Chapter 20: Monday

Monday, thankfully, my phone didn’t ring until eight. It was a restful sleep and I seriously needed it.

The night before, right after my call to Jet (where he superbly acted the part, vacillating between astonished and devastated family member whose grandmother had some sort of terrible medical emergency—though I doubt Holly believed him), I triple checked the door locks and the alarm. On my way into dreamland, I remembered Matt’s order to come see him. Thankful I ignored it, leaving me to explain Jet or the slashed tires to another day.

“Hey Tina, it’s Val,” the friendly voice on the other side said. It took me a moment. Val? Who the hell was Val? Not waiting for me to respond, she said, “I have a lead for you.”

Oh, that Val.

“Um, thanks.” I said, tentatively, thinking about Mr. Daniels and what kind of client he was turning out to be.

“His name is Michael Taylor.” She gave me the number, just as I was reaching for a pen. “He wants to buy.”

“Thanks, but uh, Val?” She uttered some sort of acknowledgement. “Not to sound ungrateful—because I am not! But, uh, why did you give the lead to me?”

Her laugh was somewhere between patronizing and sinister. “Nancy and Roy gave me your cut—you know if you want leads I get twenty dollars a commission right? Well, they paid me for you. They asked for you to get the next lead that comes in. But, you gotta know this. It might be a shitty lead. I just take down the information. So, it is a craps shoot.”

Pleasantries complete, Val confirmed there was no fax from Mr. Daniels waiting for me. This had to be the first conversation I ever had with her consisting of more than two sentences.

I called Mr. Taylor. A pleasant man with an even more pleasant Southern accent answered, identified himself as said person. Recently divorced, he moved here for a job opportunity. Could I help him find something modestly nice in Peoria? I got all the particulars from him, doing my best not to break into giggles every time he, “yes ma’amed” or “no ma’amed” me. I just love Southerners and their manners.

Then, because Don Kublensy said two nights ago in the video I watched, Buyers are Liars, I asked him about funding for this modestly nice place he would be buying, suggesting he call his bank and I gave him Jet’s number. He promised to do both and our talk ended with a few more yes ma’ams, a (this was so cool!) “Miss Tina” and a meeting set for tomorrow at Metro Realty Pros’s office at eleven.

My next call was to Mr. Daniel’s voice mail, cheerfully reminding him I was waiting for his fax and offering, what I hoped, was a deep-felt concern for his domestic situation.

Afterwards, I called the four agents I knew who showed Lillian’s home over the weekend. I thought if they could tell me something to help me sell her condo faster, I wanted to know. It was all positive feedback. The home was great. It was priced well. But, the buyers in every case weren’t interested enough to make an offer. I wrote down everything and called Lillian with my feedback.

Her response didn’t disappoint. “You called the agents? Oh, how clever of you. But, I am not worried about how fast it sells. I have every confidence in you and your abilities. It will happen at the right time.” She paused. “And, Tina, thank you so much for following up with those agents. It was a brilliant idea.”

I hung up with my cheeks flushed from Lillian’s praise. I was loving this. Price Bargains was a modest job with modest pay. But, it had gotten to the point where I was making at least one half more just on my commissions from the products I sold. I found commission sales motivating—more than I ever expected. Sales, I thought, examining myself in the mirror before heading out the door, was something I could do and (so far) not screw up.

I opened the door to a blast furnace of an August day. It was only nine, but it had to be over one hundred degrees. I could feel the sweat pooling behind my hair as I made the short walk from my door to the car. Even this early, the car’s metal door handle was so hot, I used one joint of my index finger to open it.

I winced as I sat down on my leather seat, wishing my dress was a bit longer to protect my legs. I had a mental picture of me peeling baked flesh off the seat some time down the road. I needed a towel or a seat cover or something before I suffered first degree burns.

I had already started the car and the air conditioning when Matt knocked on my passenger window. I was less than enthusiastic about rolling down the window and letting the cool air escape. Nor was I wasn’t anxious to see him. If his lecture on Saturday hadn’t cinched it, the thoroughly pissed off expression on his face yesterday when I came back with Jet’s Jeep did.

“How’s it going?” he asked, mouth tight, eyes non-committal when I finally rolled down the window. I uttered something about being in a hurry and he stepped away, face still level with mine, keeping his hands on the door (how they weren’t getting seared by the metal, I don’t know).

“Will you come by tonight?” This time it was an invitation.

“I have the later shift at Price Bargains.”

“I am up late. I will wait for you. Besides,” he said, enticement in his voice and a small smile on his face, “I can cook.”

That made precisely one of us. His peace offering and the promise of nourishment coming from some place other than the freezer section won out. I promised to show up right after my shift.

Walking into Metro Realty Pros I felt ecstatic. I had clients. I had potential to get my bills paid and I had friends—albeit one was unaccounted for. Yes, other than a few pesky (and somewhat major) details, moving to Phoenix was working out ok. Life was good.

I walked past Val, phone receiver plastered to her ear and smack into Wendy. After a sincere, “excuse me” from me, and a nod of acknowledgement from Wendy (I reasoned, “I beg your pardon” was too much of a strain) I told her I was taking a buyer out tomorrow. She didn’t hide her astonishment. “Wow. That’s great. Are you sure you are ready?”

I assured her there was no time like the present and I was positive I could handle it. “Besides,” I needled, “Dee, Sebastian, Nancy and Roy have all been great to me. I couldn’t ask for better mentors.” Yes, it was meant as bitchy, even though—as any card-carrying woman would tell you—it didn’t come out that way.

Contempt spread across Wendy’s face. And a part of me—the part apparently needing to go to confession very soon—was happy to see it. “Well, it looks like you have it covered,” she simpered.

I couldn’t resist. “Oh yes, and I am so glad you told me about getting a team together. Thank you so much!” I just about ran out to get my hip boots. “I already put my buyer in touch with my loan officer. Jet Tyson.”

Wendy excused herself back to her office, loudly closing the door. I walked into the bullpen and Dee was laughing.

“I heard everything you said to her,” she said giving me a one-armed hug. “You are good!”

“What happened,” asked Nancy who had just hung up. I began to answer her when my phone rang. Dee graciously ran over and filled her in while I took the call.

My caller, it turns out, happened to be Chip from Windows and More. After I finished quizzing him about a name like Chip matching with his occupation (something I am certain he must be used to) he explained how he had gotten a call from Mr. Daniels who needed some windows installed and to call me for the address.

I gave him the address, wondering why Mr. Daniels just didn’t do it.

Two minutes later, I had him on the phone. “Hi Mr. Daniels, this is Tina again.”

“Oh, hi Tina how are you? By the way, I gave your name to a window company. It seems there is a broken window at the house you are listing for me and I want to get it fixed.”

Was he for real? I sent him a detailed list of everything needing to be done to this house. There was no “it seemed” on this list!

I thanked him, assuring him Chip (I did an internal titter) called. “I wanted to let you know, I am at the office and your paperwork hasn’t come back yet. Will you be faxing it over?” I was tentative, hoping I was coming across as humble.

“I faxed it back.” He said with a note of astonishment. “Can you go check?”

I popped up front, checking the fax machine and my mail box. Val was still on the phone, intently filing her nails. “Nope, nothing here.” I said, walking back to the bullpen. I added, “Could you fax it again? I can’t help you until we have something in writing.”

This last comment did not bode well with Mr. Daniels. But, I decided, I had one listing already and a potential buyer tomorrow. Anyone who worked with Amy probably had sold their soul anyway. But, just to make sure I meant it, I added, “I am in the office right now. I will even go wait by the fax machine.”

