[Cutthroat Business 01.0 - 03.0] Boxed Set Read online

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  After the meeting broke up, I headed for my office, otherwise known as the converted coat closet off the reception area. It’s hardly big enough to turn around in, but I’ve managed to squeeze in a miniature desk with a laptop, and a chair. While the computer booted up, I put a call in to Lila. She didn’t pick up – she was probably inundated with phone calls, the way I had been after the incident with Walker and the lipstick – so I left a message on her voice mail, inviting her to lunch just as soon as she could dig herself out from under all the reporters and colleagues and just plain nosy-parkers who wanted to talk to her about what had happened.

  That done, I turned my attention to the computer, which had finished booting up while I was telephoning.

  Everything is computerized these days, so it wasn’t hard to find more information about what had happened. The Nashville Banner’s website and the Tennessean’s website both had articles about the robberies, as did all four of the local TV-station websites. Several of them had dug up pictures of Lila to accompany the articles, but they were posed and didn’t give me any idea of how my friend was holding up under the pressure. There were pictures of Kieran Greene, too, and he looked like a dark-haired Tim, with lots of white teeth, perfect hair, and skin as smooth as a baby’s bottom.

  After reading the various accounts, I pieced together a basic story of what had happened. At some point between 3:30 and 4 pm on Sunday afternoon, when the open houses were beginning to wind down and the Realtors were alone inside, a moving van had pulled into the driveway of each house. Possibly the same moving van in both cases, possibly not. The jury was still out on that. Four masked men had walked into the house, which – of course – was unlocked. That’s the whole point of an open house, to get as many prospective buyers as possible to come in and browse. Lila and Kieran were tied to chairs in their respective kitchens, while the men stripped the houses of anything of value and carried it out to the moving van. When each house was empty of valuables, or they had gotten what they came for, they walked out, leaving Lila and Kieran bound and gagged in the kitchen. The whole thing hadn’t taken any more than ten minutes from beginning to end. Luckily for both Realtors, the owners had come home within an hour or two, although it was anybody’s guess what would have happened if they hadn’t. Poor Kieran or Lila could have been sitting there until midnight or longer.

  None of the websites had managed a good description of the criminals, not even as to race or gender. Both Realtors were fairly certain they had been men, but it was difficult to be sure even of that, as they were all dressed in padded coveralls and boots, with ski masks covering their faces and heads, and with gloves on their hands. It seemed almost miraculous that none of them had passed out from heat exhaustion in the 90˚F weather, but we keep our air conditioners cranked up high in Nashville in the summer, and if they’d only been dressed like that for thirty minutes or so, maybe it hadn’t been such a big deal. And the loot had certainly been worth a little discomfort. The estimated loss was more than forty grand in one house, and closer to sixty in the other. Not bad for a half hour’s work. There were no fingerprints or obvious DNA found in either house – both open houses had had at least a dozen visitors who had to be eliminated first – and although some of the neighbors had seen the moving vans, no one had thought anything of it, since the houses, after all, were for sale. And because all of the hauling had been done through the garage or back doors, none of the neighbors had gotten more than a brief glimpse of the robbers.

  On impulse, I picked up the phone again. It was a number I had called a fair few times during the preceding couple of weeks, and I had more or less memorized it. It was answered on the second ring. “Metro PD. Homicide. Tamara Grimaldi.”

  “Hi, Detective,” I said politely. “Savannah Martin.”

  A beat passed, while the detective adjusted to my voice. It was a week or so since we’d spoken, and with Walker safely behind bars and his crimes solved, she must be wondering why I was calling. “Yes, Ms. Martin. What can I do for you?”

  “I just wanted to say hello,” I said. A disbelieving silence greeted this announcement, and I grimaced. “All right, I wanted to ask you something.”

  Another beat passed. “Does this have to do with your boyfriend?”

  “What boyfriend? Todd?”

  “Who’s Todd? I’m talking about Mr. Collier.”

  Of course. Tim isn’t the only one who thinks Rafe and I have something going on.

