by Delia Parr
“I’ll save that decision for another day,” she whispered and headed across an Oriental rug to get to her massive L-shaped desk—the command center where she spent most of her time. She slid her briefcase under the desk and sank into her high-backed upholstered chair. There was nothing antique or low-tech about her desk or the tools it held. The computer, fax machine, laser printer, telephone and answering system were all state-of-the-art, although with technology changing so fast, she would probably be updating her equipment within the next year.
She checked her messages first and took notes. Of the six calls she’d received, three were from prospective clients, including the Davises, who canceled their four-o’clock appointment. One was from Carol Watson. Decision made. She would call Carol tonight and agree to sponsor the team. Another message was from Doris Blake, a retiree who had recently relocated to Welleswood after a career in real estate. She was looking for part-time work. Andrea wrote down her number, just in case.
The last message was from Jane Huxbaugh demanding to know the status of the proposed sale of the house she had inherited from her uncle, the late Anthony Clark.
Andrea tapped the eraser of her pencil on her notepad. Jane was not the most disagreeable client Andrea had ever had, but she surely ranked in the top ten. In all fairness, however, Jane had a right to be anxious. She had accepted a proposal to purchase from a prospective buyer, Bill Sanderson, early last week. To Andrea’s complete consternation, Sanderson had not returned a single one of her telephone calls or responded to any of her e-mails asking him to come in and sign the formal contract. She assumed he simply had been delayed in returning from one of the long-distance hauls he made as a truck driver. Not that Jane would care. She wanted the house sold. Yesterday.
Determined to see this resolved, Andrea pulled out the Sanderson folder and sorted through the paperwork. She set the CIS, Consumer Information Statement, aside. Operating a dual-disclosure agency, representing both sellers and buyers, required a strong set of ethics, and the law was very clear about her responsibilities to both parties. Beneath the proposal to purchase, she found the contract, lifted her phone and tapped in Bill Sanderson’s home telephone number.
“We’re sorry. The number you have dialed, 555-2608, has been disconnected.”
“Great,” she muttered, checked the number he had listed for his employer in upstate Pennsylvania, and dialed that number as she tried to keep her heart from racing.
“AAA Hauling. Henry here.”
She cleared her throat. “This is Andrea Hooper, with Hooper Realty. I’m trying to locate Bill Sanderson, one of your drivers.”
A snort. “You and the state police from here to Colorado. Feds got involved, too. Landlord called yesterday. Get in line, lady.”
“S-state police?”
“Sanderson left four days ago with a van loaded with computers and headed for Denver. Ain’t been heard from since.”
Andrea closed her eyes to organize her thoughts. “That’s terrible! He must have had some sort of…accident?”
Another snort. “Ain’t that wishful thinkin’! We got the van. Found that in Ohio. Empty, of course. I wouldn’t go wastin’ any hopes you got on that thievin’, sneaky—”
“Thank you,” she managed, and quickly hung up. Heart pounding, she leaned back and steepled her hands. So much for that deal. Exactly why Sanderson had gone to all the trouble of pretending to be serious enough to purchase a home here did not really matter. She had been in this business long enough to know better than to guess at the motivations of any of her clients, buyers and sellers alike, but she thought she was a fairly decent judge of character.
Apparently, she was not.
As for the check that he had given to her as earnest money, she assumed she would hear from the bank that it was not going to be honored.
She also knew for certain that Miss Huxbaugh was going to be rip-roaring mad.
At seventy-seven, Jane Huxbaugh was a fixture in Welleswood, well-known for her thriftiness and her gift for making snide remarks, which was almost as legendary as her temper. Andrea had no desire to light a match to that woman’s temper. It had burned her once too often. But unless Andrea came up with a buyer fast, she would be well-advised to tell Jane the bad news in person, rather than by telephone.
