- People in Steele
Houses . . .
- By Pat
Christensen
Molly Burke combed impatient fingers through her short, honey-blond
curls while she waited out a stoplight. She was going to be late.
Again.
Not that it mattered, she supposed. She'd checked this couple
out and concluded that, at this stage, they were purely "lookie-loos,"
more interested in the process than the outcome.
But lookie-loos turned into serious prospects sometimes and she
couldn't afford to miss the chance that these two would.
Turning left on Doheny, she mused about what listings to show
them after this first one. Considering their apparent income,
she should be somewhere in the right price range, but there was
something about the woman, a hard-edged glint to her eyes that
said money was a very decided object. Maybe she should start
on the downscale end at first and save the nicer listings for
later. She'd know more, of course, after this first showing.
1122 Sunrise was the listing she always showed first. Nobody
ever made a serious offer on it, which was probably a good thing.
It was her "tester" house because, quite simply, it
had everything. Based on a client's reaction to the various attractions
of that house, she'd have a fair idea of what they were really
looking for.
She was in luck this afternoon. They were just pulling up to
the curb as she turned onto Sunrise herself. She swung her small
Subaru into the driveway and aimed for a point somewhere between
professional and perky as she hopped briskly out of her car.
"Hello again! I'm glad you found the place!"
The young woman frowned at that, but her husband seemed to take
it in stride. He offered Molly a warm handshake.
"Your directions were most adequate, Ms. Burke. We had no
difficulty finding the address." He had a softly-inflected
accent that she couldn't quite place. Her people were originally
from England and she prided herself on picking out the regional
accents of her father's homeland, but this was something else,
something she couldn't quite place. Still, it was a pleasant
voice and what was she doing standing here trying to decode it?
"Well then, shall we?" Without waiting for an answer
she turned up the short walkway leading to the front door.
"There's an entrance to the back door through the garage,
but I'd thought we'd go in the front. I think you'll like the
entryway," she told them, fishing a key out of her bag and
fitting it in the security lockbox hanging from the doorknob.
She took a bit longer fumbling with the lockbox than she absolutely
needed to, just to give them a chance to take in the façade
and the yard. The landscaping bordered on elegant, and the mullioned
bay window facing the street was impressive as well. She didn't
see any particular reaction from either of them that led her
to believe these would be significant to their choice, however,
so she finished opening the lockbox and then opened the front
door itself.
She was turning to usher them inside when a small compact car
screeched up to the curb, managing to end up both on the street
and the parkway before the engine was killed.
"Ah, Mildred," the husband called to the stout blond
woman, laboriously extricating herself from the front seat, "you're
late."
"Sorry," Mildred answered breathlessly, heading up
the walk. "I got lost coming out of the canyon again. That
darn side road always throws me off. So this is the place, eh?
Nice."
Molly Burke was only slightly nonplussed. Obviously they were
soliciting mother-in-law advice today. It might make her job
a tad more difficult down the line, but it wouldn't matter a
bit on this house. Hell, they could bring their cleaning lady
and their chiropractor along for the ride. Come one, come all
"Come in, please," she said, standing in the doorway
with her Professional Warm and Welcoming smile pasted in place,
"all of you."
The wife and the stout blond tag-along swept past her easily
enough, but the husband trailed along the front porch for a moment,
gazing out at the street with an oddly faraway look. Molly made
a mental note. Traditionalist. Neighborhood man. Liked pride
of ownership, probably into yardwork. Funny, he didn't look the
part, with that severely tailored $900-at-least suit, but you
never knew with some men.
He turned and caught her eye then. She turned The Smile up a
notch and gestured for him to precede her into the foyer, which
he did. She entered behind him, closing the door softly and standing
silent for a moment. The foyer tended to speak for itself.
But the wife was looking more at her husband than the parquet
floors, the graceful staircase, the matching wing chairs or the
Chippendale writing desk. She crossed to him and took his hand
with a silent, questioning look. His smile was meant to reassure,
but Molly had the feeling it had fallen short somehow. She made
another mental note. Power structure definitely patriarchal.
The wife might have some small say over the purse strings, but
Papa ruled the roost.