“I am not in my office right now.” He countered. “But, I can fax it later. It will be there today,” he promised.

Dee and Nancy were waiting for me when I hung up. “I just talked to a guy named Chip who works for a window company.” I said matter of factly.

“You’ll get used to weird things,” Dee said.

It turns out, Nancy and Dee were hungry and thought we should do a pow-wow at Selmas. I opted out, explaining about tomorrow’s pending appointment with Mr. Taylor.

“Oh no you don’t. You need to eat!” Nancy scolded. “We’ll just bring the laptop and you look everything up there.

After ordering at Selma’s, Nancy whipped out the computer and mini-printer. Meanwhile, I told them about my conversation with Mr. Taylor. Dee complimented me on asking all the right questions (thank you Mr. Kublensy). And, Nancy helped me search the Multiple Listing, looking for the right home for him.

Real estate chores done in record time, we sat and ate, talking about girly things. Dee is in her late forties. Nancy in her sixties. I marveled how even though we were all about twenty years apart, we easily found common ground. I never had older women friends before. Laura (who was thirty-one) having the honor of being the oldest of them until recently. My friends had always been the kids I grew up with—even until the day I left California. But, here I was one of the ladies in the office. A colleague. An equal.

On my way to Price Bargains I left a message for Jet, letting him know Mr. Taylor might be calling and we were looking tomorrow. I mentioned getting together for lunch and perhaps including Amy just to be nice. I wasn’t sure he would buy it. I certainly didn’t. But, I owe Jet more than just lunch for yesterday’s new tires.

At nine-sixteen that night, I pulled into my driveway to see Matt, arms crossed, leaning against my private apartment door. Even with the headlights shining right at him, probably blinding him, he looked cool and confident.

“I didn’t want you to forget.” He said as I reached him, key in hand. Even with the small amount of light from the streetlamp I could see him smiling. Apparently he was aiming for conciliatory.

I originally planned on dropping my real estate papers on my table, changing clothes, pulling my hair into a frumpy pony tail and taking off my make-up before heading across the street. But, as Matt, who looked very good in his Levis, was now so chivalrously waiting to escort me, I changed my plans. Excusing myself, I took care of business in the little girls’ room and re-touched my make up and hair. My sundress still looking presentable, I decided I was done with the necessities and met him back in my apartment.

Dinner was grilled pork chops, mashed potatoes and steamed asparagus. The conversation was good, with me telling him about my potential buyer and updating him on Mr. Daniels and Chip.

He gave me the rundown on his trip at the end of last week. Vegas for a series of meetings on Friday, but first he met his former brother-in-law, who lives in Vegas, for blackjack on Thursday. I marveled at how he still remained friends with Marlene’s family, explaining I was more than happy to ditch Preston’s family—especially his dolphin faced mother.

Matt threw back a hearty laugh, “Yea, I guess it is unusual.” His tone changed. Shifting in his chair, he began, “I didn’t mean to offend you on Saturday. I don’t think I said what I was thinking the right way.”

I took the opening, in a way to make Mother proud, “I am sure, just like me, you have Laura’s best interests at heart.”

“It wasn’t Laura’s interests I was thinking of.” He replied softly, looking intently at me. “You know, Laura is safe. She is out of harm’s way working out whatever she needs to work out. You are the one staying there.” He said, motioning toward Laura’s home. “You are the one who was attacked.”

“I don’t think they are coming ba—”

He cut me off. “Don’t be too sure about that. Look, you are welcome to hang out here if you would feel safer. I have an extra bedroom.”

I assured him I was fine. Besides, I doubted either of us would be off the market more than another forty-five minutes maximum if I camped over. And, I wasn’t ready for that. Which seemed funny, given how much in the past I enjoyed being on the market.

The truth was, I thought Matt was pretty special. And, I wanted to be ready for him. But, more than that, if we were ever to get together, I wanted him to be ready for me.

He brought me back to Earth, “The alarm is always set, right?”

“It is now.”

Matt changed direction again, “So, who’s the guy with the Jeep?” I could tell he had planned his question to be much more casual than it came out.

I couldn’t hide my amusement. “It was Jet.”

He raised his eyebrows. Matt sat back from the table. “I was expecting this Jet guy to look more…well, less…clean shaven. Kinda like a beach bum,” he explained. “You said he was a pro beach volleyball player.” His voice had a hint of accusation. Maybe it was me, but this sounded a heck of a lot like jealousy.

“You guys didn’t do any introductions while you were standing there?”

“He said his name was Jayson. When I got up and saw someone messing with your car. He told me you had a couple of flat tires, so I helped him. I didn’t ask what he was doing at your house at that hour.” He sounded a teensy bit hurt.

Skipping over the non-essentials, like Jimmy calling and anything Carl related, I explained how I woke up to two flat tires and I had an errand to run. Jet was kind enough to leave Holly and loan me his Jeep. When I came back the tires were changed.

“I didn’t expect the tires would be taken care of.” I said innocently, hoping to deflect the obvious question on Matt’s lips.

“What was the errand?” he said coolly. The same vocal tone starting our tiff two days earlier. Answering him would not make things between us better.

I sighed, probably a bit too loud. Matt waited. Finally I said with a flirty smile, “I had a great time tonight. Thank you for inviting me over and, thank you so much for dinner.”

“What was the errand?”

I looked at him, silently pleading with him to drop it.

“What was the errand?” he repeated.

“It was of a personal nature. I would rather not talk about it.” I explained with as much conviction as I could muster.

“What was the errand?”

I blew out a breath. “I needed tampons. Ok?” I replied.

“I give up,” he said, shaking his head in defeat.

When it was time to go, Matt walked me home. And, instead of seeing me to the door, he went through Laura’s house, checking doors and windows. I let him out, thanking him again for dinner. He smiled a lazy smile and grabbed my fingers. “Miss Cavanaugh, it was a pleasure.” He said, kissing the back of my hand.

It was just as I was drifting off to sleep something came to me. It was like a fuzzy picture at first, becoming sharper and sharper as I dwelled on it. It was Matt’s words during dinner, “You know, Laura is safe. She is out of harm’s way working out whatever she needs to work out.”

I decided two things. One, Matt knows where she is. And two, if Laura wanted me to know, she would call me. The second thought wasn’t as well received.

Chapter 19: Sunday

Despite the lack of sleep this past week, I tossed all night. Between the goons and Matt’s comments, I wasn’t able to turn my brain off.

I had gone to Frieda’s earlier in the evening, hoping she could help me sort things out. She was a wreck, her imagination getting the best of her. Evan was at her side, quizzing me on everything I knew. Something Laura might have said? Anything that she might not have said?

I found myself feeling protective of Laura too, not wanting to give too much away to her mother, just in case there was a big mistake somewhere. Laura, I reasoned, was entitled to her privacy. I justified this as well by saying Frieda and Evan never asked me about people coming around looking for her—including Charlie—who I figured was behind this somehow.

Which brought up an interesting point. What did Charlie know? I had played back my conversation with him. His questioning seemed perfectly innocent. He seemed humbled and soft-spoken. But, I realized, jumpy from the week’s activities, I was too nervous to concentrate on him. I had been focusing on Matt coming over to rescue me from potentially another dangerous situation.

And, just to add a bit less sanity to the mix, As I was thinking about this, I kept dreaming of Wendy telling me how a proper real estate agent would use scripts to capture Charlie as a prospective lead and possibly save the sale. I dreamt of Don Kublensy, coaching me to treat everyone like a prospective buyer. Maybe if I had gotten more information and acted like a salesperson—the real estate expert—I might have a way to contact Charlie now.

I drifted off into a restless sleep, only to be awaken by my cell. “What?” I whined to the caller.

