Page 25 of Speak of the Devil
“We’re in the process,” Delia said. “He’s paying cash…he told me he’d just come into some money.”
“Well, that’s easy to do in Vegas,” Pru replied. “But usually you don’t see people in the WPP having that kind of money to throw around.”
Delia didn’t pretend to be an expert on the subject, but yes, that didn’t feel quite right. It seemed to her that people weregenerally given new identities and jobs and a place to live, not hundreds of thousands of dollars — maybe more — to invest in whatever income property caught their fancy.
“You think he might be on the run?” she asked, and now Prudence laughed outright.
“I suppose it might be a possibility,” she said. “But if he was really trying to hide out, he wouldn’t be buying property. Even when you pay cash, there’s still a paper trail.”
A very big one. Also, Caleb seemed fine with a remodel that would involve him interacting with a bunch of contractors…and sticking around for the six months or more that all the work would require.
That didn’t feel to her like someone trying to maintain a low profile.
“Anyway,” Pru added, “it’s not like you have to keep working with him after the sale is final, right?”
Well….
“I sort of volunteered to help him with finishing the reno,” Delia said. “It’s a massive project.”
“Since when are you a general contractor?”
“I’m not,” she replied. “Mostly what I’m going to do is set him up with the right people. But still, it’s not like this is going to be over once he signs the final paperwork.”
Although Delia couldn’t see her friend, she had to believe her expression turned sly.
“I suppose there are worse things in life than having to work with a hottie like this guy.”
No point in asking how Pru had known that, not when she’d pulled up Caleb’s driver’s license online and therefore knew what he looked like.
“He’s just a client,” Delia said, knowing she sounded a bit too severe.
“Uh-huh. When was the last time you went on a date?”
“Look who’s talking, Ms. ‘I’m sitting at home with my computers on a Friday night.’”
“Going out on the weekend is highly overrated,” Pru replied serenely. “Anyway, we weren’t talking about me. We were talking about you.”
“And I’m telling you that Caleb Lowe is a client and nothing more.”
Was she protesting too much?
Maybe. If forced, she would admit that she found Caleb attractive. But there was also something about him that didn’t feel right, even if she couldn’t quite put her finger on what it might be.
“Well, he won’t be a client forever,” Pru said, her voice way too cheerful. “Then we’ll see how you really feel about Mr. Hottie McHotterson.”
“He could be gay,” Delia said.
Not that she got that vibe from him, despite the perfectly coiffed hair and the expensive watch.
“He could,” Pru agreed. “But you don’t think so.”
“No. Anyway, none of this is super-urgent. I just thought it would be a good idea to find out a little more about the guy in case there’s something weird here that I need to be careful about.”
Of course, if she was really trying to be careful, she would have turned down his offer of dinner…or maybe even told him that she didn’t think she could help him with his house-hunting quest and that he should find another agent.
But it wasn’t until they’d gone to the house on Pueblo Street together that she’d even started to sense there might be more about Caleb Lowe than met the eye, way too late to tell him he should work with a different realtor.
“I’ll keep poking at it,” Pru said. “If I find anything, I’ll let you know. Maybe we can get together for margaritas on Sunday night?”
