Open House On Murder

By Lavada Dee

Aimee Forrester has returned to the small town of her high school dreams. When her longtime friend offered her a partnership in her real estate company Aimee leaped at the chance to restart her life in the place she left her heart nineteen years earlier. Now with a new home, and a job she loves, she pushes away memories that still fill her nights with dreams.

Working with an elite serial killer work force Detective Quin Martina finds himself in his own back yard investigating a string of murders. The killer is targeting real estate agents conducting open houses. Bad enough, but worse when an agent in the reality office Aimee Forrester owns a partnership in, is a victim.

The investigation forces Aimee and Quin together and their past attraction to each other flares to a new passionate emotion that both fight to deny. With the killer spiraling more and more out of control Aimee is drawn in and gets his attention. The violence and fear ramp already stretched emotions.

Quin knows they have to bring this killer down fast before more lives are lost and before Aimee becomes a target.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lavada Dee
• Release date: Mar 17, 2017
• ISBN: 9781370554744

Lavada Dee

Lavada Dee writes Contemporary and Romantic Suspense. She loves to read and gained a love of the romance genre from sneaking her Mother’s True Confessions from under the bed. That was many many many years ago and she has since advanced into reading just about every genre out there. From a love of reading she naturally evolved into writing.She lives in the Pacific Northwest where they encourage friends to drop in. While's it's impossible for all of us to physically drop in to chat we can do it via cyburspace. She loves to get better acquainted with you and invites you to subsribe to her Blog/News on her website.

Book preview

OPEN HOUSE ON MURDER

By Lavada Dee

First Printing March 2010

Re-release April 2017

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictionally. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or to actual events is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved. No part of this text may be reproduced in any form without the express written permission of the author. Thank you for respecting and not encouraging piracy. To obtain permission to use portions of this text, other than for review purposes, please contact [e-mail]

Lavadadee.com

DEDICATION

To Jack, life partner, best friend and wonderful husband. Thank you for being the hero in my life.

Chapter 1

Throwing his arm over his head, Quin smacked his hand against the headboard of the bed. Muttering a few choice words, he swung his legs over the side and headed for the bathroom.

Finished with his more immediate needs, he gazed longingly at the rumpled bed. It looked inviting. A couple more hours’ sleep would feel good, but it wasn’t going to happen.

Between Aimee and the murder case he was working on, sleep was fast becoming a luxury. Her being back in Woodsville was a bitch. Quin had long ago accepted that nothing would purge her from his thoughts. Still, it had been a whole lot easier living with her memory when she lived thousands of miles away instead of practically in his backyard. Wasn’t it bad enough that she still haunted his dreams? Did he need to avoid seeing her to boot?

Grumbling under his breath, he went downstairs to put the coffee on. As he entered the clean, quiet kitchen, he promised himself—for what felt like the hundredth time— tonight he would remember to set the timer on the coffee maker. He hated getting up to a cold coffee pot, hated the dreams, and hated this case. He was beginning to think he hated his life.

His whole world felt threatened. For the past eight years, he’d been working in a special FBI unit established to investigate serial killer cases. The job had taken him all over the United States. This time it was taking him to his home town.

It didn’t help that Aimee had chosen this particular time to return to Woodsville. Or that she had bought half-interest in Sharon Phillips’s real estate business. Sharon was an old friend, and he didn’t like avoiding her in an attempt to keep from running into Aimee.

By the time Quin poured his second cup of coffee, he had returned to his usual gruff but even-tempered self. When he wrapped up this case, he vowed to give serious thought to taking his brother up on his offer to work his boats.

His brother had a fleet of boats that took summer vacationers around the lake and into the small lagoons. Some people went for the boat ride, others for the outstanding fishing. With a fleet of six boats, his brother always needed help. He had been after Quin for years to throw in with him and expand the business. Right now the offer looked better than ever.

With a sigh, Quin grabbed his jacket and headed for the door. It was time to quit thinking of dreams and get back to the real world.

* * * *

Maybe moving back to Woodsville hadn’t been such a good idea after all. It was just too close to Quin. Aimee couldn’t figure out why she couldn’t get that guy out of her head—and heart. After all, he’d made it painfully clear he didn’t want anything more to do with her. For years she had secretly harbored the hope that maybe something unforeseen had prevented him from keeping in contact when they’d parted, but if that was the case, why hadn’t he tried to see her since she’d moved back to town?

