DEATH COMES TO AN OPEN HOUSE Page 7

  “I know what’s on your minds, so here’s how it goes down. Frankly, the office needs money and you know all listings belong to the broker. I’d like to distribute Theresa’s business among you, but we have the possibility of an arrangement that will be good for everybody. I have a friend, an agent, interested in developing a real estate investment trust, an REIT. A way to do better in this down market, he thinks. He’ll be in next week to explain it to you. Best to work as an agent. Gets the commissions that way. Currently with a national company who won’t let him do this. They have their own REIT division. A friend, a loan officer, will probably come with him. If they join us, we’ll be small, but we’ll have everything under one roof.”

  The serious expression that had begun Ed’s talk had lifted, a smile growing in its place.

  “Wayne will be interested in our listings because he’ll get more commission on those. Might convince some people this is the place to list. His clients are wealthy. We got to look good. So Vivian will be coming in to follow up with Theresa’s customers and clients, profits to go into redecorating. We’ll stop there for now. Police are here and want to talk to you. Things being otherwise, this would have been a happy meeting, what with Jean’s first listing sold.”

  A scattering of clapping. Jean felt the lack of a tribute to Theresa. No mention at all except the obscure “otherwise.” Ed looked as happy as she had ever seen him, no doubt because the office wasn’t going to die, a feeling she could scarcely begrudge him as she felt it herself.

  As the two detectives entered with appropriately stern expressions, Jean thought one of them, the one who looked a little like a short, young Sean Connery, looked familiar. These were probably the two who had interviewed her Sunday. Uncertainty was another confirmation that she must have been in shock. The handsome one took Ed’s place, the chunky, sandy-haired one stood off to the side, notepad and pen in hand.

  Marian didn’t give either of them a chance to start the conversation.

  “Speaking for all of us,” she began.

  “You don’t, Marian,” Ed interrupted. “Let the detectives do their work. These are Detectives Jack Turok and Cory Jablonski.”

  Jean would have been crushed by Ed’s put-down. She supposed Marian was used to it.

  “Hello, Miss Terrence. You’re looking much better.”

  She was right. The dark one was from Sunday. Probably the other one, too. Jean didn’t know what to say. She just nodded and returned his slight smile. Silently, she thanked Rita for the makeup job.

  “We got your statements Sunday, but thought it might be a good idea to bounce some ideas around. Get a feel for where Ms. Vanderhoff worked, how you worked together,” Jack Turok began. “People often have second thoughts once the crisis has passed.”

  Marian’s eyes were bright and there was a half-smile of anticipation. My God, Jean thought, she’s enjoying this! Rita and Hua were merely attentive, Harold impassive as he wiped off the last trace of chocolate icing from his upper lip and Stan seemingly relaxed, unreadable. Kevin looked sad, probably disappointed he wasn’t getting anything from the many deals he had helped Theresa with. She could see the detectives were watching, too, and wondered if they saw anything she didn’t.

  “I want to go over this. Ms. Chan, you saw Ms. Vanderhoff using her letter opener Saturday morning about eleven?”

  Hua nodded placidly.

  “Anyone else see it?”

  “I only one here in this room. Ed at duty desk. Kevin not here for floor duty.” Hua wagged a stubby finger at Kevin. “Theresa leave with buyers. They not come in here. Meet in reception room. Then I leave, too. Pick up buyers to see one house only. But they slow. I late for lunch with Lily. Like I say before.”

  “You said Ms. Vanderhoff never put her letter opener in her briefcase.”

  “No recall Saturday, but she not put in briefcase, never.”

  “You all agreed that was the case.”

  He looked around and got affirmative responses from all but Marian, who apparently felt the need to offer more.

  “She used to take it to show it off. I mean, selling five million! I never—but then …” Marian looked at Harold. “Harold made it so sharp—that was—well, she just couldn’t! It cut the leather. Calf skin. Nasty.”

  The detective shrugged, clearly dissatisfied with this conclusion.

  “None of you came to the office after it closed Saturday and saw anyone else here? Or Sunday morning? No one passed here and saw a car belonging to one of the other agents?”

