Beyond the Quiet: Romantic Thriller Read online

  “Sounds like a plan to me.”

  “I could live with them until I got a paycheck, see Kyle. Make up my expenses by babysitting. It wouldn’t be so bad.”

  “I’ll help you pack.” Maggie poured tea into white mugs and brought them to the table. “Whatever you want to do, I’ll help. I’ll miss you, but I want you happy. Both Stan and I do.”

  “I know, and I’m grateful.” I sighed. “It sounds so good, just like a dream.”

  “You can make it happen. We’ll help.”

  I sipped my tea before meeting Maggie’s eyes.

  “I know that expression,” she said. “Okay, why won’t you go?”

  “I can’t live off Shanna. I’d feel like shit. I’d get defensive and grouchy, and pretty soon they’d be wishing I’d leave. No, I just can’t do it.”

  “We can help you—”

  “Forget it. I’m already in debt to you so I’m certainly not going to take more. Besides, I owe too much to leave.”

  Maggie patted my hand. “Honey, sometimes you have to decide what’s more important. I know it’d be hard at first, especially with your independent streak a mile wide. But Shanna wants you there. Sounds like she needs you.”

  “I can’t risk it.”

  “Why? What are you so afraid of?”

  I thought about it. “I’m not sure I really know. I just feel panic at the thought of her ever looking at me in that way.”

  “What way? You’re not making sense.”

  I thought back to something that had happened years ago, something I’d tried all of my life to forget. I was about five and my mother had remarried and gone back to work. She’d left me with my new stepfather and I was terrified. I couldn’t remember exactly why, but I could remember sobbing. I must have turned to him because he recoiled

  “Don’t come near me, you snotty-nosed kid.” His face was twisted with scorn. “Just look at you. Don’t you know how disgusting you are? Go clean yourself up, then I’ll see if I can stand to touch you.”

  “No,” I said now to Maggie, “I can’t let her see me again in a weakened condition. I’ll wait until I’m strong.”

  “But honey, she’s your daughter.”

  “It doesn’t matter who it is. Shanna might be angry, but it’s better, in the long run, to wait. I have to stay here and get things under control.” I shook my head. “It’s just so damned ironic. And unfair.”

  Maggie squeezed my hand. “What’s ironic?”

  “All those years of budgeting, missing movies I really wanted to see, repairing my shoes yet again, just to help build our savings so I would never be in my mother’s situation. Now I’m a widow, and after working all my adult life, I don’t own a damn thing except for my car. Worse, I’m in debt—to the bank and to you.”

  “You know Stan and I were glad to help.”

  “I know and I appreciate it, but that’s not the point.” I rose and paced the floor. “I thought I’d had such a good marriage, but my husband wound up taking every cent we had. Just like my step-father did to my mother.”

  A new determination propelled me toward the bathroom to splash cold water on my face. “I have things to do.”

  “And what do you have to do that’s so important?”

  “Find out what Mac did with the money.”

  ***

  I hadn’t realized until I’d said it aloud that I was going to look for the money, but I was suddenly determined to find out what my husband thought so important that he’d mortgaged our home, taken all of our savings, and left me almost penniless.

  That night I called Stan and talked to him about my plans, although I was sure Maggie had already told him.

  Stan said nothing. The silence stretched on and I could hear a slight crackle on the line. Had we been disconnected?

  “Are you there?”

  “Doll, you know I’ll do anything I can for you,” he finally said, his voice sounding strained, “but you need to think this through. Sometimes it’s better to accept what’s happened and move on.”

  Move on? I stared at the phone as if it would help me make sense of what he said.

  “You can’t be serious,” I exclaimed. “You’d only say that if you did know something you’re not telling me.”

  “Not true. I’m only thinking of you, the emotional chaos involved. How can you look to the future if you keep going over the past?”

  “Stan—”

  “Then there’s the expense. You’d have to hire a PI, which isn’t cheap, and even then, there’s no guarantee you’ll be able to find out anything.” He sighed. “But if you’re determined to do this, I’ll do whatever I can to help.”

