DEATH COMES TO AN OPEN HOUSE (11 page)

“Right. Would have stabbed her lower down, not way up in her neck. Should have taken her off yesterday. Unless she was, like, leaning over the counter.”

“No blood on the top of the counter.”

Jean was proud of being able to say that with no more than a slight flutter in her stomach.

Another line.

“So we’re down to … Shit! Way too many! Frank, Kevin, Harold, Stan, Marian—talk about unlikely. Probably should eliminate her, too. And the other two that came in on Saturday, Eleanor Harding and Joshua Evanston I got to add. Seven!”

“Why is Frank there? He couldn’t have gotten a key.”

Rita frowned.

“I know. But he’s got such a good motive, I can’t let him go.”

“How do we know he’s going to inherit anything?”

“Unless you have a pre-nup, you can’t completely cut a spouse out of your will. Anyhow, the police would know and they’re interested in him.”

“Why are we doing this?” Jean waved a hand in the air, as if to make the subject go away. “They already seem to know stuff we don’t. Seemed to me they don’t think one of the visitors to the office Saturday did it, so they know something we don’t right there. And they can find out about Frank. We can’t.”

Rita sat back and stared thoughtfully at the smoke-darkened wooden ceiling.

“Maybe we ought to talk to those two suspects the police have dismissed. I want to know
why
they’re dismissed. They have such good motives! And it’s so damn reasonable to think they would steal the letter opener to make us look guilty. They’re the only ones who wouldn’t know she didn’t carry it with her.” She took a long drink of her wine. “There’s just no explaining the damn thing otherwise.”

Rita got the waitress’ attention and held up her glass. The salads arrived and Rita’s glass was refilled.

“Are you going to stay?”

Evidently, Rita’s thoughts had taken a new path.

“Stay?” Jean asked.

“Stay with Ed
.
I think I might leave.”

Jean put down her fork.

“Leave? Why now? You didn’t like Theresa and she’s gone.”

“I don’t know. Just seems time to move somewhere bigger. I’ve got to earn a living. The office will go downhill without Theresa bringing in listings. Kevin will have to leave, too. Without Theresa, he’s got no income. And you, what about you without Theresa?”

Rita was looking at her salad, not at Jean, who was staring at the friend who had just announced she was thinking of deserting her. It was going to take time to come to terms with this. She couldn’t go to another agency. Nineteen was too young. Only the Brumms had been willing to take her.

“I really hadn’t thought about it.”

“Too much coming at you at one time.”

“Definitely.”

“Maybe I’ll wait and see what this Wayne thing is all about. God knows the market is lousy everywhere.”

The tightness in Jean’s heart loosened a little. She took another bite of her salad. It had no taste. She was a murder suspect. She had no regular income. One of her friends might have killed Theresa. Her best friend was probably leaving her.

“The world has gotten a lot darker,” she said.

Rita laughed.

“You read too much!” she said.

 
Chapter 18

The largest room in the funeral home had been assigned to Theresa Vanderhoff. It was rose and ivory and gold and Theresa would have approved. The large number of people assembled there would have been a cause for even more approbation.

Jean’s mother was there, looking like a Christmas decoration in red and white ruffles and sequins, a contrast, as usual, to her gray-suited daughter. At least, Jean had now mastered Rita’s makeup instructions. Ellie hadn’t noticed. Someone had finally helped her make the connection between the murder at a house held open by
Brumm Realtors
and her daughter. She had insisted on coming, was as impressed as Jean with the huge crowd and thought the sprinkling of matching jackets of gold or red representing different companies humorous. “Like athletic teams,” she said too loudly.

There was nothing humorous to Jean, not because she was accustomed to the jackets, but because of who lay in the open coffin and because she kept thinking of her father. Neither seemed to bother Ellie.

Jean was stopped often as the crowd moved about. Many knew her as Theresa’s protégé and offered sympathy. Ellie never failed to jump in with “it was my daughter who found her, you know,” which elicited horrified exclamations followed by another round of sympathetic murmurings. Ellie insisted on seeing Theresa, but she had to make her way up front alone. Jean had no need to see Theresa’s corpse again.