Aimee didn’t have to look at the calendar. It had been six months almost to the day. No, if he’d wanted to see her, he would have phoned or stopped by. She ignored the little voice that whispered, You know you could always be the one to place the phone call. With a weary sigh, she told herself—for the umpteenth time—that it was way past time for her to put Quin Martina behind her.

As she stepped out the front door, she turned to see Spud, the little spaniel from next door, bound up the porch to meet her. He wriggled his butt down against the porch, waiting impatiently for her to finish with the door.

Good morning to you, too, you funny little squirt. You know, you’d make even a dreary day sunny. But since that’s hardly the case today, I guess your talents are a bit wasted. Aimee bent down to give the little dog a hug. I wish you belonged to me.

Spud looked up at her as if he understood every word she’d said and snuggled his butt a little tighter to the porch.

Aimee stood and took a deep breath. The crisp air burned her throat in a pleasant way, making her feel alive. As she walked, she paused to look at the early spring crocuses peeking their heads out of the ground beside the fence. If she were in a musical, the players would be skipping and singing their way along the quaint village street.

And, that’s exactly how I would describe Woodsville.

With its narrow lanes and old storefronts, its setting against the lake with mountains surrounding it, Woodsville looked like a storybook village.

She drew another deep breath, savoring the clean, fresh air. It felt nice to be able to walk to work on mornings like this.

As she passed the Country Corner Bookstore, she picked up her reflection in its window and wrinkled her nose. Her mother and father—even her late husband—would have described her as elegant, sophisticated and poised. And in New York, she would have agreed. But here in Woodsville…

She took another look in the bookstore’s window and saw a slim woman dressed in gray Pendleton slacks with an olive-green sweater and a single strand of pearls. Short blonde hair blew unrestrained around her face. Aimee thought that if someone were to asked her, she’d describe herself as looking happy.

She opened the door of Kelly’s bakery to delicious smells. The tables were full this morning, and Kelly looked harried as she hurried over to wait on Aimee.

The usual? Half a dozen sticky rolls and half a cake donut, for Spud right?

You really have me down pat. Someday I’m going to fool you and change my order—or you’re going to fool me and not have the sticky rolls as Monday’s special.

Kelly waved a hand toward the window where they could see Spud patiently waiting for Aimee to get his donut. This had become a morning ritual. Every morning Spud watched, and as soon as he saw Aimee come out of the front door instead of the garage, he knew it meant a walk to work day, and he’d happily accompany her as far as the bakery. After he had his donut, he would turn back toward home and Aimee would continue on to work.

I see your little friend is waiting for you. Kelly broke off the half cake donut for Spud.

Aimee sighed. I should get myself a puppy. It gets sort of lonely in the evenings.

And maybe then you wouldn’t work such long hours, Kelly scolded with a mock scowl on her face.

Aimee used the rest of the walk to her office to get in work mindset. It was only a few block and she was thinking about the new Web site design, when she walked in door. Good morning everyone, she called out, before she realized something was wrong. Or on second thought, maybe not so good a morning.

She placed the box of sticky rolls on the nearest desk and quietly watched the tense scene in front of her.

Janie, one of their three real estate agents, stood in the middle of the room. Her voice cut off in mid sentence when Aimee entered. Tom, their only other agent, gave the impression of hiding at his desk. He didn’t look well. A grayish shade of white, he looked like he was struggling to keep his breakfast down.

After a brief pause, Janie continued. I told you that–that– she sputtered angrily. Finally finding words, she almost exploded them out. Marilyn is stealing clients. I spent all weekend on that open house, and when I got a call to show it—she stole it!

Aimee had known Sharon since high school and had never seen her lose control. If she hadn’t known Sharon so well, she would have missed the telltale lines of distress around her mouth. But this time, instead of defusing the situation, Sharon’s calm composure seemed to add fuel to Janie’s fire.

She waved a cassette tape in front of Sharon and Aimee. Aren’t you going to say anything? You heard the tape, Sharon. I knew she was doing it, and this is proof. She drew a shuddering breath. I could kill her for this.

What was going on here? Aimee knew the staff members hadn’t been getting along, but Sharon had assured her the problems were minor and had urged her not to worry, but instead focus on the design of their company Web site.

