I'll Protect You (Clueless Resolutions Book 1) Page 2

  The location was a bit of a drive from East Wayford but both felt that privacy from their community was what they needed at this time. They had met here several times in the past and, judging by the small number of patrons that frequented the place, they figured that no one from their circle of acquaintances would know it existed. Local shell fishermen were the main supporters.

  Most times when they had come here the twosome felt that the quiet anonymity of the setting was very romantic. Why, this tiny, dark and weathered seaside bar even had red and white checkered, plastic-reinforced table cloths on the round, shaky tables for two. A single candle jammed into the neck of an old wicker-covered Chianti bottle adorned each of the four tables.

  Fine dining was not their reason for coming here. They never dared to venture past cold-cut sandwiches in plastic wrap which they picked from a glass-front refrigerator case, and bagged potato chips. They drank beer from the bottle after having wiped the tops upon opening.

  Feeling the calm and warmth of being together, here in this place, provided some solace today. Both Maggie and Max were anxious over the recent shake-up of the business scenario with which they had become accustomed during the last few years. They were two individuals doing extremely well, successful and independent in their respective occupations, and they got pleasure from the comfort of their compatibility. This feeling coincided with the warm and mutually satisfying occasional sex they enjoyed. It was a feeling of permanency, a personal completeness that neither had known before they met.

  “I can’t stand this guy, detective Salvadore.” Maggie related. “He gets all red when he’s talking to you and he doesn’t look directly at you. Not only that, but he constantly fidgets and pulls his pants around his crotch like he’s wearing real prickly woolen jockey shorts, or something. Yuck!” Max chuckled at this charmingly graphic depiction.

  “How did your discussion with Francine go?” he asked.

  “Well, I’ve got to tell you, that woman is a real trip. By closing time she looked like hell, as if she hadn’t slept for days” related Maggie. She went on to tell Max about how frazzled and paranoid Francine was about the police coming to the office. They had questioned her about Maggie’s appointment schedule. They had asked how many people were on her office sales staff. They had even asked Francine herself whether she went out on showing appointments and when her last appointment was. At that point, Francine cut off the conversation with Lt. Salvadore, she had told Maggie.

  “I get the sense that Francine has something to hide,” Maggie continued, “Since she hired me eight years ago, I can’t shake the feeling that her attitude toward me is guarded. It’s much different than her relations with the rest of the crew. They are all older and I was in my 20s back when I started working there. Maybe it’s the generation gap, I don’t really know. Once in a while she’ll bring up something about the past, and then watch my reaction to what she said.”

  As they finished downing their meals and beverages, Max went into the details of his meeting with Carl, and how, for the first time he felt as though he was being quizzed or tested, much in the way Maggie had just described.

  They had finished the ham and cheese sandwiches by now and the beer bottles were down to foam at the bottom. As they sat gazing over the flickering candle, into each other’s eyes, Maggie’s thoughts flashed back to that time in June, 2002, when she and Max had been coupled up for their second, or third, house inspection together.

  The subject house was furnished, but unoccupied. The owner, an elderly widow had passed away, leaving no apparent heirs, but leaving a sizable outstanding mortgage balance.

  Having completed the inspection, Max would now recommend the minimum price which could be set at auction, including the base fee to Jenson & Associates. Maggie would negotiate with the mortgage lender to get agreement with that price, plus a minimized flat fee commission to Stanley Realtors. An agreement document would then be signed by all parties to proceed to auction.

  On that fateful day at the vacant house, while standing in the darkened entrance hall exchanging goodbyes, and with Maggie ready to lock up the property, the couple’s eyes met. For a blissful interlude, time stood still. Max dropped his attaché case as Maggie lost a grip on everything she had in her hands. Locked in an embrace, a passionate kiss rendered them both delirious. Floating in a magical instant, both completely oblivious to the possibility of anyone infringing on this moment, they disrobed each other as they waltz-stepped to a nearby sofa. Then, and there, the smitten lovers proceeded to make frenzied, passionate love until, both exhausted, they rolled apart onto the carpeted floor.

  Their histories with personal intimacies differed but, before they met, neither of them were neophytes in romance. Max had been involved with several lady friends over the years, a few of which were serious affairs. Maggie was once engaged to a young man whom she had known since they were high school classmates. This was before she started as a business major in college and he had entered a distant engineering school. The separation during their first semesters showed each of them that they could actually exist without daily contact with the other. They had decided to put their engagement on hold for a while. Maggie finally decided to return the engagement ring shortly after their third semesters. She had dated other men intermittently since. Neither Maggie nor Max, however, had experienced the surprisingly intense feelings which exploded during that first, amazing, intimate contact with each other.

  Now, almost four years later, Maggie was focusing her thoughts in the present. Enveloped by the setting of the quaint, familiar meeting place in the tiny seaside bar together with Max, she felt warm and comfortable. These thoughts were not Maggie’s alone. At the present time and place Max was re-living that special moment in his mind as well. He dropped a twenty dollar bill on the table, an amount which was twice the inexpensive hand written tab, and they left to find a motel.

