Free Catharine Bramkamp - Real Estate Diva 03 - In Good Faith by Catharine Bramkamp

wouldn’t necessarily decrease your stock in society. It would probably elevate you to notorious, always a desirable status in this culture.” 
    He opened the high cupboard over the stove, a popular place for liquor that is not often used, as was the case with Beverley. He pulled down an ancient bottle of Kahlua coffee liquor and a huge bottle of industrial grade vodka, half full.
    “ A scandal barely makes the local paper. No one really cares after the first conversation, and nothing stays on the front page for very long.”  He held up both contents to the light.  “I swear these were here when I moved in.”
    “Not much of a drinker?”
    “At least not alone.”
    “So why did she sell?” I asked him.  I thought it was obvious, but he had to come to his own conclusion. I was in no position to denigrate a recently dead client. 
    “ A quick get away?  Liquidate all the stuff and leave the country?”  He dumped the liquor down the sink and tossed the empty bottles into the recycling.
      He put his hands on his hips and glared at the door leading to the garage.  “Should I clean that up before we show the house?”
    He looked tense, and I had learned quickly that he was a man of action, taking his stress or energy and channeling it into outward focused activities. His expression told me he was ready to tackle something big, some huge distracting project, and in every home, that meant cleaning the garage. It meant tossing out things that had some good left in them, tossing out all those things you may need some day. I meant chaos.              
    “Do you think she was planning to escape to some place warm?”  I asked. I edged closer to the door connecting the kitchen and garage to protect the contents from his well meaning administrations.
    He raised his eyebrows. “Remind me not to underestimate you in the future. That’s a good possibility.  I’ll call the bank.” 
    “They won’t tell you anything.”
    “ Yes, they will. I’m still on her accounts.”
    “ That makes you appear even more suspicious” For instance, he told me he hadn’t stopped by to sign the listing papers, but his signature was there on the agreement.
    “ It does, doesn’t it?” He agreed, matter-of-factly.
    I narrowed my eyes. “Have you been talking to the police?”
    He sat down at the kitchen table, it wobbled when his elbow hit it. It was not the best quality. Maybe she was a patron of the shopping network after all.
    “I already talked to the police. They were kind enough to inform me that I’m their number one suspect. Don’t leave town, person of interest, and all that.”
    “Loved ones usually are.” 
    “Or screwed over ones.”  He ran his hands through his hair, but at least there was no glue to make his hair stand on end.
    “I’ll have to disclose the death and the murder when I show the house.  At this rate, I’ll get a reputation.” I pointed out.
    “Undeserved.”
    “Who do you think did it?”
    He rubbed his face and smoothed his hair. “My first guess is something out of the Orient Express, and everyone did it. Every one of those guys in the pictures probably gave her something; jewelry, gifts, at the very least, dinner. And what did they get?  Nothing.”
    I disagree, they probably got something, but it was not my place to bring that up. Besides, I was too distracted by the idea of each man taking …  
    “You think each took their own little, piece .” I said.
    “Sit down.”
    I sat down and tasted my hazelnut latte for the second time this morning. But I couldn’t sit still for long.
    “ We could start with all those pictures, and ask the men who dated her.”
    He gave me a pained – a very pained – look.
    “Okay,” I drummed my fingers on the table.  I needed to do something, besides the difficult and daunting task of marketing “Murder Mansion”. The clothes, I could do something about the clothes. The Homeless Prevention League would be the best option,