  Taken aback by his attitude, I realized what a difficult position he was in. As Mac’s brother as well as his attorney, he couldn’t help but feel awkward. I resolved to do what I could on my own, without involving him any more than he already was.

  But he was right about one thing. I needed money, an income. I had to get back to work.

  ***

  I kept busy the next couple of days, being careful not to waste any more time moaning or groaning about my fate. I had to make plans. Maybe Stan was right. Maybe I couldn’t afford a formal investigation into the money, but I could make an appointment to find out.

  But first, I had to secure my immediate future. The sooner I got back to work, the sooner I’d get things paid off so I could move.

  If Shanna still wanted me.

  I called the office and talked to Ben about coming back to work fulltime and was relieved when he sounded glad to have me. Then I called Stan. He said everything should be settled within the next month or two.

  I worked out a budget, including a payment plan to him. I went through my clothes, pressing suits I hadn’t worn in a year. Finally, I cashed a hundred-dollar savings bond I’d stashed for emergencies and had my hair permed and styled, leaving the salon with a bag of cosmetics I was determined to learn to use. If I was going to be working with the public, my livelihood depending on the faith and trust from my clients, I needed to look successful. I’d learned years ago that wasn’t just a cliché—everyone seemed to have more faith in you if you looked the part.

  I was going to look the part.

  ***

  Early Thursday morning when I walked into the office for the new listings, Nina’s mouth dropped.

  “Ben said you were coming back,” she said, her eyes wide, “but I didn’t expect to see you here, especially on a day you aren’t even scheduled.”

  I smiled. Thank God she was back to her normal self, because I didn’t think I could stand another round of tears. “Thought I’d stop by. I might even do that once in awhile.”

  Nina dramatically ran her hands across her forehead. “I don’t know if I can stand the shock!”

  I made a face at her and walked on by.

  “Better hide before Ben sees you,” she called to me. “Might be too much for him. He’s getting up in years, you know.”

  “What a smartass,” I said to Ed, who, as usual, was sitting at his desk, wearing his faithful tan suit. He smiled, looking genuinely glad to see me.

  Across from him Andrea was thumbing through some files, every silvered hair in place, looking cool and comfortable in her million-dollar lavender suit. I’d always tried for that casual elegance, but never quite achieved it. Besides, I loved the freedom of trousers.

  “How’re you doing?” I asked, laying my purse and briefcase on my old desk behind Ed.

  “A little slow, but I’m trying,” she said.

  “Well, it takes time.” I dug through my purse for my pen, trying to ignore the pitiful helpless look on her face. After all, it wasn’t my job to train the world. Besides, she looked as if she could stand a dry period. My first concern was my own life.

  Ed turned around. “Heard you were coming back. It’ll be nice to work with you again, although that must mean your plans for Minnesota didn’t work out.”

  “No, they didn’t.” I avoided his eyes. Just talking ab
out it made me weepy. “But, I haven’t given up.” I snapped open my briefcase and took out the brass nameplate Ben made for me six years ago. I’d taken it home last year and hadn’t expected to use it again so soon.

  Glad to be busy, I retrieved the book of current foreclosure listings from Nina and asked her to switch any calls to voice mail. Not that I expected any.

  Although some people thought it distasteful, I’d always loved working with government-acquired homes. By the time the real estate offices receive the listings, the property had already gone through the lengthy foreclosure proceedings and was empty and ready to be resold. Often great deals were made, both to the government’s advantage and to the buyer’s.

  I glanced over the current listings for a house to preview and select for an open house.

  “Lisa,” Andrea began, “I hate to bother you, but...”

  I held in a sigh. “Yes?”

  She flushed and asked something about the listings. But when I answered, she just kept looking at me. Obviously she wanted something else. I tried ignoring her, but I knew I couldn’t ignore that lost soul expression for long. I’d worn it myself.