Sharon pushed herself away from the desk she’d been leaning against and took the tape from Janie. Yes, Janie, we agree that something has to be done about Marilyn. I apologize for not taking action before now. If at all possible, we’ll salvage this sale for you, but rest assured, it won’t ever happen again. Aimee and I will not only terminate Marilyn’s employment with us, we’ll put the word out to the other real estate offices around here.

All but ignoring Tom, Sharon grabbed Aimee’s arm, propelling her toward the door. If we hurry, we may still have a chance to confront Marilyn at the Oak Avenue house. I know you’re confused about all this, but it isn’t as if we hadn’t suspected Marilyn of pulling something. You can listen to the tape on the way over to the house, and then I’ll explain everything.

When they got out to the parking lot, Sharon was shaking. Seeing that Aimee hadn’t driven to work, she handed Aimee her keys. You drive my car. I need to calm down. Right now I’d give anything for a cigarette.

Whew, this has to be bad for Sharon to even think of smoking.

You know you won’t ever light up again after the hell you went through quitting. I remember the phone calls in the middle of the night when you fought the urge so bad you couldn’t sleep.

Yeah… right… but wait until you hear the whole story.

Sharon slid the tape in the car’s player. Janie copied this for us. There’s no way she’s turning the original loose, and I don’t blame her.

The man who had called, and subsequently been recorded, had a deep, well-educated voice. Aimee listened as he explained that he and his wife had been out to the open house the day before. They needed to relocate because of his job and wanted to purchase a house as soon as possible. His wife had to fly back that morning because the sitter had gotten sick, but he had changed to a later flight so he could have another look and take some measurements.

Wow, talk about a hot client. No wonder Janie got so mad, Aimee said as she pulled into the Silver Oaks entrance.

The development, only a little over a year old, had almost three-quarters of the homes already sold. With people coming into the area so fast the developers and builders were having a hard time keeping up with the demand, it was a good time to be in the real estate business.

Aimee slowed the car. I haven’t actually been out to this house. Give me some directions.

Sharon pointed. Turn here. We’re in luck. You can see Marilyn’s car in the drive.

Aimee pulled up alongside Marilyn’s low slung sports car. She glanced up at the house and frowned—the front door stood halfway open. Darn, I wish the agents would listen when we tell them to lock the door after themselves. Especially when they’re out here alone.

A cold draft of air brushed Aimee. Shivering, she blinked as the world outside the car suddenly darkened, the sun sliding behind a bank of clouds. Something doesn’t feel right, Sharon. I can’t put my finger on it, but it feels cold and ugly…and dark.

Nonsense, it’s a sunny day and it’s warm. It’s just been a horrible morning, and you’re having a delayed reaction to what happened back there at the office. Come on. The quicker we talk to Marilyn, the sooner we can put all this behind us. Jeepers, I thought having a real estate business in Woodsville would be a laid-back way to make a living. Silly me.

Aimee wanted to turn and run away from the house and the open front door. I can remember a time when an open door like this one was inviting, but now… How about you? Sharon?

Aimee hurried after Sharon as she marched to the house and through the front door without hesitation, and without answering.

Must not have heard me. Aimee reluctantly followed her. And evidently she doesn’t share my feeling.

Aimee stood in the doorway and watched Sharon make a fast trip to the kitchen. There was no sign of Marilyn. The house seemed quiet. Almost too quiet. Aimee hadn’t moved more than a few feet from the front door and now craned her neck to try to glimpse up the stairwell.

This is crazy.

Half-mad at herself for letting Sharon take all the initiative, she closed the front door and pushed herself farther into the living room.

A few seconds later Sharon returned. She’s not in the kitchen.

She has to be here. Her car’s in the drive. Unless she went somewhere with the client?

Sharon dropped into an overstuffed chair with a sigh. That’s probably it. It’s so early they probably went out for coffee to talk about the sale. Well, we’ll just wait for her.

The house, like most of the homes opened up for the promotional tours, was completely furnished. It helped them sell, as well as gave the furniture stores an opportunity to showcase their products.

Sharon glanced around absently. Actually, I could use the time to get this whole thing into perspective, so maybe it’s just as well that she isn’t here right now. Besides, we shouldn’t have long to wait. Didn’t he say he booked a late morning flight?