"Perhaps we could start with the living room," she
said smoothly. "It's just to the right." She led them
through a narrow set of double doors set with glass panes almost
top to bottom. The doors opened inward to reveal a long stretch
of soft crème carpeting. A Wedgwood sofa nestled against
the left wall which curved away just beyond the sofa to carry
the room a bit further back. At the far end of the room from
the doorway was a small brick fireplace flanked by bookshelves
and topped with a simple white marble mantle. Wedgwood-blue curtains
framed the bay window, which also boasted the same color on it's
seat cushions. Two antique-white upholstered armchairs flanked
the window, separated by a low, teak coffeetable and facing the
marble-topped ebony breakfront on the wall opposite the window.
The wife was pacing next to the breakfront. Every so often, she
turned to gaze at the window.
"That breakfront can be easily moved," Molly pointed
out, "and the carpet wouldn't show the impression if you
had it steamed. It's fairly new, only installed a year-and-a-half
ago, I believe."
The husband was in the far corner of the room now, peering through
the doorway into the room beyond, while mother-in-law-dearest
gazed in rapture out the bay window. She, at least, seemed impressed.
Molly crossed to the husband.
"This is the den," she said, reaching past him to flick
the lightswitch set along the wall just past the door.
In the soft glow of the overhead ceiling fixture, the mocha-colored
rug looked warm as hot chocolate on a cold afternoon. A pair
of heavy, high-backed leather armchairs, with their matching
oak side tables and matching leather footrests, dominated the
center of the room, but didn't quite dominate the ornate, roll-top
desk set next to the oak-topped fireplace. The room was high,
and the heavily-curtained windows on the far side of the room
ran floor-to-ceiling. Bookshelves covered three walls, also floor-to-ceiling,
their uniform face broken only where they passed the fireplace.
"There used to be one of those funny, old-fashioned globes
of the world in between those two windows, you know, the kind
that sits in a high stand," Molly pointed out. "But
I think the last owners moved it up to the attic. They thought
it was a little too much. I'm not so sure I agree, but in any
case, whatever furnishings they left behind, including what's
stored in the attic, come with the house, so you can make your
own choices." Fat chance she thought, watching him stroll
across to peer through the wine-colored drapes out the back window.
Fancy Dan here might look and he might like, but he'd never put
solid cash down on this place. Still, he seemed at home in this
room, comfortable and relaxed. She made a mental note. This one
needed one room to call his own in any house, a get-away spot.
Somewhere he could hide a wet bar and smoke a smelly cigar in
peace.
His better half was covering the perimeter of the room, studying
shelving, now peering into the desk, fidgeting with the small
compartment drawers. Fussy, that one. Looking for reasons not
to like. Their blond shadow had lowered herself into one of the
leather armchairs with a sigh of pure pleasure. Oh, yes. Mama
was loving this place. Maybe she intended to help them financially.
From the look of her dated tent-dress and scuffed shoes, she
certainly couldn't afford to buy it for them and Molly seriously
doubted she'd be much help in the down-payment department, either.
Time to move on.
"Shall we step this way and look at the other side of the
house, or perhaps even check upstairs?" she said, moving
with authority toward the hall door on the far side of the fireplace.
His-and-Hers were following obediently right behind, with Big
Mama chuffing along, bringing up the rear. She seemed a bit winded
from climbing up from the depths of that armchair. The stairs
ought to finish her, Molly thought with a twinge of vicious satisfaction.
"The house has four bedrooms and two baths, one a private
bath in the master bedroom," she said, pausing at the base
of the stairs. "It also features a finished basement and
a full attic." She mounted the stairs then with an graceful
stride, allowing her hand to trail lightly along the banister.
Let wifey try to match this performance. It was the elegant ascension
that got the young ones. They didn't know exactly how it was
done, but they were almost all bound and determined to master
it, even if it meant buying the house the staircase was located
in.
She glanced back over her shoulder. Wifey wasn't trying to copy
her glide. She was sauntering along casually, peering down over
the railing, gazing at the wall coverings around her, nonchalant.
