Chapter 2
Chapter Two
MARLOWE
S itting at her little table in the Brioche Doree coffee shop, Marlowe didn’t know what to do. The latte felt clogged in her throat. Jumping up, she grabbed a bottle of water, paid for it and twisted the cap. Her lunch felt like cardboard in her stomach, and she gulped down some water. But the cold liquid didn’t clear her head. Mixing up details of a critical open house was not like Jenna. What was going on? Grabbing her bag, Marlowe headed for her departure gate.
What was the flight number for the Fort Meyers airport? Chest heaving, she checked a departure board. What? She was in the wrong concourse and she quickly jerked around, almost tripping the woman behind her. “I'm sorry. So sorry.” Marlowe took off, jogging toward the central point where concourses converged and signs pointed in several directions.
Why did this have to happen now? She didn’t have time to miss a flight today. Panic seized her. She had to get back to Naples and straighten out this mess. Hoisting her handbag onto her shoulder and pulling her carryon behind her, she raced down the concourse and hopped onto the escalator. More than one traveler threw her a dirty look. “Sorry, sorry.” This wasn’t like her. Marlowe liked her life planned efficiently. This race to the gate had her breathless and scrambling.
Of course her flight was taking off from the farthest gate. Her chest heaved and her pulse raced as she sprinted along, dodging travelers along the way. By the time she reached her flight, Marlowe was out of breath. Thank goodness people were still boarding. Phone tight in her hand, she found her boarding pass.
The flight attendant checking her in looked so calm. “Thank you,” Marlowe gasped, wanting some of the woman’s serenity. Deep breaths, deep breaths , she told herself as she thumped down the passageway and onto the plane. After jamming her carryon in the overhead bin, she shoved her purse under the seat in front of her and sat down. Then she grabbed her phone. Her hands shook as she scrolled through her messages.
But she couldn’t find anything from Jenna about the rescheduled open house. Nothing. Marlowe even went into her trash in case she’d deleted a text or email by mistake. During her visit to Sunnycrest, she’d been casual about checking her phone. Okay, it had been worse than that. She’d ignored calls, certain that Jenna could handle things. She rarely took vacations. Now she wondered. How could she have let this slide? Had she overestimated the new hire?
Or had she underestimated her? A wave of doubt brought a chill. Marlowe shivered.
Somehow Landon was involved in this. For months she'd fended off his not too subtle flirting. And she tried to ignore his comments about how his marriage wasn't working, comments that were only made when the two of them were alone in the copy room. His hand would accidentally cover hers reaching for the creamer or he’d invade her space, asking questions about her weekend. Creep. Was this somehow his revenge?
Thank goodness an older gentleman had taken the seat next to her. A polite nod and that was it. No distracting conversations on this flight. Marlowe needed to concentrate. Adjusting his headrest, he quickly fell asleep while they were taxiing down the runway, lips parted in a soft snore. Wanting to keep her wits about her, she waved away the flight attendant’s offer of champagne and opted for ginger ale instead. How could her open house have taken place without her there? What had she missed?
Thank goodness the flight was short. By the time they touched down at the Southwest Florida International Airport, her ears were popping and her head throbbed with unanswered questions. Waiting for her suitcase seemed to take forever. While she stood there watching the empty conveyor belt slowly make the circuit, her sister Samantha phoned. “Are you home yet or still in Atlanta?” Sam asked.
“Just got in. Waiting for my suitcase.” Where was her luggage?
“Did you have a bad trip? You sound tense.”
“Guess I’m tired.” Marlowe would not tell her sister about this fiasco at work. No way would she admit that she'd made such a huge mistake. Where was the luggage? She had to get home to deal with this. Seated at her semi-circular desk that overlooked the ocean, hopefully she would make sense of the confusion holding her hostage right now.
“Those were two long weeks,” Marlowe said. Maybe the vacation had been too long. Originally she'd planned to be back in Naples before New Year’s Day. But she was having such a great time that she'd extended her stay.
“Yeah, wasn’t it great?” She could hear a yawn in her sister’s voice. “Can’t wait to take a nap. Just drove through the gate.” Her sister lived in a gated community in Oak Brook, a suburb outside Chicago.
Marlowe was having trouble concentrating. Her mind spun like the luggage carousel. Had she been wrong to think that the open house for Bobby was all set when she left? Why hadn't she brought her calendar with her? Unlike the other realtors, she still worked from a printed calendar. She even used a dry-erase board in her home office. Well, that had to stop. Jenna had teased her about it. Right now she’d give anything to have her full calendar on her phone. The information would be right there. Wouldn't it?