Andrea swiveled around in her chair, stared out the front window and twirled her pencil while she mulled over her options. She could wait until tonight and visit Jane at home. Or she could leave now and walk the two short blocks to see Jane at the hospital auxiliary’s thrift store, one of the last holdouts from yesteryear, where she volunteered weekday afternoons. Or she could…
She laid down the pencil, sorted through the folders for prospective buyers until she found the one she wanted. Cindy and Paul DiMayo were highly motivated buyers. They had a number of deadlines looming that had intensified their search for a new home. Paul was scheduled to start a new job at the end of September, their apartment lease ran out around the same time and they were expecting a baby, due August twenty-seventh, less than a month from now. Under all these circumstances, they were more than a little anxious to settle into a home before the baby arrived.
The young couple also had been prequalified, a decided benefit, particularly in this case.
Andrea wrinkled her nose. Sanderson had been prequalified, too.
She dialed the DiMayo’s number. When Cindy answered, Andrea let out a sigh of relief and checked her watch. It was only three o’clock. Maybe she had time to turn this day around after all.
On their second walk-through of the house, Paul paced the perimeter of the empty living room and nudged the sheer curtains that had fallen to the floor, along with the rods and brackets that had once held the curtains in place. “How long did you say it’s been vacant?”
“Nine months. The property is part of an estate,” Andrea replied, wiping a bead of sweat from her forehead.
Cindy poked her head into the kitchen and wrinkled her nose. “That red indoor-outdoor carpet has to go!”
“Careful! Don’t go in there unless Paul’s got a good hold on you,” Andrea warned as she approached her very pregnant client. “See the ripples in the carpet? It’s not safe.”
Paul escorted his wife into the kitchen and lifted a brow.
“It’s a throwback to the forties or early fifties,” Andrea admitted as she followed behind them.
Paul chuckled. “Early neglect is my guess. Just like the rest of the house. They pulled up the carpet in the bathroom and took half the tiles with it. Guess they decided not to try again in this room.”
“This way you can pick out your own flooring,” Andrea offered. No matter how she had tried, she had not been able to convince Jane to make a few minor repairs, like rehanging the curtain rods and curtains or tacking down the kitchen carpet. Turning on the central air-conditioning would have helped, too, but Jane was too busy watching her pennies to realize her thriftiness was going to cost her lots of dollars in the end.
“Poor little house,” Cindy whispered. “It just needs a little TLC.”
Paul groaned. “And lots of elbow grease.”
Cindy looked up at him and smiled. “You have great elbows.”
“And the price is right,” Andrea added. “In fact, there are a number of options we can explore together to help you get the extra money you’d need to do some cosmetic repairs. The house is sound structurally, and it’s a good starter house. You could settle quickly, too.”
Cindy beamed and rested her hand on her tummy.
Paul cocked his head. “How quickly?”
“Quickly enough to get you into the house before the baby is born. Why don’t we go back to my office where the air-conditioning is running, and go over the details?”
The day certainly had taken an upswing. By four-thirty, Andrea had a deposit and a signed contract in hand, and she had called in almost every favor she was owed, just to make this sale happen, but now she had to see Jane at home. The thrift shop closed promptly a
t four. She returned calls, sorted through the mail, decided there was nothing that could not wait until tomorrow, grabbed her briefcase and locked up the office.
Determined to finish the day’s rescue, she acted on sudden inspiration and walked a block down the avenue to Blackburn’s. Once inside the jewelry store, she saw the owners, Ray and Georgina, were busy waiting on customers, so she went straight to the display case along the right wall. She studied the watches inside the case and decided the prices were a little too steep for her needs. When she turned to leave, Georgina was approaching.
“Don’t tell me we don’t have something you like,” she teased.
Andrea chuckled. “Actually, I’m just looking for a workday watch. Something with an alarm on it?”
“But not something that’ll cost a week’s salary. Hmm…” Georgina walked around Andrea, leaned over the display case and studied the contents. She shook her head. “I thought I had something…Ray, what happened to those Flick watches? The ones all the kids were buying?”