Um, yes, I think he did say that. Aimee edged a little farther into the room. Oppression hung heavy around her. She could smell an odd, sickly-sweet odor that got stronger as she moved closer to Sharon’s chair. Sharon, do you smell that?

Sharon sniffed. I’ve had such a stuffed-up nose from this sinus infection, I don’t think I could smell dog poo if I stepped in it.

Aimee tried breathing through her mouth instead of her nose. I don’t know what’s causing it, but it’s making me sick to my stomach.

Sharon got up from the chair and motioned for Aimee to sit down. I think I’ll check around upstairs. One nice thing about this stuffy nose—if there is a plugged drain, the smell won’t bother my stomach.

Aimee watched Sharon cross the room, and her sense of foreboding increased. She didn’t want Sharon to go anywhere, certainly not up those stairs. But how could she explain her feelings without sounding unreasonable at best… and wacko at worst?

Helplessly, she watched Sharon climb the stairs. She hated not being able to find words to explain the feelings crowding in on her.

Beyond the stairs Aimee could see the second floor landing and part of the upper hallway, open to the floor below. Sharon had just stepped out of view, beyond the open hallway, when Aimee saw him.

He came out of the upstairs bath. He was there, but he wasn’t really there. It seemed more like looking at a life-sized negative. He wasn’t exactly walking—it looked more like a series of negatives taken by an automatic camera, where each frame advanced him farther down the hall. The image faded when it reached the stairs.

Aimee flew off the chair. She had to stop Sharon. She had her foot on the first step when Sharon screamed, and stumbled back into view.

Sharon raced toward her, almost falling down the stairs in her haste to get away. Aimee barely had to time to back out of her path.

Sharon’s legs gave out, and she sat heavily on the bottom step. Holding her arms crossed over her stomach, she rocked back and forth, moaning. Oh no… noooo!

The image she had just seen flashed back in Aimee’s mind. Something was horribly wrong. She put her arms around Sharon’s shoulder. Is Marilyn up there? Is she hurt? Are you hurt? Aimee tried to stay calm.

Sharon rocked back and forth, shaking her head, sobbing so hard Aimee couldn’t make out what she was trying to say. She didn’t want to leave her like this, but what if Marilyn needed help? Maybe I better go up––

Sharon made a grab for her. "No! Don’t go up there! Believe me, you don’t want to see her. Just call 911 and, Sharon gulped a deep breath, report a murder."

Chapter 2

Aimee’s hands shook so badly she nearly dropped the phone. As she dialed, she could hear Sharon retching in the small bathroom off the kitchen. She gave the dispatcher the address and her cellular number, but when she tried to hang up the dispatcher insisted, Just stay on the phone. The police are on their way. Give me directions to where you are.

But I already gave you the address. I need to go help my friend.

Ma’am, ma’am? I need for you to stay on the phone.

The dispatcher used every ploy she could to keep Aimee connected to the 911 service, as policy dictated them to keep the caller on the line until help arrived. The cellular service was poor in this area and Aimee knew if she moved farther into the house she risked disconnecting, but what more could she tell them? Keeping the phone to her ear, she made her way into the kitchen. Through the open bathroom door, she could see Sharon sitting on the floor with her head hanging almost in the toilet.

The dispatcher’s voice came through garbled just before the phone went dead. Aimee flipped the phone closed and laid it on the bathroom counter. They’ll find us. Let’s take care of you.

Wetting an end of a towel, which had been carefully folded into an ornate basket, Aimee knelt down beside Sharon and gently bathed her face. Bet the decorator who did this house never dreamed how handy these towels were going to be when she put them in here.

It seemed like an eternity before they heard the first sirens.

Aimee helped Sharon to her feet and took her outside. Bright sunshine hit them in the face. Aimee squinted and focused her gaze on the arriving police cars.

I didn’t know we had this many police officers in Woodsville, did you? Sharon chuckled weakly.

Aimee nodded. She could only imagine what horrors ran around in Sharon’s mind. It was amazing that her friend could notice something as mundane as the number of police officers pulling up to the house. Aimee tried to find words to reassure her. They’ll take care of everything now. Maybe they’ll let us go downtown to the police department or even back to the office until they’re ready to talk to us. Wait here for me and I’ll go ask someone.

In what seemed mere seconds, the yard had