“Marlowe? Everything okay down in Florida?” Now she had her sister worried. Marlowe heard the whirr that sounded like a garage door opening. Sam must have reached her house.
“Sure. Of course. How about you?” Marlowe tried to inject confidence into her voice. She didn't want to worry her older sister. Sam had enough on her plate right now. Recently divorced, Sam and her former husband Kurt had divided up their accounts as part of their settlement. That process had sounded civil when Sam told her about it. “Are all your clients still in place? No one’s baled on you yet?”
Finally the light above the conveyor belt began to flash and an alert sounded. Suitcases tumbled from the chute, slamming onto the belt. Craning her neck, Marlowe didn't see her turquoise suitcase.
“Clients? I think everything’s fine.” Sam’s voice slowed and the car engine shut off. Marlowe heard Bogart, Sam’s cat, give a plaintive wail from his carrier in the back seat. “I have the strangest feeling that something is different in this garage. I know this sounds weird but I think our shovel is gone. Of course I don't need it. We have a service that clears the driveway and walks. But other stuff in the garage seems out of place.”
It sounded as if Sam slammed her car door. Her sister’s words echoed through her cavernous garage, designed for two cars, a golf cart and a wood-working area that Kurt had never used.
“How could that be? Are you sure?” Marlowe scanned the bags swirling past her. Tired travelers pressed close and lifted their luggage from the conveyor belt before hurrying off. Most of the bags were black and Marlowe was glad that she’d switched to a bright color. But where was her turquoise bag with the big green palm tree? “Kurt is in Ibiza, right? Didn't you tell us that he was spending the holidays with his new girlfriend?”
She heard the jingle of keys as Sam entered her kitchen. Marlowe had visited her sister’s elegant home in Oak Brook. She could picture the white cabinets and the large double island where caterers served food for their many parties, which were often business related.
“Oh no. Oh my word!” Her sister sounded breathless.
“If something is wrong, get out of the house.” Her bag forgotten, Marlowe went on high alert.
“My copper pots.”
“The ones above the island?” A stunning collection of copper pots hung above Sam’s main island. They had cost Sam and Kurt a pretty penny, but Marlowe doubted that the power couple ever used them. Their careers kept them both so busy. Who had time to cook?
“Sam, say something.” Her sister's choked breathing was freaking Marlowe out. As she stood there worrying about what was going on in Sam's house, her own suitcase passed by. Stumbling toward it, she nearly knocked over a man, who threw her an exasperated look. Marlowe could hear Sam’s footsteps move through the kitchen and into the main house. One eye on her suitcase, she decided to wait for it to come around again.
“You won't believe this,” Sam finally gasped. “All of the leather furniture in my family room is gone. The slate covered coffee table. The brightly designed pillows we collected in Africa. Gone.”
Marlowe pictured Sam slumped in her arched doorway, staring at that huge stone fireplace that dominated the large room. Her tasteful gray leather furniture had been arranged in a wide arch in front of the massive stonework. “Were you burglarized?” What a horrible discovery.
“No. I think Kurt has been busy while I was away.” Sam's voice had turned bitter. “Good thing that I didn't leave Bogart here with a cat sitter. Kurt probably would have taken him too.”
“What a creep.” Her sister and Kurt Ramsey had been married for more than twenty years. In the past year, he’d turned into the rotten apple Marlowe had always suspected lay behind her brother-in-law’s ingratiating smile. “I don't think he and his new honey spent the holidays in Ibiza. No, they spent those days rearranging our furniture in his new house.”
Her voice rising and falling, Sam sounded furious. By that time, Marlowe’s suitcase was one of the few still spinning on the conveyor belt. Stepping up, she yanked it off and pulled up the handle. “You might want to check with Aunt Cate on the legalities of this.” Their aunt was a New York attorney and she would be a big help in sorting through this mess.
“You're right. I'll have to give Aunt Cate a call.”
“And make a list,” Marlowe suggested. “Walk around and take a careful inventory. Maybe you should change your locks.”
“Oh my word. What’s happened here? How could Kurt do this?” Was Sam crying? How Marlowe wished she could be with Sam right now to help her sort through this mess. That darn Kurt. Marlowe thought they’d had an amicable divorce.
“Let’s talk later, okay?” Grabbing the handle of her suitcase, Marlowe took off for the parking garage. “Have to find my car and get back to my place.”