  “He’s not my boyfriend.” Although I couldn’t stop myself from adding, “What has he done now?”

  “Nothing I know of,” Tamara Grimaldi said.

  “So why would you think I’m calling about him? No, never mind. Don’t answer that. I wanted to ask you about these open house robberies. You know, when a bunch of guys tie up a Realtor and steal everything in the house?”

  “Can’t help you there, I’m afraid,” Detective Grimaldi said. “Until someone gets killed, it’s not my problem.”

  “Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that. So you don’t know anything about it?”

  “No more than you do, I expect. Just what’s in the news. From what little I’ve gathered, it doesn’t seem as if the robbers are trying to hurt anyone. Neither Realtor was harmed, and Ms. Vaughn said the man who tied her up, told her it was for her own protection.”

  “That’s good to know, anyway,” I said. “Tim has asked me to host an open house for him this weekend.”

  Tamara Grimaldi’s voice turned serious. “Be careful. Bring a friend with you if you can. And if you encounter these people, the best thing you can do is exactly what they tell you. Don’t give them a reason to harm you, or – God forbid – take you with them when they leave. Once you’re on their turf, your chances of survival fall to almost nil.”

  I promised I wouldn’t, with a shudder. “But you don’t think they’re dangerous?”

  “Everyone’s dangerous,” Detective Grimaldi said, “under the right circumstances. Even you. But so far, this particular group hasn’t exhibited any particularly violent tendencies. Unless you gave them a reason, I don’t think they’d treat you any differently than they treated Mr. Greene or Ms. Vaughn.”

  I nodded. “Do the police have any... um... leads?”

  “None I’m at liberty to discuss,” Detective Grimaldi said. And relented. “As I said, it isn’t my case. But between you and me, I don’t think there’s much. They’re good. The vans have been from different companies, and so far, no one has seen their faces well enough to identify them. The neighbors assumed they were hired by the homeowners to move the furniture out, so no one paid attention, and the robbers wore masks inside the house. We’re not even sure how many of them there are. Mr. Greene was too shook up to notice details, and because they were all wearing the same thing, and for all intents and purposes looked exactly the same, Ms. Vaughn couldn’t be certain. We’re going on the assumption that there are four.”

  “And you have no idea where or when they’re going to strike again, or how to catch them?”

  “Not a one,” Detective Grimaldi said cheerfully.

  I bit my lip. “Can’t you set up a sting, or something? Stake out the open houses to see if they show up?”

  “If we had some idea of where they’d be, we could. But it’s too early to predict trends. Chances are the next open house will also be in the seven hundred thousand to million dollar range, and have something in it worth taking. In one case it was paintings, in the other electronic equipment. But there are a lot of houses that fit that bill, and unfortunately, the Metropolitan Nashville Police Department doesn’t have unlimited resources at its disposal. We can’t put an undercover cop in every single open house in South Nashville on Sunday afternoon. Or even in the two or three dozen that fit the criteria.”

  I nodded. “Let me know if there’s anything I can do to help. Lila Vaughn is a friend of mine, and until they’re caught, we’re all jumpy.”

  Detective Grimaldi said she’d keep me in mind,
and we said our goodbyes and hung up.

  No sooner had I put the desk phone down, than my cell phone rang. I glanced at the display before I answered, and had to work on making my voice sound chipper when I answered. “Hi, Mother.”

  “Good morning, Savannah,” my mother’s soft Southern voice said. “How are you, darling?”

  “I’m fine, thank you. And you?”

  “Just wonderful, dear. Thank you for asking. I’m just making a quick call before meeting your aunt for lunch. I wanted to make sure you got home all right last night. After your dinner, I mean.”

  “If I’d had an accident between Sweetwater and Nashville,” I said, “you would have been the first to hear about it. You’re the emergency contact in my cell phone. My ICE number. And I didn’t have much to drink with dinner. Just a single glass of Sauvignon Blanc. It wouldn’t have registered on a Breathalyzer test, let alone have made me run off the road.”

  “That’s good, darling.” I could hear her draw breath, and I held my own.

