Apples, Appaloosa and Alibis by Maria Swan (cheapest way to read ebooks txt) 📗

and went, and I was still filling in information with diligence and determination. I saved every page I completed and eventually was ready to send everything in one file.

The powers above smiled at me because just before I hit send, Kay Lewis approached my desk. She was back from the big merger meeting. “Hi, Monica, you look tired. Everything okay?”

First I hugged her, and then I asked her to please check my contract. She led me to her closet-size private office that always looked like a page from House Beautiful and I waited. I had missed two spots: the mark about the right to an inspection and the one about Mr. Coste refusing a home warranty. All in all, she was happy with my work, and if Kay was happy, I was elated. Sort of like getting a gold seal of approval, whatever that is. Everyone talked about it, but I had never seen one on anyone’s desk.

“I heard about that awful thing at the Dumonts’ place,” Kay said.

“You did? So what are they saying? I’ve been working on this most of the day and haven’t had a chance to watch the news at all. I only know what Kassandra said this morning.”

“Oh, you poor thing. It was all the talk at the meeting we had with the lawyers. I’m not sure what the connection with the Dumonts is when it comes to Dale Wolf, but he was actually the first one who brought it up.”

“Dale Wolf? I had no idea he knew Tristan or Angelique.”

“He doesn’t. His partner went to college with Tristan.”

“Oh.” What else could I say? Suddenly everybody in town went to college with Tristan. So what? They posted about the dead woman on some University of Arizona newsletter?

“You okay, Monica? You have a strange look in your eyes.”

“Yeah, sorry. Working on this contract for hours, I forgot to eat and everything.”

“The contract is fine; you’ll need a cover letter for the listing agent. You want me to help with that?”

I shook my head. “No, it’s okay. I have been in contact with him. He is expecting the contract. I’m going to send it on as soon as I collect the signatures from my buyer. Thank you so much. I owe you as usual.”

Kay laughed it off. “You’ve come a long way. I’m very proud of you, Monica. Go get them, girl.”

That got me thinking. What if I got home and had difficulties with the electronic signatures? So I went back to my computer and got to work. If a problem arose, Kay had my back.

By two p.m. the contract had been signed and sent to the listing agent with a twenty-four-hour response time. I went up front and let Kassandra know. Really though, I had hoped to find out something new about the Dumont case. Still couldn’t call it what it was—a murder.

Kassandra had two lines going, so I waved at her and motioned I was leaving. She nodded.

I sat in the car in the parking lot, hungry and depressed. I had to talk to Tristan, just had to. How? Every scenario I ran though my head had a bad ending. Did Tristan know that the dead woman was the same one who’d left that scribbled message for him?

Wow, where did all the cars come from? No wonder Kassandra was busy, the whole office was in. And too busy obsessing about the perfect contract and Tristan, I hadn’t even noticed. Damn. I turned on the radio, searching for local news.

It’s not like I knew what the hell I was doing. When I was driving that was all I did, drive. Not even answering the phone. I could do that, thanks to Bluetooth. That was such a weird name for—a service. Was it a service? Well, it serviced me. I landed on a station that sounded local. They spoke of Peoria, a suburb west of Phoenix, and the subject was... another shooting by our local police. That would probably be the main topic for the next twenty-four hours. I left the radio on and headed home.

However, I was going to make a slight detour. I would drive by Tristan’s house. I often did that when I came back from the preserve, so why not today? No one would know. To appease my sense of guilt, I ended up driving all the way to the end of 40th Street where I entered the parking lot and lingered, looking around before driving slowly around the empty lot. I made a U-turn and headed toward the side road that led to the Dumonts’ residence. If someone asked, I could say I was coming from the mountain preserve, and I wouldn’t be lying.

TEN

THE SCENE REMINDED me of a Fellini movie, weird characters hanging around just because. Some of the cars and vans had signage. Local TV stations? Other vehicles seemed empty, and that would explain the people wandering outside the Dumonts’ gate. I didn’t notice any of the yellow tape cops use to seal off the place like you see on TV detective shows, nor did I see any police cars. They must have been parked up by the house, or maybe the crime squad used unmarked cars. Better not get too close.

I sent silent thanks for the generic SUV I was driving. OMG, what if I had shown up in my hot pink Fiat? The last thing I needed was to get noticed. I bet some of the wandering souls were snoopy neighbors. Like me? Time to split, I headed home. Poor Tristan, he must be going through hell. Maybe Angelique made it home. I’d driven there hoping to get answers. I left more confused than before.

I parked in the garage then walked down to the curb to check our mail. On the way back, I sorted out Brenda’s mail from mine. Of course mine consisted mostly of junk.

“Monica, Monica.”

Someone was calling my name? I turned around and saw Bob Clarke quickly crossing the street. I hadn’t even noticed his