  “So how do you like working in real estate?” I asked. I couldn’t just snap, ‘What do you want?’ Sure enough, she started telling me about her change of careers.

  “I’d really appreciate any help you could give,” she said. “I’ve been a school teacher all my working life and have no idea about selling. My husband...he left me for another woman, a younger woman. So I decided to start over in a job that would give me the chance to make some money. I need it.” She flushed and instantly I wanted to help—as if I were in a position to offer advice to anyone.

  Finally, she got around to the question, the one everyone asks, although they seldom listen to the answer. “What advice would you give a newcomer?”

  I gave it some thought. “The first thing I’d suggest is to get to know the properties. Make a list and go out and preview as many as you possibly can, and while you’re there, look carefully and make note of any special features. Keep a notebook and take pictures.” I paused. “The main thing, though, is to listen to your clients. I can’t stress that enough.

  “Too many people lose sales,” I told her, “because they’re just interested in selling something. If you’ve listened to your clients when they talk about features important to them, and you’ve done your homework to know what’s available, chances are you can match them to a home right for them.”

  “Darn good advice,” Nina said from her desk. “Something I’m trying to learn.

  I smiled, but my head throbbed and I suddenly felt worn out. I wanted nothing more than to stretch out on my sofa.

  “You leaving?” Nina asked.

  “Have to catch up, you know,” I said briskly, trying to sound as efficient as possible. “I have a lot of homes to preview.”

  “Did you get your call? I switched it to voicemail.”

  I had a call already? Who, other than Stan and Maggie, could’ve known I was going back to work?

  It was Terry O’Neal, asking me to meet him at a house in the Redlands suburbs at two. Betty would be with him, he said, and that if I couldn’t reach him by telephone, he’d be shopping and wouldn’t hear a cell phone. They’d wait at the house until two-thirty in case I didn’t get the message until late.

  Well, damn. Just about the last thing I needed. And what a sneaky trick to pull, assuming I'd meet him. It would serve him right if I didn’t show. I was just about to offer the address to whoever wanted it when I hesitated.

  I suddenly realized this aspect of my life had also changed.

  Before Mac's illness, I’d worked because I wanted to add to our savings, and it was great for my ego to find perfect homes for my clients. I could afford to be selective, only choosing to work with those with whom I felt a rapport, thinking nothing of referring the rest to other agents.

  But things were different now.

  Now my very existence depended on how well I did my job, and I faced what thousands of women lived with every day—providing a roof over my head and groceries in the house. My major concern wasn’t moving to Minnesota, but the very necessities of life, all the things I’d taken for granted while married to Mac.

  This realization hit me like a punch in the stomach, and I gasped for breath. What if I couldn’t provide well enough for myself? How would I live?

  And why had this happened to me?

  This wasn’t the way it was supposed to have been. I felt rage at Mac for putting me in this situation and bitterness that I had trusted someone with my life. Now here I was, a widow in her forties, broke and in debt.

  “Are you all right?” Nina asked.

  I couldn’t let anyone at work know how frightened I was. “Sure,” I bluffed. “Just tired, thanks.”

  So okay. I’d show the house to Terry and his wife or whatever she was. If there was the slightest chance they’d buy, I might as well get the commission.

  Nothing like trading your principles for cash.

  Chapter Nine

  “Want Andrea to go with you?” Nina asked when I signed out.

  Ben had instituted a safety policy requiring female agents to show properties in pairs and to list the address of the property and the time you expect to be there. If you’re already in the field, you’re expected to call in and Nina jots down the address. When you leave the property, you call the office and Nina, or whoever is in the office, checks it off. Sometimes the female agents consider it a pain, but most of us feel better when someone knows where we can be located.

  Ben had also made it a rule for us to carry pepper sprays, even holding a meeting once a month to familiarize the new agents with them and to go over state laws. Before Mac became so ill, I’d avoided buying one, but once back, I’d considered it. I just hadn’t gotten around to staying for the meeting and going through the rigmarole of getting one, even though Ben made it easy for us by purchasing them in bulk and offering them at a discount. I kept thinking I’d break down and get one. But not today.

