by Ann B. Ross
Then with a deep sob, she said, “I’m going to quit. It’s the only thing I can do.”
“I don’t blame you,” I said, still stunned by Lurline’s assumption that Etta Mae would do for Bug Timmons what neither his mother nor Lurline herself had been able to do, and not only that but she’d take on the manager’s job without the manager’s pay. “But it most certainly is not the only thing you can do.”
Chapter 47
I didn’t tell Etta Mae what I had in mind, not wanting to disappoint her again if it didn’t work out. But I had something in mind, all right, and only wanted to run it by Sam before proceeding. After she’d pulled herself together—more or less—she had gotten up to leave, saying that she still had two more patients to see that afternoon. And that just showed the kind of person she was. If it had been me, I would’ve already handed in my resignation and left those patients for Lurline to see.
How in the world, I wondered after Etta Mae had left, could that woman leave a thriving business in the hands of an overgrown boy who drove through a cornfield and ended up in jail? I mean, if you were lying sick in bed and somebody named Bug came with your medicine, how safe would you feel?
I paced the floor for a while, my nerves stretched to the breaking point as I wondered how Lurline Corn had gained a reputation as a sharp businesswoman. Of all the foolish ideas she could’ve had, putting Bug in charge took the cake.
Still, I had two possibilities in mind that would turn a sow’s ear into a silk purse, but I couldn’t decide which of the two should be pursued. One of them, of course, was to forget about Lurline’s business and set about opening a new one. The downside to that was Etta Mae being without work until we had it up and running. That could take months. We’d have to apply for a business license and a tax number, to say nothing of finding a suitable location, hiring employees, and so on.
Still, I mused, Etta Mae could earn a salary by doing all the planning, hiring, and running around that a new business required. She’d need help getting all that done, though, which meant hiring someone else since I didn’t want to do it.
And, to tell the truth, I was really leaning toward the second possibility—something that had popped in my head while watching Etta Mae cry her eyes out. I so wanted to make it right for her, and since money was already earmarked for her benefit, I decided then and there that if Sam gave me the slightest encouragement I would forget about opening a new business.
* * *
—
When Sam came in about midafternoon, he turned on the Christmas tree lights and sat down in the wing chair by the fireplace. Then he began to regale me with the details of delivering gifts donated by church members to children who might otherwise not have received any. He’d enjoyed every minute of it, even though it had meant driving all over the county. I listened, enjoying his pleasure and waiting for an opportune time to bring up my plans for The Handy Home Helpers. Finally as he yawned, it came.
“Sam? What do you think about my buying Lurline Corn’s business?”
“I thought that’s what you were doing.”
“Well, not exactly. I was going to make a loan to Etta Mae so she could buy it. But now, Lurline has suddenly decided to take it off the market and put her good-for-nothing nephew, Bug Timmons, in charge. And to top it off, she expects Etta Mae to prop him up and keep the business going.”
Sam frowned. “That doesn’t sound so good for Etta Mae.”
“I should say not! So here’s what I’m thinking: What if I jump in with an offer that meets or maybe exceeds Lurline’s last counteroffer and buy it my own self?” I leaned toward him, wanting him to feel the excitement of my new plan. “See, what I could do is knock her socks off with a large enough offer that she’ll forget about rehabilitating Bug. I want her so thrilled with it that she’ll take the money and run.”
Sam cocked an eyebrow at me. “Won’t that defeat the purpose you started with? I mean, of loaning the money to Etta Mae so she can buy it?”
“No, because I’ll turn around and sell it to her at the price we agreed the business could sustain. She’ll make monthly payments to me, just as we’d planned in the first place.”
“Wait,” Sam said, “let me get this straight. I thought you’ve been worried about paying more than the business is worth. But now, you’re planning to buy it for Lurline’s price and sell it to Etta Mae for a lower one?”
“Yes, but without Etta Mae knowing about it. It’s not any of her business, anyway. What do you think?”
