Real Estate and Murder (A Port Grace Cozy Mystery Book 1) (3 page)

G
eorgia rang
her father’s doorbell a second time. Still no answer. The lights were on. She dug the spare key out of the depths of her purse and opened the door.

“Dad? You home?”

“Georgia, you get up here and get this crazy cat this instant!”

Suppressing a laugh with her hand, Georgia kicked off her heels and rushed up the stairs.

In the bedroom, Bill Mason stood in his blue silk pajama top and boxer shorts holding a broom. The silk pajama bottoms were dancing on top of the wardrobe, Mittens curled up inside them, purring and rolling about, her tail flicking back and forth from out of one of the leg holes. As Georgia watched, her father attempted to scare Mittens off with the broom, but Mittens only shot out a paw from the waistband and batted the broom. When Bill tried to smack her off the wardrobe with it, Mittens extracted both front paws and her head from the bottoms, hugged the broom to herself, and chewed on it.

Georgia’s giggles made Bill turn on her, put his hand on his hip, and point at Mittens with the broom.

“This cat is worse than a two-year-old,” he thundered. “It’s been up there for twenty minutes doing this. This isn’t the first thing it’s done either. Broke a vase out on the patio chasing a lizard, climbed up and sat on my head while I was trying to watch my shows, got in the laundry basket and threw clothes everywhere! You really need to train this thing, Georgia.”

“Maybe if you called her ‘she’ instead of ‘it,’ she’d behave better,” said Georgia with a smirk. “She’s a cat, not a dog, Dad. She doesn’t sit or roll over. She’s too dignified for that. She’s an independent woman.”

Bill grumbled something incoherent before jabbing the broom at his daughter.

“Get the independent woman down from there before she rips my favorite pajamas to shreds.”

“Put down the broom and I will.”

Bill tossed the broom on the floor, and Georgia stood on tiptoe by the wardrobe.

“Here, Mittens, baby. Come on, kitty,” she said, clucking her tongue.

Stretching as far as she could, Georgia reached into the pajamas and tickled Mittens under the chin. The tabby poked her head out and meowed in greeting, playing with Georgia’s finger. Georgia clucked and crooned until Mittens extracted herself from the pajamas and walked to the edge of the wardrobe where Georgia could get a solid grip on her. She pulled her off the wardrobe and cradled her like a baby while Bill retrieved his bottoms.

Georgia shook a finger at the tabby and said, “Mittens, you’re a guest in this house. You’ve got to be on your best behavior.”

Mittens patted at Georgia’s scolding finger and purred. Georgia laughed and kissed her pink nose.

“Are your pajamas salvageable, Daddy?” said Georgia in a tone that suggested an eye roll wasn’t far behind.

Bill inspected the bottoms through narrowed eyes and grumbled something like, “Shouldn’t have to fight the cat just to get in my pj’s.”

“So they’re perfectly okay?”

“That’s not the point,” said Bill, pulling on the bottoms with as much dignity as he could muster.

“I’m sorry, Daddy,” said Georgia, her tone understanding despite the grin on her face. “You don’t have to watch Mittens anymore. I just thought you might like the company.”

“It wasn’t all bad,” said Bill with a shrug. “She did curl up on my belly and start purring after I got her to leave my head alone. I felt sort of like the Godfather.”

Georgia threw her head back in a hearty laugh, and Bill beamed.

“You laugh just like your mother,” he said.

Georgia set Mittens down and smiled.

“Working with Chief Harris to help find Bruce’s killer has got me thinking about her a lot,” she said.

“How so?” said Bill, gesturing for her to precede him out of the bedroom.

“She loved a good mystery,” said Georgia.

“More than anyone else I’d ever met. Remember how she used to solve the neighborhood problems—finding missing gardening tools, figuring out who’d hit Mrs. Niemen’s mailbox?”

Georgia smiled at the memories as she and her dad settled into the living room.