“Teeny Tiny Tina?” It was Saint Jimmy, who would never in his life be in any type of weird drama such as this. My older brother always did everything right. Jimmy was the stereotypical overachiever. The alter boy, top athlete, class president and eagle scout. He graduated magna cum laude and now was in medical school at UCLA (much to Mother’s delight).

Jimmy was Christmas letter fodder, with Mother dripping honey all over his every achievement. Hell, he even came out with blond hair, freckles and green eyes—like any respectable Irish relative of mine, leaving me looking more like the mailman’s kid than anything Irish.

I adored Jimmy despite his perfections. But, calling me at—I looked at the clock—four fifty-six a.m., was a bit much. It wasn’t even light out. He didn’t give me a chance to respond. “Who is Carl and why is he looking for you?”

I bolted up, wide awake. “What!” I practically shrieked. I took a breath. “What are you talking about?” Holy shit! I had forgotten to pay Carl. I slapped my forehead. I missed this past Friday’s payment.

Jimmy started over, “I just got a call from a guy named Carl. He was looking for you and said you owed him money. He suggested I call you—at not even five a.m.—to remind you,”

He seemed to be showing an incredible amount of restraint for someone just being presumably woken and protectively relaying to his kid sister this bit of news. “Tina, who the hell is Carl and what is this about owing him money. Why is he calling me? Are you in trouble? Do you need money?” The questions just seemed to rattle out of his mouth, not waiting for an answer.

“No. No Jimmy. Everything is ok.” Amazingly, I could tell from his breathing he wasn’t buying it. “Thanks for letting me know. I will take care of it.”

Jimmy wasn’t budging. I tried my best to reassure him it must be some stupid prank. He didn’t buy it. Silence. Jimmy waited for the truth.

I was exasperated. “Look, I owe this guy some money and I forgot to pay him.”

His cool exterior melted through the phone. His voice hit the roof, asking another barrage of questions. So, I laid it on the line, giving him the whole sorted tale from breaking down to Crazy Ed to Carl.

“So,” he said finally, absorbing my story. “That explains why you didn’t make it to El Paso.” He let out a chuckle. “Mom didn’t take it well when you changed your plans. It was bad enough you left to begin with. But, she told everyone at the country club you were moving to El Paso and you had the gall to change your mind.”

I rolled my eyes. “What would she have taken well?” I asked sarcastically.

“You staying at home, getting married—scratch that, graduating from college first and then getting married—and living off your trust fund as a devoted wife, mother and community advocate,” he said with a touch of amusement. “But, nobody is stupid enough to think our Tina would ever consider being so complacent.”

“May I remind you,” I said with a touch of annoyance, “My trust fund died the day I dropped out of college.”

He laughed, “You know Mom and Dad will give it back to you if you just ask.” I did know. College degree or no college degree, Jimmy was right. But, I wanted to feel what it was like to earn my way.

“My kids can have my trust fund.”

Jimmy knew I wanted to find my on way. I know he respected my decision. And, I respected his. He preferred the easy way and the good life. Both were his for the taking.

Feeling better knowing Jimmy—as always—was on my side, I chuckled. Our conversation ended with me promising to call him later. I would call Mother and say hello (apparently she had been working on Jimmy to get him to intercede on her behalf). And, I would take care of Carl before he got any other ideas. We said our, “I love yous” and I immediately dialed Carl.

“Miss Cavanaugh. How nice to hear from you. I have been waiting for your call,” He said in a syrupy voice.

After telling him I was happy—no, ecstatic—to pay him and I was so sorry the time had gotten away from me and there had been no need to burden my brother. I asked, “Why didn’t you call me?”

Carl didn’t miss a beat. “This seemed much more motivating, don’t you think?”

I waved a rude gesture in his general direction. I assured him I would bring over the money right then. He laughed, “You will want to fix your flat before you do too much more.” Before I could process his comment, Carl hung up.

After a moment the realization dawned on me. Not bothering to change out of my pajamas, I rushed outside to find my driver side tires (front and rear) slashed. I put my hands over my face, rubbing my temples. This just can’t be happening.

An hour later, Jet was at my door. “I thought you might want coffee too,” he said holding up a freshly steaming cup. Again, I went with the literal translation to his comment two weeks earlier, Don’t hesitate to call me if you need anything. After dragging him out of the arms of someone (Holly, I found out later), he didn’t hesitate, promising to come right over.

I had thought for a brief moment about just dragging myself, tail between my legs, to Matt to beg for a ride. My pride was still wounded from yesterday. Another lecture from him and I would be over the edge—and I was perched pretty precariously as it was.

“Sorry about leaving your date.” I said, now fully dressed and holding the door open for him.

He made a dismissive gesture. “We were through anyway.” Jet walked in as if he lived there, flopping himself on to a dinette chair. “What happened?”

I gave him a look pleading not to ask.

We held eye contact for a moment. “I take it you need a ride?” I nodded, afraid if I spoke I would burst into tears. Jet read me right, getting up and walking to me. He gave me a hug, and mussed my hair. “Let me guess here. Someone is pretty pissed off at you, took it out on your Firestones, and you need to go see this person.”

I nodded again. “So, do you need a ride, or do you need a car?” Jet asked. When I just shrugged he said, “I’ll tell you what, take the Jeep and I will see if I can find some way to get the tires fixed.”

“At this hour?” I choked.

He shrugged again. “I know people.”

I took Jet’s Jeep Wrangler, hoping my inexperience with a manual transmission didn’t show too much. With Sunday traffic, I made it to Carl’s office in thirty minutes, slapping the money down on his desk without as much as a word and walked out. I pushed out thoughts of what he could possibly be doing in his office at this hour. I really didn’t want to know.

“It is always a pleasure doing business with you, Miss Cavanaugh,” he called to my back.

As I was leaving Crazy Ed’s, on a whim, I drove across the street to get a better look at the chain-linked rubble where the Hacienda stood only a week earlier. The half of the building housing the lobby and one wing of rooms (where Laura let one housekeeper and Joe the handyman live) were in tact. The larger wing, the area where most of the guests’ rooms were, was burned to the ground.

The parking lot was barren with the exception of Joe’s truck. I suspected he was still sleeping off last night’s fun. Laura once told me he was a frequent patron at the Sweet Shop. As I surveyed the damage I felt a wave of grief rise over me. Laura worked so hard to grow this. And, she had done it alone. Now, what she had worked for was bits and pieces of charred remains.

After talking to Frieda last night, I realized how right Matt was and how foolish I had been. Laura wasn’t the type to walk out on this mess. She worked too hard. She would have been there from sun-up to sun-down if necessary getting the place fixed. My eyes welled up. I said a prayer asking for wherever Laura was, she was safe and far from this mess.

Returning home, I saw two new tires on my car. Jet and Matt were standing outside. Jet was pointing at my car as I walked up. “I see you two have met.” I said, cheerily joining them and handing Jet his keys.

Matt turned to leave and said to me. “Come by later.” It wasn’t an invitation.

I turned to Jet. “Thank you so much for your help. But, I can’t repay you for the tires until Friday.”

He brushed it off. “Don’t worry about it. A friend owed me a favor.”

“Yea, now I owe you one.” I said sheepishly.

He got the faraway look in his eyes I had noticed the few times before. It usually was followed with some obscure volleyball fact.

“You know, you are right. You could repay me tonight.” I could feel my face muscles tighten as the shock set in. “No. That wasn’t what I meant.” He said, waving his hand. “I am taking Holly out again tonight. Can you call me at seven thirty and just go along with whatever I say. I want to ditch her early. I will just act like you are telling me there is some sort of an emergency. She will believe it. Between you and me,” he added, “she is too high maintenance.”

