A Margin of Lust (The Seven Deadly Sins #1)(41)

"When Lilly died, Edward let the place go. He was bereft, the poor man. Almost a hermit. I think the only person he saw regularly was his daughter—the dancer. She would come by on Sundays. It was a shame." Betty prattled on, but Gwen no longer listened.

Another agent. Another agent was the only kind of person who could want Lance and her to lose the listing. An agent who wanted it for him or herself. Gwen had met some competitive Realtors in her time, some who would sink pretty low to get a good listing, but killing a cat and leaving its bloodied corpse in the master bedroom? It strained the imagination.

"When Edward couldn't manage alone anymore, his daughter put him in a nursing home in San Juan. I don't know what was wrong with him. Hazel, next door," Betty pointed right, "thought he had Alzheimer's. Anyway, the place fell into disrepair after he left."

"Maybe I should have some wine." Gwen didn't really want a drink, only a moment to think in peace.

"Certainly, dear." Betty patted her arm and left the room.

Gwen stared at the ceiling and began to sort through possible suspects. Taryn didn't work with clients anymore and stood to gain when the property sold. She was out. Caroline was ambitious, but too flighty to carry off the kind of complex campaign that had been waged. Besides, Caroline was a soft touch for animals. She'd wouldn't kill a rat, never mind a cat. One by one, Gwen evaluated all the agents in the office and dismissed them, until she got to John Gordon.

John was a possibility. He couldn't stand Lance. He was competitive, mean-spirited, and he was a man. Gwen thought the attacks seemed masculine in nature. Women didn't like to get their hands dirty. A woman would be more inclined to use slander, innuendo, or psychological assaults.

The more she thought about it, the more pieces of the puzzle fell into place. She sat up. She was sure. John Gordon must be the culprit.

Fury revived her. She pushed herself off the floor and came to her feet in one motion. She needed to talk to Lance. If John thought he could intimidate them, get them to walk away from the listing, he was wrong. Dead wrong.

She traversed the hallway in long strides, her aversion to the master bedroom washed away in a flood of outrage. She found Lance squatting next to a bucket full of pink, sudsy water scrubbing the wood floor with a large sponge. He looked up at her as she entered, concern etched into the lines of his face.

"I know who did this," she said

Lance rocked back on his heels. "You look like you're feeling better."

"John Gordon."

Lance's eyebrows rose, but he didn't speak.

"Think about it. This... this person," Gwen waved a hand at the floor, "must have been trying to stop the sale of the house. What other motive could they have?"

"You think John wants that top salesman plaque so badly he'd resort to this?" Lance's voice was skeptical.

"No. I think he wants the listing. Money is a big motivator."

"He might want the listing, but even if we lost it, or walked away from it, what's to say he'd get it?"

"If he's the one sabotaging us, he knows what's happening behind the scenes. He thinks he can predict what we're going to do, when we're going to do it." A surge of anger coursed through Gwen like caffeine. She marched to the far wall and back. "He's probably had his pitch to Fiona prepared for weeks, so he can swoop in as soon he gets the word."

Lance dropped the sponge into the bucket and stood. "I'm not crazy about John, and I know he's not the most ethical guy in the world, but this seems like a stretch."

Gwen threw up her hands. "Who else then? Who else could possibly have done this?"

"I don't know, Gwen, but it's not our job to figure it out." Lance's voice was annoyingly soothing.

"You're not talking about getting the police involved?"

"I don't think we have a choice. Sondra Olsen's murderer might have been the one who did this."

"Sondra's murderer is long gone. Have you forgotten the killing in Newport and the one in Huntington?" Gwen stopped pacing and faced him. "I know I've been the one terrified he'd show up again, but I was wrong. You were right. A cockroach infestation doesn't sound like the work of a homicidal maniac. These crimes, or pranks, whatever you want to call them, are motivated by greed. I'm telling you, it's John. The last thing this place needs is more bad press. If we call the police we're playing right into his hands."

Lance didn't say anything but the set of his jaw hardened, and he crossed his arms over his chest. Gwen lowered her voice. "You have to admit; I was right about one thing. When you thought all this was just a series of unfortunate events, I said someone was behind it."

Lance gave her an almost imperceptible nod. "You were right about that."

"Then think this through with me." She held up a hand and ticked off her arguments on her fingers. "John has information the general public isn't privy too. He has motive and opportunity. He was here this morning, wandering around the house by himself."

"How did he get the cat into the house without our seeing him?"

"You put a lockbox on Friday night. He even asked me about it at the office that day. He could have planted the cat in the closet, then pulled it out this morning when no one was around."