  Chapter 3

  Max’s and Maggie’s business activities were not unusual. The demand for their field of expertise was increasing nationally in connection with home ownership financial difficulties. The full description of their specialty can only be described in rather technical terms, but, suffice it to say that news accounts regarding the discovery of the corpse could impact their lives negatively due to police involvement and public exposure.

  The two specialists were good at what they did and they took gratification from the fact that they helped many financially distressed business owners and home owners in their community to get through a bad time in their lives. Stanley Realty and Jenson & Associates both benefited from, and appreciated, the business generated by the excellent reputation of these two knowledgeable and skillful professionals.

  Although they practiced exactly what many similar real estate marketing and financial professionals were practicing, Maggie’s and Max’s unique dilemma existed in the fact that, while they represented separate employers they were deliberately, and almost exclusively, working together. Both of them were salaried employees and therefore were profiting along with their respective employers.

  Max and Maggie lived separately and maintained completely separate personal finances, but they could still be accused by their employers, based on the appearance of collusion, of unfair business practices. Merely an accusation itself could jeopardize the good reputation they had achieved.

  The potential risk involved was mutually nagging at their consciousness but the couple dealt with the situation in different ways. Maggie tended to take a somewhat dismissive ‘let the chips fall where they may’ attitude toward worrying about their working arrangement. Whenever the subject came up she thought to herself, if it works, why fix something that isn’t broken?

  Max, on the other hand, had a broader experience in the business world and, probably as a carryover reflex from his training as a military officer, was prone to being more pragmatic and proactive in dealing with human nature in general. He was seldom caught off guard and his tendency was to ‘circle the wagons’ when he se
nsed a looming crisis.

  The strangeness of Max’s recent conversation with Carl, and Maggie’s weird description of her talk with Francine, exaggerated the concern they both had.

  That Friday evening the TV news started with a press release to the local media. It was announced as follows:

  “The body of a Caucasian man in his fifties was discovered early Thursday evening in a vacant house on 230 Whitmore Lane, East Wayford. The body was found by real estate personnel handling the sale of the property. The identity of the deceased is being withheld pending notification of family.

  The owner of the vacant house is Harriett Haverville, an 89 year old widow. She is not in residence there at this time. The cause of death is unknown, pending a report from the State Medical Examiner.

  Detective Lieutenant Joseph Salvadore, a nine year veteran of the East Wayford police force, has been assigned as the investigating officer of the unexplained death.

  According to a spokesperson for the real estate brokerage handling the sale, the house has been on the market for 6 months but remains unsold. An auction of the property is planned by the court appointed manager of the estate. The property has been taken off the market and the auction arrangements are being delayed, pending the completion of the police investigation.

  If any persons have seen anyone suspicious in the surrounding area within the past week, or have any information concerning the matter, please contact the East Wayford Police Department.”

  Chapter 4

  Max was having a toast and coffee breakfast while going over some paperwork that his accountant had sent him. He was thinking back to 2001, the year that he purchased the apartment building on US Route 1A, known locally as White Boulevard.

  Only three of the eight apartment units were occupied. The previous owner had not kept up on the maintenance and had pressured his tenants to pay their rents in cash. The poor management procedures ultimately led to a threat of foreclosure from his mortgage holder. Max contacted him and offered to buy the property. The seller balked, but eventually he agreed to sell.

  Max and his lender negotiated a financing commitment and he had the apartment units renovated, exterior repairs made, grounds re-landscaped and a new heating/cooling system installed. He moved into a top floor apartment and set up one of the bedrooms as a home office.

  A local realty office was charging reasonable fees at the time and was hired as the exclusive rental agent for the property, known now as Hargrove House, a Limited-Liability- Company with C. Maximilian Hargrove as the Sole Proprietor. Within three weeks, six units were rented. A downsized, one bedroom basement apartment, on the same level with a heating/cooling room, a utility room, and a coin-operated laundry room, remained vacant.

  The accounting papers that Max was scanning, this April morning, showed a change in his rental operation dating back to 2004. He thought back to that one evening at Jerry’s Pub, as he was having a late supper and martinis, an old acquaintance which Max hadn’t seen since his army days in Kuwait, approached him.

  “Captain Hargrove, I presume” he said along with a brisk salute.

  “Sergeant Grover!” exclaimed Max, “Skip the salutes; I left that back at the discharge station a long time ago.”

  Bruce Grover had been in charge of maintenance of the barracks at the last base where they served on active military service during the “Desert Storm” campaign in Iraq. Max invited Bruce to sit and ordered him a beer.

  Bruce Grover was a civilian now, and he was in the area looking for work. Grover was a drifter, and still a bachelor. He was ill-at-ease with people in general. He was a stocky man of medium height, in his late forties. His head had had lost most of its hair.

  Although he was heterosexually inclined, he did not have an abundance of respect for females. Rejection by the opposite sex, socially, was a common occurrence with Grover but he compensated by doing business with prostitutes. They were paid to be civil and they usually were, at least until his time was up.