  A general shaking of heads and negative murmuring as the detective paused between each question.

  “Once again, and I apologize for repeating these questions, you all had your keys during this time? You didn’t briefly lose or lend one to anyone? Specifically, did anyone ever loan a key to Mr. Vanderhoff since new keys were issued last December?”

  His dark eyes kept moving from one face to another. Again, the pauses and the silence. Jean thought she hadn’t heard correctly. Theresa had never mentioned a father or a brother. Or a husband. But then Theresa never mentioned anything personal.

  “Was Mr. Vanderhoff ever in the office when he could have taken a key for a few minutes? Be sure about this. It only takes a few minutes to make an impression of a key.”

  The responses were jumbled, but when sorted out, there was certainty that the men’s keys were kept in their pockets, the women’s in purses which, according to office policy, were kept well back under the desks. Strangers were welcome in real estate offices. Ed had impressed on them the importance of security.

  Jack Turok’s impressive shoulders dropped.

  “Nothing new then. Has anyone remembered any time you’ve seen Mr. Vanderhoff since he left the office six years ago?”

  As everyone confirmed earlier testimony, it became clear that “Mr. Vanderhoff” was known to the office as “Frank” and was Theresa’s husband.

  “And you are absolutely sure you locked up both Saturday and Sunday, Mr. Brumm.”

  “Absolutely,” Ed said.

  “He’s fanatic about that. Absolutely fanatic,” Marian said.

  Her comment made Jean realize what the detective was doing: checking each one’s information against the others.

  “All right, then.”

  Jack Turok frowned again. It was clear he hadn’t gotten what he wanted.

  “What about this other murder?” Rita asked. “And the attempted one?”

  “Out of the picture.” The detective dismissed this question with a shake of his head. “The first victim’s husband wasn’t very good at murder. Even left a couple of fingerprints. The second incident was his attempt to make it look like a serial killer was after agents in general. Never intended to kill the agent. Not a bad idea, but Ms. Vanderhoff—the weapon was from this office. No connection.”

  “Couldn’t her husband have taken Theresa’s key from her house?” Rita asked.

  “Ms. Chan says she made a point of changing her locks when her husband left. We can’t find anyone who has seen him in six years.”

  Obviously not inclined to be the subject of questioning, the detective shut down the conversation.

  “That’s it, then. Detective Jablonski and I will be in your conference room for a while. If you have information you would rather give us in private, please come up.”

  Rita didn’t accept his dismissal. She walked the few steps to speak to him again. He looked annoyed, said a few words and then looked at Jean.

  “We would like to speak to you again, Miss Terrence. Would you stay until we call you?”

  What did that mean? Jean wondered as she nodded assent. Probably that they thought her mind was clearer today than Sunday. She hoped they would call her soon and get it over with. There had been too much talk of Theresa. Harold’s presence at her desk was all too strong a reminder of the woman who would never sit there again. The difference in the physical presence of tall, pale Theresa and huge, brown Harold was striking. He looked very wrong.

 
; Hua sighed and shook her head. That seemed to express everyone’s feelings.

  Rita was at the door trying to get Jean’s attention. Jean got up and followed her into the reception room.

  “Two things. First, I asked him if Vivian would have had time to come to the office after church to get the opener. He said not. So it was okay to cross her off. Other thing, do you get what this means, their questions?” Rita asked.

  “What do you mean?”

  “They must have interviewed those three people who came to the office on Sunday and they’re still looking for someone else! For one of us!”

  “I didn’t hear anything that means they’re still interested in us, did you? And a husband! They wanted to know about him! He’s the only one with a motive!”

  “Yeah. I’ll put him on our list. But they’re still interested in us, too. Didn’t you get the way they were watching us?”

  “They were, weren’t they?”

  Rita nodded her head emphatically.

  “We seriously need motive. I’m going to talk to Stan. You talk to Hua.”

  “Hua?”

  “If anyone knows anything about Frank, it’s Hua.”