  All of this had been small-talk, testing the water before taking the plunge, and now we came to the real conversation. What would it be this time? That I wasn’t getting any younger and should marry Todd Satterfield before it was too late? That I shouldn’t have divorced Bradley to begin with? That – God forbid! – my brother Dix had told her I’d had dinner with Rafe Collier once, and she was calling to tell me I was disowned?

  She said, “I hear another Realtor was robbed this weekend.”

  “Oh.” I breathed out. That wasn’t as bad as it could have been. “Yes, her name was Lila Vaughn. We’re friends.”

  “That young woman they interviewed on the news? She seemed very…” Mother hesitated delicately, “forward.”

  “She’s not shy and retiring,” I admitted, “but she’s nice.” If a lot more aggressive than I was brought up to be.

  “You’re being careful, aren’t you, darling?”

  We’d had this exact same conversation just a few weeks ago, after Brenda Puckett was murdered. And then again after Walker had tried to shoot me. “Yes, Mother,” I said. “Of course I am. Tim has already talked to us about taking special precautions when we’re showing houses, and I’m thinking about getting a weapon of some sort. A can of Mace or pepper spray to keep in my handbag.”

  “That sounds like a good idea,” Mother agreed. “Maybe I can ask Sheriff Satterfield if he has some advice he can give you.”

  “That would be nice,” I said politely, although I didn’t really need the help. Many Realtors carry some sort of weapon for protection, so there were people right here in the office I could ask, and if I wanted a truly professional opinion, I could call Tamara Grimaldi for help. Or Rafe, who would, at least, be able to tell me which weapon he himself would most prefer not to be faced with. While Sheriff Satterfield would tell his son what I was doing, and then Todd would worry about me shooting myself in the foot or accidentally frying my brain with nerve gas.

  I knew from experience that nothing would derail my mother once she’d gotten an idea in her head, however, so I didn’t bother to try to talk her out of it. “Thank you.” If I went along quietly, maybe she’d decide it wasn’t such a big deal, and would forget to talk to Bob Satterfield.

  “It’s no problem. I’m happy to help. I hope you and Todd had a nice time last night?” She sounded optimistic.

  “Very nice,” I answered demurely. “Thank you. Todd is good company.”

  When he isn’t lecturing me, or going on and on about Rafe, at any rate. Somehow he has gotten this idee fixe that Rafe is a danger to my virtue – correct as far as it goes – and he feels that it’s up to him to protect me. So he’s harping rather obsessively on Rafe’s baser qualities and my need to be careful. The real problem, from my point of view, is that Todd doesn’t think I’m capable of handling my own affairs, although telling him so would only make him believe something is going on when it isn’t, so I hadn’t.

  “That’s good. Well, darling, I guess I should go. Regina and I are discussing the plans for this year’s Christmas Tour of Homes.” Aunt Regina is my late father’s sister, and also the society columnist for my hometown newspaper.

  “That’s it?” I blurted.

  Mother’s didn’t answer, and I added, “I mean, was that all you wanted? You just called to make sure I had a good time with Todd?”

  “And to tell you to be careful. You do seem to be quite a magnet for trouble, darling, with discovering Mrs. Puckett’s body and being held at gunpoint by that nice Mr. Lamont. A mother just worries, that’s all.” The tail end of the statement hung in the air, unspoken: Especially when her daughter is all alone in the world and ‘are you sure you shouldn’t remarry, Savannah; you’re not getting any younger, you know.’

  “Right,” I said. “Thank you, Mother. I’ll be careful. No more dead bodies for me, I promise. And no more murderers, either.”

  And I believed it. I honestly did. I just didn’t realize how quickly another dead body and another murderer were going to be littering my path.

  But the thing is, had I known, I doubt I would have acted any differently anyway. I did what I had to do, and that’s really all there is to it.

  Chapter Two

  Fidelio’s Restaurant is located off Murphy Road, on the snobby west side of town.