Odd woman, Molly concluded. The Old Girl, still bringing up the
rear, didn't seem overly winded, either. She was doing the hand-trail
thing though. Pity she wasn't the buyer.
At the head of the stairs, Molly turned to the right. "This
small room here," she said twisting a doorknob and flinging
open the door, "would be perfect for a nursery. In fact,
I think that was how the last occupants used it." She stood
aside and let the Snookum Twins inside. The Old Dear gave her
a wide grin as she entered. It was a strain, keeping The Smile
in place sometimes.
The room was small and square. One corner of the ceiling sloped
down, following the angle of the roof. Father-Knows-Best was
flicking idly at the sky blue curtains, peering down at the side
lawn outside. The future Mother-of-the-Year had her head engulfed
in the small closet. Granny just sat herself down in the cherrywood
rocker, the room's only current furnishing, with a sigh of contentment.
Well, when you were built like her, Molly reasoned, you needed
to get off your dogs as often as possible.
"The floor in here is hardwood, very difficult to damage
and easy to clean. Of course, a throw rug might brighten things
up, even an area rug, but wall-to-wall doesn't seem right for
this space, don't you agree?" She paused. Whistler's-would-be-mother
gave her a companionable nod from the depths of the rocker. The
Earth Mother was busy examining the ceiling. It was Big Daddy
who finally turned to answer her.
"How extensive," he asked one eyebrow cocked inquisitively,
"are the grounds?"
There was no perceptible response to the blue-and-white sparkle
of the other small bedroom next door, or the delicate chintz
curtains and intricately-patterned rose carpeting of the guest
room across the hall. Perhaps these were die-hard Zero Population
Growth freaks with a privacy fetish and they never planned to
entertain overnight guests. Molly considered showing them a one-bedroom
starter home next outing. Space didn't seem to be a prime consideration
and elegance was not an option this crew seemed to crave.
Still she pointed out the walk-in linen closet and let them play
with the brass bathroom fixtures, a homebuyer's equivalent of
kicking the tires. And, of course, someone always flushed the
toilet, as if they expected something unusual to happen. It was
inevitable and it was Herself who did the honors this time around.
Molly was suddenly very tired and very homesick for her own split-level
ranch.
But she led the way back down the hallway to the master bedroom
instead. She opened the door and stood well back, letting them
move about the space on their own. Old Girth-and-Gumption didn't
seem to feel the space should be private. She fluttered on in
and plopped herself right down on the mahogany four-poster with
a huge sigh of relief and enjoyment.
The outer branches of her family tree orbited the perimeter of
the room, crossing and recrossing the soft, teal carpeting, looking
into the two walk-in closets, gazing inevitably past the lace
draperies out the windows into the back yard and popping in and
out of the master bath with its sunken whirlpool tub and marble
basin. The would-be master of the house tested the overhead ceiling
fan in the bedroom while his ball-and-chain flushed yet again.
Neither of them stepped out onto the small balcony overlooking
the back lawn, however.
As gently as her frayed nerves would allow, Molly finally reminded
them that they hadn't finished exploring the first floor and
led the little procession back down the staircase again, not
even bothering with the banister this time.
The dining room seemed to meet with some approval. So perhaps
they were entertainers after all. Dinner parties at any rate.
Madam walked around the glass-inset oak table with a speculative
look while her Lord-and-Master investigated the interior of the
china cabinet in the corner. Le Grand Dame simply landed on a
chair and gazed around expectantly, as if waiting for the maitre'd
to pop out of the woodwork with her appetizer. Molly realized
she was gritting her teeth and forced her jaws to unclench.
"Would you care to see the kitchen?" The entire group
brightened at this prospect. Maybe they really were hoping for
a snack. Molly wasn't the sort to set out tea and cookies, but
this time it might have been a good idea. She made a mental note
to herself for the next showing. Bring food.
"Almost all the kitchen fixtures are new, at least put in
within the last five years," she commented as she entered
the bright, airy kitchen that stretched along the width of the
house.
She noticed that the gentleman paced the length of the room,
keeping fairly well to the center of the space, his hands tucked
firmly in his pockets, while the future lady of the house fairly
goggled at the huge, side-by-side industrial-sized refrigerator/freezer.
