“Why not?” Art had told Amanda yesterday that a real estate agent’s livelihood depended on their phones.
“A random, fluke thing. Marcy left early on that Friday and took a last-minute flight south for the weekend. By the time Marcy returned to the office on Monday, the homeowner had called again. This time demanding to speak with someone who would get the job done.”
Amanda could fill in where that had wound up. “Which is how Christine came to get the listing.”
“That’s right. I’m just grateful the homeowner called again. At least the firm received the listing. She could have gone somewhere else.”
“And now that Christine’s dead, who will handle the account?” Amanda gave herself one guess.
“Marcy.” Art spoke slowly.
“Then Marcy benefits from Christine’s death.” Nowthatstrengthened Marcy’s motive to kill her.
“Yes, yes, I suppose so.”
Trent angled his head, his gaze on Art. “Can you tell us how Marcy handled it when she first realized she missed out on the listing?”
“I can, and it wasn’t well. But still, I’m going to repeat myself here. I could never see her killing Christine over it.”
Amanda would determine that. “Is Marcy in the office?”
“Not at the moment. I could call her?—”
“Don’t worry about it.” Sierra returned sniffling with puffy eyes. “Marcy should be here any minute.”
As if on cue, the front door opened and a woman in her late thirties walked in with an aura of confidence and superiority. A huge purse was hooked over one of her shoulders, but it wasn’t the weight of it that had her stopping in place. She’d set her gaze on Amanda and Trent while never meeting their eyes.
“Ms. Maxwell,” Amanda said, recognizing her from the framed photo. “I’m Detective Steele, and this is Detective Stenson. We have some questions for you concerning Christine Lane.”
Marcy adjusted the strap of her bag. “What about? Did you find her?”
“She was murdered,” Sierra spat out, and Amanda winced. She’d have preferred to break that news herself.
“She waswhat?” Marcy’s eyes widened before she turned them on Amanda. Her mouth parted. No words came out.
Art and Sierra remained quiet now.
“It would be best if we could speak somewhere private,” Amanda told the real estate agent.
“You can use the conference room, Marcy,” Art told her.
“Ah, sure, this way.” Marcy took them to a fair-sized office with a table and six chairs. She set her huge bag on a chair and sank into the one next to it.
“We understand that you and Christine had a bit of a rivalry going,” Amanda began.
“Sure. But you said she’s dead…murdered? Are you sure it was her? Sometimes people get it wrong.”
Amanda blamed shock for such an oddball reaction. “We are, yes. She was found inside the house on Charmed Court.”
Shadows passed over Marcy’s eyes, and she licked her lips.
“We heard that listing was going to be yours.” Amanda laid the bait to see if it would get a nibble.
“It should have been.”
“And why wasn’t it?” It would be interesting if she told them the truth as they just heard it from Art or made up her own version.
Marcy gave them the same account, and added, “When Christine got the call, she should have put it over to me. But she didn’t. It wasn’t fair. Dominique Sharp tried to reach me first.”
