Entering her office, this is what I learned: when you gross 6 percent of $23 million annually, you can decorate your personal space any way you want. Hers was understated elegance, like the public area in a high-class hotel, only with a number of personal touches thrown in. There were fresh flowers on her desk, and I could see angled silver picture frames that probably showcased family members: husband, children, a goofy, lovable dog rescued from the pound.
She offered me a seat on a couch upholstered in dove gray. The cushions must have been filled with down because I sank with a sigh of air. She sat in a matching chair, just close enough to suggest intimacy without invading my personal space. The coffee table between us was glass and chrome, but most of the other furnishings were antique. “Janie’s talked about you so often, I can’t believe our paths have never crossed,” she said.
Oh dear. I don’t know anyone named Janie, and I was just about to pipe up and confess when I realized what she’d actually said was “Cheney.” I felt my head tilt metaphorically, and then the penny dropped. My mouth didn’t actually flop open, but I was momentarily without speech. This was Cheney Phillips’s mother. I remembered then that while his father was X. Phillips of the Bank of X. Phillips, his mother sold high-end real estate. All I could think to say was, “I need help.”
“Well, I’ll do what I can,” she said without missing a beat.
I described the situation as succinctly as possible, starting with the phone call from Hallie Bettancourt and moving on to our meeting. I repeated the lengthy tale of woe she’d laid on me, and then detailed Detective Nash’s subsequent revelation about the marked hundred-dollar bills. I capped the recitation with my confusion when Vera assured me the Clipper estate had been empty for years.
I could see her curiosity mount as mine had, point by point, including the fact that the phone numbers Hallie had given me were nonoperant. When I finally paused, she took a moment to reflect.
“She went to a great deal of trouble to pull the wool over your eyes,” she said.
“And it worked like a charm. Honestly, she didn’t have to persuade me of anything. She offered me the bait and I took it. I thought her relationship with Geoffrey was odd—assuming she has a husband by that name—but I didn’t doubt for a minute she’d given birth to a son out of wedlock and put the child up for adoption. It didn’t even occur to me to question the fact that she hoped to make contact with him while keeping her husband in the dark. I quizzed her on a point or two, but I didn’t really dig into the story. When she cautioned me to be discreet, it all made perfect sense.”
“I suppose in your line of work, clients are keen on discretion.”
“Always,” I said. “What I don’t understand is how she got into the house. She had to be in cahoots with someone in real estate, didn’t she? I mean, I can’t think how else she could manage it.”
“Could she have broken in?”
“No evidence of it that I saw. At the same time, I’m assuming anyone with the right combination could open the lockbox on the property.”
“True. All that’s required for access is to dial it in. Our system’s ancient. Some companies are moving to a new device that utilizes an electronic ‘key’ and keeps a running log of which agents have come and gone, but that’s a year or two in the future for us, which is no help to you now.”
“In the meantime, what’s the procedure?” I asked. “I mean, suppose someone has a client who wants to see the house? Then what?”
“The agent checks the MLS . . . the Multiple Listing Service,” she amended when she saw my look. “Standard instructions are ‘LB/cf,’ which means ‘Lockbox, call first,’ or ‘LB/apt,’ meaning an appointment is required. In the case of the Clipper estate, all the agents know the house is empty, so no one bothers with either one.”
“So you’re saying anyone and everyone has access.”
“As long as they’ve been given the combination.”
“In other words, you couldn’t just stand there punching in numbers randomly, hoping to hit it right.”
“I suppose you could if you were lucky,” she said. “Come to think of it, how did you get in?”
I made a face. “I hauled off and smacked the lock with a chunk of wood, knocking it to kingdom come. I’ll be happy to pay to have the lock replaced.”
“Don’t worry about it. I’ll have Nancy take care of it. She was given the listing because she’s worked here for all of two months and she’s low man on the totem pole. She’ll be thrilled with the mission. We can stop by her office and I’ll introduce you on the way out.”
“She’s not here.”
“Of course she is.”
“Really? I thought she was gone. Kim said she had clients in from out of town and she was off showing property.”
“I don’t know where she got that. Nancy’s right around the corner.”