DEATH COMES TO AN OPEN HOUSE (2 page)

“You look lovely, Marian,” Rita said.

A compliment was a dependable cure for Marian’s snits.

“Oh!” Marian’s smile featured frequently whitened teeth. “Thank you.” She turned around. “It’s new. I think maybe … puckers a little too much? You know. Shoulders. In the back. You think?”

“You need the flexibility. All the stuff we have to carry. We’re all pack mules,” Rita said.

As much of a frown as Marian permitted briefly passed over her face. Frowns made wrinkles.

“Business people!” she countered. “Managers. Running our own little businesses. And my business is having no open houses!
I’m
not letting myself get murdered!”

Marian picked up her briefcase and laptop and marched toward the sales room, beauty wrapped in designer clothes and confidence.

In the presence of these two, it was difficult for Jean not to be aware of her small stature, straight brown hair, unremarkable features and vastly different financial situation. She smoothed the front of her cheap gray suit and wished she could be as self-protective. An open house was an opportunity she couldn’t afford to cancel.

 
Chapter 2

At nine forty-five, Theresa Vanderhoff’s desk and luxurious leather chair were still untenanted. Rita said it was about control. Even customers and clients waited for Theresa. She had been in real estate for thirty-three of her sixty-four years but, more than that, her demeanor, her name, her appearance, inspired confidence. Theresa would find the right house; she would negotiate ably; she would protect her people; she knew more real estate law than anybody.

Even the arrangement of the office desks indicated Theresa’s importance. Hers stood alone facing the door, where she could to keep watch over the reception area. Her visitors seated on the other side faced Theresa and the wall with her many awards. At the opposite end of the room was the computer table. On each of the longer walls, two desks were butted face to face, two assigned to the other top producers, Rita and Hua. The remaining agents shared. Much of the work was done at home or in the field and here they were often at the computer, the duty desk or in the conference room. Today, Harold Akana, a massively overweight, dark and brooding presence, had appropriated the desk facing Rita’s for the meeting. Marian took the one she and Jean shared, leaving Jean and Stan Warren, their newest agent, a handsome black college student just released from the Marine Corps, with the visitors’ chairs at the ends of the desks. Missing from the usual cast were Kevin and Hua, a tentative driver fearful of any weather less than perfect. Everyone was punching keys on their laptops except Jean. The one her father had bought her for high school had died and there was no money for a new one.

“Now. Shall we get down to business?” Theresa said when at last she came through the door and carefully set her calfskin briefcase on her desk.

The implication was that she was the only one of the assembled group who had been working. Jean even felt guilty for a moment before registering Rita’s eyes rolled toward the ceiling.
Study Theresa
, Jean told herself, not for the first time. Control was a seriously weak spot in her business tool kit. Nor had she the height, the elegantly coifed silver hair that spoke of years of experience, the expensively tailored clothes, or the rings that flashed success.

“We have a lot to cover,” Theresa continued, arranging her possessions with unnecessary small movements before swiveling her chair to face them. “Some business details, some decisions to make and two new listings to preview.” She smiled benignly. Both listings were hers. “Has Hua called in? No? Well, I’m sure she’ll get here as soon as she can.”

There was no implied criticism. Hua was second to Theresa in office sales and each appreciated the fact that the other brought in listings. Selling one of the office’s own listings meant the fee did not have to be split with another agency. These two were the queens of the office with Rita a mere trailing princess.

“Kevin.”

Theresa’s survey of the room was purely symbolic. It was obvious he was not present.

“I did—” Jean broke in quickly. “I called him.”

“We won’t wait for Kevin. Now…” Theresa tapped her silver letter opener on the desk as if it were a gavel. “The murder. That is what is on everyone’s mind and we might as well dispense with that first. There is no further news and obviously there is no reason it should affect our open houses on Sunday other than employing certain precautions.”

“Then we
are
holding opens,” Stan said.