Ray looked up from the register and nodded. “They’re in the back. What’s left of them, anyway. Haven’t sold one in weeks. We needed the space.” He let out a sigh, pushed his glasses lower on the bridge of his nose and peered over the rims. “We talked about it last night, remember?”
Georgina grinned and shrugged her shoulders. “You talked. While I was trying to sew, remember?” She winked at Andrea. “Wait here. I’ll bring them out. Since they’re in the back, I can knock the price down for you, too.” When she came back, she had a single watch in her hand. “It’s got an alarm in it, just like you wanted, along with all kinds of other nonsense the kids like.”
She held it out to Andrea. “See? You can even program the tune you want to play on the hour.” She pressed one of the tiny buttons on the side, and the instant Andrea heard the tinny melody, she laughed out loud. She had to have this watch.
“Sorry about the color. Pretty garish shade, isn’t it? I was hoping we had one of the white ones left—”
“No. It’s perfect,” Andrea insisted, and this time she did laugh out loud and promptly bought the watch.
Swinging her briefcase, she hummed the catchy melody as she walked around the block to get back to her car. On first glance, she thought someone was inside the car, but immediately dismissed that possibility. The closer she got, however, the clearer the image became. She stopped several feet from the rear of the car and waited, heart pounding, as the familiar figure emerged from the car and approached Andrea with outstretched arms.
She dropped her briefcase and stepped into the waiting embrace, uncertain whether or not she should strangle Madge or return the watch and buy a gag to keep her quiet, instead.
Chapter Five
Jenny wrapped her arms around her big sister, briefcase and all. “You should know you can’t use the word ‘good’ and the word ‘cancer’ in the same breath with Madge, so don’t get in a huff or holler at her for telling me. Russell isn’t coming home for another two weeks. She had to sit down and talk to somebody. She just came to me to try to understand what you had told her.”
She gave Andrea a squeeze. “Your office was closed. I figured even if you had an appointment nearby or went shopping, you’d have to come back for your car eventually, and I waited for you.”
Andrea’s body went slack for a moment. She gave Jenny a one-armed squeeze and stepped back. “I only told Madge because she caught me at home in bed. Another ten minutes, and I’d have been heading back to the office.”
“She’s scared.”
“Me, too.” Andrea sighed.
“Me, three,” Jenny whispered. “You know that you’re going to beat this, right?”
Andrea squared her shoulders. “That’s what Dr. Newton tells me.”
“She’s right. I made a few calls earlier this afternoon and talked to two of the oncologists at the hospital. They both said—”
“You look exhausted,” Andrea interrupted, changing the subject. “You’re supposed to sleep during the day, remember? It’s Thursday. You have to go to work tonight. Madge had no right to wake you up. Why didn’t Michael stop her?”
Jenny grinned. “I switched with another nurse and worked a double on Tuesday, so I was off today. I don’t have to go to work again until Sunday night, although I’ve got a zillion errands and appointments between now and then. Michael’s got a great barbecue planned for six o’clock tonight—ribs, Silver Queen corn and a tomato-basil salad. Come for supper? The girls would love to see you.”
Andrea toyed with her briefcase. “I have a stop to make. I can try, but I’m not sure if I can be there by six.”
“We’ll wait for you.”
“I don’t want to be a bother. Maybe another time would be better. I’ll grab something at home.”
Jenny tilted up her chin. “Maybe you should think about being a little less independent. Or maybe, big sister,” she added with a grin, “you should think about the Blueberry Boy Bait that Michael made this afternoon for dessert.”
Andrea groaned and switched her briefcase to her other hand. “Mother’s cobbler recipe, I gather. The one Sandra loved so much?”
Jenny chuckled. “Is there another?” She turned around, closed the passenger door, walked around and opened up the driver-side door. “I’ll tell Michael six-thirty would be better,” she offered. She watched the indecision on Andrea’s face give way to acquiescence.