"The former owners entertained frequently," Molly told
her, "and had this unit put in two years ago. They found
it useful and it takes up remarkably little space, really."
The Old Girl was still on her feet, for once, pulling open drawers,
peering into cabinets. Molly would have thought the butcher's
block table and hardwood chairs would have drawn her like a moth
to a flame.
"Two stoves?" His Lordship inquired. Molly smiled.
"The gas stove was here first, but with all the entertaining
they did, the previous owners opted for the solid-surface electric
model as well. I suppose it does seem a bit much, but you don't
have to keep both. Pick the one you like best and either discard
the other or donate it to a worthy charity. Both are in perfect
working order."
It was a useless exercise, Molly knew. The two stoves, which
even seemed a bit much to her, had stood side-by-side for the
past two years that she'd been showing the house and would probably
still be standing there five years down the line when she brought
more eager young hopefuls by to look. Charity would just have
to do without. But the words had been said so often, they'd become
almost a litany. Time again to move on.
"Through here is the basement," she said, pushing open
a small, narrow white door. "It's fully finished and has
been split into three main areas." She had the stairway
light on and was already descending, trusting that they would
be close on her heels. "The first area is a workroom. There
is a full-length workbench, an industrial-sized table vise and
table saw, two soapstone tubs and running water. The laundry
room used to be here as well, but the washer and dryer were moved
out to the breezeway area leading to the garage, and all that's
left is the tubs now. And the furnace, of course."
This last was unnecessary, as the huge furnace dominated it's
little corner of the world quite adequately. "There's also
a central air conditioning unit here, although at this time of
the year, it isn't turned on," Molly told them, indicating
the square mechanics squatting next to the furnace.
The delicate-blossom of the family was paying scant attention.
She had wandered over to the workbench, picked up a small wood-plane
and was turning it over and over as if she'd never seen a hand-tool
before. Old Mama was peering into the depths of the tub. And
the household handyman? He was stretching up to peer out the
ground-level windows set near the ceiling. Molly sighed, any
hope of this couple making it out of the lookie-loo stage fading
fast.
"There's also a recreation room in here," she said,
leading the way through another doorway. They filed in behind
her to stand in a small cluster on the unfortunate green shag
carpeting. There was nothing else to be seen here except a battered
dartboard and a small, copper-fronted fireplace with a black
flue poking up and out the back wall. "It could be worked
into quite a cozy little area, perhaps with a wet bar or even
a small pool table. All it takes is a little imagination."
They didn't look overly imaginative, so she led them through
the final doorway into a slightly smaller area. "This area
was mainly used for storage. It's well insulated and tends to
stay dry no matter how wet the conditions outside. This basement
doesn't leak. And back here," she pulled open a wooden door
set against one wall, "is where the previous owners stored
their firewood and other wood for projects and such. It's also
dry and cool, so the wood doesn't warp." The Terrible Trio
crowded into the small space with her and she found herself shrinking
away slightly. His Nibs began fiddling with the waist-high worksurface
set along the back wall, then bent over to look underneath.
"There's some sort of sink arrangement here, it seems,"
he pointed out.
"Yes," Molly told him. "I believe one of the previous
owners, not the most recent of course, used this as a darkroom.
That countertop is hinged so you can get at the tubs underneath."
Of course that meant he had to test the hinges. A faint chemical
smell wafted up. Molly felt her stomach begin to churn. He was
looking up now, at the ceiling.
"Two light fixtures," he said. "Makes sense."
Whatever that might mean, Molly thought to herself. "Perhaps
we should go up now and maybe take a look in the garage?"
Thank heavens they were all agreeable to this. She led them back
into the spotless kitchen with its wide black-and-white tiled
floor and headed toward the garage entrance.
"I'm sorry, Ms. Burke," the softly-inflected voice
said from behind. Here it was, she thought, stiffening slightly.
They weren't even going to go through the pretense of thinking
about it. Even if they didn't stop looking at listings, perhaps
she could turn them over to another realtor. She had a feeling
this group was only going to tie up her time and waste her energy.