  Chapter 15

  Hua reached across the two small desks and put her hand over Jean’s.

  “You miss her. You okay?”

  Jean smiled a faint reassurance.

  “You look good! Why you look so good?” Then Hua saw why and smiled. “You fix up. Makeup.” She nodded approval. “Not right for me. Not young like you.”

  Rita’s last stop yesterday had been to purchase a vast array of makeup. Jean’s father had insisted that the natural look was true beauty. Jean knew she didn’t have true beauty, but her unspectacular features had proved to be a receptive palette for cosmetics.

  “Thanks, Hua. I don’t feel so good, though.”

  “I know. I know.” The wide face moved back and forth slowly. “So sad. Theresa good friend. For you. For me, too.”

  “I’m okay, Hua. Everyone is being so kind to me. I will miss her, but …”

  “I know. Theresa not warm person. But she like you ver’ much.”

  “It seems, Hua, that I didn’t really know her very well. I didn’t know she was married.”

  “Not very married,” Hua said. “He too young for her. He too different, too. She make money. He spend money. Not good for her. I think he thief, too.”

  “Thief?”

  Hua nodded slowly.

  “I not be sure. Board send message watch stolen. Describe watch. Little different, blue face. When Frank come in, he read message, take off watch quick, put in pocket, look around. I pretend I busy reading, not see. I think maybe he take.”

  “You didn’t tell anyone?”

  Hua shrugged.

  “I not sure. Not want make trouble for office. Say nothing. Good he go ‘way.”

  “So Theresa wasn’t abandoned? She wanted him to leave?”

  “Theresa not say that, but not sad, I think. She just same like always. Theresa not show feelings much. Anger, yes, not other things. Maybe miss Frank, maybe not. Theresa very honorable. Frank not so much. See other women. Bad. Brag too much. Lie, too. Make mistake, he make excuse. Ed want him go. Vivian say, ‘no, he stay’. Need his business.”

  In Jean’s mind, suspicion was moving away from the Saturday visitors. Frank sounded perfect for the role of Theresa’s killer, no doubt the major heir. He must have gotten in some way. But it took a while to get from the front door, through the reception area, past Ed’s door, to Theresa’s desk and back out again. If that had been possible, Jack Turok wouldn’t have looked so frustrated.

  Hua took a small box from her purse and opened it. Inside was a pair of jade earrings, a gift to cheer Jean, which had to be admired and appropriate thanks given. The Chinese apparently gave gifts to friends frequently and Jean had been adopted. “Friends much work,” Hua had confided. “Too many not good.” Jean had abjectly explained she couldn’t afford to return such largesse to no avail. “Me like mudda, you like daughta. Is okay, is okay. You take.”

  It seemed rude not to.

  Rita moved from Stan to Kevin with a small shake of her head and a lifting of her eyebrows that said that nothing of significance had come from that source.

  Hua began peeling an orange. Jean found it admirable that the Chinese preferred fruit to American desserts. She thought for the rest of her life the strong scent of a freshly peeled orange would remind her of this sweet woman.

  What to ask next? This shouldn’t sound like an interrogation. Maybe something general?

  “Did Theresa really have so many enemies, Hua?”

  The sadness in her voice wasn’t artificial.

  “Theresa strong woman. Strong principles, too. Report many people to Board.”

  Hua offered a napkin with orange pieces to Jean, who took one, knowing her fingers would smell of orange all day. It was as bad as garlic that way, but it was better to smell of citrus.

  “Thanks, Hua,” Jean said.

  They were silent for a few minutes, removing the seeds from the pieces of fruit. It gave Jean time to realize that Theresa did complain and criticize a lot. Jean thought it was for her benefit, to teach her. And yet, there was no doubting Theresa was irritable, a sign that anger wasn’t far away.

  “Hua, there seem to be references to some time when there were a lot of hard feelings in the office. When was that? What happened?”

  “Not like now. Make lotsa money. More good agents here. Vivian work then. Not make much money, but people like her. Stan’s parents here then, Pam and Carl. Theresa’s husband, too. Other people you not know.” Hua laughed. “Very crowded, very good market. Ed buy letter openers then.”

