First Kill: An Eli Quinn Mystery Page 2

  “What about your mother?”

  Madison folded her arms. Her eyes became slits and the words spilled out. “She’s a total…” She caught herself, the professional Madison wrestling with the personal. Blinked. “Let’s call her high maintenance.”

  “Aha.”

  “What?”

  “I don’t know,” I said. “Maybe your dad couldn’t take her anymore, ran off with someone else.”

  “Fuck you, Quinn.”

  No smart retorts came to mind, so I waited. She waited. I was no expert in detective-client relations yet, but I was pretty sure things weren’t off to a great start with my third prospective client. When the waiting became a staring match, I asked the obvious question any genius detective would ask.

  “Your dad have other enemies besides Jimmy Mendoza?”

  Madison turned around, walked to a door that opened onto the back patio. “There are too many to count. Real estate business in Pleasant is competitive as hell. Dad runs the top agency in town, so we’re a target for lots of name-calling, false rumors, petty crap like that.”

  She opened the door, went out into the backyard. Solo got up and we followed her out.

  They say it’s a dry heat, and that’s true when it is dry. It’s not true when the monsoon moisture moves in. I don’t sweat easily, but five minutes in this weather and I would.

  “Other agents have it in for your dad?”

  She walked around a small oval putting green, artificial turf with a cup and flag, and followed a tidy flagstone path to the back fence. Pinnacle Peak anchored the view, its jumble of orange-red rock jutting into the blue sky, thunderheads already building behind it. She faced the view, hands clasped behind her back again.

  “I don’t know. Maybe. Probably. Sure.”

  “Names?”

  “Nobody else I can pinpoint. Dad runs the business. I mostly just sell houses. He’s taught me a lot about the real estate business, but day-to-day I stay out of the schmoozing and the politics and all the bickering.”

  “Why not let the police handle this?”

  She raised her voice, flung a hand up in frustration, flicking her fingers into the air. “That’s what Mother said.”

  “Not bad advice.”

  “Mother rarely gives good advice. And Mack Realty doesn’t exist without Dad. If I don’t find him, my mother takes over the business. She’s manipulative, controlling.”

  “In what way?”

  “This is all in confidence.”

  “Of course,” I said.

  “She has a weakness for plastic surgery. She uses her, uh, assets to get listings and sell houses. When a place needs work, she can get a contractor or a pool boy to do just about anything, always at a discount. But she knows nothing about accounting, advertising, managing a team, running the business. I could do it all, but she wouldn’t let me. We barely speak.”

  “So you love your dad,” I said.

  She turned and faced me from across the fake lawn. “And I need him.” Her face softened the tiniest bit. “Will you help me?”

  I squinted and gave her my best detective-in-thinking-mode look, useful when I don’t know what to say. My first case had come easy, suggested by the amazing and utterly delightful Samantha Marcos as a way to get my life going again a year after I’d lost my wife. My second case fell from the sky. Now here was my potential third client, and the case sounded like a mess waiting to be stepped in. I decided to remain undecided. And so I shrugged.

  “You’re not sure,” she said.

  “I’m not sure the case is a good fit.”

  “What do you normally charge?”

  “So far, a dollar.”

  She laughed, sharp, brief, dismissive.

  “I try to do good things,” I said. “Help people.” I didn’t tell her about the investments from my Wall Street days. Or that they’d stagnated in my years as a reporter, then dwindled when I left the paper and spent a year chasing my wife’s killer. Or that my new office came with a steep monthly rent, and the first electric bill had shocked me and summer was just getting started.

  “A real estate agent doesn’t work as hard when the commission is four percent as when it’s six percent,” she said. “I expect you to work your ass off on this, so please quote me the going rate.”

  I pondered that. Some cash flow would be useful to pay bills. But I’d resolved not to take cases just to make money. There was plenty not to like about this one, but my gut told me Madison Mack was genuine, and genuinely in need. I looked over at Solo. He didn’t seem to object. I cited a reasonable daily rate.