Rita wasn’t there. She needed to do some previewing for a buyer and this morning, with the rest of the office staff there, was the best time for her to leave Jean. It hadn’t been a good plan. Ellie was not to be inflicted on her friends. Only one thing made the experience bearable: the compliments paid to Theresa. Apparently, Jean wasn’t the only one she had helped, so there was a good deal of gratitude mixed with admiring comments. There was also a good deal of business going on. Bits of conversation about listings, sales, or lack of sales seemed inappropriate and disturbing. Jean was glad when the time came to be seated. The front row was conspicuously empty until Ed ushered his agents to those seats. Apparently, the husband had not been found.

It was not surprising that the man who came to the podium was neither pastor nor priest. Theresa never went to church, whether because she had no faith or because it was the big day in real estate, Jean had never questioned. Today she discovered which reason applied. Ed had arranged a non-religious service except for the one hymn, “Onward Christian Soldiers,” an odd one for such an occasion. As Jean sang “marching as to war,” she realized the service must have been arranged by Ed and this was a disturbing comment on the Theresa he knew. She could sing no more of the hymn.

Most of the service consisted of a eulogy by the President of the Board of Realtors. Theresa Veronica Vanderhoff, he assured the audience authoritatively, had given her entire adult life to the industry she loved, donating time to unpaid activities that benefited her fellow agents and the community. This lengthy tribute was followed by a general invitation for anyone to speak. Many did so in firm, confident, sales agent voices.

By the time the service was over, the confusion that had disturbed Jean from time to time in the last three days was gone. Of course Theresa had enemies! Of course you hated her or loved her! She was not a meek, ineffective person who tried to get along with everyone. She would not tolerate incompetent, unethical or slipshod behavior that tarnished the world she loved. She took the directive of the Annotated Code of Maryland seriously: she had an obligation to the public and to other Realtors to help police her industry. The President had made exactly that point.

Jean felt better about funerals in general. She had been too disturbed to appreciate her father’s, but something worthwhile had been achieved here today. The presence of all these people showed how much the life of Theresa mattered. Jean looked over the crowd. Solemn faces, but not a tear. Not a tear anywhere. Perhaps because the tributes were more professional than personal. She herself felt only a sense of loss and some sadness. Theresa had always been there when help was needed, but Ed would be there now. And Rita, at least for a while. The grief she had anticipated since Sunday had never come and she realized that Rita was right. Her new “mother” had not really been warm and loving. She had been impressive, helpful, but intimidating. The help was gone, but so was the criticism and the worry that came with it. It was difficult to admit, but Jean’s grief now was primarily for herself. The commission from the DeLuccas would last a while, probably long enough for her to find a new job, but there would be no small financial favors from Theresa.

Jean made her way to the back through a distressing babble of what seemed, now, to be exclusively business conversations towards Ed, who, in the absence of any relatives, was serving as host, thanking people for coming and inviting appropriate ones to the office, where catered refreshments for friends were being supervised by Vivian.

“Sorry you can’t come, Jean.”

“I’m not sorry. I don’t want food. And Rita sent me off with a health food bar just in case.”

Ed hugged her. “You going to be able to handle this inspection all right? As you asked, I told Harold he couldn’t come, but I told him it was my idea, that two agents made too big a crowd in the house. He didn’t take it well. I warned Jim that you were new and to look out for you.”

“I’ll be fine. Jim and I know each other from a couple of Theresa’s inspections. Thanks for arranging it for me. I could have done that. And I’m not worried. It’s Jim’s show.”

“Ring me if you need to.”

“Don’t worry,” she said, pleased to know he would worry anyway.

At the door, Ellie put a hand on her arm.

“I don’t have to go with you to this inspection, do I?”

Sometimes Ellie’s ignorance was hard to accept.

“No, Ellie, of course not.”

Her mother smiled. “Good. Then I can go straight to your office.”

“No,” Jean said firmly. “You can’t.”