  “Letter openers? Like Theresa’s?”

  “Everyone who sell five million get one. Mine at home. Ed lose his. Theresa …” Hua’s eyes drifted away as she thought. “Stan’s father and Mary Obello.” Her eyes came back to Jean. “She at Long and Foster now.”

  “When was this, Hua?”

  “Mm… about five, six years, I think. Maybe seven. Plenty money, but not so good. Ed is boss, but Theresa, she like be boss. Carl, too.” Hua laughed. “Too many bosses!”

  “Stan’s father, Carl?”

  Hua nodded, her mouth full. A piece of orange was waved in Stan’s direction. “Theresa and Frank fight. Theresa and Carl fight. Ed and Frank fight.” She shook her head in disapproval. “Make lotsa money, but not happy time. Then Ed have heart attack.”

  “Heart attack? Is he all right now?”

  “Don’t know. Theresa …”

  Another wedge of orange stopped this sentence. No ending was needed. The friction between Ed and Theresa was obvious.

  “So after Ed’s heart attack, what happened?”

  “Vivian all time at hospital, take care of Ed at home. She not come back, never. Theresa run office. Not good for Pam and Carl. They go new office, Prince George’s County.”

  Jean understood why the office looked so run down.

  “So most of the big earners left?”

  “Still have good location.” Hua shook her head sadly. “But not enough money, I think. Kevin go now.” Hua nodded her head slowly in certainty.

  “You stayed.”

  “Not bodda me. My husband, he bad man, too. We fight, too. Very bossy. Make me work hard. All time cook for him. I chop, chop, chop!”

  Hua’s hand illustrated. This was no surprise. Hua had always been very open about the husband who had left for Taiwan and fortunately visited very seldom now.

  “Theresa chased them all away? Vivian and Stan’s parents?” Theresa had become a dark figure. “I was naïve, wasn’t I? All this is …”

  Jean didn’t finish the sentence.

  “You young. Think all your friends good. We not all good. Good to know truth. English expression, skeletons in closet. Some out now.”

  “And Frank? He left, too?”

  “Before heart attack. Lose many people. Now Wayne come. That good.”


  “Why didn’t you and Theresa go to a … well, a more successful office where they would do the things for you that Kevin and I do?”

  “I happy here. I like small office. This my family. Like bigger commission, too.” Hua leaned toward Jean. “Theresa—I think she like be boss of you two. Maybe that why Frank leave. She all time boss him, too.”

  Hua sat back, wrapped the orange peels and seeds in her napkin, pulled two Cottonelle wipes from a box in her desk and offered one to Jean.

  “Work now. You got work, too?”

  Jean nodded, taking the offering. There seemed to be nothing more to ask. She wiped the sticky juice off her fingers and jotted down some notes on Rita’s chart. It was time to interview Harold, but how could she say, “Did you run out on me Sunday?” in a way that wouldn’t be too offensive? He was doing the pencil thing again, the fat fingers running down the pencil, turning it over, running down again. He seemed pleased with himself, smiling at Jean when she looked at him, no doubt because she had just earned him a nice commission. Or was he too rich to care? She would have to ask Ed to fix it so he didn’t go along on the inspection Wednesday. It would be too totally weird to have this useless lump following them around.

  It wasn’t long before the stocky detective appeared in the doorway.

  “We’re ready for you now, Miss Terrence.”

  Chapter 16

  The sexy one was standing on the far side of the conference table. He immediately offered an apology.

  “Sorry to keep you waiting, Miss Terrence. It’s important to make some notes while thoughts are fresh. Please have a seat.”

  Anything that involved being with this man would have suited Jean.

  “Can I just be Jean?”

  “You can be anything you want. Are you recovered?”

  “Recovered and ready to be grilled, Jack.”

  Jean was immediately embarrassed. Snappy comebacks weren’t her style. The initial easy feeling with this man must be coming from their time together on Sunday, time she scarcely remembered. Or was it just her usual social awkwardness with men?