Now, I know as card-carrying member of the female population this is one of the lowest date tricks out there. But, what Jet didn’t know—because he wasn’t a card-carrying member of the female population—is no woman believes this when a man pulls it. I would loose my card-carrying status if I told him as much.

So, if she decided to take his exit personally after his theatrics tonight, he might end up in a lot of pain. Would I be responsible for this? I considered for a moment. Reason won out. I owe him for two tires. Jet’s personal safety be damned. “Yes, I will do it.” I said.

And, feeling lucky while I was living on borrowed time, I added, “So, did you ever call Amy?”

“Yea, about that…” he explained, “I am not sure it is a good idea. I don’t think she is my type. I need more… more down to earth people to work with. I think it would be bad karma.” He shook his head, as if he was shamed to imagine what working with her would be like. Who could blame him, I thought sympathetically.

But, I had made promises too. So, I gave him a recap of the whole sorted tale about Amy showing up at Price Bargains last week. He didn’t bite. “I will think about it.” He said noncommittally.

“What would it take for you just to eat lunch with her?” I asked, exasperated, thinking along the lines of me promising all my future loan business to him coupled with cleaning his Sedona/Scottsdale home and being his emergency get-out-of-date free card whenever necessary.

Jet waggled his eyebrows.

I glared at him. “That isn’t going to happen.”

Chapter 18: Saturday

     I stopped fighting the urge to go back to sleep. I had a lot of things I wanted to get done today. First on my list was laundry. It had been a while, I decided, as I looked through my drawers and realized I was down to the panty dregs.

Tossing my first load into the washer, I toyed with the whole putting up a sign in Laura’s front yard thing. A thought had occurred to me as I lay in bed last night, doors double checked, alarm quadruple checked and my hand on the trigger of my recently charged stun gun. Perhaps, if I put up a sign, the goons looking for her might think she has moved on. And, if nothing else, not return. As I finally drifted off to sleep, I had convinced myself it was a dandy of an idea. I sure hoped Laura wouldn’t mind.

Now, somewhat rested, this idea had time to stew. I was thinking it wouldn’t hurt. It wasn’t about finding buyers. Though, it was an added bonus. Laura’s (and my) safety was essential. She obviously left not only to visit her father, but to get away from whatever was happening with the two midnight callers.

And—not that I thought Laura would turn me in to the Arizona Department of Real Estate (I hoped), I could justify it to Laura by saying I was protecting her. Letting people think she was moving. But, it brought up what really bothered me. I had been piecing together what I knew of Laura—which until a few days ago I thought was a lot. She had the kind of street-smarts I always wanted.

One of the things I liked about Laura was she was her sharp mind and keen sense didn’t miss anything, starting with the night I met her. She saw the tow truck driver. She thought enough to offer to drive me over to pick up my belongings. She was an exceptional mother, doting over her kids and nobody, nobody I tell you, could possibly question her priorities. Which is why the whole Charlie thing made no sense.

Laura was barely nineteen when she and Charlie met, had a whirlwind courtship and married a few months after. They bought the Hacienda on a whim from some friend of Charlie’s. They both liked the idea of being their own boss, all the while having the youthful idealism of taking the worn out hotel and turn it into a thriving travel destination. According to Laura, it was a shabby dump when they took it over. Though, no offense to Laura, it was no Holiday Inn now. It isn’t like the convention bureau was lining up to hold events at the Hacienda.

Charlie and Laura lived there, saving their pennies and growing the Hacienda to what it is today. Laura mentioned at one point after Charlie went to jail, she took out a small business loan to grow their company. However, before hand, times were lean and although the Hacienda wasn’t fledgling, it was still touch and go for a long time.

Then, Laura got pregnant. And, according to her, Charlie started feeling the pressure to pay off the investor and do right by his family. So he started dealing and neglected to mention it to Laura—who only found out when Charlie made his one and only phone call from the jail.

The day he was arrested Laura found out she was having twins. She neglected to tell him only because she was preoccupied getting him out of jail. She told him a few days later. Charlie, wanting to get back to his family as soon as possible, immediately called his lawyer asking to plead guilty so he could serve the minimum time: five years, and then get on with his life. Charlie hadn’t met his sons just yet.

When the boys were about two, Laura did two things: she divorced Charlie and managed to run the hotel well enough to buy the home she lived in now. She was proud of her business skills—especially for someone, as she matter-of-factly explained, with a high school education and real-life experience.

Laura never mentioned if Charlie turned evidence against his drug source or not. But, I thought, it might explain the cast of characters coming around here the past two weeks. If I calculated correctly, Charlie should be getting out soon. A shudder shot down my spine. Was it Charlie’s former buddies looking for her to get to him?

I spent a few hours doing chores, propping my sign in the yard and cleaning up Laura’s house. I had been living on chicken nuggets, Froot Loops and peanut butter toast for days. It was time to hit the grocery store. The fact is, I had never learned to cook and had been grateful for Laura’s culinary ability. Now, I was realizing cooking was more of a necessity and much less of a luxury. My last stop was the hardware store to fix Laura’s wall.

I managed to take the groceries and wall repair paraphernalia as one trip from my car to the front door. Hands full, I was maneuvering my key into the lock when I heard a faint voice.

“Excuse me? Do you live here?”

Startled, I whipped around to face the man belonging to the voice. He was average height and build, in his early 30s, with thinning yellow hair. His face weathered by what I guessed were a few hard breaks. His pale blue eyes reminded me of something I had seen before.

“May I help you?” I asked, nervous. Logically, I did not find anything imposing about him. But, given the events of two nights ago, I wasn’t up to finding out if I was wrong.

He gave me a half-smile and continued in the same soft spoken tone, “I saw your sign in the yard. I was wondering, do you live here?”

He moved a little closer. I tensed up. Across the street, I caught sight of Matt looking my direction. I was relieved to see he was back from his trip. I caught his eye and made a motion with my head. Matt headed over.

I turned back to my visitor. “Yes. Yes, I do live here.” I said, trying out my new real estate agent smile.

The man looked grim. “I don’t suppose you know what happened to the former owner do you?”

Matt had managed to make it to my side, walked in front of me, taking my grocery bags and standing closer than I expected. I answered the man, “No, sorry, I don’t.” And, then for Matt’s benefit, I added, “Actually, there is a contract on this house, but there are other homes in the area if you are interested in buying something.”

The man shook his head, turning away. “No, I was just looking for the former owner.”

We watched as the man sauntered to the sidewalk. After the stranger was out of earshot, Matt turned to me, motioning to the Metro Realty Professionals’ yard sign, “Want to tell me what is going on?” His voice no-nonsense.

I knew the sign was dangerous. And, Matt and Laura were very good friends. I looked him in the eye, “No.”

He smiled, rocking back on his heels, “Try me.”

I let him in, showing him the hole in Laura’s wall and regaling him with the tale of the midnight callers. I was explaining how I stupidly hadn’t set the alarm. Matt’s neck tightened, his jaw hard and he looked at me, eyes blazing.

“What were you thinking?” His voice matched the murderous look on his face.

I turned away, putting the frozen dinners I purchased away. “What do you mean? What was I thinking?”

His tone didn’t change, with his annoyance front and center. “Come’on Tina. Think about it. Put it together. Laura’s hotel supposedly accidentally burns down and she runs like hell away from here with her kids. Didn’t occur to you she was in danger? Then these two guys are looking for her?”