  Besides, I’d already met Terry, and while he might be a nuisance, he wasn’t frightening.

  “I’d love to go with you,” Andrea piped up. “I could use the experience.”

  “Uh, maybe next time,” I told her. “I have some errands to run afterward, so I won’t be coming back to the office.” I hoped my face didn’t reflect the lie. I just couldn’t handle an afternoon of boosting someone’s morale when my own had taken such a dive.

  Avoiding her crestfallen face, I left the office. I grabbed a chicken sandwich at a drive-thru and ate while I drove. I wanted a chance to look around the property before the O’Neals arrived, and if I had enough time, I wanted to check out another house in the area.

  Heading down Yucaipa Boulevard to the I-10 onramp, I got caught in heavy traffic, so I took Sand Canyon Road over the foothills into Redlands instead. Green brush covered the sandy hills, but in another month or two, the arid sun would scorch everything to a dry desert brown.

  The house stood with four others on a forgotten side street in an old section of Redlands. The short block of two-story white frame homes was squeezed between a thrift store and an auto repair shop fashioned from an old gas station.

  Spotting the foreclosure sign in the window of a crumbling Victorian, I pulled up to the curb, noting that the shiny red Corvette parked across the street seemed out of place among all the older cars.

  The house, with overhanging gabled roofs, a rounded cupola, and ornate wooden gingerbread, reminded me of a magnificent flowering shrub that had gone to seed. Most of the windows were cracked or broken, and the flowerbeds sprouted weeds. Black shutters hung askew against dirty white siding, and sheets of plywood covered the panes in the double-door. I assumed the managing broker had done the spot repair since they were responsible for property maintenance during the selling process.

  When I inserted the key to the security lock, the door fell open. I wasn’t alarmed; another agent, perhaps
the owner of the sport car, could be previewing the house or showing it to a client.

  The front door opened to a paneled entryway lit by an over-the-door fan-shaped transom window that had escaped the vandalism. I paused to admire the detailed scrollwork etched in the glass, beautifully elegant in its curlicue and leaf designs. Behind me, oak-trimmed stairs led up, I presumed, to the three bedrooms and bath.

  Not wanting to intrude on someone’s showing, I hesitated, listening for voices. Hearing nothing after a few moments, I stepped through the arched opening into the parlor. And was struck by the beauty of the home.

  A bank of windows accentuated the curve of the large room; combined with the oak flooring, even in its current scuffed condition, it made me think of dancing, of birthday parties and anniversaries, of times when the family gathered to celebrate important occasions. I had no idea why the room caused me to think of happy times, as there had been few in my own life, but somehow, the faded charm transported me, even for an instant, to dreams of what could be.

  I toured the rest of the first floor. Off the surprisingly modern kitchen, a butler’s pantry led me to a sunroom, which led me back to the entryway.

  From the floor above, I heard a slight creak in the floorboards.

  Waiting quietly for whoever was upstairs to descend, I felt the house could be a wonderful find for someone interested in fixing it up, but I doubted Terry’s wife, or ex-wife, would want to bother. I almost left, but I reasoned that as long as I was already there, I might as well take a look at the rest.

  “Hello? Anyone here?” I called out, climbing the stairs. Nothing greeted me but silence. Had an agent shown the house and failed to lock up when leaving? Forgetting to secure a home was a cardinal sin in the real estate business, so we all made sure the house we had shown was locked when we left. But what had made that squeaking sound?

  At the top of the stairs, four closed doors stood off the landing. I headed for the closest one then hesitated. Something wasn’t right. If it were an agent previewing, at least one of the doors would be open. Feeling spooked, I turned to go back to the steps when the last far door opened. Rick grinned at me with that infuriating smirk of his and leaned in the doorway.