The Private Eye

it, Dwight?”
    “That fancy real-estate man. You know. The guy with the pinkie ring. O'Connor,” said Dwight.

Chapter 11

    JOSH STOOD MOTIONLESS in the darkest shadows of the O'Connor Real Estate office. He had been there nearly three hours. It was two in the morning. Not a single car had moved down the main street of Peregrine Point for the past hour.
    One of the hardest things about this kind of work, Josh reflected, was the waiting. Of course, now that he was changing jobs, he wouldn't be spending many more nights like this one. He planned to spend his evenings curled up in bed with his new boss.
    He wondered when he should tell Maggie that he planned to stay at Peregrine Manor permanently— not just a month or two.
    Josh reached down absently to massage his aching ankle. Maggie had wanted to put an ice pack on it but he had told her there was no time for first aid. He didn't know how long O'Connor would wait for Dwight Wilcox to report, but Josh figured it wouldn't be long. When Wilcox didn't show. O'Connor would get nervous. And when he got nervous, he would most likely want to destroy anything that could be used as evidence.
    Josh had already amused himself going through the files with a tiny penlight. He could have done the search without the light if it had been necessary—there was enough of a neon glow filtering in through the windows to illuminate much of the office interior.
    He had found what he was looking for inside a small, locked drawer. He had the file in his hand.
    Josh heard the soft purr of the Mercedes engine from a block away. His body responded with the adrenaline rush that always went through him at times like this.
    O'Connor parked the silver Mercedes outside the office and got out. Josh watched as Clay glanced quickly around and then dug his keys out of the pocket of his expensively styled trench coat. He was so nervous he dropped them on the sidewalk.
    His head ducked deep into his upturned collar, Clay hurried to the front door of the office and shoved a key into the lock. He didn't bother to turn on the lights.
    Josh watched from the shadows as Clay headed unerringly across the room to the small, locked drawer. He waited until he heard O'Connor's sharply indrawn breath.
    “Looking for this?” Josh reached out and switched on the light. He idly slapped the file of papers he was holding against his leg.
    “January!” Clay stared at the file, his mouth working. “What the hell are you doing here? You're trespassing. I'll have you arrested.”
    “Will you?” Josh strolled over to the desk and sat down behind it. He opened the file folder and glanced at the incriminating paperwork in front of him. “Not exactly a routine multiple listing, is it, O'Connor? But, then, Maggie had no intentions of selling in the first place. So you tried to convince her.”
    “What the hell are you talking about?” Clay's face was turning an ugly shade of red. He was sputtering. “That file is private property.”
    “This file,” Josh said coldly, “is an agreement to sell Peregrine Manor quite cheaply to a New York development firm.”
    “There's no thing wrong with an offer like that. Real-estate people are always soliciting clients. It's the way we make our living.”
    “Yeah. Except that the manor isn't for sale. And you knew it.” Josh flipped through the paperwork.
    “Hell of a commission for you in this, isn't there, O'Connor? Not the usual six percent.”
    “It's a finder's fee,” O'Connor raged. “Perfectly legitimate.”
    “Only if the manor was actually for sale. And only if you had informed the seller of the true value of the property. Which you did not, did you?” Josh slanted O'Connor an interested look. “You didn't tell anyone, including Maggie, what the New York firm was really willing to pay for that stretch of land, did you? When did the New Yorkers first put out feelers?”
    “They expressed an interest shortly after Agatha Gladstone died,” Clay replied stiffly. “Nothing out of the ordinary about that.”
    “Except that you forget to mention their interest to Maggie. Instead, you decided to see if you could interest the New York crowd in a real steal of a deal. You'd get the land for them dirt cheap and in exchange they would pay you a fat finder's fee. Nice work if you can get it.”
    A speculative gleam appeared in O'Connor's eyes. Josh could read the look on the other man's face, even in the dim light. He had seen it often enough before on the faces of