Put off, I glared at him. “First of all, you have your facts wrong.” I said coolly. “She didn’t run off. She is taking a vacation visiting her dad in Cheyenne. She said her handyman is handling the fixes. And, the fire was an accident.” I didn’t mention the creepy guy coming around last week—which seemed to add credence to Matt’s point. But, Matt’s attitude had pissed me off.

“Tina,” he said deliberately. “Have you ever seen Laura do anything spontaneous?” He grabbed the calendar off the front of the refrigerator, detailing every meal she would be cooking last week. “Look.” He said thrusting the paper at me. “Does this look like someone who would just traipse off to Wyoming on the spur of the moment when her business—her lifeblood just burned down? You even told me you didn’t tell those assholes where she was. Even you can’t believe deep down she just took off for a family vacation.”

He wasn’t yelling. I was certain I might have been able to keep my cool better if he had. “What do you think then?” I said with more sarcasm than I intended.

Of all the comments, Matt jumped more at this one. “What do I think?” I noticed how his eyes were growing bigger, his face muscles taught. “What do I think? I think you are clueless.” He turned away running his hand through his hair in disbelief.

“Your friend and her children are in trouble and you are walking around like Mary Sunshine. Hell, you aren’t just ignoring the warning signs, you are freaking ignoring the warning billboards.” He looked at me, hiding nothing. “Wake up Tina. She is over her head and you aren’t helping. She has an alarm for a reason.”

“How are you so sure she is in trouble?” I threw back.

Matt had turned away from me, staring out the back window. He took a moment before he faced me again the same look still plastered on his face but his voice was even and almost pleading. “Because I have known Laura longer than you. Maybe there are some things she just hasn’t felt she could confide in you. And, you not taking your own safety seriously makes me think she is right.”

I stood there, dumbfounded. What the hell was that supposed to mean? Since I moved in, I had always considered Laura a close friend. But, with all that was going on, Matt was right. Laura had plenty of chances to tell me why that guy Juan was coming around and whatever else contributed to the rest of this mess. But, she never once mentioned it. And, now thinking about it, she had become more stressed lately. Laura hadn’t confided in me. And, because I was living under her roof—which means she knew my safety might be jeopardized, really pissed me off more.

Matt turned to leave. “Set the alarm behind me,” he ordered not looking back. I watched him walk back across the street, not even the least bit enamored with his backside. I flopped on the couch (after setting the alarm) trying to piece together the shards I had. What I wanted to do was talk to Laura. She hadn’t left me a forwarding phone number or a way to contact her. Who would she call? I thought.

“Hello?” Frieda’s tentative voice came over the line.

I managed to set aside the rush of overwhelming emotions. In my chirpiest voice I said, “Hi Frieda, its Tina. I was wondering if you had Laura’s father’s number in Cheyenne? I need to talk to her.”

After a pause, she spoke as deliberately as Matt had minutes before. “Tina. Is this a joke? Because if it is, I don’t find it funny.”

I assured her I wasn’t kidding and relayed what Laura had told me about going on her trip. Frieda made some sort of gasp sound. “Tina,” she said breathlessly. “Laura’s dad has been dead for eighteen years.”

I could feel the color drain from my face. I told her what I knew about the fire, but kept the visiting hoodlums out of it.

“What is going on?” She said more to herself than to me. I selfishly realized I was slightly relived. Frieda knew less than I did. We talked a few more minutes, wrapping up the details as I knew them. She promised to do some digging. We left the conversation with more promises to get in touch to compare notes later in the evening.

I hung up, half wanting to call Matt and tell him about Laura’s father. But, his words were ringing in my head. Because I have known Laura longer than you. Maybe there are some things she just hasn’t felt she could confide in you. Conceding, I swore under my breath. He probably did know more.

It was later in the day when I decided to patch the wall. Following the directions, I carefully added the patching compound, resting the container down on the faux walnut entertainment center, with the intention of standing back admiring my work.

Instead, I looked at the entertainment center shelf. A picture of Laura, with her cat-green eyes smiling proudly with her boys—probably taken six months ago, caught my eye. I picked it up, feeling remorse radiate through me. I felt like I had betrayed Laura somehow. Knowing she and her boys were somewhere—where?

Wishing I understood what was going on. I ran my hand over the picture, mentally rubbing Bruce’s head and reaching for Buddy’s when I saw the resemblance I had missed earlier. I mentally kicked myself. Matt was right. I was clueless. How could I miss what was so obvious? The twins’ eyes belonged to their father. Charlie was the man I met at the door today.

Chapter 17: Friday

I felt like I’d been run over by a freight train. Though, I suspected, lying on railroad tracks after twenty tons of steel crushed me might feel better. It was daylight, though I was unsure what time it was. Early was my guess.

I was on Laura’s couch, trying to remember a bad dream I had. I considered for a moment, as rolled to my side. My cell was next to me, across the room, Laura’s was on the ground, with a sizable hole in the drywall. Nope, not a dream. I sat up, trying to figure out what time it was, when I realized what had woken me was my cell was ringing. Doesn’t anyone around here sleep?

“Hullo?” I mumbled.

“Tell anyone—and I mean, anyone—about your adventure last night, Princess, and next time you die.” The line went dead.

Through the muddied memory I replayed last night. I had come home, changed clothes, scooped some ice cream, grabbed the video and plopped myself on the couch. No. I did not set the alarm.

“Shit.” I grumbled. The time on the VCR said six thirty. Might as well get up.

I quickly scanned through the house. Nothing seemed out of place, except the open toaster oven (clever Laura, I thought with a silent groan) and the busted wall in the living room. I went into my room and saw my door wide open. It was a no-brainer how my midnight visitors had come in.

   Stupid. Stupid. Stupid! I had regarded Laura’s preoccupation with security as a bit eccentric. Even after the midnight visitor last week. What the hell was Laura involved in? And, more importantly, why? After living with Laura for a few months, I idly wondered if I missed something. It seemed odd. Somehow two thugs would break in and poke around levelheaded, straight-laced Laura’s home. But then again, my rib cage ached, my head was throbbing and I was just told if I blabbed to (presumably) the police, I would be killed. Surely there was some mistake? Maybe they were looking for a different Laura? A different Laura who somehow put her cell phone in the toaster oven.

     For my listing presentation, I had picked out my Alexander McQueen tweed jacket and skirt with a cream silk shell and my Chloe’ black pumps. It was a gift from Midge Wallace—my almost mother-in-law. I liked the suit then and for about three minutes after she gave it to me, I thought maybe she really did like me. My delusion quickly lifted when she instantly announced I finally had something appropriate for the tea benefit she was dragging me to the following week. And, would I please wear this to look presentable when I went out with her?

     Midge probably did back flips when Preston moved on. The suit instead of Preston wasn’t a bad trade off either. I even got multiple uses out of the suit—which is more than I could say for Preston.

Shaking off the memories of my dolphin-faced almost mother-in-law, I checked my look in the tiny mirror in my bathroom. I looked fabulous. I felt a fleeting twinge of regret Matt wasn’t home to go over and model. Then again, I wasn’t sure I had the guts to run across the street for such a shallow purpose. However, if I thought of a decent excuse, I might have been tempted.

I swallowed two aspirin, a piece of toast and with the rest of my Jamaica Blue. Now, I looked great and now I felt great.

During my drive down Central, my phone rang three times. Dee called to wish me luck and give me last-minute pointers. Jet called as well with a similar message.

The third was Mr. Daniels. “Hello Tina, how are you?” He asked. Without waiting for an answer he continued, “Tell me, are you sure you had the right house?”

I paused a beat, waiting for the joke. “It was the address you gave me,” I said with a note of hesitancy. “Why?”

“Well, last I saw this house, it was in better condition.”

“Was this a couple of months ago?”