But she had to go through the last, painful steps with them.
Pivoting on one foot, she turned to face them.
"Yes?"
"I wonder if you'd mind if my wife and I took a quick look
out back? In the yard?" He smiled at her disarmingly. "Alone?"
She turned The Smile on for him. "Certainly. It's right
through there." The Happily Marrieds swept out the indicated
door hand-in-hand, adorably enough, while she sank onto one of
the hardwood chairs at the butcher block table and rubbed her
throbbing temples. There was a soft rattling sound behind her.
She turned to see the Blond Bomber hold out a hand, palm up in
her direction. Nestled in that palm were two white caplets.
"You looked like you had a headache," Blondie said.
"I just happened to have some extra strength aspirin on
me."
Never let it be said that extraneous onlookers were totally useless,
Molly thought, and scooped the pills into her mouth. The Pudgy
Person handed her a water bottle dug from the depths of her seemingly
bottomless purse.
"So tell me, gal-to-gal," she said with a friendly,
almost conspiratorial smile. "What are they asking for this
joint?"
*****
The lawn outside was soft and green and expansive, ending only
where the flagstone patio began. Graceful shrubbery flanked the
far perimeter of the property line, which stretched back so far
that five houses could have been set on the lot and still left
room for five more garages. They crossed the grass silently for
a few moments then
"You like the place don't you?" she asked.
"Actually, yes," he admitted. "I do. I can't honestly
say why. It's the first house we've seen. With this realty company
anyway. I should withhold judgement, I suppose, `till we've seen
a few more, but there's something about this place"
"I felt it too. Almost as soon as we arrived," she said.
"Then why the worry lines?"
"Worry lines?"
"The ones between your eyes."
"I don't know," she said with a soft sigh. "You'd
think after three realty agencies and 17 showings, I'd be able
to form a definite opinion of a place, but it's just--"
"Just what?"
"Well, you weren't exactly the picture of enthusiasm either,"
she said defensively. "What was bothering you when we first
came in? You looked--"
"What?"
"I don't know, you seemed almost sad. What was it?"
"The front porch," he said softly, his eyes focused
on some point in the distance that she couldn't see. "It
reminded me of the summer we rented that chateau in Cannes, Daniel
and I. It was halfway up a hillside, too far from the club scene
to suit me. But Daniel loved it. There was this little porch out
front and every evening he used to fix himself a drink and take
it out there with a cigar. He'd spend hours just sitting there,
looking down at the lights spread out below. I think he was happier
there than anywhere else we ever lived."
"So when you saw the front porch here"
"I don't know exactly. It's just- I suddenly missed him.
Wished he were here." He turned and grinned at her abruptly.
"He would have loved this place. And Ms. Burke."
"Why Ms. Burke? Didn't she strike you as a little canned?"
"Wooden? Programmed? Stiff as a board and only half as interesting?"
He grinned again. "Of course. Just the sort of challenge
Daniel loved."
"You didn't seem to take her as much of a challenge,"
Laura pointed out, "In fact, you hardly even looked at her.
You spent most of your time staring out of windows. And what was
that all about?"
"The windows were easier than staring at her," he admitted.
"The woman has calculator keys for eyes. Still," he
added, his voice growing soft again. "It's a nice place."
"Yes, it is," she agreed. "The library, well, the
study, I guess you'd call it, was the most perfect room I could
imagine. I could fill those shelves with books and almost lose
myself in there."
"So I noticed," he said, smiling down at her shining
face. "And I also noticed that little spot in the living
room, opposite the bay window. Your piano would fit perfectly."
"And the fireplaces! Three of them!" She slipped on
arm through his. "I've always loved curling up with you in
front of a roaring fire. And what about the kitchen? Come on,
admit it. You were Captain Cool in there, but you were drooling
all over yourself inside, weren't you?"
"Well" he laughed softly. "All right, so I salivated
a little. But two stoves? I could get properly creative in the
place like that."
"I was thinking the same thing about the workroom downstairs,"
she told him. "I might even take up sculpting again. Did
you see that workbench? You know, some of those tools were genuine
antiques!"