“Of course I remember,” said Georgia, stroking Mittens in her lap. “Not every kid can say their mom was in the paper for catching a neighborhood burglar.”

“Yeah, that was pretty amazing,” said Bill, looking off fondly into space. “Although it about gave me a heart attack when I caught her sitting by the window with a long-lensed camera in the middle of the night. I was worried she’d get herself in trouble.”

“What’d she have to say about that?”

“Told me there was plenty of things I should be worrying about, but she wasn’t one of them,” said Bill with a chuckle. “She was right. I still worried, though. Just like I’m a little uneasy about you working on Bruce’s murder, even with Ryan and Chief Harris around.”

“I’ll be careful.”

“Guess I can’t convince you to just focus on the work at the branch, huh?”

“Nope,” said Georgia with a smile.

“You’ve always taken after her. She’d be proud.”

A tightness closed Georgia’s throat for a moment before she said, “I used to try and solve mysteries in school. I figured out Bobby Pruitt was the one who’d taken my friend Sadie’s chocolate chip cookies out of her lunch. I told Mom when I got home, and she made me chocolate chip cookies of my own.”

“Sounds about right,” said Bill.

They sat in comfortable silence for a bit before Bill said, “I can’t believe someone I know was murdered. It doesn’t seem real. I keep finding myself thinking of things I should have said to him.”

“I’m sorry, Dad.”

“Thanks, hon.”

Georgia sat silently chewing on her bottom lip, wondering if she should ask the question that was gnawing at her.

“Dad,” she said eventually, “are you sure Bruce wasn’t having an affair?”

Bill’s eyes narrowed and his jawline hardened. “Why? Did some girl come forward?”

“No. It’s just a hunch we have.”

“Well a hunch isn’t enough to sully a man’s name, Georgia,” said Bill. “Bruce was past all that. It was a mistake he made when he was young. It shouldn’t be held over him for the rest of his life. He loved Victoria. He told me so, and I never saw anything to suggest otherwise. He liked to flirt, sure. It was his way of having fun, and it was just about the only way he knew to talk to women, but he was settled down and true to his wife.”

“All right, Dad,” said Georgia softly, seeing she’d upset him. “I didn’t mean to insult Bruce’s memory. I know he was your friend.”

“It’s all right, hon. I just don’t want to talk about it anymore.”

“Okay, Daddy. Tell me another story about Mom.”

They passed the rest of the evening away like that, sitting in the living room and reminiscing about the woman they had both loved so dearly. Bill seemed really happy for the first time since discovering Bruce’s death. He even gave Mittens a good night scratch on the head before Georgia headed out to her own place. Georgia managed to fall asleep quickly, the case nearly forgotten.

It came back full force, however, in the form of the morning paper. Georgia nearly choked on her coffee when she saw it. Bruce’s murder had been front-page news ever since his body had been discovered. This morning’s headline read:
FOWLER’S FORMER CLIENT SAYS ‘GOOD RIDDANCE.’
Georgia read the whole article twice. It was Hilary Frankenburg. The article said an “inside source” in the police department claimed Miss Frankenburg was under suspicion after having a falling out with Mr. Fowler over a business exchange. When reporters interviewed her, she had been so brash as to say “good riddance” about his death. She had also threatened to sue Mason Real Estate.

Georgia’s phone rang.

“You read the paper?” said Ryan as soon as she answered.

“Yeah. She’s really got a mouth on her,” said Georgia, her nose wrinkled in distaste.

“Call your policeman friend,” said Ryan. “He needs to get a handle on his men. One of his guys leaked a suspect to the press. Whoever it is might leak another, and our girls will start clamming up.

“I’m sure the chief is going to want to talk to Miss Frankenburg sooner rather than later. Make sure he keeps his promise and lets us tag along.”

“Got it. I’ll call you back.”

Georgia dialed the station and punched in Chief Harris’s extension. She started talking as soon as the line clicked opened.