“No, when I bought it in 1993.”

“Just so we are on the same page here,” I was treading delicately, afraid of offending him. “This was the address in the tax records and it was the address you gave me.”

“Yes, but when I bought the place it looked better,” he insisted.

I rolled my eyes, with a full understanding of why Amy sent Mr. Daniels my direction. I wasn’t sure this counted as what I had in mind as a client. Roy’s pearls about landlords not wanting to put money into rentals came to mind.

“Perhaps the last tenant is responsible for the lack of fixtures?” I reasoned.

“Maybe,” He seemed to consider this for a moment. “I’ll call you right back.” As soon as his words reached my ears, he was gone again.

Lillian Fields was nothing like I pictured. On the way over, I conjured an image of a sweet grandmotherly type who would welcome me with a plate of cookies and offer to introduce me to every single man related to her. Nothing doing.

Lillian (“Don’t you dare call me Mrs. Fields!” She admonished right after I met her) was sharper at eighty-two than I am today. She dressed in a stylish cotton dress, sandals, nails perfectly manicured, her white hair flawless and her make-up dead on.

I was expecting an oversized denim camp shirt with a gaudy appliqué of a dalmatian or ridiculously large rust-colored poppies and way too much turquoise eye shadow. Instead, I could see her as a former Hollywood starlet, living out her golden years in the company of the whose-who of her time.

My experience touring yesterday (which impressed her to no end that I had taken the time to do my homework) downplayed my expectations about her condo. Keeping in line with the feeble grandmotherly image I imagined, I was anticipating a home with eclectic furniture consisting of mint-green vinyl kitchen chairs making a pumph sound when you arose. I envisioned a monumental dusty kitsch salt and pepper collection proudly displayed on a breakfront.

Lillian wasn’t the type. Her home was decorated in a way that would make Mother salivate and beg for the number of Lillian’s designer. Everything was tasteful and modern, with two-toned neutral paint, Berber carpeting and granite kitchen counters. The place was immaculate—so much so, that I wondered if Lillian was related to Laura.

I had given her with my listing presentation (sans the scripts), going in great detail about the competition and explaining none of the other units could hold a candle to hers. Dee had given me a quick pricing lesson. Price this condo like number three. If it was nicer, add eight thousand. If it was a dump, price it like condo number two.

When I confidently told Lillian what I thought her home was worth, she came back with the question I was dreading, “How long have you been in the business, Dear?”

I considered this on the way over. After all, it was a question I would ask if I was trusting someone with such an important decision. Mulling a decent answer in the car, I decided I would say, under a year and then deflect the after-affects by going into detail about my talents, education (three years of college) and natural sales abilities (al a Price Bargains and Wendy’s kudos last week).

But, that was an hour ago. Now, I looked her in the eye, knowing this listing was mine to lose. “Actually, just three weeks.” I said with a slight smile, the rest of my spiel completely lost.

Lillian sat back, taking this in. I sat paralyzed, waiting for her to thank me for my time. Instead she said, “Well, I guess that means you will have lots of time to devote getting my place sold.” I let out the breath I hadn’t realized I was holding.

The rest of my time there consisted of drinking coffee and going over the tons of forms Nancy had painstakingly reviewed with me. Lillian didn’t blink at the commission—as I had feared. After I wrapped everything up, took pictures with Dee’s indispensable digital camera and put Metro Realty Pros’ sign in her window, Lillian hit me with the other question I was fearing.

“Tina, I’m just curious. How did you know to call me?”

This one I hadn’t really devised an answer for and I went for the truth again. “A friend,” I started, “He knew I was new to the business and I was looking for clients. He suggested, I um… well,” I looked her in the eyes, feeling my face flush, “He suggested I look in the newspaper in the ob—”

Her laughter cut me off. “What a brilliant idea!” she said, squeezing my hand. I swear I got redder. “I must meet your friend. He sounds like my kind of guy. Walter—my late husband—would have loved that story.”

I left, walking on air, high-tailing it to the library where on a Friday morning I had to wait twenty minutes to get a computer. I only played with the multiple listing service a couple of times, but it was pretty self explanatory. After I finished, I reviewed my handy-work. I had explained to Lillian, once I put her home in the MLS, her house was fair game to any agent who wanted to see it.

I only hoped it sold soon. I was tired of living off my part-time job.

Speaking of which, Price Bargains is where I spent the rest of my day. About half way through my shift, Jet came by. “Hey.” He said, snatching a saltine with tuna salad from my tray.

“What are you doing here?” I asked. “You are truly the last person I expected to see here on a Friday night.”

Jet swallowed his tuna salad. “Shelly—as in sea shell, for your information—doesn’t get off work until eight, so I thought I would get some dinner.” He said, grabbing two more crackers. “By the way, how did your meeting go?”

I told him about it with pride. Still pinching myself to make sure the listing was mine. “Score.” He said, approving. I grinned at probably the greatest compliment Jet would give.

I woke up with a start. It was my cell phone. Again. The clock radio said five-sixteen. “Why?” I moaned, as I rubbed my eyes, grabbing my phone. I let out a heavy sigh into the receiver before I groaned, “Hello?”

“Hello Tina, how are you? This is Mr. Daniels.”

I muttered something hopefully cordial.

“I was wondering, do you know anyone who might be able to replace the kitchen on that house?”

Now I was more cognizant, and even more annoyed. I hadn’t slept to a reasonable hour all week and I swear, much more of this I would start going psychotic from lack of REM sleep. And, as much as I wanted a client, I didn’t want one this badly.

“Mr. Daniels,” I said, in an authoritative voice, “You are not my client. You have not faxed me back the listing documents and agency forms I sent to you Tuesday. I cannot represent you until I get these back. As soon as you do, I will be happy to answer your questions, but for now, it is—”

A noise on the other side of the line cut me off. “Hello?” I asked into the receiver.

Another noise, sounding akin to a strangled cat came across the line. I strained to make sure I was still involved in a conversation. No worries though.

“I… I am sorry Tina…” he said in barely a whisper.

I had to strain to hear him. “Mr. Daniels? Sir? Are you ok?”

“I... have had a few problems lately. My wife left me last week. And, yesterday, she had me served. All because,” and I swear he sniffed, “she says I don’t spend enough time with her. I don’t know what else to do. I took her to dinner, but she says she needs more. Tina, you just don’t know how much I love her… Why Tina, why would she do this? I just don’t understand…” As the words came out, he cracked.

I could hear him weeping on the other end. I sat for several moments, dumbfounded, racking my brain for anything, simply anything, Emily Post might touch upon when thrown into a situation where a sobbing-perfect-stranger-who-has-called-at-some-unholy-hour-has-just-dumped-ultra-personal-information-on-your-lap. Nope, she didn’t cover it. I don’t remember anything from all the etiquette classes Mother foisted upon us either. I mean, what does one say?

I went with the old stand-by—acknowledge and let them preserve his dignity. “I am so sorry, Mr. Daniels. This must be so difficult for you. If it would be easier, perhaps we could talk later?”

“No, that’s ok.” He said, with a hiccup.

Damn.

“I.. I… I am sorry, I never meant to tell you about her. It has just been a long week for me.”

“I certainly can understand,” I said.

“About those forms, I can fax them to your office later today. Thank you for being so kind. I really appreciate you listening. Look, I will call you back.” And, he hung up.

My life, I decided was too whacked. So far, my entire Phoenix experience had been one major roller coaster ride, and I stupidly ate three chili dogs before getting on.

Chapter 16: Thursday

There was a loud banging somewhere nearby. But, my eyes weren’t open enough to sort out its importance. I buried my head under the pillow, swearing and wishing the noise would stop.