Andrea leaned into the car, tossed her briefcase to the passenger seat and slid behind the wheel. As soon as Jenny closed the door, Andrea lowered the window halfway, cranked the engine and turned the air-conditioning on full blast. A deep frown creased her cheeks. “Does Michael know?”
Jenny shook her head. “I wanted to ask you if I could tell him, first.”
Andrea chewed on her bottom lip and nodded. “It’s okay. He’s your husband. You shouldn’t keep secrets from one another. Just…just tell him not to say anything to anyone else. At least not for now, okay?”
Jenny swallowed the lump in her throat, but her smile went straight from her heart to her lips. “Okay. Thanks.”
Andrea reached through the open window and tugged on Jenny’s ponytail. “You’re not always going to get your way, you know. I…I have to do this my way, and sometimes that’s going to mean I’ll need to be alone.”
Jenny lifted a brow. “Like when you’re cranky?”
Andrea pulled back and put both hands on the wheel. “I don’t get cranky.” She turned to face Jenny, and her lips curled into a smile. “But I do get even. Wait till you see what I bought for Madge. I’ll show you after supper.”
“Actually, I think Madge is coming for supper, too. With Russell away…”
“Even better.” Andrea’s eyes twinkled. “You’ll get to see the look on Madge’s face when she opens the package.” She eased the car back out of the driveway before Jenny could ask for an explanation.
As soon as Andrea’s car disappeared from view, Jenny crossed the street and headed home, taking a shortcut through Welles Park. Like other longtime residents, she could find her way through the maze of walking paths that sliced through the grounds of the former homestead, creating a cross patch of playgrounds, playing fields and woods that drew all the local children. The mansion near the entrance of the park had been built by Mary Welles Johnson, the founder of Welleswood, and now housed the Welleswood Historical Society, which frequently rented the beautifully restored old home out for wedding receptions, banquet events and the annual high school prom.
Jenny took the left fork in the path, passed the old carriage house, now home for Randy Baker, the park’s caretaker. When she reached the gazebo on the shore of the small lake in the center of the park, she sat down on one of the wooden benches.
The air was scented with wild mint. A multitude of pale pink mountain laurel blossoms peaked over the sides of the gazebo. Several Canada geese slept along the banks of the lake. Scarcely a ripple touched the water.
A peaceful scene—one that so
othed her heavy heart.
Cancer had come back to haunt her family.
One more time.
She moistened her lips, bowed her head and laced her hands together. She was too heartsick to even ask God why this was happening or to be angry that her family had to confront this dreadful disease again. Sandra’s passing was too recent, and the loss of her parents and her sister Kathleen was still too profound.
Every night when Jenny worked in the emergency room, she saw such a great range of human suffering, some of it organic, but much of it caused by human hands. She should be immune by now. She was not.
Despite the brave front she presented to her sisters, she had been a nurse for too long to be able to accept the doctors’ optimistic diagnosis for Andrea at face value. Sometimes doctors were wrong. Cancer was a disease far too unpredictable to label as curable.
She tightened her fingers as doubts shook her soul. What if Andrea’s cancer proved resistant to treatment or had already spread? What if she, Jenny, was next? What would happen to her daughters, Katy and Hannah, if cancer claimed their mother, too? What would Michael do? How could he keep his dream of becoming a writer alive if he had to raise their children alone?
When tears welled, she brushed them away and battled her doubts with her strongest weapon: her faith. She did not know where her family’s battle with cancer fit into the grand scheme of His plans for them, but she would not let doubt or fear destroy a lifetime of faith, even now. “But for Thy glory,” she whispered as her heart poured out a litany of prayers. For strength. For courage. For hope. And in gratitude for all the blessings He had showered upon them all.
She touched her tummy and smiled. Before Andrea was halfway through her treatments, Jenny and Michael would welcome their third child into this world and into this family. Sharing their news now did not seem fair, not when Andrea was facing such a challenge. Andrea’s health should come first and foremost, not Jenny’s pregnancy.