  I don’t have fond feelings for the place. My ex-husband took me there to celebrate our first (and last) wedding anniversary, and invited his paralegal assistant (and future wife) to join us. I spent my anniversary dinner twiddling my thumbs while my husband and his mistress talked shop. Our marriage didn’t last long after that, and Bradley married Shelby a week after our divorce was final. Todd knew the story, but still insisted on taking me to Fidelio’s whenever he was in town. And as Tim had pointed out, it was also where Rafe had taken me last Saturday, on our date-that-wasn’t-a-date. Although, to be fair to Rafe, he didn’t know my history with the place; he was just determined not to be outdone by Todd. At least I assume that had been his motivation, as it was hardly the kind of place he himself frequented.

  Today, I was there to meet Lila Vaughn, who had chosen it because it was close to her office. She had called me back later in the day on Monday, and had agreed to go to lunch. But because her phone had been ringing off the hook since the robbery, and because she had more to do than she could handle, she couldn’t get away until Thursday.

  She swept in ten minutes late, air-kissed the gray-haired maitre d’ and sailed through the restaurant while men of all ages stopped with their forks halfway to their mouths to stare at her. She air-kissed me, too, before she sank onto the chair opposite and grinned.

  “Hi, girlfriend. Sorry I’m late.”

  I smiled back. Lila is outgoing, effusive, and even a little brash. I was brought up to be ladylike and polite. In spite of our differences, we get along amazingly well. “No problem. I know you’re busy. And you look great. As always.”

  Lila dresses to attract attention. Today, she was wearing a bright red sundress with practically no back and her long hair was tumbling over her shoulders in calculated disarray. Men all over the restaurant were ignoring their companions to look at her.

  “I work at it, babe.” She leaned back on the chair and crossed one impossibly long leg over the other. Her already short skirt rode up another few inches, exposing a perfectly toned thigh. I’d kill for Lila’s figure. “So how are you?”

  “I’m doing better, thank you. What about you?”

  “I can’t complain. It’s amazing what a little publicity can do for a person’s career. I’m working with several buyer-prospects, and just after I got off the phone with you on Monday, someone called and wanted me to do a listing presentation today. I had to put them off, just so I could be here.”

  “That was nice of you,” I said, not sure if I would have been able to be as magnanimous. I really, really needed to make some money, and sooner rather than later. The divorce settlement from Bradley was dwindling almost daily, and if I didn’t make
a sale soon, I’d have to go back to the make-up counter at the mall.

  Lila shrugged. “They’ll keep till tomorrow. So how about you? Are you working with anyone?”

  “A few people.” One young couple, to be exact. And our association was in the very early stages; we hadn’t gone out to look at any properties yet. “Nobody special.”

  “Maybe you should arrange to get tied to a chair and robbed,” Lila said. She drew breath to go on. But just then the waiter appeared, and saved me from what would probably be a bracing lecture on ditching my ladylike upbringing and going after what I wanted more aggressively.

  She ordered a Diet Coke, while I asked for water with lemon. Water is free, and a penny saved is a penny earned. The waiter disappeared, and we scanned the menus until he came back a minute later with our drinks. Lila asked for a Cobb salad with low-fat dressing on the side while I ordered a Chicken Caesar. The waiter departed and we got back to business, but by then Lila had either forgotten what she was going to say, or thought better of it. “So how’s everything at the office?” she asked instead.

  I gave a shrug. “I guess it’s all right. Different, with Tim at the helm. Although he’s doing an OK job, I suppose. Everything’s getting done that needs to get done, and we’re still making money, although I don’t know how long that’ll last. Brenda Puckett was our biggest income producer, and she’s dead. Tim was our second biggest, but he doesn’t have much time to go out and make sales now that he’s in charge. He’ll probably miss it. I’m not sure he has quite the right personality for leadership, either, bless his heart.”

  Proper, sophisticated Walker would never, ever have made the comments about my personal life that Tim had made at the meeting on Monday morning. And although I hadn’t said anything to him about it, I thought he had spoken rather inappropriately, especially in front of everyone else. It would have been bad enough to talk that way to me privately, but at a sales meeting with the whole staff present...!