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

my cell, the listing agent had a counter for the property on 8th Place. YES! I replied I would be at the office in thirty minutes and would take it from there. To his credit he didn’t discuss a thing, only told me my buyer had until 6 p.m. to decide. Very professional. I would be the same.

Forty minutes later I arrived at Desert Homes Realty and parked my leased SUV next to Sunny’s Cadillac. Kassandra’s Kia wasn’t there because she had the weekend off. Too bad, oh well. I only needed to take care of Greg Coste’s contract. Fingers crossed the counteroffer was within reason.

I opened the front door and the first thing I saw was Miss Medical Marijuana Card sitting at Kassandra’s desk. That killed a big chunk of my enthusiasm, but I managed a smile. “Good morning, I’m expecting a counter and—”

She waved some papers in the air. “Here you go. Found it in the printer when I opened up this morning.” Well, I felt like dirt for having such a negative attitude when I saw her. My mouth was still open when I approached her desk and she handed me what she had waved and some other stuff. “Your mail,” she added matter-of-factly.

“My... mail?”

“Yes, why? You look like I just announced that the IRS is auditing you.” Then she laughed.

I collected the stack of papers and headed to my desk in the very back of the office. I wasn’t going to give her the satisfaction of watching me leaf through the junk mail as most of what the mailman delivered to the office was the equivalent of what I got at home, addressed to resident or occupant.

Anyway, Greg Coste’s counteroffer was my priority. I needed to see what it was so I could discuss it with my buyer without sounding unprepared.

To the weed smoker at the desk’s credit, she had the contract assembled correctly and stapled except for the last page. I checked. All signatures and initials had been completed. Then came the one-page counteroffer. Not bad, the only change request was the sale price. We had offered ninety percent of the asking price. The seller wanted five percent more. That was it. Straight shooters. It was up to me to convince my buyer that this was still a good buy.

Then I side-glanced at the mail. I noticed a folded page of today’s The Arizona Republic’s real estate section—a colorful photo of the home on 8th Place, the same one Greg Coste wanted to buy. Damn. Not good. I read the well-written ad. It was bound to get a few interested lookers. How was that for bad timing? For the ad to run today it had to have been purchased at least two weeks prior. I had to mention that to my buyer, and now I really, really was ashamed for all the bad names I had called the front desk girl. Thank God I never said a word out loud.

I prepared a few written notes as to not get sidetracked and then called Greg. Another surprise awaited. He had already seen the ad in the newspaper and was a little concerned. The rest was easy. Forty-five minutes later I had a signed/accepted counter, and I rushed to scan it and email it to the listing agent. Now all I needed was a confirmation from the agent and I could pack up and go home or go celebrate... or whatever.

One thing I couldn’t do was call Tristan and tell him how I missed him.

I was still in the room we all shared for our scanning, faxing, and printing needs when the seller’s agent called and announced we had a deal. I promised the earnest money would be delivered to the escrow company before noon on Monday, and then I rushed back to my desk to share the good news with Greg Coste. I came around the corner. Someone sat in my chair, at my desk in the bull pen, and was going through my stuff. What the hell?

“Oh, there you are, Monica,” was Detective Liz Reid’s, A.K.A. Eve’s, smug greeting.

I stood next to her since she occupied the only chair, and she didn’t appear in any hurry to get up and leave. “Hope you don’t mind. I have a few questions,” she said.

“Let me guess.” Two can play the smart-ass game. “You want to know who I told about the message on the ripped card. Correct?” I looked her straight in the eyes to let her know just how annoying I found her.

“Very good, very good.” Her fingers played a tap game on top of my piled papers. She waited. The sooner I told her, the faster she’d get out of my chair and my life, at least for now.

“First, I told Tristan since I felt that was implied. He was in France and suggested perhaps the woman was an old friend of either Angelique or his dad. That was it. The next day I called the ranch and spoke to Brenda.”

Liz Reid nodded. “You mean your aunt?”

“You know she is not legally my aunt, but yes, Brenda Baker. She was busy and handed her phone over to Angelique. I gave her the same message, repeated the phone number twice, the end.”

“You really like Tristan Dumont, don’t you?”

Mercy me, where did that come from?

And then I heard myself say, “What’s there not to like?”

She chuckled, nodded. “How about Angelique Dumont?”

“What about Angelique? She’s a nice person. Much better now than when I first met her.”

“Oh, in what way?”

“She wasn’t well. I remember how frail and weak she was. That’s why she had Lois Thomas, her personal assistant, always by her side. But now she’s like a new person, healthy, happy. At least she was the last time I saw her. Why are you asking me all these questions?”

Silver Escalade screamed my brain, but my lips smiled quietly. I must have given her all the right answers because she kept the same fake smile and got up