“Hey, Tina! You in there?” My brain finally catalogued the sounds as someone—someone who I would see to it soon died a slow painful death—knocking on my window. I mustered my strength and ignored it, choosing instead to go back into my dream. A wonderful dream with Prince William, Tahiti and me.

Three seconds later I was interrupted by the screeching of my cell phone. There is no justice. I thought sourly, glancing at the clock. Was it truly only after six? Who the hell was awake at this hour? And, why should I be joining them?

I answered the phone with a grunt, pleased the window knocker had disappeared. “Are you there?” It was Jet.

I grunted again.

“I was knocking on your window. Will you open up?” With my eyes closed, I managed to turn off the alarm, open the door and find my way back to bed.

“Wow!” he said, standing at my door, phone still in his hand. “You look like hell.” I shot him a rude gesture, flopped back on my bed and immediately returned to Wills.

It was twenty minutes later when Jet woke me again. He was sitting next to me, in one hand bribing me awake with a cup of my Jamaican Blue blend. In his other, he held the black bra I was wearing yesterday, where I summarily dismissed to the clothing heap when I went to bed last night.

I figured I could only save one from him, so I snatched the coffee. He examined my bra. “Born again virgins don’t wear things like this,” he said wisely. I grabbed the bra too.

The taste of my coffee was a blessing. I moaned slightly as the liquid seeped down my throat. “Oh, baby, say it again.” He teased.

“What are you doing here?”

“I was in the neighborhood and I wanted to see if I could you wanted to get a bite to eat.”

“At six-twenty?”

“Actually, it was quarter-till when I started, you were dead to the world.”

“Late night.” I said, taking another sip.

“Really?” he said with genuine new-found interest. “Tell me all.”

I had no intention of telling Jet anything. Besides, it wasn’t like last night—I let out a groan of embarrassment for dumping my most personal secret on Matt—turned out to be not much more than dinner and praline pecan. In fact, it had a pretty non-climatic ending, with Matt telling me he was going to be out of town for the next few days and he would stop by when he got home this weekend. There was also the nice kiss on the cheek, but I was refusing to read anything into it.

“What are you doing here?” I repeated.

“Oh yea.” Jet, said, absent minded. “I dropped off June this morning and she lives around here, so I thought I would stop by.”

“June is a month, not a nature name.”

Jet let out an astonished scowl as if I had intentionally offended his mother, “June, as in June bug. It counts.” Changing the subject, he said, “How do you feel about pancakes? Blueberry pancakes?”

“It depends upon who’s paying?”

An hour later, I was showered and more than marginally awake at Arroyo Farms Bakery. Which also serves the absolute best blueberry pancakes. Their coffee, however, was the generic type and I would have ordered milk if I didn’t need the caffeine.

“Where’s the roommate and the boys?” Jet asked, washing down his breakfast with a large orange juice.

I swallowed my latest forkful. “Laura went to Cheyenne to visit her dad.”

Jet perked up, “Cheyenne Oklahoma? It is my dream to someday visit there.” He shifted in his booth, “Did you know? That’s where Dominic Kettleman was born?”

He didn’t wait for an answer. “Dom—what those of us on the circuit call him—was ranked third last year on the Pro Beach Tour. And, there is a whole—” he waved his fork in the air, trying to recall the right term, “shrine” he decided, “dedicated to Dom in Cheyenne. His fans just love him. I tell you, the man is a legend. You should have seen what he did in 1999 in Huntington Beach.”

 “I think she is in the one in Wyoming,” I said.

Jet looked puzzled. “Really? There’s a Cheyenne there too?”

“Mmmm,” I nodded.

“So, you know what you should do? You should put a for sale sign in her yard while she is gone,” Jet said.

I could feel the horror spreading over my face. Surprisingly, Jet noticed. “Not to worry,” he chuckled. “You don’t list it with the multiple listing, you just put up a sign. If someone calls on her house, you just tell them it already has a contract and you offer to show them other homes in the area. It could be an easy way to pick up buyers. What do you think?”

I thought it would get me sued. But, then again, I had no money and I was living in converted carport, turned apartment, eating breakfast paid for by the self-proclaimed mortgage It Guy all while rationalizing what a fabulous idea this really was.

As if I needed enticement, Jet said, “I could help you put together fliers and you could hold it open on Saturday.” I assured him, it would not be a wise idea to hold it open. He shrugged, “Suit yourself. But, you can still stick a sign outside.” He said this last part as a command, not a suggestion.

And, what could it hurt if I put a sign up for the weekend? Maybe I would get some calls.

I met Sebastian, Dee, Roy and Nancy at 11:28 in front of the Bay View Condominiums in Uptown Phoenix. I wasn’t expecting all of them to meet me here, though Sebastian and Dee had committed. Dee brought her camera. Roy brought a clipboard with pages of checklists.

“Here,” he said, thrusting the clipboard in front of me. “Let’s get rocking.”

The checklists contained every imaginable item for each condo, from size, to price, to condition. He had a place to list what make and model of appliances, whether the homes were vacant or occupied and how long they had been on the market. My job was to evaluate all four of the Bayview condos so I could report to Lillian Fields where her property stood compared to the competition.

The first unit was smaller than what the tax records showed for the Fields’ condo. It was vacant and smelled of new carpet and paint. “Probably a one-time rental and the owner wants to dump it,” Roy mused as Dee snapped pictures and Nancy and Sebastian pointed out poorly painted wall spots. I gave him a non-verbal, why is this important look?

He answered, “We can check the tax records. Landlords don’t like to make repairs or put money into their homes. Most likely if this was a rental, it has some cosmetic repairs, but underneath might be old bones, ready to fall apart.”

The second place was the same size as tomorrow’s destination. It was decorated in chic 1976, complete with terra cotta-colored wallpaper and avocado counter tops. “I just love the turquoise carpeting. It adds a nice psychedelic touch,” Dee said sardonically, shaking her head. “But, she added, at least it is clean.”

The third place was bland with built-in bookshelves and a tile-covered fireplace in the corner. The appliances had been replaced in the past thirty years, but were certainly not recent. “Man clean,” Nancy muttered, doing a white-glove test on the closest bookshelf.

No matter how stale condo number three might be, it was an immaculate contrast to number four. Unit 144 greeted us with a strong incense odor wafting in the foyer, but not disguising the unmistakable smell of pot.

The place was a thriving dump. The walls were covered with pin-ups, in natural poses, like spread-eagle on the hood of a Mustang or straddling backwards the seat of a motorcycle. In one of the two bedrooms, someone had left yesterday’s boxers in the middle of the floor as well as a condom wrapper.

“What a lucky girl.” I said, toeing the wrapper.

The rest of the joint was just as lovely. Or, at least I was assuming it was. I didn’t venture into the bathrooms—mainly out of fear. And, there was a bizarre smell coming from the kitchen, reminding me vaguely of rotting food, caked on to the dishes overflowing in the sink. Dee snapped a couple of photos. “Ready?” she asked the group as if any of us needed prodding.

Our last stop was in front of Lillian Field’s condo, until 187, where Dee snapped a photo of the front door and the adjacent patio. “You’ll see.” She smiled, telling us she would meet us back at Selma’s.

Sitting in the back booth—which I found out was the unofficial Metro Realty Pros hang-out—Roy was helping me evaluate the competition, making a chart (which I figured was overkill) of all the other condos.

“If this place is clean and moderately updated, there is nothing to worry about.” Sebastian coached. “Oh, by the way,” he said, “I brought you this.” And, without any more ceremony, took a lock box out of his briefcase. “I figured you didn’t have one. You can borrow one of mine.”