“Chief Harris, I—”

“I’ve told you to call me Cooper.”

“Fine,” she said with an eye roll. “What’s the deal with your guys leaking suspects,
Cooper
?”

“I’m getting to the bottom of it,” said Cooper with a growl in his voice. “Don’t worry. I’m pretty sure it’s Gillespie, and believe me, if I can prove it, I’m going to rake him over the coals so hard he won’t sit for a month. It’s a small town, Miss Mason. Gossip is just about everybody’s cardinal sin around here, even officers’.”

“I know. I’m from here, remember?” said Georgia. “Now, about Hilary. You’re going to interview her, right?”

“You thought I was going to leave you out,” said Cooper, and Georgia could hear the wry smile in his voice.

“Maybe.”

“She’s claiming she was misrepresented in the paper, but she’s agreed to let us interview her at work. Grab your P.I. friend.”

“
I
ought
to sue the paper for libel,” said Hilary as soon as Cooper, Georgia, and Ryan had settled in her cushy office.

Hilary was an assistant manager at an insurance company. She kept her brown curls cut short and wore a drab brown pants suit. Georgia couldn’t help but compare her to the colorful and eye-catching Mrs. Fowler and decided the two women would never get along.

“You should look into it, Chief,” said Hilary, her bird-like face flushing red with anger. “Of course, you can’t even keep your own men quiet.”

“How exactly were you misrepresented, Miss Frankenburg?” said Cooper through a tight jaw.

“When the reporter got the tip from his police source”—she drew dramatic air quotes around the term—“he tried to contact me for a statement, but I refused. He got to one of my agents instead, a sweet girl but not very savvy. She answered all his questions about my problems with Fowler. I’d been working with her on a project during the time I was trying to buy the house, and I’d let off some of my steam to her. The quote the reporter used was something Sylvia told him I’d said after I fired Fowler, not after he died. I’ve contacted the paper already, and they assure me the freelancer they bought the story from will never be used again, but we’ll see.”

“What’s this employee of yours’ full name?” said Cooper, pen poised over his notebook.

“Sylvia Donaldson.”

Georgia watched Cooper write it down and put “Confirm” next to it.

“I’m going to give you the benefit of the doubt here, Miss Frankenburg, and assume that what you’ve just told me is true,” said Cooper. “Still, you seem to have a lot of anger toward Mr. Fowler.”

“You’ve left a lot of heated complaints and reviews with the company,” said Ryan, pulling a folder from a brown leather briefcase. “I have a few of them in here.” He began laying papers out on Hilary’s desk. “In this one, you refer to Mr. Fowler as ‘a chauvinistic dirtbag’ who lost you your ‘dream home’ because ‘he has an ego so big he must be compensating for something.’”

Hilary blushed and gave a quiet, nervous laugh before she said, “Yes, well, it
was
my dream home, and he was a chauvinist pig, and it was his fault I didn’t get the house. But I think maybe I need a—”

“Could you tell us a little about what went wrong between you?” said Georgia, making both men look at her in surprise. “As I said when we came in, I co-own the company as a whole. I’ve come to fix problems with this branch, and I’d like to know where Mr. Fowler went wrong.”

Hilary opened right back up, her eyes wide with indignation as she went on for fifteen minutes about all the ways Bruce had refused to listen to her wishes and suggestions. She told a very different story than Victoria had.

“He wanted me to play fast and loose with the bid,” she told them. “He would raise it one day and lower it the next based on his ‘gut feelings’ about the property and the seller. He was trying to get contractors and inspectors to come out and find something wrong with the house to get the seller to lower the price. He was always up to some crazy scheme, and I could tell the seller was getting tired of it. I told Fowler over and over that I knew how much I could afford and that it was within the seller’s requested price. I wanted to just stick to it, pay the down payment, and get the house for goodness’ sake! The seller liked me, but Bruce Fowler drove him crazy, and the house went to someone else.”