  “And you’ll focus on this exclusively?”

  “I have nothing else pressing.” I had nothing else, period.

  “Done,” she said.

  “Plus expenses.” I was getting the hang of this.

  “Like what?”

  “No clue.”

  “Fine.” She waved me away. “Go find my Dad now. I have a house to sell.”

  Chapter 3

  My new office was perfectly situated a block north of Lulu’s Grind, the greatest coffee shop in Pleasant, probably in all of Arizona, possibly in the world. Solo and I locked the office and walked south on Pleasant Way, crossed Easy Street and found Samantha Marcos holding a table for two on Lulu’s patio.

  The late morning heat pushed most people inside, but shade made the patio bearable. Clouds billowed overhead, blocked the sun. Sam stood as we walked up.

  I thought Sam might kiss me. We were, after all, a thing now. We’d held hands for the first time just the other day. Looked into each others’ eyes finally knowing that what had been building for a year had taken its natural course to the inevitable. But there hadn’t been time yet to take the relationship beyond the initial, glorious realization, to establish any customs. And given our long history together, and being in our mid-thirties, and me having lost my wife just over a year ago, it was unclear how quickly we’d move through the various phases of courtship, if that was even still a thing.

  Before we sat down Solo got a kiss, returned it with a major face-lick, and then Sam scratched him behind the ears. It wasn’t clear who Sam loved most, me or my German shepherd. I took the opportunity to admire Sam, in her tan shorts, a sleeveless white tee that made her olive skin darker, simple brown leather sandals. It was about as much attire as Sam ever wore. It was all she needed.

  After Solo was satisfied, he sat and let me have a turn. Sam wrapped her arms around me and leaned her head against my chest. My insides turned mushy.

  “Ribs,” I reminded her.

  “I know,” she said, and she didn’t squeeze. She pulled back and looked up at me. “And hey, you owe me a first kiss.”

  I pointed at my fat lip.

  “Yeah,” she said, “we’ll wait until it doesn’t look like a pregnant banana slug.”

  “It’s healing.”

  “Make it quick,” she said.

  She kissed my cheek—the one that wasn’t vomit yellow—and brushed her fingers across my fat lip. I curled a strand of her long black hair behind her ear, the way I’d seen her do many times. Then we stood there a moment, like teenagers, looking at each other. One could stare at Sam Marcos for hours. Of course I never did during our long friendship. But now, I had a license to get totally lost in those deep brown eyes.

  Lulu walked up. Solo stuck his nose in and pried me and Sam apart.

  “Finally,” Lulu said in her sing-song Tanzanian accent. “I tell you, right? Eli Quinn, go have sex. Have a life.”

  Lulu was tall and thin, dark and sexy. And sassy.

  “No sex yet,” Sam said.

  “His face?” Lulu gestured at my present hideousness, made a face of her own.

  “That, too,” Sam said. “Plus this is, technically, our first date.”

  “Pish-posh,” Lulu said, waving a graceful hand in the air.

  “Hello?” I said. “I’m standing right here?”

  They laughed and air kissed. I sat. Sam sat. Solo sat next to Sam.
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  “Is hot out for coffee,” Lulu said. “Everybody else inside.”

  “Never too hot for your coffee,” I said.

  “Make it two,” Sam said.

  We both knew not to order lattes or any other coffee perversions. Lulu didn’t make them. Yet the place was packed every morning.

  “Coffee come right up.” Lulu headed inside, turning around once to flash me one of her winning, mischievous grins.

  “Lulu is a fan of yours,” Sam said.

  “She was Jess’ best friend.”

  Sam nodded.

  This wasn’t an easy discussion, but it was necessary. “You know that, right?”

  Sam nodded. Sam didn’t nod much. That was my thing. Sam usually just said what was on her mind.

  “And now she’s becoming a friend of yours,” I said.

  Another nod. She blinked and curled her straight black hair behind an ear.

  “I’m OK with that,” I said.

