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

“No. Don’t worry. I’ll be fine. I may go to the office and work on paperwork. I don’t feel like going back to my empty house. Be safe and—”

“I will call you and tell you what’s happening as soon as I know. I promise. Oh, I think I see Alexander’s car...”

His goodbye, if there was one, was muffled by the roaring of the Jeep engine firing up. Even I could tell it needed a tune-up badly. Sounded like fireworks on the 4th of July. Maybe it was because the spewing back pipe was so close. And then, just like that, the Jeep moved, slowly at first and then it took off. I got a glance at the license plate. California.

I counted to fifty, backed up, and headed toward the office.

The office. Tristan said he was staying at Alexander’s place, and he assumed I knew where the house was since our office had a big party planned. Who the hell was Alexander and how was he connected with Desert Homes Real Estate office?

I drove slowly, having problems concentrating. Going to the office was the best bet. I would be with people I trusted, and I would get my paperwork ready for the inspection recap. When I hit the end of 36th Street where it crossed Mountain View, I decided to take a short cut to the 51 and was quite surprised to see cars crowding the usually quiet road. My left-turn signal was on, and the idling vehicles moved over to allow me to turn. That lane of the road seemed fine. I lingered to see what the problem was, and chills ran down my spine.

I recognized the Jeep, it was almost toppled over on the side of the road, where the ditch ran parallel to Mountain View. Was there another car involved? I couldn’t tell. I prayed Jessie would be okay. Sirens wailed in the distance. The driver who had moved over to let me pass honked his horn. There was nothing I could do, and I certainly didn’t want to get caught in the middle and block traffic. So I waved a thanks to the man, made a sharp left, and headed toward the 51 and the office.

TWENTY

THE CAR CLOCK showed three twenty-five p.m.

I gathered my stuff, locked Brenda’s Pilot, and headed for the office door. Seemed like such a long time since I was actually there in person. The working from home craze was a blessing and a curse. It did save on gas and eating out and things like that, but somehow my productivity, if I wanted to be honest, was way down. Being around other Realtors, discussing each other’s listings and sales, lit the fire so to speak. Above all I missed the camaraderie and encouragement especially with Kassandra and Kay.

As I pushed open the front door of Desert Homes Realty, I still couldn’t shake the sense of guilt I felt about Jessie. Did I get her in trouble? And where were Tristan and Alexander? They couldn’t have been too far behind the Jeep. Of course I had no clue if Alexander drove a Jaguar as Tristan had implied or what the man looked like. He could have been the driver letting me through, who knew? With all my inner turmoil I hadn’t even paid attention to the cars in the parking lot, an old habit I’d had since day one. Knowing who owned what was like a roll call before setting foot into the building.

Kassandra wasn’t at her desk. Muffled voices came from the kitchen, so that’s where I headed. Half the office was crammed around the small table. Scott was showing off a new laptop computer, at least that’s what I assumed. Kassandra stood behind him, looking over his shoulder, and I recognized the church-selling agent and the newest girl, what was her name? Valerie, yes. The other three people looked familiar, but I couldn’t think of their names. The minute Kassandra noticed me she elbowed Scott, and they all went quiet.

“What’s going on? What did I miss?” I asked as cheerfully as I could pretend.

“Oh, it’s, we are—it’s about the car...” Scott looked like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar as Americans like to say.

“Hell, it’s called breaking news and has to do with the crispy body in the charred car.” Kassandra’s in your face style was alive and well.

“You mean poor Lois Thomas? What about her?” I asked, working my way closer to the table.

“Yeah, her. Her identity was posted in the news, and someone from a car rental place called the cops, saying she had rented a mid-size sedan she picked up at the Mesa Gateway airport two days ago. Except according to the cops, two days ago she was already ashes to ashes,” Kassandra said.

I had to sit down. Didn’t want to fall apart in front of half the office.

“You okay?” Scott asked. He closed his computer to a chorus of complaints. Then he grabbed someone’s chair and forced them to give it up. I sat, feeling like a wretch, but thankful to Scott as none of this made sense, and again, it all seemed so personal.

“How is that possible?” I had trouble finding the proper words. “Unless it’s not Lois who died in the car fire.” My colleagues left the kitchen one by one until I was there with Kassandra and Scott, and that was fine by me.

“We’ll let the P-O-L-I-C-E figure that one out.” Scott liked to spell out things he found annoying or unfair.

“Figure what out?” The three of us turned to look at the speaker. Dale Wolf stood at the kitchen door in a sleek dark suit, white shirt, and tie. I had to admit, he always looked the part of the successful CEO or whatever his title was now that he co-owned our business. Of course Sunny Novak, our broker, had given up part of her realty but gained half of his. And none of that meant