“That might be because you keep asking him questions,” Jane whispered back.
“If that’s too bothersome for him, he’s working the wrong job.” Another whisper before Fiona blurted her next question for the entire group to hear. “What can you tell me about the crown molding? Is it all original or did sections get replaced? And do you think the replacements were made because of mold?”
When they’d first signed on for the tour, Jane had thought to observe Blake in his natural habitat, nothing more, then ask him to join her for drinks to discuss the offer she wouldn’t be making. She could then (masterfully) weave in questions featuring Ana and his alleged thievery.
Now Jane would be lucky to last until the end of the walk-through. Blake’s cheeks flushed, nearing a hue some might call fire engine red.
“There is no mold,” he grated before resuming his presentation. “Look at the size of this veranda. Yes, it blocks some of the natural light, but imagine sipping iced tea as you watch the sunset. In fact, the bungalow style totally captures and maximizes light with the high set of the windows. I think you’ll really love the picturesque bay window in the master.” He herded them into the next bedroom.
Sunlight filled the room, tinted by the lovely stained glass in a geometric design.
“Ooh,” Jane couldn’t help but sigh. “Very pretty.” Her phone dinged, and she checked the screen. A text from Tony, asking if she had caused any other legal messes in need of clean up.
She ground her teeth. He was either taunting her or in desperate need of money. Or both.
Fiona elbowed her in the ribs, and Jane put her phone away. The open house. Right. You’re a hard-nosed detective, pretending not to be charmed by walls painted in a muted sage and built-in bookcases. Although, honestly, the maple woodwork—stained a gorgeous burnt umber—was stunning. Maybe she could host another paid tour soon and earn enough to make updates at the cottage.
There were only six other people on the walk-through, but Jane’s attention kept returning to a young couple who might be stealing knickknacks from artfully staged rooms. Which meant Jane might be minutes from solving her second case—Cemetery Girl and the House Tour Bandits. The Crooked House Hunter? Whatever. She could come up with a better name later.
“I skimmed a few videos from home inspectors this morning, so I’m one hundred percent confident I know what I’m talking about,” Fiona remarked, catching Jane’s attention. “I’d stake my life on it—this house once had termites.” She wrinkled her nose. “A total infestation, most likely.”
“What?” gasped one of the women. Legitimately interested or playing the angle? Jane couldn’t tell.
The realtor rushed to the couple, his hands lifted in innocence. “No termites have been found anywhere in the structure.”
Fiona gave him a who are you trying to fool? expression. “Well. Not officially.”
Blake attempted to laugh off his growing fury while a vein throbbed in the center of his brow. “Again. There’s been no mold or termites.”
“To be sure, we should talk to the neighbors.” Fiona smiled at him, all earnestness and innocence. “What are they like, anyway? I bet they’ll know why the owners are leaving.” She sucked in a breath, facing Jane. “Do you think ghosts live here?”
“There are no ghosts. No mold, no termites. There’s nothing wrong with the house,” Blake bellowed. And like that, his calm shattered. Veins popped out alongside his neck too. He panted his breaths as he pointed to the door. “Get out. Just get out. The tour is over.”
Wow. Jane wondered if his rhyming buddy Jake ever reacted as volatile as this.
The rest of the viewers raced out as if their feet were on fire. Jane stayed put because Fiona stayed put. Leave a friend behind? Never!
“Please, just go,” Blake said, defeated. Tension and strain radiated from him as he slumped into a charcoal mid-century modern armchair, rumpling the once perfectly fluffed throw pillow.
Fiona slipped into doting grandmother mode and glided over to pat him on the head. “There, there, sugar. You’re going through a bit of trouble, aren’t you? Well, Granny Fee is here to help. Tell me everything, and I’ll share with you what I’d tell my grandson, if he were in your situation.”
Goodness gracious. If drilling past his defenses to reach the misery of the matter worked, Fiona deserved an award. Amateur Sleuth of the Day.
Outrage, suspicion, and indecision played over Blake’s features before he crumbled. “Someone stole my ID and emptied my bank accounts. I’m poised at the brink of ruin, losing everything I love, one thing at a time.”
Surprised, Jane shuffled back a step. So, this guy wasn’t the thief? If he was telling the truth, he was the victim.
Was he? She thought…yes. His misery and upset struck her as genuine. Which meant he was just a guy in desperate need of a friend, someone willing to listen without censure. Unless he had recognized Jane because he’d cased the cemetery and planned the best way to frame her for Ana’s death and now played the role of innocent.