He smiled at her enthusiasm. "I think we could even convert
that hideous `rec room' into something livable, don't you? The
storage area is large enough to use as a workout space of some
sort. And there's even a proper darkroom."
"I thought that would get your attention."
"Quite a few things got my attention," he said, pulling
her into his arms, "including that room upstairs with the
rocker."
"You noticed that room, did you?" she said with a mischievous
grin. Returning her grin, he tickled her abruptly, making her
squirm.
"I take the fifth, Your Honor," he said finally, releasing
her.
"You can take the fifth all you want. I saw what I saw and
I know what I know. We'll discuss it further, trust me. But for
now"
"There's that worry line again," he noted with a faint
scowl. "What's bothering you?"
"I don't know, exactly," she said. "Something--you'll
think I'm being silly."
"Never that, love," he told her softly. "Come on,
out with it."
"Well, it's just that,- oh, I don't know. I guess I've always
felt that the perfect house would speak to me, somehow. That there
would be one final thing that sealed the deal. One thing that
stood out and said, you can stop looking. You're finally home."
"Home."
"Yeah, sounds dumb, doesn't it?"
"Not at all. You haven't found that one thing yet, then?"
"N-no, not exactly. But there's still something about this
place. I'm not quite ready to give up on it, yet, either."
"We've seen everything, Laura. All but the garage, and I
doubt there's anything in there that's going to call out to you."
She sighed. "Yeah, you're probably right. Maybe I'm being
too picky. Or maybe I just missed it. Or haven't seen it yet."
"But we've seen the whole house, top to bottom."
She brightened suddenly. "No we haven't!"
"What?"
"We haven't seen the whole house yet! And"
"Hey, you two. Are you gonna stand out here all day?"
"Ah, Mildred!" He held out on arm and circled her shoulders
with it. "Fresh from an all-night engagement in the emergency
room, now appearing at house showings everywhere!"
"Mildred, you really shouldn't have come," Laura scolded.
"You've worn yourself out."
"Oh, honey, I'm fine, stop fussing," Mildred said nonchalantly,
flapping a hand in the young woman's direction.
"Oh, of course you are," he said, looking down at her
with a glint in his blue eyes. "You just fling yourself out
of a moving car, land on your back in a pile of rocks, roll halfway
down a hill, spend the night in traction and then pop right up
to go house hunting with us the next day. You're right. Fussing
definitely isn't called for."
"Of course not," Mildred said huffily.
"Intensive psychotherapy, on the other hand-"
"Oh, stop!" she said, swatting playfully at his shoulder.
"And as for flinging myself out of a moving car, would you
have preferred I stayed in the car when it went through the guard
rail and smashed itself to bits on the rocks?"
He frowned, "Of course not, Mildred. I wasn't suggesting"
She laughed at him. "I know you weren't `cause I saw the
guy who cut my brakes when the cops brought what was left of him
into the ER last night. You really rearranged him some, didn't
you?"
"No! Not really. Well," he grinned sheepishly, "at
least, not half as much as I would've liked to."
"How do you like your rental?" Laura cut in with a smile.
"Nice car," Mildred said. "Shifts lousy, though.
Give me an automatic any day. Hey, don't you guys want to know
what I got out of the Frost Queen in there?"
"Got out of her? Mildred," he said with some concern,
"the woman's a realtor, not a murder suspect."
"I know that," she told him impatiently. "But these
guys are set up to give you the rosiest picture. You want to know
the real facts, you've gotta approach `em a little differently."
"All right, Mildred," Laura said cheerfully. "What
are the `real facts' here?"
"Based on the price of this place," Mildred said, "which
might seem high, but isn't really, given what the market will
bear this season, you're gonna take a regular bath on the taxes.
Oh, granted it'll be low the first few years. Maybe even the first
five, but trust me on this one, kids, down the road aways it's
gonna be a regular albatross round your necks come tax time."
"Still, Mildred," he said, "is it something that
our budget can take? I mean, estimating that our client base stays
relatively stable over the next seven-to-ten years and the mortgage
payments aren't too outrageous?" The older woman frowned.