  “I know, Quinn. I’ll be fine with all this.” She spread her arms to encompass the whole town and our new relationship. “But your past will always be with us, and sometimes I won’t know exactly what to do with it.”

  “You’re not jealous.”

  “Not of Lulu. Should I be?”

  “No,” I said. “Of Jess, though?”

  Sam had been a good friend when we worked together at the newspaper. She became a great friend throughout my year of chasing down Jess’ killer, had been instrumental in helping me find him. Now we were starting another phase. It had been a long, gradual process, a natural one that had to go slow until it felt right. I reached out and put my hand on hers.

  “Not really jealous,” she said. “Just, maybe … a little awkward.”

  “Awkward has never really been a problem for you and me.”

  “I’m human.”

  “But you’ll be OK with all this, with us.”

  “Will you?”

  I nodded.

  “Then so will I,” she said.

  “And we’ll still have that first kiss.”

  “Without question,” she said.

  “And it’ll be good.”

  “You have no idea.”

  Lulu brought two coffees and set them down, smiled again. We thanked her and she went back inside.

  “So,” Sam said. “How was your first day back at the office?”

  “Someone called me a genius detective.”

  Sam laughed, a brief outburst so delightful I wished it would just last and last.

  “She hired me.”

  “Congratulations!” She smiled wide and punched my shoulder, a little harder than necessary. Solo wagged his tail. Seriously, attack dog? “Your third case.”

  “Madison Mack,” I said.

  “Oh,” Sam said. “Now I am jealous.”

  “No need. She’s too young.”

  “Hot, though.”

  “Definitely hot,” I said. “And loaded.”

  “She wants you to find her dad.”

  “You know about Joe Mack.”

  “Everybody knows.”

  “Except me.”

  “You were convalescing.”

  “And drinking,” I said.

  “Part of convalescing.”

  Sam sipped her coffee, kept her eyes on me. I’d never thought of coffee drinking as sexy before. I told her about the case.

  “You know what happened?”

  “Nope,” I said.

  “Any theories?”

  “Nope.”

  “Clues? Leads?”

  “Nope.”

  “For a detective, it seems there’s a lot you don’t know.”

  I shrugged. “Been on the case an hour. Something will turn up.”

  “What’s your first step?”

  “Go talk with Aahna Chaudhari.”

  “Your landlord.”

  “And the Number Two real estate agent in town. She knows everybody.”

  “She totally has the hots for you,” Sam said.

  “Jealous?”

  “Should I be?”

  “Nope,” I said. “Aahna’s not my type.”

  “What’s your type?”

  “You.”

  “Good answer.”

  Chapter 4

  Aahna Chaudhari’s outer office oozed rich, warm colors that made you feel like you were in a tropical sunset. Water trickled down a vertical, floor-to-ceiling slate fountain along one wall. Her young secretary had purple hair in a ponytail, fair skin well-tanned. A gold nameplate said Becca Jones. She winced when she saw the swelling and bruises on my face then told me to please take a seat, Aahna was busy and she didn’t know if I’d be able to see her now.

  Aahna spotted me through the inner window to her office and waved me in. The secretary threw up her hands. Aahna clicked off her cell phone as I walked in.

  “Eli Quinn.” She stated it like a discovery, in her deep, rich voice, then sat on the corner of her desk, looked me up and down. My jeans, gray tee and running shoes were no match for her sharp gray suit that barely held her curves in place while screaming real estate. Long, black curly hair went in all directions. Dark eyebrows arched over large eyes.

  “You look like hell,” she said. Aahna spoke at her own pace, drawing her words out. She never seemed to be in a rush.

  “So I’ve heard.”

  “I’d still do you in a heartbeat.”

  “If only I were available.” It was a game we played. Well, for me it was just a game.

  She raised one of her excellent eyebrows. “That Samantha woman?”

  “Yep.”

  “I knew it,” she said. She spun around and sat in her chair, steepled her fingers, and stared at me across the desk. “Too bad, Quinn. Hearts will be broken.”

  I shrugged.

