Page 113 of Almost Dead (The Cahills 2)

With an effort, she dragged her mind back to the problem at hand and, smoothing the skirt of her cream designer suit, pasted on a friendly smile. Mrs. Owens couldn’t be more than five feet tall, probably weighed less than a hundred pounds, but it was clear she was a force to be reckoned with as she tapped her cane along the carpet and worked her way toward Sybil’s work space.

“I’m glad to finally meet-choo,” she stated primly.

Was there a note of censure in her voice? Sybil inwardly sighed. They’d spoken on the phone two, maybe three times, but this was the first time the woman had actually made her way to the office.

“You can use my chair,” Sybil told her, as it was the only one around. She rarely invited clients to her desk, preferring to meet with them at a restaurant or at the hotel lobby down the street with its niches and alcoves and historical feel. Clients liked the smell of money, and so did Sybil.

“I’ll stand, if you don’t mind. Don’t really trust chairs with wheels.”

Suit yourself, you old harpy.

“How can I help you, Mrs. Owens?” Sybil asked politely.

“It’s Tilda. My friends call me Tildy. And you know how you can help me. I’ve told you enough times.”

All Sybil had heard was a long and loud rant about Tildy’s neighbor, the one who rented the little Berkeley house through Sybil’s company. For the measly commission Sybil had scored from the deal, it was a total disaster. Tildy was making her life a living hell.

“I told you she looked familiar, coming and going like all get out.” Tildy sniffed. “It’s that woman. The one on the news.”

“Which one?”

“The one that escaped from prison, y’know? Marla whatever her name is. I saw her going in and out of the house you rent, I did!” She tapped her cane hard on the floor, pushing its tip into the carpet with disdain. “And she nearly killed my cat! Poor old Mr. Timms! That woman doesn’t look where she’s going!”

Sybil drifted, wondering if the Lundeens were really going to be able to find new financing. That house they wanted was close to a million, and the down payment was going to kill them if their current lender backed out, which it looked like they were. Shit. What did she have to do to make a sale go through?

“You’re not listening!”

“I heard every word. Is your cat okay?”

“Traumatized, that’s what he is.”

“I’m not sure what you want me to do.”

“Call it in! Tell the police we got ’er!”

“Mrs. Owens—”

“Tildy.”

“Yes, Tildy…The woman who rented the house across the street is named Elyse…Hammonds, no, Elyse Hammersly. I checked her out. I’ve met her, and she is not Marla Cahill. She lived in Oregon, a suburb of Portland.”

“Huh. Well, she comes and goes at all hours of the day and night…sometimes doesn’t show up for days. And last night she was hauling somethin’. Looked like a kid to me, all bundled up in a big coat. The woman’s a menace. Nearly killed Mr. Timms.”

“Was the cat on Ms. Hammersly’s property?”

“He wanders.” The old woman shrugged her shoulders.

“But he’s not dead?” Sybil tried to be patient. She straightened the papers on her desk.

Tildy nodded emphatically, her permed hair scarcely moving, her chin stubborn. “Not yet! I’m telling you, that woman is a maniac!”

“She works odd hours, I think, but I’ll talk to her about the cat. In the meantime, it might be a good idea to keep Mr. Tom in the house.”

“It’s Mr. Timms.” Tildy squinted behind glasses that enlarged her eyes. “You just try to keep a cat in the house, miss. He’s been able to go outside since he was a kitten, and he’s not gonna stop now.”

“Sounds like the street’s dangerous.”

“Only since you rented to that maniac! She’s the reason Mr. Timms is short a few lives.”

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