and took up position across from her.The real estate agent was in his late thirties with light brown hair, hazel eyes, and the world's cheesiest smile. She always wondered who had the wider, whiter smiles—movie stars or real estate agents.
They shook hands. They had met once before, at the office of the lawyer who had handled the estate of Marge Johnson, a church member who had died the year before and left her possessions to various church staff and members. To Cindy she had left a house.
While Cindy appreciated the gesture enormously, the house was too large for her needs and she was afraid of what the upkeep costs were going to be. Gary O'Connell had been the Realtor recommended to her.
"How are you doing today, Cindy?"
"Not bad, you?"
"I'm still in business so I can't complain. At least not too loudly," he joked.
She smiled. "I've been meaning to ask you. Any relation to the pub here?"
He nodded. "My brother Chris owns this place."
"Well, tell your brother I'm a fan of his corned beef sandwiches."
"Let me guess. You have them once a year."
"More like once a month," she said with a smile. "I told you, I'm a fan."
"I will be sure to pass that along."
"Thanks."
He gave her that cheesy smile again, then pulled a folder out of his leather satchel. "So, Cindy, let's get started. I've brought some paperwork for you to sign and we'll talk about the process and what you can expect from it and from me."
"Thanks, I really appreciate it," she said, taking the papers."I've never sold a house before. I've never even owned a house before."
"I'll do everything I can to make the whole thing as painless as possible."
"What do you think the chances of even selling it right now are?"
"I'll be honest with you, not great. Still, we'll do all that we can."
"It must be a difficult time to be a real estate agent," she said as she started skimming the papers.
"What can I say? It's a killer market. Last agent standing and all that."
"Well, good luck," she said, glancing up.
"To both of us," he smiled.
The waiter came over and Cindy ordered a corned beef sandwich.
"The usual," Gary said, relinquishing his menu.
"That must be nice," she said as the waiter walked away.
"What?"
"To go somewhere often enough they know you and know what you want to eat."
"But on the other hand, it really throws people off if you're in the mood to mix it up a little and order something else."
They spent the next forty-five minutes talking and eating. Cindy listened as Gary outlined his plan for selling the house.
"How long have you been in real estate?" she asked when he took a breather.
"Fifteen years. I've mostly done commercial, but the last year and a half I've been forced to branch out and now I do residential as well."
"One-stop shopping."
"That's me. Hurry, hurry, hurry, step right up and satisfy all your real estate needs," he said, mimicking a midway barker.
She couldn't help but laugh. When they were finally finished she made her way back to the church feeling optimistic about her chances of selling the house.
Geanie was clearly relieved to see her and Cindy soon discovered that word of the accident had spread and she spent the rest of the afternoon fielding calls. Several times she wondered how much worse it was next door where Jeremiah's secretary, Marie, was probably having to explain to every member of the synagogue just what had happened to their rabbi. She felt sorry for them both.
By the time Cindy left work she was exhausted. When she got home, she walked into the kitchen, grabbed a marker from a drawer, and put a big red X over the day on the calendar.She then flipped ahead to May. Eleven weeks remained on her countdown to her Hawaii trip that she had planned for Memorial Day weekend. Eleven weeks to paradise. Eleven weeks to vacation. Eleven weeks to lose those last few pounds so she could wear a bikini.
She sighed. The bikini was probably a pipe dream. Still, she forced herself to make a salad for dinner instead of eating her leftover pizza from the night before. Once finished, she found herself fidgeting, not really sure what to do with the rest of her evening. She was too tired to work on a project and too amped up to watch television.
She finally opted to call Jeremiah and check in on him.
"Hello?" he answered, sounding a little groggy.
"Did they miss me at the hospital?" she teased.
"They did, but I covered for you."
"Glad to hear it. Are you okay?"
"Nothing some aspirin and a few days won't fix."
"Good. I was worried about you," she admitted.
"Did you hear anything more about the other driver?"
"No."
Her phone beeped in her ear. "Can you hold on a sec while I see who's trying to call?"
"Sure."
She pulled her phone away from her ear and looked at the caller ID.
Mark Walters.
A chill danced up her spine. Why would he be calling except to tell her that she was right and there was another killer on the loose?
2
JEREMIAH, IT'S MARK ON THE OTHER LINE. CAN I CALL YOU BACK?" CINDY asked, forcing herself to take a deep breath.
"Sure," Jeremiah said as she switched over.
"Hi, Mark."
"Hi, Cindy. How's the rabbi?"
"Fine," she said, flushing slightly. She didn't know why the question made her uncomfortable.
"Figured as much. Listen, we need to ask you some followup questions. You at home?"
"Yes."
"Great. See you in five minutes."
Cindy hung up and briefly debated calling Jeremiah back.Before she could, though, there was a knock on the door. She opened it to find Mark and Paul standing there,
