Page 66 of Your Every Wish
“It’s a beautiful piece of property and highway convenient.”
“So you know the place?” Kennedy says.
“Of course. I was the listing agent . . . I think it was two or three years ago.” She sticks her face in the three-ring binder again while Kennedy and I exchange glances.
Two years ago was when Willy purchased the park. I don’t have to ask to intuit that Kennedy and I are thinking the same thing.
“Yes, it was two years ago. Whew, time flies.”
“Did you know the buyer, Willy Keil?” Kennedy asks.
“His agent was Dick Morton, if I’m not mistaken. Dick Morton from Compass.”
Kennedy drums her fingers on the table. “Did he say why he wanted a trailer park?”
For a moment Sheila is confused. But she rebounds quickly, realizing that Kennedy is talking about Willy Keil and not Dick Morton from Compass.
“Hmm, I’m trying to remember. Why?”
I step in. “Because Willy Keil is our late father. We inherited the property from him when he died.”
“And now you want to sell it,” she says, trying to steer us back to business.
“Yes,” Kennedy says. I kick her under the table. “Not immediately,” she amends. “First, we want to learn a little about the market.”
“Makes sense.”
But I can see Sheila deflate like a balloon that’s been stuck with a ten-inch nail.
“Would you like me to work up a comp analysis for you? Let’s see . . .” She’s got her nose in the three-ring binder again. “Two years ago it sold for two point two. But it was starting to look its age. Still beautiful but in need of a little updating. Purely cosmetic, though.”
“It’s more than cosmetic now,” I say. “Quite honestly, it’s pretty run-down.”
“But nothing that can’t be fixed,” Kennedy quickly adds. “You were saying two point two. But there’s been appreciation since then, right?”
“Absolutely. The market’s gone crazy. Everyone priced out of wine country is coming here.”
“Which is great for the profitability of a trailer park, isn’t it?” I say and flash Kennedy a grin that saysSee?
“For sure. Or developers. Sky’s the limit.”
“So, how much do you think it could go for?” Kennedy asks.
“I’d have to work up some numbers. It’s a unique property, not a lot out there like it for comps. Can you give me a couple of days?”
“Can you just give us a ballpark?” Kennedy says.
Sheila turns to me. “You say it’s in disrepair.” I nod. “I’d have to do a walk-through, see what’s going on, but off the top of my head three maybe. More if the repairs don’t require too much. But honestly there are newer, more modern trailer parks in the area. I would market this as builder-ready land to open up our buyer pool. As I recall, it’s a significant amount of property.”
“Eighty-six acres,” Kennedy says.
“Septic, and electrical . . . it’s all there. It’s all ready. Developers won’t care about the fact that it’s fallen into disrepair, whereas a buyer who wants to keep the trailer park will want us to make all the fixes or sell at a rock-bottom price.”
I count how many times she says “we” as if she has the listing already. And even if I wanted to sell, which I don’t— not yet anyway—the idea of selling to a developer who will kick everyone out makes me queasy.
“This has been extremely helpful, Sheila.” I gather up my purse, bottled water, and shove my individual package of Goldfish in my jacket pocket. “Thank you for seeing us. We’ll be in touch.”
“Uh . . . okay. Yes, thank you, Sheila.” Kennedy follows me to the car. “What the hell? We were just getting to the good part. ”