“Well, Julia, it’s your money and you can do what you want with it. But you do realize, don’t you, that you’ll be losing money on a deal like that?”
“Not really,” I said. “Since it’s going for a good cause, I’ll just count the difference as part of my tithe for the next few years.”
Sam started laughing. “Honey,” he said, “you must have a unique relationship with the Almighty.”
I nodded. “I do. He understands me.”
Sam stood up, shaking his head but still smiling. He backed up to the fire for a few minutes, his mouth twitching with amusement. “Then do it,” he said, “and more power to you. All I want is a ringside seat.”
* * *
—
The day was getting long in the tooth and the holidays were looming which meant there wasn’t much time to get anything done. On the other hand, I thought as I hurried upstairs to use the phone in privacy, the time constraint could work in my favor.
“Mr. Blair?” I asked when the real estate broker answered his phone. “Julia Murdoch here. I know it’s late and you may have holiday plans, but I understand there’s a property in Delmont for sale. I want to buy it.”
“Uh,” he said, as if switching off a part of his brain that had been focused on going home. “What property is that?”
“The Handy Home Helpers, actually not only a property but a business.”
“Well, Mrs. Murdoch, there might be a problem with that. I have nothing official, but . . .”
“All the more reason for haste,” I said, not wanting to discuss Lurline’s threat to take the business off the market, something that I shouldn’t have been in a position to know. “Mr. Blair,” I went on, “I want to submit an offer today—tonight if that’s what it takes. I’d like you to prepare an Offer to Purchase right now, and I’ll run down and sign it before your office closes.”
“No problem,” he said and I heard the shuffling of papers on his desk. “What kind of offer do you have in mind? Although I should tell you that several offers have already been submitted and rejected. There’s been a lot of interest in that particular property lately.”
I wanted to say, “Yes, I know,” but I restrained from mentioning my previous participation. Instead, I gave him the knock-Lurline’s-socks-off price along with a hefty percentage as earnest money, heard him draw in his breath, then laconically say, “Well, that should get her attention.”
Then, clearing his throat, he said, “I’ll call the owner’s broker now and put him on notice that an offer is coming.”
“Yes, do that, because I don’t want to have to track him down through half a dozen Christmas parties. There are, however, a few requirements that should be included with the offer. First of all, this is my first and only offer, so no negotiations at all. Don’t bother giving me a counteroffer. I won’t accept it. Secondly, I want an immediate response and, if affirmative, I want the owner’s signature on the offer tonight. The luxury of sleeping on it is off the table. My offer will be withdrawn before the sun comes up in the morning. I am in no mood for dillydallying.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said. “I’m on it and a Merry Christmas to you, Mrs. Murdoch.”
Wishing him the same, I hung up, drew in a deep breath, and thought, I’m not only at the Rubicon, I’m up to my neck in it. I fiddled with my hair a little, thinking that Velma needed to trim it at my next appointment, then
I went downstairs, stopping at the hall closet for my coat.
Sam looked up as I, buttoning my coat, entered the living room. He grinned and said, “You did it then, did you?”
“Yes, I did, and I have to get to the bank for a certified check for the earnest money, then run to Mr. Blair’s office to sign the Offer to Purchase, and do both before either of them closes. I’ve also followed your advice and put a short response time on the offer because I don’t want Lurline Corn to have time to think.”
“Want me to go with you? We could have supper downtown since I’ve noticed a considerable silence from the kitchen.”
“I sent Lillian home early, that’s why. She needs the rest. So, yes, let’s do.”
On the way downtown, Sam said, “If this doesn’t work out, you might not want Ms. Corn knowing your business.”
He went on to explain, so as we went into Joe Blair’s office, I was flexing my right hand in preparation. After handing over the certified check for the escrow account, I leaned over the desk and signed the Offer to Purchase in a scrawl that would take a paleographer to decipher. Then we watched as it was faxed to the office of Lurline’s broker.
