Lie, Lie Again - Stacy Wise Page 0,93
could be as laid-back as Amelia. She could picture her flying down a mountain on skis and having a beer with the guys after. But she saw herself sitting on the chairlift, afraid to get off, faking confidence. She wondered if everyone faked it sometimes.
Sylvia cracked the car window as she sat in the Stone-May parking lot, her newest burner phone in hand. How she adored these gadgets. They were just so convenient. This one had a postage stamp stuck to the back—a reminder that it was strictly for calls to Patrick Sharp.
She glanced at her watch. Only twenty minutes left of her lunch hour. She typed Patrick’s number. The phone rang twice before he answered.
“Patrick Sharp here.”
“Hi, my name is Ann Travis, and I’m calling about the property you have listed on Mockingbird Lane in Venice.”
“Yep, that one just went on the market. There’s a lot of versatility with the property.”
“That’s the impression I got when researching it. I’d like to come take a look. Is there a time that works for you early next week?”
“I’ll let you know up front that we’re only considering serious inquiries. The seller doesn’t want to waste his time.”
“Nor do I,” she said, copying his supercilious tone. “I own several income properties on the Westside, and I’m always scouting for good investments. Google me if it makes you feel better.”
“I apologize. It’s been a busy morning with calls from people who saw the sign and want to know if one of the units is for rent. They can’t even read. Anyway, you said your name is Ann?”
“Yes. Ann Travis.” She rattled off the number for the burner phone. “I’m out of town until Monday night, but I can be available Tuesday morning.”
“How about Tuesday at noon? I’ll meet you there.”
“I’ll see you then. Have a good weekend.” She ended the call and smiled. Of course, she would cancel the meeting at the last minute due to a delayed flight, but she would talk numbers big enough to keep him salivating. And more important, good old Johnny Cat would ignore other potential offers. And then she would drag it out for as long as she could without garnering any suspicion. If Mr. Sharp googled Ann Travis, he’d find she was quite the player in the real estate world. And there wasn’t a remote chance he could link her to Sylvia.
She took her own phone and called Jonathan’s number. He answered on the first ring. “I’m surprised you didn’t call the day the sign went up. I thought it would conjure some excitement among all of you.”
“Indeed. Everyone’s talking about it, Jonathan. Was that your wish? To surprise us?”
“Nah, things just moved faster than I anticipated.”
She bristled but forced a smile as she spoke. “I suppose I can understand that. You seem like someone who seizes a good opportunity when he sees it. And to be honest, as much as it might not be ideal for me, I respect your savvy business skills.”
“Thank you.” She could practically see him preening. Blergh.
“I understand I may need to find a new place to live, but I don’t want to start the search prematurely. If you have a serious buyer, do you mind letting me know so I can have a heads-up?”
“I can do that. Matter of fact, my real estate agent just texted me about something he set up for Tuesday.”
“Wow. So soon?”
“The property is a hot commodity.”
She giggled flirtatiously. His ego would certainly assume she was imagining him as the hot commodity. “Obviously. Thanks for letting me know, and please do keep me updated. If I can stay abreast of things, it’ll help with the timing of when I start seriously looking for a new place.”
“I can do that. Happy to help.”
“Thanks,” she cooed before ending the call. Now Ann Travis could always be one step ahead of the game.
Riki wiped down the last table with a disinfecting wipe and moved to the sink to scrub her hands free of green paint and germs. St. Patrick’s Day was officially over for Room Fourteen. Thank God. She’d decided to pass out prizes to every child. It felt like the only fair thing to do. How could anyone compete with Darcy Trainor’s trap? Everyone knew her parents had done the entire thing. And thanks to the box of auction prizes Mrs. Fitzsimmons had left behind, she hadn’t had to spend a penny. Riki dusted her hands on her jeans before gathering her bag. With any luck, Mrs. Trainor