A Margin of Lust (The Seven Deadly Sins #1)(10)

"I'm sure they didn't use e-keys to enter the homes," Gwen said.

"They could have if they were agents," Mary Beth said with an intake of breath.

"Yes, they could, but whenever an agent uses their e-key, a message is sent to the security company letting them know the address of the box, the date and time it was opened and by whom. It would be like leaving a business card for the cops."

"Oh," Mary Beth's shoulders relaxed, and she looked out the window again. "So, it's safe? You're sure it's safe?"

"It's safe," Gwen said in a soothing tone. "I'll get a report of every agent who enters your house." Mary Beth continued to tap her foot and stare at the passing boats.

Gwen added, "If you want to sell your house while you're in Switzerland, you have to have a lockbox. Agents just won't show the house without one. It's too much trouble for them."

The Frobishers would be away for the rest of the month. They were disappointed they hadn't had an offer on their home before the trip, but Gwen had only had the house listed for two weeks. It was unreasonable to think it would sell that quickly, but now she had to talk them into putting a lockbox on the property.

"Okay, then. Let's do it." She uncrossed her legs and stood in one smooth motion. "I promised Charles I'd give you the third degree."

"I’ll tell him you did an excellent job." Gwen stood with her.

Gwen snapped the box on the side gate and reassured Mary Beth several more times before the front door closed between them. She pulled her keys from her purse and hurried to the curb. She was running late, again. She had to pick up the kids and get Emily to ballet before four.

When Gwen had gone to work three years ago, she’d felt like she took on an avatar whose busy life had to be lived in the same twenty-four hour period as her own. The Frobishers were leaving for Europe the next day. Gwen wanted to have a buyer in place before they returned. But ballet and basketball, dinners and driving duty took as much of her time as ever. Even so, it was exhilarating to be in the race again. She loved her children, but she'd found being a stay-at-home mom claustrophobic.

"Excuse me. Miss." A breathless voice interrupted her rush to the car. It belonged to a painfully thin woman with a beak for a nose and gray hair that stuck up from her head in nest-like tufts. A loose, charcoal cardigan flapped behind her as she walked stiff-legged up the sidewalk like a sandpiper racing before a wave.

"Are you the agent?" she asked.

"I am an agent," Gwen answered.

"I mean the agent, the Frobishers' agent?"

"Yes, I have the listing."

The woman studied Gwen with beady eyes that were neither brown nor hazel. "I just wanted you to know I'll be keeping an eye on things for Mary Beth and Charles while they're out of town." She said the words as if Gwen were a teenager bent on partying hardy while Mom and Dad were away.

"That's a comfort," Gwen said.

"I'll be taking in the paper and the mail and making sure the gardeners don't skip days. They do that sometimes when they know people are gone. Just let the lawn go to heck in a handbasket, and figure they'll catch it up right before the owners come home." She thrust her head forward on her scrawny neck and stuck a thumb in her concave chest. "Not on my watch."

"The Frobishers are lucky to have you. I'm Gwen Bishop. You are?" Gwen donned her friendliest smile and stuck out her hand.

Maricela had taught her to find and befriend the busybody on the block. Every neighborhood had one. The busybody knew things like who was transferring across the country, who was getting a divorce, or who was planning to retire to a condo on a golf course. Nuggets of valuable information could be mined from a busybody. Gwen was pretty sure she'd struck pay dirt.

"Esther VanVlear. Been living in this neighborhood since 1969. Original owner," she said and shook hands.

"Glad to meet you, Esther," Gwen said and turned toward the street, rattling her keys for emphasis. She would have loved to talk longer, but time didn't permit. "I'm sure I'll be seeing you around."

"You will. I'm on the neighborhood watch committee. Can't be too careful. Crime is rampant." She tipped her head and gave Gwen a sidelong glance as if she was a suspect. "Rampant."





Chapter Eight


Three days later Gwen blew into the office to pick up her briefcase before heading to Dana Point to show the Pauls the Sailor's Haven listing for the second time. Maricela sat at her desk, unmoving.

Maricela was the most energetic person Gwen knew—a perpetual motion machine at work. Her uncharacteristic stillness brought Gwen to a stop, despite the fact she was running late.

"You okay?" she asked.

Maricela raised her eyes to Gwen's face. They were rimmed with red.

"What?" Gwen defaulted to her own worst fears and wondered if the problem lay with Maricela's daughter. "Is Julissa—"

"She's fine," Maricela said in a shaky voice. "They found another body."

The weight of Maricela's words took several seconds to fall. When they did, Gwen sat, her knees giving way.

"Who?"

"A San Clemente agent. Rachel something. They found her in her listing."