“I hope,” I said, “that you’ve impressed on her broker the need for a timely response.”
“Don’t worry about that,” Mr. Blair said. “I know for a fact that he has his car warming up. He’ll have your offer in Ms. Corn’s hands within the hour.” Mr. Blair stopped gathering his papers, looked up at me, and said, “Do you have a closing date in mind? If she accepts, that is.”
“Yes, the sooner the better.”
“Good,” he said with a knowing smile. “End-of-the-year statistics are coming up.”
I smiled back, knowing a thing or two myself, namely that a broker’s fee from a large transaction can make a difference in a broker’s bottom line for the year.
Chapter 48
I slept well that night, the result, I thought, of having made a decision and acted upon it which, to me, meant it had been a satisfying day. Sam and I had had a nice meal at a restaurant on Main Street, topped by a phone call from Joe Blair as soon as we got home.
According to Lurline’s broker, she had taken the bait and accepted my Offer to Purchase—at least, he said, she’d made a verbal commitment and had given every indication of her imminent approval. She had not, however, signed in her broker’s presence nor had she given the offer back to him. Something, he’d told Mr. Blair, concerning a family member who she wanted to consult before fully committing herself. As such, Mr. Blair explained, there would be a slight delay in completing the transaction, and he hoped that I would understand since we were so close to confirming the sale.
“I explained,” Mr. Blair went on, “that we wanted this completed tonight. I know you said sunup, but I gave them only until midnight to get the signed offer back to me.”
“Call me as soon as you get it,” I said, “no matter how late.”
Although slightly edgy at the delay, I was nonetheless pleased that I’d gotten Lurline’s attention. It had taken not quite three hours from start to finish for me to make an offer and for her to forget Bug and grab the money. For all I knew, she was already packing for Florida.
But first, she’d called Etta Mae to “crow about getting more than she expected,” as Etta Mae put it when she, in turn, called me before I had my coat off. “So it’s gone,” Etta Mae had said as if in the depths of despair. “Somebody else bought it right out from under us. Lurline said she didn’t know or care who bought it—the signature was so scribbled she couldn’t read it, but money is money, she said, regardless of where it comes from. She was flying high, Miss Julia, thinking she’d made the deal of a lifetime. And,” she went on, “and I had to pretend to be happy for her when I could get a word in edgewise. And I don’t mean to sound like I wish she hadn’t sold it because I sure didn’t want to work for Bug. But I just hate losing it when we came so close to getting it. I guess,” she said, then broke off to clear her throat, “I guess it was too much to hope for in the first place. Anyway, Miss Julia, I’ll find out who bought it and let you know. Maybe it was Mr. Sitton, but thank you for everything even though it didn’t work out.”
“Etta Mae,” I said, “I apologize to you for not telling you ahead of time, but I didn’t realize that Lurline would call you so quickly. But get yourself in gear, girl, because Lurline is selling it to me.”
Dead silence ensued. Then, “Wha-at?”
So I went through it for her, omitting only the price to which I’d committed myself, and ended by saying that I hoped she was still willing to buy it from me. “It’s the same for you either way. But instead of you borrowing from me to buy from Lurline, I’ve cut out the middle man so to speak, so that you’ll be buying directly from me. You’ll be making the same payments under the same terms that we’ve already agreed on.
“I hope that’s still agreeable with you,” I went on, “because goodness knows, I don’t want to run the business. All I want is a good investment, which is you, Etta Mae. On the other hand,” I quickly added, “I don’t want you to feel obligated.”
But of course I did. If she changed her mind, I’d be up a creek without a paddle or else crawling on my hands and knees to Ernest Sitton to entice him into taking The Handy Home Helpers off my hands.
“You did?” Etta Mae asked with a note of wonder in her voice. “I mean, really? You bought it?”