When Georgia asked about how Bruce had treated her personally, she threw up her hands and said, “Oh Lord, don’t get me started! He called me a Chatty Cathy who didn’t know a mortgage from an electricity bill. He called me ‘one of those damn feminists.’ He even had the stones to tell me I’d never get a man if I kept trying to act like one. What does that even mean?”

“After all of that, I can understand your anger,” said Cooper. “Are you sure you didn’t get a little too hot under the collar? Mrs. Fowler claims you called their home and screamed about Bruce sabotaging you.”

“I, well, I lost my temper a little,” said Hilary, the blush back in her cheeks, “but that was the day after I lost the house. I was devastated. I wanted him to refund me at least part of the fees I’d paid him since he didn’t do his job. I never called again.”

“Where were you at around eight o’clock on the night Mr. Fowler was killed?” said Cooper. He shrugged, put his hands out in a supplicating gesture, and said with a smile, “I have to ask.”

“I was at home,” said Hilary, fidgeting with her nails. “I’m afraid no one can really verify that. I didn’t have anyone over. I had work.” Her eyes flashed, and she sat with her chin up as she added defiantly, “If I had known I would be blamed for a murder, I would have been sure to have an alibi. I was just going about my regular business.”

“All right. Thank you very much, Miss Frankenburg,” said Cooper. “That will be all for now, but try and keep your business local for the time being, hmm?”

When the three investigators had taken their leave, Ryan nudged Georgia with his shoulder and said, “Great job keeping her talking when she was going to ask for a lawyer.”

Georgia nudged him back and said, “Thanks. And thanks for not calling me doll.”

“Yeah, don’t get used to it.”

Georgia was too busy joking around and drinking in her friend’s praise to notice Cooper adjust his tie uncomfortably as he watched the two of them, his previously bright expression taking on a disappointed, downward tilt.

“You’re a natural,” he said, flashing her a smile when she finally turned his way.

Her returned smile seemed to perk him up. He ran a hand through his hair and opened his mouth, his eyes fixed on Georgia’s, right as Ryan bumped Georgia again and said, “Want to go out for dinner and drinks tonight?”

As Georgia turned from Cooper to Ryan, Cooper looked down at his shoes, his jaw tense, and shoved his hands in his pockets.

“Yeah. Sounds great,” said Georgia. “We need to catch up.”

“It’s a date then.”

Cooper cleared his throat and said in a lackluster voice that Georgia took note of, “I’ve got to get back to the station, do some more digging on Hilary. I’ll have to confirm what she said about the paper getting it wrong. With no solid alibi, she’s our best suspect.”

Georgia cocked one eyebrow. Cooper wouldn’t meet her eye.

“All right,” said Georgia. “Thanks for letting us tag along. You’ll let us know if you find anything?”

“Sure.”

Cooper headed off toward his cruiser, and Georgia watched him go, curious.

“See you at around eight?” said Ryan.

“Yep.”

“See you then…”—he shot her a wink and a two-fingered salute—“doll face.”

B
ack at the office
, pouring over financials, Georgia ran her hands over her face. The branch was in even direr straights than she’d thought. She had to get the place up and running at full capacity again. That would mean a new manager. It would also mean getting the agents in the spirit again in the face of a tragedy.

She called a meeting with the agents in the building’s one conference room. Looking at the half dozen faces, Georgia was struck by just how small this branch was compared to the others she’d worked with over the years, even though this was the original office. Each agent would have to pull a lot of weight to turn things around.

“I know things have been rough,” said Georgia, standing with power and confidence at the front of the room, trying her best to look both friendly and in charge. “I know many of you have noticed the decline in business over the past year or so. I’m not here to point fingers. I never anticipated coming to you in the face of a tragedy, so please understand that I feel your pain and that if I seem harsh over the coming weeks, it is directly business related and has nothing to do with anything else. The ugly truth is that this branch is in trouble. Your jobs are in trouble. Understand it and face it, for that is the only way to beat it. You’re all good agents. It’s why you were hired to the leading real estate agency in North America. You have talent. Use it, and give it your all. Fight for your jobs and your futures.