  “So you didn’t come to seduce me. What can I do for you?”

  I gestured to her client chair. “May I?”

  “Please.”

  I closed her office door and sat down. “Madison Mack hired me to find her dad. You heard he’s missing.”

  “I did hear. Since yesterday. I hope everything’s OK. Maybe he just needed to get away from his wife. God knows she’s a b-i-t-c-h.”

  The verdict on Joanne Mack seemed unanimous.

  “Tell me about Joanne.”

  “She’s a powerful woman in this town. She gets what she wants.”

  “No crime in that.”

  “She has methods that, shall we say, go beyond business practices I’m willing to undertake.”

  “She uses all her assets,” I said.

  “Business practices I’m not willing to gossip about.”

  “And you know this how?”

  “It’s not really a secret, so I suppose this isn’t gossiping. She pushes everyone around. She’s got money, connections, and those other assets. But if she wasn’t married to Joe Mack, honestly, she’d be nothing. I don’t know how he puts up with her.”

  “What do you think of Madison?”

  “Good kid. Too serious or, I don’t know…”

  “Severe?”

  “Exactly,” she said. “Really good at what she does. Treats people fairly. Smart agent. I’d hire her if I could.”

  I pondered all that. It didn’t mean much. Yet. Aahna watched me think, then she asked, “So what’s going on?”

  “Madison doesn’t think her dad would just run off, not call her, not call the office.”

  “Neither do I. It doesn’t sound like Joe.”

  “I was hoping you could help me figure out what other possibilities there are,” I said.

  “Like what?”

  “Joe Mack annoy anyone?”

  Aahna laughed with her whole body, a brief loud cackle then rolling chuckles as she composed herself, knuckle to a nostril like a cork. “Just about every agent in town.”

  “Tell me about that.”

  “Joe’s really good at what he does. And he’s wealthy. He’s got so many people working for him that he doesn’t have to get
his hands dirty anymore.”

  “Realtors get their hands dirty?”

  “Metaphorically. Endless hours chasing down listings, showing a house a gazillion times to make a sale, mountains of paperwork. Early mornings, late nights. Weekends. Holidays.”

  “So what’s he do?”

  “He golfs, schmoozes, meets and greets. Consummate networker. And he spends a fortune on advertising. Nobody is more aggressive than Mack Realty. The listings just flow in. Joe doles them out to his best agents, keeping the very best listings in the family.”

  “Madison and Joanne.”

  “Exactly. He takes a cut of every commission. He almost never sells a house himself. It’s a gold mine.”

  “Nothing breeds enemies like success,” I said.

  “Exactly. So you think someone’s done something to Joe?”

  Other than the suspicions of Madison, all I had were hunches. The Scottsdale Police told me they had no leads. Even if they did, they probably wouldn’t tell some upstart private eye who they didn’t know. The sheriff’s department just hung up on me. I’d made the quick drive down to the Fairmont Scottsdale Princess, interviewed the hotel manager, who repeated what he’d told the police: Nobody saw anything unusual. I spoke to the conference organizer, who said she wouldn’t notice one person out of five-hundred attendees leaving the conference early. I didn’t burden Aahna with any of this.

  “Don’t know,” I said. “Have to consider it. And it sounds like the list of suspects is, what, every real estate agent in town?”

  “You could start there,” she said.

  “You hate him?”

  “Me? No. I’m OK with success. He’s earned what he has. He plays by the rules and treats people well.”

  “Plus you’re doing pretty well yourself. Number Two agent in Pleasant.”

  “I am.” She smiled and leaned back in her chair.

  “That annoy some people?”

  “Not as much as Joe Mack annoys them, but yes.”

  “Anybody try to kill you?”

  “Not yet.”

  “You kill Joe?”

  “If I did I wouldn’t tell you.” She arched an eyebrow and smiled like the devil.

  “What else can you tell me about the Macks?”

  Aahna blinked, smile fading. She licked her lips and looked through the window where the secretary tapped away at a keyboard. “Probably not relevant.”