“Cash, hmm?” Felix gave the Corinthian porch column beside him a possessive pat. “Who bought it?”
“Don’t know. The name on the documents is a corporation. There isn’t a human name to be found.”
Bowser’s patience wore thin. He sat where instructed, but he fidgeted. I thought Mike was encouraging him to fidget.
“Gotta be foreign,” Felix said. “Chinese or Japanese. They like to pay cash. Did a feng-shui master come through before they made the offer?”
Mike said, “A who?”
“You know, feng-shui.” Felix fiddled with his spit valve. “This guy comes to make sure the house has the right spiritual orientation. Like, if the stairs face the front door all your good luck will just spill right out and the Chinese won’t buy.”
“No feng-shui master,” I said.
Felix blew “Shave and a Haircut” before pronouncing, “It’s Japanese, then.”
Mike frowned. “Does it matter to you?”
“Only academically.” Felix turned and scanned across the front of his restored Italianate house, this time with a more objective eye. “Wonder what I could get.”
Bowser barked, once. I don’t know how, but I know Mike made him do it.
“Bowser says he’s thirsty.” Mike hooked his arm through mine. “See ya’, Felix.”
“The neighborhood won’t be the same without you. I’ll miss you.”
Felix picked up his horn and played us out with a sweet rendition of “Sukiyaki” as we walked into the house for the last time.
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copyright © 1997 by Wendy Hornsby
cover design by Kathleen Lynch
978-1-4532-2927-9
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