Free DEATH COMES TO AN OPEN HOUSE by Yvonne Whitney Page B

returned his slight smile. Silently, she thanked Rita for the makeup job.
    “We got your statements Sunday, but thought it might be a good idea to bounce some ideas around. Get a feel for where Ms. Vanderhoff worked, how you worked together,” Jack Turok began. “People often have second thoughts once the crisis has passed.”
    Marian’s eyes were bright and there was a half-smile of anticipation. My God , Jean thought, she’s enjoying this! Rita and Hua were merely attentive, Harold impassive as he wiped off the last trace of chocolate icing from his upper lip and Stan seemingly relaxed, unreadable. Kevin looked sad, probably disappointed he wasn’t getting anything from the many deals he had helped Theresa with. She could see the detectives were watching, too, and wondered if they saw anything she didn’t.
    “I want to go over this. Ms. Chan, you saw Ms. Vanderhoff using her letter opener Saturday morning about eleven?”
    Hua nodded placidly.
    “Anyone else see it?”
    “I only one here in this room. Ed at duty desk. Kevin not here for floor duty.” Hua wagged a stubby finger at Kevin. “Theresa leave with buyers. They not come in here. Meet in reception room. Then I leave, too. Pick up buyers to see one house only. But they slow. I late for lunch with Lily. Like I say before.”
    “You said Ms. Vanderhoff never put her letter opener in her briefcase.”
    “No recall Saturday, but she not put in briefcase, never.”
    “You all agreed that was the case.”
    He looked around and got affirmative responses from all but Marian, who apparently felt the need to offer more.
    “She used to take it to show it off. I mean, selling five million! I never—but then …” Marian looked at Harold. “Harold made it so sharp—that was—well, she just couldn’t! It cut the leather. Calf skin. Nasty.”
    The detective shrugged, clearly dissatisfied with this conclusion.
    “None of you came to the office after it closed Saturday and saw anyone else here? Or Sunday morning? No one passed here and saw a car belonging to one of the other agents?”
    A general shaking of heads and negative murmuring as the detective paused between each question.
    “Once again, and I apologize for repeating these questions, you all had your keys during this time? You didn’t briefly lose or lend one to anyone? Specifically, did anyone ever loan a key to Mr. Vanderhoff since new keys were issued last December?”
    His dark eyes kept moving from one face to another. Again, the pauses and the silence. Jean thought she hadn’t heard correctly. Theresa had never mentioned a father or a brother. Or a husband. But then Theresa never mentioned anything personal.
    “Was Mr. Vanderhoff ever in the office when he could have taken a key for a few minutes? Be sure about this. It only takes a few minutes to make an impression of a key.”
    The responses were jumbled, but when sorted out, there was certainty that the men’s keys were kept in their pockets, the women’s in purses which, according to office policy, were kept well back under the desks. Strangers were welcome in real estate offices. Ed had impressed on them the importance of security.
    Jack Turok’s impressive shoulders dropped.
    “Nothing new then. Has anyone remembered any time you’ve seen Mr. Vanderhoff since he left the office six years ago?”
    As everyone confirmed earlier testimony, it became clear that “Mr. Vanderhoff” was known to the office as “Frank” and was Theresa’s husband.
    “And you are absolutely sure you locked up both Saturday and Sunday, Mr. Brumm.”
    “Absolutely,” Ed said.
    “He’s fanatic about that. Absolutely fanatic,” Marian said.
    Her comment made Jean realize what the detective was doing: checking each one’s information against the others.
    “All right, then.”
    Jack Turok frowned again. It was clear he hadn’t gotten what he wanted.
    “What about this other murder?” Rita asked. “And the attempted one?”
    “Out of the