“Well, why did I come to the funeral, then? A free meal, Jean! And I brought some baggies,” she added with a conspiratorial look.

Jean wondered if the almost painful tension in her chest that Ellie always managed to elicit would ever become easier to stifle.

“You came for me, Ellie. Mothers do that when their daughters lose someone close to them. The reception is for Theresa’s friends. You didn’t even know her. And you didn’t send flowers or contribute to a charity in her name, so you’re not entitled to a feast. That’s the way it works.”

Ellie’s face must have looked exactly as it did when she was a child refused a treat, Jean thought. She couldn’t have been more different from Theresa. For the first time, Jean wondered if perhaps Ellie was why Theresa seemed so admirable.

 
Chapter 19

Jean stood on the front stoop of the DeLuccas house until she felt like a restless ornament. At last the Powers arrived. It was obvious they were nervous, too. No smiles or waves from this couple. She walked down the two steps to meet them.

It was not like any inspection she had ever witnessed. Jim was the same, confident, competent, explaining the problems and how to fix them. What Jean had never encountered before was a buyer who cared nothing for small imperfections and almost welcomed the chance to get to work on his own house. Burt Powers said little, as usual, but did a great deal of nodding and saying, “I can fix that” as his wife clung to his arm, her eyes taking in every inch of every room.

Jim ended in the living room. Jean knew that was because he wanted to leave Jean to deal with her end of the inspection in the best room in the house. As soon as Jim was out the door, Burt opened up. He wanted to talk about everything he was going to do. He was going to do a lot. Jean had to stifle her impatience. She wanted the inspection contingency signed off, making the contract binding. Eventually, she got the two needed signatures and ushered the couple out the front door amid a rainbow of Edna’s color ideas for painting the bedrooms.

Jean couldn’t move. She just stood in the open doorway, removed her smile and told herself to drop her shoulders and breathe.

It was over. The signed paper was on the coffee table. She could buy food now. Maybe a new suit.

She walked down to the sign in the front yard, removed the “for sale” insert, moved on to her car, opened the trunk, lay that insert inside, took out another, walked back to the sign and dropped in the replacement. Stepping back a few feet, she stood and read very slowly several times:

SOLD

Jean Terrence

 
Chapter 20

On Thursday morning, Rita had floor duty. Jean was there to change the Board status of the DeLucca’s listing and to avoid being alone.

When the phone rang, Jean got off the couch.

“Got to go change the status.”

“Let Harold do it,” Rita said as she moved her hand toward the phone.

That sounded like a very good idea. He hadn’t done anything else. Jean went back to her desk and played with updating her personal file on the DeLuccas until Harold walked in. He once again took Theresa’s chair. It was probably his now. At least Harold was bringing money into the office, buying a rental property every year or two. He used to sell one of his properties once in a while, too, she was told, but not in this market. It was the time to buy, if one had the money, and the home of the United States government was the one place that would always need housing. She wondered if he would join Wayne’s group. Dad had always said it was good to spread your investments. Not that Ellie had left Dad anything to invest.

“Glad to see you, Harold,” she said. “You can change the status of the DeLucca’s listing. They signed off on the inspection.”

“You haven’t done that yet?”

“No. You can make a note on your calendar to take down the sign in two weeks, too.”

“Of course, Jean. I would be glad to help you with these—” he waved a hand languidly toward the computer “—trivial details. I do think that, as the more experienced agent, I should have handled the inspection for you.”

“I want to become an experienced agent, Harold. And the DeLuccas are my people. I wanted to be the one to report to them.”

Jean was surprised at the firmness of her response. She was becoming more confident. It felt good.

“Yes, I see that. You may be right. I thought we might have dinner together tonight, Jean. To celebrate our sale. My treat, of course.”

Words wouldn’t come. The invitation was completely unexpected. Unwanted.

“I can’t,” she said when she could stand Harold’s stare no longer.

That wasn’t enough. She had to work with this man.

“I have…” Her mind clawed for an excuse. “It’s just I’m not…”