"Well, yes. But you could still do better with a smaller
place, Chief. I mean, four bedrooms! What are you gonna do with
four bedrooms?"
"Mildred!" He sounded genuinely shocked. "A gentleman
never discusses such matters!"
Mildred laughed. "So you've got your hearts set on the place,
have you?"
"Well, that remains to be seen," he said, frowning slightly.
"Laura, you were saying earlier--?"
"There's one more place I want to poke my nose," she
told him. "And I want to do it in privacy. Do you two think
you can keep The Smile That Launched A Thousand Yawns occupied
for about fifteen minutes or so?"
*****
It was longer than 15 minutes. They'd talked about the weather,
the neighborhood, the state of the economy, the housing market,
the violent crime rate and the price of eggs before Laura's shout
from the second floor caught their attention. They piled into
the foyer and looked up to see her practically vibrating at the
top of the stairs.
"This is it! This is the house!" she said, her eyes
shining, her whole face alight.
"Really?" he said, one hand on the banister and looking
up at her with an expectant smile.
"It's perfect!"
"How do you know?"
"Because," she told him with a delighted smile, "there's
a dead body in the attic!"
"Is there?" he said, casually. "Anyone we know?"
"Hard to tell with just skeletal remains," she told
him with a grin, "but I doubt it. I'd say they've been there
quite awhile. I found them in an old trunk that doesn't look like
it's been opened in maybe decades. Come see!"
"Be right there," he told her and she whirled around
and vanished in the general direction of the attic door.
Molly stared at him in total shock. But it was nothing compared
to the shock of his next words.
"You'd better go back to your office, Ms. Burke, and draw
up the sales papers. We should be there in about an hour. I doubt
it will take long to finish up here and we can join you and sign
them."
"But- but you can't be serious!" she finally sputtered.
"I mean, it's just- outrageous!"
"What? The asking price?" he said. "Oh, I don't
know. I wouldn't mind seeing a little shaved off, but on the whole
I'd say it's fairly reasonable. And we happen to have an old friend
of the family who's a loan officer at a fairly large bank. As
it turns out, he owes us a rather large favor, so I think we can
secure the financing easily enough at a most reasonable rate of
interest. You still might want to think about shaving a tad off
the price, though. I mean, dead bodies in trunks are bound to
lower the property value somewhat, wouldn't you say?"
She might have said, if she could have forced the words past her
frozen throat. Instead, she looked at him mutely.
"Splendid!" he said. "We'll see you there, then.
Mildred! You haven't got a forensics kit on you anywhere?"
"It's out in the car, Chief. I'll go get it."
"Splendid. I'll be upstairs." And he turned and bounded
up the staircase with a light step. The two women stood in the
foyer, gazing upward silently. Finally, without moving, Molly
addressed the portly blond next to her.
"Please? They can't be serious, can they?"
"Honey, when it comes to finding dead bodies or spending
this kind of money, they're always serious," Mildred said
with a cheerful grin, busy fishing her car keys out of her purse.
"But, I don't understand," Molly said, continuing to
stare up at the now empty staircase. "They seemed so normal.
I mean, she might have something to say about things, but he was
the one in control. And now she . . . I just don't get it."
"Hey, with those two, you never get it. You just hold on
and enjoy the ride. Nobody's in charge. They just make it up as
they go along." Mildred held up her car keys in triumph and
headed for the door, then stopped and turned back toward Molly.
"Miss Burke? You know what I'd say?" Molly turned, finally,
to look into the guileless round eyes.
"What?"
"I'd say you just sold a house!" And Mildred gave her
a cheerful grin before bustling out to her car.
Molly Burke gave one more look at the façade of the house
before climbing into her own car. She'd go back to the office
and draw up the papers and sell 1122 Sunrise to the madman and
his wife. Then she'd go home to her split-level ranch, pack a
bag and head for Arizona and an extended vacation with her mother
She made a mental note. She'd need to put a For Sale sign out
in her own yard. She'd also need to start looking for a realtor
to sell the place.
And really good realtors were so hard to find these days.
- THE END
- HOME * CASEBOOK*E-MAIL