Kate’s name was on the papers. She was going to get the commission. She’d share a percentage with Tayla’s company but the bulk of it would go to Kate. “You and Tayla didn’t need to do this. I didn’t show you the house.”
“You’re the one who finagled it out of Wyatt.”
“He volunteered it,” she said. It was her first sale at Kirkwood Realty and she didn’t feel that she’d earned it. Where was the chase? The agony of showing twenty houses and the buyers hating them all? Then at last she would open a door and they would fall in love. Never mind that the house bore no resemblance to what they’d said they wanted—love was love.
“Sorry I messed things up for you,” Alastair said. “It’s just that as soon as I saw this house, I knew that I wanted it. And Tayla said it would go soon. Come see the Florida room.”
She followed him past the pretty kitchen to a big screened-in porch. There were two cheap aluminum chairs and a table with a white cloth. On top was a bottle of champagne, two glasses and plastic containers of food.
“Please forgive my decor,” he said. “May I serve you lunch in my new home?”
He looked so repentant, so sorry, that she forgave him. Besides, it was difficult to stay angry at a blond Viking. “I would love it.” She sat down, then he poured the champagne and filled her plate with little sandwiches and salads.
“Tell me everything you’ve been doing,” he said. “The whole town is buzzing with talk of the memorial service. Is Miss Sara really giving out free books?”
“Oh, yes. Boxes of them. Jack opened them and—” She broke off as Alastair groaned.
“Wyatt again.”
“He does live there,” Kate said tersely.
“I don’t mean to be disparaging, but you’d think a grown man would want his own place. Whatever happened to that newscaster he was dating?”
“Cheryl Morris?”
“Jack dated Cheryl?” Alastair looked shocked. “I had no idea. You don’t think he...?”
“No, nothing like that.” Kate quickly realized her mistake. “I don’t know who Jack has dated or is dating.”
“Foot in mouth,” he said, “but then I’ve thought of little else besides the murders since our dinner together. I’ve tried hard to remember if anyone ever mentioned that poor girl. Or her mother.” He took a bite.
“And?”
“You remember the guy who yelled hello on that first day that I met you?”
“Dan, wasn’t it?”
“Yes. Dan Bruebaker. What a good memory you have.”
“Part of my trade. Did he know Cheryl?”
“I don’t know but I remembered that he used to talk about her a lot. But then, most of the guys did. She was a very pretty girl and she dressed like an adult. I remember some women at church making remarks about her being a ‘painted harlot.’”
“Do you know who Cheryl went out with?”
“No one in the open, that’s for sure. Maybe...” He looked down at his plate.
“Maybe what?”
“Did you ever think that she dressed up like that because she was trying to attract a man? I mean as opposed to a high-school boy. I think Cheryl—what with a mother like hers—might have been too much for us fumbling boys. I know I would never have approached someone like her.” He paused. “I’ve made you frown. Sorry.”
“It’s just the concept of blaming the victim that I hate. Whatever she did, she didn’t deserve what she got.”
“Of course not. I apologize.”
“From what we’ve found out, Cheryl was working toward getting the job she wanted. Maybe that was what she was trying to attract.”
“And the boys’ locker room was a by-product. Do you know when it happened? The date she was killed?”