Page 5 of Taking a Chance on Charlevoix
Finally the light above the conveyor belt began to flash and an alert sounded. Suitcases tumbled from the chute, slamming onto the belt. Craning her neck, Marlowe didn't see her turquoise suitcase.
“Clients? I think everything’s fine.” Sam’s voice slowed and the car engine shut off. Marlowe heard Bogart, Sam’s cat, give a plaintive wail from his carrier in the back seat. “I have the strangest feeling that something is different in this garage. I know this sounds weird but I think our shovel is gone. Of course I don't need it. We have a service that clears the driveway and walks. But other stuff in the garage seems out of place.”
It sounded as if Sam slammed her car door. Her sister’s words echoed through her cavernous garage, designed for two cars, a golf cart and a wood-working area that Kurt had never used.
“How could that be? Are you sure?” Marlowe scanned the bags swirling past her. Tired travelers pressed close and lifted their luggage from the conveyor belt before hurrying off. Most of the bags were black and Marlowe was glad that she’d switched to a bright color. But where was her turquoise bag with the big green palm tree? “Kurt is in Ibiza, right? Didn't you tell us that he was spending the holidays with his new girlfriend?”
She heard the jingle of keys as Sam entered her kitchen. Marlowe had visited her sister’s elegant home in Oak Brook. She could picture the white cabinets and the large double island where caterers served food for their many parties, which were often business related.
“Oh no. Oh my word!” Her sister sounded breathless.
“If something is wrong, get out of the house.” Her bag forgotten, Marlowe went on high alert.
“My copper pots.”
“The ones above the island?” A stunning collection of copper pots hung above Sam’s main island. They had cost Sam and Kurt a pretty penny, but Marlowe doubted that the power couple ever used them. Their careers kept them both so busy. Who had time to cook?
“Sam, say something.” Her sister's choked breathing was freaking Marlowe out. As she stood there worrying about what was going on in Sam's house, her own suitcase passed by. Stumbling toward it, she nearly knocked over a man, who threw her an exasperated look. Marlowe could hear Sam’s footsteps move through the kitchen and into the main house. One eye on her suitcase, she decided to wait for it to come around again.
“You won't believe this,” Sam finally gasped. “All of the leather furniture in my family room is gone. The slate covered coffee table. The brightly designed pillows we collected in Africa. Gone.”
Marlowe pictured Sam slumped in her arched doorway, staring at that huge stone fireplace that dominated the large room. Her tasteful gray leather furniture had been arranged in a wide arch in front of the massive stonework. “Were you burglarized?” What a horrible discovery.
“No. I think Kurt has been busy while I was away.” Sam's voice had turned bitter. “Good thing that I didn't leave Bogart here with a cat sitter. Kurt probably would have taken him too.”
“What a creep.” Her sister and Kurt Ramsey had been married for more than twenty years. In the past year, he’d turned into the rotten apple Marlowe had always suspected lay behind her brother-in-law’s ingratiating smile. “I don't think he and his new honey spent the holidays in Ibiza. No, they spent those days rearrangingourfurniture inhisnew house.”
Her voice rising and falling, Sam sounded furious. By that time, Marlowe’s suitcase was one of the few still spinning on the conveyor belt. Stepping up, she yanked it off and pulled up the handle. “You might want to check with Aunt Cate on the legalities of this.” Their aunt was a New York attorney and she would be a big help in sorting through this mess.
“You're right. I'll have to give Aunt Cate a call.”
“And make a list,” Marlowe suggested. “Walk around and take a careful inventory. Maybe you should change your locks.”
“Oh my word. What’s happened here? How could Kurt do this?” Was Sam crying? How Marlowe wished she could be with Sam right now to help her sort through this mess. That darn Kurt. Marlowe thought they’d had an amicable divorce.
“Let’s talk later, okay?” Grabbing the handle of her suitcase, Marlowe took off for the parking garage. “Have to find my car and get back to my place.”
“Sure, let's catch up tonight. I’m going to bring Bogart in. Get him settled.” Sam sniffed and then said, “Love you, Marlowe.”
The comment took Marlowe by surprise. In the past the sisters had often gone months without speaking, busy with their individual lives. But during the recent holiday together they'd made a pact that those separations wouldn’t happen anymore.
“Love you too.” Marlowe wished she was there to help. But her own problems were waiting back in Naples. And she was eager to deal with those. Dropping her phone into her purse, she was determined to switch to crossbody bags. No more of these huge designer purses or she'd end up like the older ladies with bad backs.
Older ladies. Is that what she was? Her footsteps slowed. Almost forty. How had this come so quickly? After the last three hours, she felt more like fifty. Maybe sixty.
“Okay, let’s talk tonight,” Sam said and the call ended.
“Pardon me.” Throwing back her shoulders, Marlowe threaded her way through the crowd and continued to the parking garage. In the dim, cool light, she could see her blue bayou BMW 850. Although she hadn't felt good about leaving her new convertible in the lot, it had seemed like a better option than taking an Uber to the airport forty minutes away.
The bright turquoise convertible sat in a spot she’d known was covered by a camera. What a relief. She didn’t think she could handle more problems today. They didn't have many thefts at the Southwest Florida International Airport, but you never know. The conversation with Sam had eroded her trusting spirit. Waving a foot under the trunk, she waited until it popped open. Then she carefully stored her bag and carryon inside.
The drive home was short. More than once, she considered calling Jenna from the highway. Marlowe wanted to clear up this confusion and fast. But what would she say if Jenna insisted that she’d sent a revised schedule? Staying in the right hand lane while her mind worked, Marlowe was also tempted to callBobby Jensen. Certainly he would be able to tell her what had happened.
But was she crazy? Traffic raced past her as her mind churned. No way was she going to let him know she was out of the loop. In taking on his multimillion dollar property, she’d presented herself as competent. An experienced realtor capable of representing him in the best light. Being at loose ends was not a comfortable feeling for Marlowe Quinn. No way would she admit to that.
By calling him, she’d be admitting ignorance. Marlowe was way too proud for that. Frustrated with the slow pace of the right hand lane, she hit the accelerator. The car leapt forward and she cruised to the open left lane. She had to get home and fast.
The contentment she’d developed over the holidays had evaporated. In its place descended a cloud of doom beneath Florida’s relentlessly sunny sky. As she drove, she kicked herself for tuning out the world for a few days. Being at the top of her game had a price. She'd always known that.
