Page 8 of Murder By the Millions
“Got it.” I logged the order on my cell phone. “Before I forget, have you heard a man named Jason Gardner wants to purchase the historic properties opposite the Congregational church?”
“I heard, and I’m not happy about it. It’s all Finette’s doing.”
Finette Fineworthy was the president of the town council.
“Speak of the devil incarnate,” Reika muttered.
I pivoted, expecting to see Jason, but instead I saw Finette sauntering into the coffee shop.
“Too bad she can’t Photoshop her ugly personality,” Reika said under her breath.
I snickered and stored the quip in my brain for future use.
Finette was a handsome woman in her late thirties who always sported a skirt suit. I’d seen her wearing the white one she was wearing on numerous times. She thought her legs were her best feature and liked to highlight them. In addition, she regularly slipped on a slew of bangles and an infinity bracelet. Trailing her was Ignatius Luckenbill II—Iggie to his friends— a real estate developer.
The twosome passed by us without glancing in our direction.
“I was reading Burt’s blog the other day,” Finette said.
“Burt the Cyber Buddy?” Iggie asked.
“The same.”
Neither Finette nor Iggie ever spoke in a dull whisper. They always wanted to be heard, as if by forcing people to pay attention, they raised their status.
“Love the gadgetry tips he shares,” Iggie said. “What’s new?”
Finette pulled a pen from her tote. “See this? It’s a digital pen that records whatever you hear, say, and write. It pairs with audio recordings or your mobile phone’s Notes app.”
“Love it.”
“I’ll send you a link.”
I said to Reika, “Why did you call Finette the devil incarnate?”
“She’s boastful. Her last exchange is a perfect example. I peruse Burt’s blog, and I get all sorts of tips, but I don’t brag about them. And I don’t buy everything he thinks is cool. Who has that kind of free cash? I think Finette does, hoping Iggie and others will be impressed.Pfft.She’s not hot stuff.”
Recently, I’d gotten to know Finette, because I’d attended a few town council meetings, plus she’d come to a neighborhood watch gathering I’d thrown at my house. She lived around the block from me. Generally, she was nice, but yes, she could be a braggart. I recalled a conversation at the neighborhood gathering where she told me how she’d come up through the ranks in the political sphere, working on real estate projects first as an assistant and then as a project boss. According to her, her tech savviness had given her a leg up. After she’d made a name for herself, she ran for office. I wondered if heading up the town council was as high as she aspired to go. Maybe she would set her sights on becoming mayor.
“Look how she swishes her tawny hair about.” Reika fingered her tight gray curls. “It’s vain.”
How do you really feel? I mused but didn’t voice the words.
“And don’t get me started on Iggie,” Reika continued. “He’s rude and crude and reminds me of Homer Simpson, with his florid cheeks and his rotund belly. How he can be as good at golf as he claims to be is unfathomable. And his thinning hair! He’s always patting it into place.” She mimed the action. “As if it’ll help. Ha!”
“Having good looks or a fit body doesn’t guarantee you can swing a club,” I teased. “However, I will agree with you about his character.”
I didn’t know Ignatius Luckenbill II well. He wasn’t a reader, and I’d never catered an event for him. Even so, he had a reputation for being a puffy blowhard with a kiss-my-tush attitude. I’d read accounts of him in the news. He’d made his mark as a real estate developer by putting many of his competitors out of business. Whenever he could, he’d maligned them. My father had once opined that Iggie’s father, from whom he’d inherited Luckenbill Construction, had been equally shrewd, with a take-no-prisoners approach.
“If only the police had proved he burned down his last project,” Reika said. “But, alas, the arson inspector couldn’t find any evidence. If I were a betting woman, I’d guess he’s wooing Finette so he can make a bid for the properties Mr. Gardner wishes to purchase.”
“I got the impression Jason had sealed the deal.”
“Jason?” Reika arched an eyebrow. “You’re on a first-name basis?”
I hooked my thumb over my shoulder. “We met a bit ago, when he stopped into Feast for the Eyes while Tegan and I were doing inventory.”
“Uh-huh.” She smirked. “Well, don’t call him a property owner yet. He still has permit hoops to jump through. If he doesn’t qualify, the properties will be back on the market, and I’ll do a full-court press to convince the preservation society donorsto scramble up the cash to make the highest bid and preserve the properties, as we’d intended. If you’ll excuse me, my aging bladder calls. I must use the loo.” She took Amira along.