“Sure, let's catch up tonight. I’m going to bring Bogart in. Get him settled.” Sam sniffed and then said, “Love you, Marlowe.”
The comment took Marlowe by surprise. In the past the sisters had often gone months without speaking, busy with their individual lives. But during the recent holiday together they'd made a pact that those separations wouldn’t happen anymore.
“Love you too.” Marlowe wished she was there to help. But her own problems were waiting back in Naples. And she was eager to deal with those. Dropping her phone into her purse, she was determined to switch to crossbody bags. No more of these huge designer purses or she'd end up like the older ladies with bad backs.
Older ladies . Is that what she was? Her footsteps slowed. Almost forty. How had this come so quickly? After the last three hours, she felt more like fifty. Maybe sixty.
“Okay, let’s talk tonight,” Sam said and the call ended.
“Pardon me.” Throwing back her shoulders, Marlowe threaded her way through the crowd and continued to the parking garage. In the dim, cool light, she could see her blue bayou BMW 850. Although she hadn't felt good about leaving her new convertible in the lot, it had seemed like a better option than taking an Uber to the airport forty minutes away.
The bright turquoise convertible sat in a spot she’d known was covered by a camera. What a relief. She didn’t think she could handle more problems today. They didn't have many thefts at the Southwest Florida International Airport, but you never know. The conversation with Sam had eroded her trusting spirit. Waving a foot under the trunk, she waited until it popped open. Then she carefully stored her bag and carryon inside.
The drive home was short. More than once, she considered calling Jenna from the highway. Marlowe wanted to clear up this confusion and fast. But what would she say if Jenna insisted that she’d sent a revised schedule? Staying in the right hand lane while her mind worked, Marlowe was also tempted to call Bobby Jensen. Certainly he would be able to tell her what had happened.
But was she crazy? Traffic raced past her as her mind churned. No way was she going to let him know she was out of the loop. In taking on his multimillion dollar property, she’d presented herself as competent. An experienced realtor capable of representing him in the best light. Being at loose ends was not a comfortable feeling for Marlowe Quinn. No way would she admit to that.
By calling him, she’d be admitting ignorance. Marlowe was way too proud for that. Frustrated with the slow pace of the right hand lane, she hit the accelerator. The car leapt forward and she cruised to the open left lane. She had to get home and fast.
The contentment she’d developed over the holidays had evaporated. In its place descended a cloud of doom beneath Florida’s relentlessly sunny sky. As she drove, she kicked herself for tuning out the world for a few days. Being at the top of her game had a price. She'd always known that.
Tapping her fingers on the steering wheel, she wondered what had happened. Granted, she’d avoided checking the company’s intranet. After all, this was supposed to be a vacation and all the plans for the open house were in place. Her adoring protegee Jenna had seemed perfectly capable of standing in for Marlowe.
Had her trust been misplaced? Up ahead was an Prime truck and she gunned it as she passed, wishing she’d put her top down before leaving the garage. When the lane was clear, she swerved back to the right. No way did she want to get a ticket. That would really hold her up.
The calls from Landon kept popping into her head. The ones she hadn't acknowledged or returned. That irritated feeling in her gut told her that somehow her boss was involved in this mix-up. Had he been ticked off because she didn’t pick up?
Finally she reached Naples. Getting off the highway at Golden Gate Parkway, Marlowe headed for the coast. Blasting her air conditioning, she thought of the snowy evening when they’d made angels on Sunnycrest’s driveway. Reliving their childhood that night would remain a treasured memory.
But right now she had to deal with reality. Up ahead, tall coastline condos were etched against the blue sky. How proud she’d felt when she could afford one of those primo units. Working around the clock had paid off…hadn’t it?
She was relieved when she reached her complex on Gulf Shore Drive. Buying into this complex had brought her tremendous satisfaction. But not today. She took the driveway down to the parking garage and the gate. Leonard smiled and tipped his hat as she came through. Driving into one of her two reserved spots, Marlowe quickly clicked open the trunk, grabbed her bags and marched to the elevator.
The boots that had been great for Charlevoix felt heavy now. Under her turquoise sweater, she started to sweat. Time to get upstairs and change. The parking garage was pristine and filled with luxury autos. Taking in the other cars usually gave her a deep sense of satisfaction but not this morning. The Ferrari parked in the corner reminded her of Landon's car. She had to do a double take to make sure it wasn't parked in her spot. But of course it wasn't. That would be bizarre. Marlowe had to calm down. Every nerve in her body was on hyper alert.