“Well, yes, I guess it’s all but bought. I don’t have the signed offer in hand, but I just heard from Joe Blair that Lurline told her realtor that she definitely accepted my offer. I was right before calling you, not knowing that she’d beat me to it. I tell you, Etta Mae, I think it was the timing. I think she was having severe second thoughts about leaving Bug in charge, so she might’ve accepted any decent offer that came along.” And that thought immediately made me wonder if I could’ve gotten the business for a lower price. But you can’t second-guess yourself all the time, so I put that aside, wished Etta Mae sweet dreams of ownership, and went to bed feeling content with what had been accomplished.
So, as I’ve said, I slept quite well that night, resting on my laurels for having made something turn out right. Even though I had committed myself to staying out of other people’s business, I didn’t think that lending a hand now and then really counted as interference or micromanagement, and certainly not meddling by any stretch of the imagination.
* * *
—
We woke early on the morning before Christmas Eve to the sound of Lillian, then James and Janelle, talking and laughing down in the kitchen. The laughter jangled with my sudden realization that I had not heard from Joe Blair. My heart sank as I knew he would’ve called if he’d received the signed offer. His silence seemed to mean that Lurline had had a change of heart, or else another, better offer.
Wanting to bawl in frustration on Sam’s shoulder, I decided instead to soldier on in hopes that there was a simple and understandable explanation for Lurline’s continued delay.
“Busy day ahead,” Sam said as he threw back the covers. “Anything I can do for you today?”
“I don’t think so. Well, maybe clean the living room fireplace and lay a fire in case company drops by. And finish wrapping your gifts so I can straighten Lloyd’s room. We’ll need it for everybody’s coats on Christmas. The florist is coming by this morning with the centerpiece for the table, and . . . oh, my goodness, I almost forgot.” I came out of the bed in a hurry, reminded of something I’d almost let sneak up on me. “I meant to ask Mildred about Penelope going to the Christmas Eve service with us tomorrow. In fact, I’d almost forgotten about Mildred altogether.”
“And she’s gotten along just fine, hasn’t she?”
“You’re right,” I said, smiling as I slowed down, “as you usually are. However, I should show a little interest after Horace’s near escape, even though she’s apparently done nothing for Penelo
pe’s Christmas which, now that I think of it, makes me mad all over again.”
“Well,” Sam said, “we’ll do the best we can to make it a good Christmas for her. Which service are we going to? Not the one at midnight, I hope.”
“No, we’ll go at six o’clock, which is the children’s service. Penelope wouldn’t be able to stay awake for the later one.”
Sam yawned. “Me, either. By the way,” he said, turning to me, “you should check with Joe and be sure your offer has been signed and returned. It’s not binding until he gets it back.”
Well, that took even more wind out of my sails. I sat down abruptly, just done in at the thought of having come so close yet losing out after all. What if Lurline had changed her mind? What if Mr. Sitton had sent another offer? What if she’d decided Bug needed the responsibility?
Oh, Lord, now I’d have to tell Etta Mae that it was not a done deal after all.
* * *
—
“Have you heard from her?” I asked when Mr. Blair answered his phone. Then I quickly said, “Oh, sorry. Good morning, this is Julia Murdoch. Has Lurline Corn sent the signed offer?”
“Well, no, and I just hung up from talking with her broker. It seems that Ms. Corn is asking for extra time.”
“No! I am not playing that game, Mr. Blair. She is just trying to tempt another bidder to top it, and I thought I’d made it plain that I am not interested in negotiating. You can tell her that I’m withdrawing the offer and . . .”
“No, no, wait,” Mr. Blair said, seeing his commission beginning to grow wings. “She’s accepted. Her broker saw her sign it. But she didn’t want to send it back until she’d explained a change of plans to her nephew. It seems,” Mr. Blair continued in a wry tone of voice, “she wanted to show him in writing the amount you’d offered, so he’d understand why she was selling. Apparently she’d led him to believe that she would leave the business to him. But, believe me, Mrs. Murdoch, she is more than pleased with your offer.”