper tried and only somewhat succeeded in hiding his enthusiasm when he said, “No trouble at all, so long as you stay out here. You’re a mighty fine boss, Miss Mason. It is Miss, isn’t it?”

“Yes. Thank you for letting me stay, Chief Harris. Would you mind if I was present for your interviews with the staff? Like I said, I have some experience.”

Cooper looked at her for a moment in silence and then said, “I don’t see the harm in you listening to preliminary interviews, so long as your staff doesn’t mind.”

“I appreciate it.”

“Well, I’m going home,” said Bill, a tightness in his voice. “Call me when you’re ready to leave, Georgia.”

“All right, Dad,” said Georgia, rubbing his shoulder. “Would you mind picking up Mittens from my house and watching her? I don’t know how long I’ll be here.”

“Sure, hon.”

When Bill had made his way to the elevator, Georgia turned back to Cooper and said, “If you’ll excuse me, I need to make a phone call.”

“Sure. I need to get back in there and make a call of my own. Mr. Fowler’s wife needs to be notified. When your staff arrives, send them my way.”

“Will do.”

Georgia took out her cell and dialed a familiar number.

“Georgia! What a surprise. How are ya, doll?”

Though she’d heard it thousands of times, Georgia couldn’t help but roll her eyes when Ryan called her doll. Even at forty-five, he was still a kid living his dream of being one of the suave, black-and-white private detectives from his beloved noir films.

“Hey, Ryan. Not so good. I showed up to the home office for the first time today and found the department head dead in his office.”

“Cripes, doll! Are you serious?”

“He was an old friend of my dad’s.”

“I’m sorry, G.”

“Thanks. Listen, the police chief here is a nice guy and all, but I have a feeling this might be one of his first murders. It’s a small force. I’m not sure they can handle it. You think you could make a trip seaside?”

“Anything for you, doll. I’ve got to wrap up a surveillance job, but I can be out of here by tonight or tomorrow morning, probably.”

“You’re the best.”

“Don’t I know it. You just try your best to keep the excitement to a minimum until I get there. Seriously, how do so many crazy things happen around you? I think maybe I should be investigating you.”

“See you soon,” said Georgia with an eye roll he couldn’t see.