I swallowed the ever-growing lump in my throat, touched not only by such a sweet gesture, but by how nice all of them had been to me. This was nothing like what Wendy had said. These agents, were gracious and from what I could tell, genuinely wanted me to succeed. I stammered a thank you.

Sebastian waved it off, “We are all in this together. You are one of us.” Which only made the lump bigger.

Dee showed up while Nancy was proofreading Roy’s chart. “Here,” she said thrusting the photos at me. On the top, was the two of unit 187. “Be sure to glue this to the front of your listing folder.” She said with an air of authority. “The rest of these you can clip to each home on Roy’s chart.” She eyed the lock box, “I have extra signs in my car. You can borrow a couple of signs until you can afford your own.”

Mental head slap! I had forgotten about Mr. Daniels until Dee mentioned signs—plural. Following up is the key to success, I remembered Wendy saying at one point. It was one of the more useful tidbits she gave me.

After hugs from everyone and thank yous from me, I took the lock box and two of Dee’s signs, as well as three open house signs (I told her, “just in case.” Not wanting to elaborate on Jet’s evil open house scheme) and I headed for my shift at Price Bargains.

On my way there, I thought more about putting a sign at Laura’s and opted to do the right thing. I would just ask her. Another call, and again I got her voice mail. I left a detailed message, asking if she would mind me pretending to list her home. I carefully explained I certainly wouldn’t let anyone in, I just wanted to solicit for future buyers and would she mind?

My other call was to Mr. Daniels, with similar results. I left a message, asking if he had gotten the overnight package I had sent and where we stood on me listing the house. I explained to his voice mail how I cannot be his agent, give him real estate advice or act on his behalf until he signed those documents.

Frankly, I didn’t have a lot of faith in a gutted house. I gathered, Dee, although optimistic on my behalf, didn’t see a lot of potential in this one either.

It was dark. I was adjusting my eyes, trying to figure out where I was. I was on my parent’s sofa in their media room. Daddy was in his study in the next room. Any second now Max, our schnauzer would come in, his toenails clicking on the hardwood, and hop on the sofa—a transgression he knows I will ignore. I sniffed the air, anticipating the familiar smell of vanilla drifting through the room, making everything comfortable and homey. My eyes adjusted.

No. I was in Laura’s front room. Now I remembered. I had come home from Price Bargains, treated myself to a bowl of ice cream and flipped on one of Don Kublensy’s videos I had snagged from Metro Realty Professionals’ resource library. This one was on listing presentations. Because the front room had a better television, I chose the overstuffed couch instead of the tattered sofa and mini-television in the family room.

I had fallen asleep somewhere around Don, in his cheap suit, gesticulating and smiling at the camera, telling me, the gentle viewer, how listings are the key to success in real estate. From yesterday’s late night with Matt and Jet’s early morning breakfast, nothing was keeping me awake, even if Don Kublensy had been the least bit interesting.

I was trying to figure out what had woken me, when I heard a slight noise. An intruder in the house. Had I set the alarm?

I listened, trying to track where he was. I did a quick synopsis of my situation. I could pretend to be asleep, maybe he would leave. I could make a run for my room and my stun gun situated under my bed or I could try to bolt out the front door. In the ten seconds it took to consider my options, it was too late.

Someone came from behind me. With one arm caged me close to his body, while the other hand clamped my mouth right after I managed to make a small squeak. A gruff voice seethed, “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You find her?” A man asked.

“No, the brown-haired cutie was sleeping the couch.”

“Waiting up for Laura, honey?” The second man asked. A light from the hallway was on. I could see the barbed wire tattoo on his cocoa brown wrist as his spindly fingers caressed my arm. I cringed as he moved his hand to my shoulder.

“I don’t think she likes you,” Gruff Voice laughed. My blood ran cold. Then to me, “Now listen Princess,” he barely whispered. There was no mistaking the menacing hiss coming from his voice. “Don’t turn around. If you listen to me you will be ok. Got it? I am going to let go of your mouth. If you scream, my friend here has a gun and he will use it on your pretty face.”

And, to emphasize this point, Tattoo-Guy moved a black pistol into my peripheral vision. “We just want information, that’s all. We aren’t after you. Do you want to play nice?”

I felt myself nodding, terrified. “She’s shaking,” mocked Tattoo Guy.

“Shut up,” admonished Gruff Voice. Then to me, “Ok, one, two, three.” And he let go of my mouth, but held on tight to my body. I whimpered, more frightened than I could ever imagine. “Now, nice and easy here. Where is Laura and her boys?”

“I don’t know.” I whimpered.

Tattoo Guy snickered. “Gee, didn’t expect that.”

“Really, I don’t.” It came out as a breathy whisper.

“And, now, let’s look at this, why would we believe you?” asked Gruff Voice.

“Be…because,” I sputtered. And, I couldn’t think of a good reason either. “Because—”

He cut me off. “Let’s cut to the chase.” I nodded. “In your cell phone, do you have Laura’s phone number?” I nodded again. “Now, tell me, nice and easy now, where is your phone?”

“On…in…my purse.” I stammered.

“Get the purse,” ordered Gruff Voice, slightly easing his grip on me.

A heavy sigh came out, “Where?” Tattoo Guy directed this question at me.

“In my room.” I squeaked.

“That’s good. It looks like you want to take care of yourself, Princess.” The words rang in my ears. It was as if his last sentence had knocked me back from the fear-induced coma into real life. I had my senses now.

The second guy returned. “Got it, let’s see if your friend answers. If she does, I want you to tell her she needs to come home. Now.”

“What…what if she doesn’t answer?” I asked, hoping Gruff Voice would talk again.

No luck. “Then leave a message. And, I recommend making it sound urgent,” said Tattoo-Guy.

I saw the barbed wire hand come into my view and the first man released his hold so I could take my cell phone. Instead, he clamped my shoulder. I cast a side-long look to his beefy fingers. I sat up straighter and retrieved her number.

“Use the speaker” ordered Tattoo Guy.

Somewhere in the house came a faint sound of a phone ringing. “You don’t think she left it here?” came the obvious question from Tattoo Guy. His voice trailing away as he asked. I heard a noise in the kitchen and the phone went dead. “Shit. She left it in the toaster oven.” Laura’s phone came whizzing past my head, hitting the wall with a thud.

I made an involuntary yelp.

The first guy’s grip tightened, pushing me down slightly into the sofa. I groaned from his weight. “Tell me Princess, everything you know and you get to keep your tiara. Where is she?”

My heart was racing and the moisture had left my mouth. “She… she told me she needed to get away.”

“When?” barked Tattoo Guy.

I said a quick prayer. If I could just get out of this alive, I could call Frieda. Maybe she would know what was happening. “She came home two days ago and said the Hacienda burned down. She said she was going to take the boys and go rent a cabin in Tahoe.” Where that came from?

I could feel the guy holding me shift his weight. “You believe her?”

“No. Do we still need her?” I sat still, waiting.

The one holding me sighed. “I don’t know.” A strange rasping sound emitted from my mouth. I had lost the ability to talk. I could tell by the shadow the second one moved. Now in my peripheral vision, I saw carrying a cylinder of some sort.

“What are you doing?” I practically yelled, ignoring my directive.

“Shh…” Gruff Voice barked. I was too freaked out now. The man took his sweaty palm and stuck it back over my mouth, squeezing me tighter. “Just relax. You won’t feel a thing.”

Through the dark, I saw Tattoo-guy’s profile. He was holding something and coming closer. The first man moved his hand away from my mouth and I went to scream.

“Chloroform” I heard one of them utter as the washcloth enveloped my mouth and nose. Then, all was black.