  Max and the old acquaintance spent time reminiscing about military days, the only thing they had in common, and they parted ways around 10:00 o’clock. Having given Bruce Grover a business card, Max told him he would check around for possible employment and suggested that Bruce call him in a few days. When Grover called Max, a week after their reunion at Jerry’s, they agreed to meet at Max’s apartment building.

  Max had been handling the daily dealings with tenants himself and had hired helpers to assist in the maintenance chores over the years since he bought the property. It was eating into his business pursuits, time wise, and he had been thinking of hiring a full time maintenance man.

  Grover drove up in a high-mileage, twenty-year-old pickup truck that showed wear, but was mechanically sound. Max showed Grover around and offered him a job as maintenance and grounds keeper with a moderate allowance and use of the vacant basement apartment at no cost. Grover accepted, ready to move in and start immediately.

  A storage barn behind the building served as an out-of-sight garage for the truck. Max felt that the dilapidated looking truck distracted from the overall upscale image of the apartments.

  Maggie had met Bruce Grover and, having heard about how he and Max knew each other, and after being pressed afterwards by Max for her initial impression, she gave a rather tactful non-opinionated response. In reality, Maggie was rather repulsed by Grover but, since she wasn’t sure of Max’s attitude toward him, she reserved any judgments until she came to know Grover a little better.

  Max had finished his paperwork and was leaving the apartments for an appointment this Saturday morning. Bruce Grover, returning from a trip to the village center for coffee and a newspaper, pulled into the apartment driveway and circled around to his parking area behind the main building. As he stepped out of his truck, Max called out his name.

  “Hey Bruce, hold up a minute.” Startled, Bruce turned and waved as Max approached him. “I’m on my way to an appointment and I just got a call from Unit 2A,” Max said, “They’ve got a stoppage in the shower drain again. Isn’t that the woman with the big hairdo?” he asked.

  “Yeah, right, I’ll check it out.” Grover responded brusquely. At that, he turned on his heel and walked toward the rear entrance to his apartment.

  Max was surprised at Grover’s abruptness. He had noticed a recent change in Grover’s demeanor. As Max had come to know him, he felt that Grover did not have a confidence about him that one would expect from someone of his age and experience. A straightforward conversation with Grover was hardly ever completed with direct eye contact. One could readily come to the conclusion that something was being withheld, but one would not care to know what it was. Simply put, Grover was not a “people person”

  The recent change which Max noticed was that Grover had become almost pompous. He seemed to act as though he had finally risen up, from his self-imposed inferiority, to everyone else’s level. It even got to the point that he seemed cocky, even smug.

  Perhaps Bruce is getting ready to move on. He is a drifter, after all. Max thought as he walked to his car. He was late for an inspection, with Maggie, of a commercial property which was in receivership. On the way to the appointment Max kept thinking about what his options were if Grover decided to quit.

  Obviously the free apartment unit, part of his compensation, would have to be vacated. He thought. This didn’t bother Max too much.

  His mind flashed back a few weeks to when there had been a complaint about noise during the late hours from the couple living in the apartment unit directly above Grover’s apartment. Also, a complaint came from another tenant, an older woman, who voiced her concern over a loud argument which she had “overheard through the apartment door” while she was coming out of the laundry room. This hadn’t concerned Max then because he thought the woman might have been eaves-dropping. Both of the incidents, however, had occurred within recent weeks, ever since a woman Grover referred to as his girlfriend, had moved in to share his apartment. Although Max had talked with Gro
ver concerning routine maintenance matters during this time, the new occupant had not been mentioned.

  As he drove on, Max mentally reviewed what he knew about the new girlfriend. Always concerned about who was living in his apartment building, he had inquired about her and had gotten this information from Jerry Pippin:

  Carina “Carrie” Slavonic was a young woman who had recently been befriended by Grover and had moved in with him. Her parents were emigrates from their homeland in Yugoslavia to Great Britain and had established residence in London, England. From London she came alone, to New York City, on an educational visa. Why she had shown up in East Wayford was not known to Jerry Pippin.

  Max had only recently met Carrie when, as he was leaving for his office one morning, he noticed her and Grover talking animatedly in the apartment driveway. She was in her Porsche, starting to leave, and Grover, as he was leaning into the driver’s window, give her a kiss! When Grover noticed Max, he whacked his head on the car door frame as he jerked back to an upright standing position in the driveway. He tried to wipe a smear of lipstick from his face with his shirt sleeve as he was rubbing the sore spot on the back of his head.

  My god, he’s jerking around like a puppet with the strings crossed! Max thought.

  “Hey Bruce, have I met the new guest?” Mac queried mockingly.

  “Oh yeah, uh, no, I mean this is my girlfriend Carrie, Carrie this is my friend Max” he said, as the cars idled next to each other.

  Max got out of his car and went over to get a close up view of the attractive young driver. Did he say girlfriend? What would a young, good-looker like her see in a dead-ender like Bruce Grover? Max pondered.

  A generous whiff of heavy perfume wafted out of the window of the Porsche.