As the elevator whisked her up to the tenth floor, she wondered how Sam was doing with her stolen furniture problem. Marlowe would find out tonight when she checked in with her sister.
Nausea churned in her stomach. She was not used to “mix-ups.” This could never happen again. The elevator doors slid open and she stepped out. Her boots sank into the deep gray carpet in the quiet hall. Waving her keycard at her front door, she smiled. At Sunnycrest they rarely locked a door. Her condo opened with a discreet whirring sound. Dragging her carryon behind her, she released a sigh. Marlowe’s bag slid from her shoulder. Home, I’m home.
The condo glowed in the late afternoon light. Leaving her luggage in the foyer, she stepped to the master console on the wall. After pressing a button, she watched her ceiling-to-floor shades retract. This view of the ocean and the sandy beach below had always given her great satisfaction. The view had been a key deciding factor when she'd settled on this unit. At the time the three bedroom layout had been a bit out of her price range but she would work up to it. That had been an intense year of setting goals and achieving them. But she’d done it.
When she’d planned the open house for Bobby, Marlowe had even imagined paying off this condo with her commission from that sale. What a relief that would be. Maybe that wish had been a pipe dream. In any case, her condo had been a good investment. The building was designed to withstand any hurricanes. Whenever she decided to sell, it wouldn’t take long to find buyers.
The Charlevoix dream that she’d conjured up with her sisters and aunt over the holiday seemed far away as she stood at the window. Marlowe gazed down at the beach and tried to remember the last time she’d wandered the shoreline, picking up pretty stones and empty shells. One year ago? Two? Too long.
And now she had to unravel this mess. She needed to get into the intranet and their worksheet for the open house. Pulling her suitcase into the master suite, she kicked off her tan boots and shrugged out of her jacket. The white board in her office eased her nervousness. Yes, the open house was still scheduled for this coming weekend. But that meant nothing. She was the only one that had access to this board.
Landon and the other realtors in the group teased her about the archaic whiteboard. She had never been at the top of her game with technology. Although the group made gentle jokes about it, they respected her performance. The teasing stopped there. Firing up her laptop, she sat in the chair looking onto the ocean and clicked into the intranet.
A multi-colored popup exploded. “Congratulations, Jenna!!” sprayed across the screen. Her heart just about stopped. What the heck was this? Marlowe had to turn down the sound. Tapping into Projects, she went to Open Houses. What she saw brought a quick wave of nausea, followed by blinding anger. How could this be?
The open house for the property in Port Royal had brought a buyer and the selling price took her breath away. Her cut of that would be substantial. But when she clicked through to the realtors, only Jenna and Landon were listed. Anger pulsed in her forehead. She thought her head might explode.
Going back, she finally found the open house plan she’d left in Jenna’s hands. Every detail was there, but the date had been changed to New Year’s Day, not the upcoming Sunday. Someone at the agency had done a last-minute invitation to an event billed as an Exclusive Offering of a Property “bound to begin your year with a smile.”
What the heck? Marlowe’s skin burned and her hands shook.
From what she could see, Jenna or someone else from the agency had accessed her list of vetted clients. All of those buyers had been thoroughly checked out earlier. This was not an open house that would throw open its doors to just anyone. There were certain controls in place, a baseline of assets that had to be met. The ad certainly hadn't appeared in Naples Daily News under Open Houses.
Who was responsible for this infuriating change? Jumping to her feet, Marlowe struggled to control her anger. She had to think rationally. Leaving the office, she paced through the bedroom hallway into the living room and circled through the kitchen. Everything was in order. Everything but her life.
But she didn't want to overreact. No, that would never do. Despite her plans for Charlevoix, right now this was her job. This was the successful career she had built sale by sale, year by year since college graduation. No way did she want to make things worse by a fiery reaction. She needed information. Where should she start?
Not with Landon, that was for sure. She would start with the weakest link. Going back into her office she stared at the oversized monitor, just to make sure that she hadn't misunderstood anything. No, this open house had happened and this offer for Bobby Jensen’s property was in play.
Down below on the beach, the waves had picked up. From somewhere clouds had rolled across the sky and thunder rumbled. Her heart pounded and Marlowe sucked in some deep breaths. This was like trying to breathe through a colander. Okay, she would simply ask questions and not hurl accusations. And above all, she would not let anyone know that she was upset. She pressed the speed dial button for Jenna. The phone rang and rang.
