Her lips drooped as she gathered up her purse, but she didn’t waste any time in getting herself out the front door. She probably wanted to make it home before dark. I offered a pleasant wave, and she frowned before turning to hurry down the walk, head down in anticipation of a coming storm.
“Thanks for your help,” I said with a polite smile. He was the first normal person we’d met in Kilmer. He didn’t seem nervous or frightened—just eager to sell us something, which fit the real estate agent profile to a T. His face was broad as an iron skillet, pink skinned, and smooth. His eyes shone like blue stones, but with considerably more warmth.
“Not at all. I’m Phil Regis.” He shook my hand with a grasp that ground my knuckles a bit, and then he ran a hand through his salt-and-pepper hair, sheepish, as if he constantly forgot his own strength.
Mr. Regis stepped back and waved us into his office, a good-sized space with a big cherry desk littered with pens and paperwork. The pictures in here were prettier than the ones in the waiting area, good watercolors that might be worth something. I’d need to look at the signatures before I could say for sure. Chance and I settled into padded vinyl chairs on the other side of the desk.
“Now then,” Regis said, “I heard something about y’all needing a rental. Are you newlyweds? Because I could probably get you a mortgage cheaper than you’d expect. It’s a buyer’s market, you know.” He gave a deep laugh that swelled his chest like a bellows.
Chance shook his head, though I don’t know whether he was disagreeing with the buyer’s market, the mortgage, or our being newlyweds. “We’re just vacationing in the area. I’d like to let for a month while we’re exploring all the historic sites nearby.”
“Huh,” said Regis. It was a thoughtful sound, not a doubtful one. “We don’t have much to rent, but I do manage a couple properties that might fit the bill.”
“The receptionist mentioned as much,” I said. “Can we take a look?”
“Sure, sure.” He stood, crossing past us into the waiting area. We heard him rummaging through Agnes’s desk; then he returned shortly with a black three-ring binder lofted in triumph. “She tries to hide it from me. Fool woman thinks I’ll put the pages out of order or something.” Regis shook his head, but I noted underlying fondness in his tone.
“She did seem protective,” Chance observed.
“And isn’t that a hoot?” Regis laughed. “She seems to think the world will come to an end if someone sees me without an appointment. It’s beneath my consequence, according to Agnes.”
“Thanks for seeing us,” I said again, hoping to nudge him back on track.
The real estate agent flipped through the binder, then tapped a white piece of paper with handwritten notes. I admired the penmanship, even upside down, and imagined Agnes deserved the credit. A picture had been stapled to the top of the listing. He spun the book so we could take a look.
“This farmhouse belonged to Mrs. Everett. She passed away, oh, a good three years ago. She had no kin, so I bought the property myself for a song. I intended to flip it—” At our blank looks, he explained, “Renovate, then sell on a mark-up. So far I’ve had no luck.”
“How come?” I asked.
“Superstitious idiots. Mrs. Everett passed away there. In her sleep,” the real estate agent hastened to add. “There’s nothing to be afraid of, but I can’t even get anybody out there to remodel the place. So other than having it dusted and aired out every few months, I haven’t been able to do anything with it. So it’s still mostly furnished.”
I wondered if it would still be full of old-lady smell, lavender, and Vicks VapoRub. I hoped her possessions didn’t clutter up the place as well. Old ladies were notorious pack rats, keeping boxes of rubbish nobody else could see a use for.
“Her personal things?”
“Gone,” Regis assured me. “I’m sure it just needs a good airing. Leave a window or two open, and you’d be just fine out there. I could lease the place to y’all for a month . . . and I’d be willing to go longer if you decide you want to stay. We could work out a rent-to-buy program, if you don’t have a down payment.” He sounded so hopeful; I didn’t have the heart to tell him there wasn’t a chance in hell of that happening.
Chance studied the picture with such concentration, I took another look: white house, windows on either side of the front door, and red steps leading up to a wraparound porch. Ten thin rectangular columns supported the roof over the porch. The downward slope gave the black tile roof a tiered but pointy look, like a witch’s hat.
All told, it appeared habitable enough, but I didn’t like the weird triangular window I assumed led to the attic or other unused space. Why else would it have been boarded up? But maybe those were just creepy storm shutters. I read the amenities with half attention: three bedrooms, bath and a half, bi-level with storm cellar and artesian well.
“What’s the other option?” Chance asked, as if he sensed my hesitance.
If Regis was disappointed we didn’t leap on the house immediately, he didn’t show it. Instead, he flipped through the binder some more and then turned it so we could see.
“This is a bachelor apartment, above what used to be an accounting business. But he left town, and I haven’t rented that space to anyone yet.”
From what I’d seen of Kilmer, he wasn’t likely to, either.
“Do you own that building too?”
“No, but I manage the property for August.”
For a moment, I thought he meant the month, and it was November. Then it hit me. Augustus England, publishing magnate.
“He runs the newspaper and prints up the town phone books, right?” The question spilled out before I thought better of it.
“We looked you up in the directory over at the filling station,” Chance said easily. “Corine has a head for trivia. I’m sure she read the information page, the credits, the emergency numbers, and who knows what else while she was looking for a real estate agent.”
I made my smile sheepish. “I read the copyright page in books too. I love finding out real names when authors write under a pseudonym.”
I hoped I looked properly guileless. I had the feeling he wouldn’t rent us anything if he knew we were here to poke around. Sure, he’d find out sooner or later. Such was the way of small towns, but once we had a contract, he couldn’t boot us out.
Regis seemed to relax. “Oh, my wife’s the same way. She’ll read anything, even the cereal box.”
“Well, it’s cozy,” said Regis. “All utilities included, of course. It has one bedroom, a sitting room, full bath, and a kitchenette with two electric rings for cooking.”
“Could you break down the pros and cons of each?” Chance asked.
This should be funny. I didn’t think salesmen ever admitted anything had cons.
“Well, the farmhouse has a lot more space, but it’s outside town, less convenient, but private and nicely wooded. The bachelor apartment is small, but it’s centrally located. You’d be in walking distance to a little corner store and a couple of nice shops on the square.”
“What’s the rent on them?” The fact that we hadn’t asked before now probably told Regis we had more money than sense; a couple of yuppies fresh from the big city, curious how the other half lived.
“I can let you have the farmhouse for seven hundred dollars,” Regis said, after pretending to run some numbers on an adding machine. “Since it’s smaller, three hundred seventy-five for the apartment.”
“Could we have a minute to discuss it?” Chance curled his hand around the nape of my neck. The gesture looked possessive, but I knew it was mostly for show.
“Of course. I’ll just run down the block to get coffee. Would y’all like anything?”
We both shook our heads, bemused by this small-town mentality. We could have rifled his office looking for cash and valuables and taken off long before he returned, if we were lying about wanting to rent property in