“No reason not to. Of course we’ll hold them. We need to pick up buyers. They’re where the money is right now.” There was rarely any hesitation in Theresa’s deep alto pronouncements and she added emphasis by speaking slowly. “June Barnes had many enemies. I see no reason why her death should affect us in any way.”

Jean felt a great deal better. Theresa always knew.

“Now,” the older woman continued with another light tap of the flashing blade. “I understand—”

But at this point, she was interrupted by a small flurry that was Hua Chan, her stocky form adorned with a gold and maroon silk suit that had been her mother’s. The Chinese, she had once explained to Jean, did not bow to current fashions. Tradition and quality were more important. And color, mixed any way one liked. Although television and movie scenes seemed to indicate that things had changed, no one argued with this seventy-year-old dynamo.

“Sorry, sorry,” Hua said. It came out “Soddy, soddy.” “Late. Rain no good for me.”

Assurances came from all desks. Everyone liked Hua. Theresa displayed an atypical patience waiting for her to get settled before beginning again.

“We have good news, always the best way to start a meeting. Hua will have a new listing soon and both Marian and Jean …” Theresa paused to nod to her protégé. “… have listing appointments tonight, I believe? Will we have two more listings soon?”

Marian nodded vigorously. “Oh, I think—Yes! I—”

“Congratulations,” Theresa said, cutting her off. Marian had many appointments, few listings. “Jean?”

Jean wished she could be as positive as Marian. “It’s just a lead. I … you know…” The thought crossed her mind that she sounded like Marian and she finished firmly. “I’m in competition with at least one experienced agent from ERA. I’m seeing them at seven.”

“I will be glad to come with you if you like.”

“Thank you, Theresa.” For a moment, Jean’s mind was filled with happily dancing dollar signs. Theresa would nail the listing. “But I need to learn to do this.”

Jean couldn’t afford to split the listing commission. Anyway, she had decided, it was time to find out if she could make it in this business or not. Seven months of earning only what she had made from assisting Theresa didn’t foretell a bright future in this job.

The line of Theresa’s mouth became a little thinner. Her gift had been refused. The slightest of nods acknowledged Jean’s decision.

“If you get those listings, you ought to hold them open Sunday. You want contact with buyers and even perhaps a chance to sell them yourselves while the listings are fresh.” Theresa leaned her head over and looked at the two younger women from the tops of her eyes. “In-house sale means double commission, ladies. We need to know by Thursday morning to get the ads in
The Post.
”

Jean and Marian nodded obediently.

“Now. I have several articles here of interest.”

Theresa was an avid reader of anything related to real estate and used these rare opportunities when Ed was absent to “teach” the staff what she had learned by reading selections. Jean tried to listen, but soon retreated into a daydream in which she was the agent for the relocations of a large company’s employees.

A horn tooted outside.

“Yes,” Theresa said. “There was a strange car in our parking lot.”

There was never enough space in Bethesda for the buildings, the people, their possessions and especially their cars. Usually, the office didn’t care if their notice indicating possession of the small parking lot was ignored. Only on Tuesday mornings did their vehicles fill both the lot and the driveway, occasionally trapping someone who wanted breakfast at McDonald’s without the challenge of Wisconsin Avenue traffic.

Stan got up.

“We don’t move our cars during meetings,” Theresa ordered.

Ed Brumm had made the ruling when Marian had been hit backing out to accommodate an intruder.

“I know. I know. I’m just going to close the door.”

Stan finished his walk across the room and shut the staff room door just as the loud knocking started that always followed the sound of a captive’s car horn.

“Thank you, Stanley.”

The words were encased in ice. Theresa didn’t like being interrupted. She also didn’t like Stan, who consistently failed to demonstrate the appropriate reverence for her age and accomplishments.

“You’re welcome, Theresa.”

Stan’s voice echoed Theresa’s sarcasm.

Theresa finished her last article and then announced Ed’s return on Thursday.

“Until then, call me if you need assistance. Is there anything else that needs to be discussed?”

There was no response.

“Fine. We’ll take a quick look at my new listings then.”

On the way out, they filed past a man in a soggy brown suit sitting on the front stoop, elbows on knees, head in his hands. The rain had stopped, but not soon enough.