Eventually voicemail picked up. “Hello, this is Jenna Whitestone from Hardy Luxury Properties and I can't wait to talk to you! Please leave a message and your number. Let's talk soon!” The words rolled off Jenna’s tongue with such ease. The younger woman's enthusiasm was almost palpable.
There had been a time when Marlowe had smiled at Jenna's energy. Their latest hire would show up in the morning, a Starbucks in hand for her new mentor. Was there anything she could do for Marlowe? Not too long ago Marlowe had been that way herself, excited and eager to please. But no one had ever been looking out for her. Did Jenna realize how lucky she was? Seeing potential in the newbie, she'd taken this girl under her wing. Later she discovered that some of the men in the company weren't pleased about that. She'd never mentored any of them.
The guys didn’t realize that she'd purposely given them some room. That’s how Landon liked it. After a certain period of time, he would have his pick of the new guys to mentor. First he wanted to see how they performed. In general he chose young men who chose to style themselves after their boss. Landon liked the fact that they too soon shopped at John Craig for timeless menswear or Mondo Uomo when they wanted a splash of modern. It didn't take long before the young men even copied his walk, confident with shoulders squared. And those Venetian loafers? Some days it was hard not to laugh. The smell of leather permeated the office.
As she sat there thinking about what to do about that open house, a text popped up from Jenna. “Are you home?! That's fabulous. We can all celebrate together!” The girl sounded almost giddy.
“Celebrate what?” Marlowe shot back, her fingers flying. “I have questions before we celebrate. Why was the open house moved to New Year's Day?”
Time passed while Marlowe watched the sun sink into the ocean. Usually the encroaching darkness calmed her but not tonight. The changing light and humidity made every sunset unique. Some nights the sky was a pink that turned to gray as a magenta sun reached the water. Other nights the sun would be a bright orange globe. The color would shimmer over the water, scorching it as the sun disappeared. Peaceful. Serene. But that was not where Marlowe was right now.
No, her nerves were jumping every which way as she waited for a response, eyes on the screen. Maybe Jenna wasn't going to answer her text. Would Marlowe have to march right into that office and set things straight? She glanced at the time. No one would be there. It was too late.
Just when she had given up, a text pinged on her phone. “Our sale! You know how it is,” Jenna finally said. “Landon had a brilliant moment. Everything turned out great for the company.”
What brilliant moment? Sure, Landon was a marketing guru with plenty of charm. But he was also a narcissist. Most of his decisions were good for him because he owned the company. She needed clarity on this. Her fingers flew over the keyboard.
“Are you saying that Landon changed the date of the open house to New Year's Day?” When he knew I would not be in town.
Nothing appeared on the screen. She pictured Jenna squirming over whatever had happened, Had Landon backed her protegee into a corner? In the past he had teased Marlowe about favoring Jenna. Now had he taken her over?
“When can we meet?” She had to get this girl alone and fast. To her frustration nothing happened for the next few moments. Jumping up from her desk, she jammed her knee on an open drawer and yelped with pain. This had been a very long day. But every cell in her body was raging. The longer Jenna made her wait, the madder Marlowe got.
Is this what could happen when she stepped away from her desk for one or possibly two weeks? Sinking back into her chair, she felt her spirit plummet. Marlowe hated the feeling of being tied to her job. Having to watch her back? That really got her.
Finally the text arrived. “Why don't you come to Grappino’s tonight? We're celebrating.”
Really? Celebrating what? Grabbing her phone, Marlowe left her desk, pulling up her emails as she walked. The vista from the living room stopped her in her tracks. Spectacular, but she let her mind wander back the soft shadows of Sunnycrest’s living room lit by the Christmas tree and the welcoming fireplace. She’d found such peace there. But Marlowe had to stay with this conversation.
Grappino’s . The bistro area of the restaurant was popular for the after-work crowd. “I'll think about it. We can talk.” That was the only response she sent.
If Marlowe had owned a blood pressure cuff, she would have used it. Tapping her phone against one palm, she could feel her heart thundering. She'd always lived by the watchword of HALT. If you're hungry, angry, lonely or tired, don't do anything. Don't make any decisions. Don't have any important conversations where you might say something you could regret.
The wise side of Marlowe Quinn knew that. But boy, she was so darn angry. And her anger extended to the whole company. After pacing through her condo at least three or four times, she headed for her enormous walk-in closet. Did this situation call for revenge dressing? Or maybe it should be called scorched earth.
Landon was responsible for this. That much she knew.