“I have talent, too. It’s how I’ve gotten where I am. I’m not saying this to brag. I’m saying it to let you know you can trust me. Follow my lead. Give me your input. We will work as a team, and we will make this branch great again. I guarantee it.”

Georgia stood straight, her charts, data, and strategies on the screen and boards behind her, smiling lightly. After a few moments of silence, the cheering began.

“
S
o what’s
the most hopping joint in town?” said Ryan when he picked her up at the office at eight.

Georgia snorted. “The Fisherman’s Barrel. And it’s only ‘hopping’ because it’s the only bar in town.”

“One bar? You’re kidding me.”

“Wish I was,” said Georgia with a sigh. “Everybody knows everybody, including me, and having the successful local girl come back and show up at the local watering hole with a guy who looks like he just jumped out of a noir film is going to get the gossip mill running at full speed.”

“All the more reason to go.”

When they’d made it to the bar, shoved their way inside, and made it past all the people who stopped Georgia to say things like, “Hey, it’s Bill’s girl. I remember when you were in diapers,” and, “Oh my God, Georgia! Is that you? I heard you married some big-time Wall Street guy. Is this him?” Georgia and Ryan managed to get a booth in the back corner.

“No offense, but everywhere smells like fish is this town,” said Ryan. “I think it may permanently affect my nose.”

“You get used to it. It’s stronger here because they serve seafood.”

“Of course they do.”

“Best fish and chips around.”

A waiter came over, and they both ordered a beer and a plate of fish and chips. Georgia got hers battered Cajun style.

“So, how are things in New York?” said Georgia. She had been travelling out west before coming to Port Grace, and it had been a while since she’d been in the Big Apple.

“Business is steady as usual,” said Ryan. “If there’s one thing you can count on in New York, it’s the crime rate.”

“I don’t know whether to say great or sorry.”

The two friends exchanged a smile as their beers arrived.

“How’s Sam?” said Georgia, taking her first drink and licking the foam from her top lip.

Ryan had just lifted his mug to his lips, but now he carefully set it back down.

“She’s…” He took a deep breath, staring into his glass. “We broke up.”

“Oh my God, when?” said Georgia, reaching out to take Ryan’s hand.

He and Samantha had been together for six years. Georgia had been sure they would get married. She liked Sam. Sam matched Ryan’s wit, kept him in line, and had found the old-timey P.I. personality charming.

“Few days ago,” said Ryan, taking a sip of his beer and not meeting Georgia’s eye. “Same day I flew down here, actually.”

Georgia slowly pulled her hand back. “It wasn’t about that, though, right? Not about you coming here?”

Ryan shrugged, still looking anywhere but at her.

“Ryan,” she said, dragging out the word and cocking an eyebrow. “What happened?”

Ryan twiddled his thumbs as he said, “We had dinner plans that night. No occasion, just dinner. But when I told her I couldn’t make it because I was catching a plane here, she freaked out. I told her it was important, that a friend of your dad’s had been killed, but she was hardly listening. She kept screaming that after all these years I was still putting—” He scratched at his cheeks. “I was still putting other things first. She wasn’t number one, never had been. Things like that.”

“I’m so sorry, Ryan,” said Georgia, guilt twisting at her gut. “But hey, she’ll get over it. She loves you. She was probably just having a hard day, and it doesn’t sound like you gave her much warning at all. She was probably just stressed. You’ll go home, she’ll be calmed down, and you’ll make up.”

“What if I don’t want to make up?” said Ryan.

He finally looked directly at her, and suddenly she didn’t want him to. The food came out just then, and she breathed a little easier.

“Looks great, doesn’t it?” she said, smiling a little too big.

“Yeah, sure does,” said Ryan, but he wasn’t looking at the food.