Theresa was her most gracious self.

“Dear me. I am sorry. You must have parked in our lot. We really don’t hear a thing in the back when all the doors are closed. I’m sorry you didn’t notice our sign.”

She handed him her business card.

“If we can ever be of any help …”

 
Chapter 3

It was five o’clock and the Brumm agents were once more arranged around the sales room desks. By this time of day, the whining air conditioner that blocked one window couldn’t cope with nine people. Perhaps because Ed had been the one to call them in, even Kevin had responded in jeans and a Redskins tee shirt and was now slouching over the side of Theresa’s desk. Stan had come from a summer school class looking Marine neat in a tight green polo shirt and khaki shorts. Those still in business dress had hung their jackets over the backs of chairs except for Theresa. She showed no sign of the heat. She never did. Rita said it was because she had ice in her veins. In this heat, without his jacket, Harold’s aroma was even stronger than usual, a blend of sweat, deodorant and after shave.

Something important enough to bring the broker back from Annapolis and require another meeting had happened. “Tell you when we get together,” Ed had said over the phone as each asked what was going on. Now all eyes were on the blocky figure whose rumpled shirt and trousers were evidence of his rushed return. As usual, Ed was half-perched on the computer table, his hands resting on it, the forward curve of his shoulders made more evident by their width. His face was square with strong features, a wash of red warming his dark complexion. Today, the usual pleasant grin was missing and, before he began, he rubbed the back of his neck, a sign that he was worried.

“One detail the police left out in their initial report to the news people was that a couple of June’s business cards were found torn up at the scene of her murder. Mary Markey was holding an open last Sunday, too. This morning, she was counting the leftover information sheets and found a few of her cards torn into small pieces and a note saying she was lucky the buyers in the house saved her life. Called the police and they made the connection. Seems this is someone after agents.”

Ed looked at each agent individually to emphasize the importance of what he was saying.

“Board phoned every broker in Montgomery and Prince Georges. Not sure we want opens Sunday.”

He stopped. Good salespeople knew when to stop talking and let their people think.

“Mary was somewhat like June,” Theresa offered. “Maybe this is a vendetta against unscrupulous agents.”

“Hardly think you can call both women unscrupulous.”

“Perhaps it depends on how well one knew them,” Theresa persisted, her voice as empty of emotion as her expression.

Ed looked away from his most successful agent, dismissing her comment.

“I think we ought to consider canceling our opens until the police know more,” he continued. “We are definitely going to put two agents on each one. We do that on big homes to prevent theft or damage anyway.”

Theresa frowned. She was the best closer in the office and didn’t like sharing commissions.

“I could take Jean with me if she doesn’t have an open house herself.”

Theresa would use their time together for the mini-lectures she enjoyed giving, a teaching experience, no commission split owed. Stan needed the experience more, but they were the oil and water of the office.

Ed avoided that issue for the moment.

“The first question is: do we want any opens?” He looked around. “Thoughts?”

“No open house. Bad, bad,” Hua said, not surprisingly.

“I’d like to hold the DeLucca’s house open if I get the listing.”

Jean was tentative. She had very little hope of getting that listing.

“And you need to show the owners you really mean to work for them. Okay then. Show of hands. How many think they might want an open Sunday?”

Theresa’s, Stan’s and Jean’s hands went up.

“Stan? Got a lead? Great! That’s three. Okay. Who’s with Theresa?”

“Me,” Kevin announced loudly, pointing to himself. “I’m always helping Theresa.”

“But not a fifty-fifty split,” Theresa objected. “Twenty percent should be quite adequate.”

That Kevin was well known to be broke and Theresa borderline wealthy was irrelevant. This was business.

“Kevin, you okay with that? You are, after all, providing protection.”

Kevin wasn’t a fighter. “Yeah. Okay.”

“Right, then. Kevin will make a good bodyguard, Theresa.”

“I can take care of myself,” Stan said.

“I’m sure you can. But when I set a policy, we stick to it.”