Page 74 of The Christmas Spirits on Tradd Street
“No, Melanie. Just the cleaning people. Why? Is something missing?”
I stared at the small pillow still clutched in my hand. “No, actually. It’s—”
“The Farrells are here. I’m sending them back now.”
“Thanks—” I started, but she’d already hung up, the sound of dead space quickly replaced with that of tapping on my office door. “Come in.”
Michael opened the door and stepped back to allow Veronica to enter first, his hand solicitous on the small of her back. Veronica startled when she saw what I held in my hands, her eyes questioning. When Michael noticed it, too, I saw him do a double take, but otherwise he gave no sign that he recognized it.
I indicated the chairs in front of my desk. “Please, have a seat.” Not knowing where else I could put the pillow, I tossed it on the seat of my chair, then sat on it, hoping I wasn’t offending anyone. “Sorry,” I said in explanation. “Bad back.”
They both stared at me, expressionless. To break the awkward silence, I offered them both coffee, and when they declined I pulled out a brand-new yellow lined notepad from my top desk drawer. I had a laptop, a desktop, and an iPad, but nothing could beat plain paper and pencil. And whatever I wrote never disappeared into a cloud, or whatever that thing was where Nola continued to tell me I should be storing documents.
“So,” I said, getting ready for my sales pitch. “I’m glad that my friendship with Veronica has brought you in today, but I also hope that you’ve done some research into my sales record to know that I’m the best agent to list your historic home.”
“Of course,” Michael said, uncrossing his legs and leaning forward with his arms on his thighs—what my boss, Dave Henderson, called the “power stance,” meaning a client was ready to sign on the dotted line. Except I hadn’t gotten that far yet. “So can we dispense with the chitchat and get the house on the market today?”
I placed my perfectly sharpened number two pencil on the pad and looked up at Veronica, who was staring at her lap. “Today?”
“Yes,” Michael said. “I see no reason for delay. We think it will movefast, so we’d also like to look at options for a good family home to move into. We’ll include Lindsey in the decision, of course, but it will be mostly Veronica’s choice.”
He put his hand on her arm, but she was now looking directly at me.
“I see.” I picked up my pencil again. “So, let’s start with that so I can begin thinking about available houses. Veronica, what would you like to see in a new house?”
Michael spoke before Veronica could open her mouth. “We’re flexible on location—Mt. Pleasant and James Island are possibilities. Probably not downtown or South of Broad because we definitely want something more modern than what we have now.” He smiled at his wife, oblivious to the fact that she was neither smiling nor nodding but sitting stoically and staring into space.
He continued. “We’re both tired of the maintenance and upkeep on an older home. And with Lindsey going to college soon, we’d like to spend our downtime traveling and doing things together instead of spending all that time and money repairing things on the house.” He pointed at the pad of paper. “Aren’t you going to write that down?”
I looked up at Veronica to gauge her reaction, but she’d returned her gaze to her lap. I replaced the pencil on the pad with a decisive snap. “Look, why don’t we work on this part later? I’ve already got about a dozen homes in mind—we’ll narrow it down by location later. Right now, I think we should visit your house on Queen Street and make a list of things that might need to be changed or updated before putting it on the market, so you can get top dollar.”
“Oh, please,” Michael said. “There could be a gaping hole in the roof with rain pouring in and someone would still want to buy it because it’s historic and in Charleston.”
“Well, while there is some truth in that, if the house needs expensive repairs or major updates, it will be reflected in the sale price. And if you’re wanting to replace it with another house in Charleston, you’ll want as much money from the sale as you can get.”
Veronica finally spoke. “She’s right, Michael. I don’t want to skimp on the new house, since we’ll be there for a very long time. We have tothink of the future, of possibly having grandchildren and making sure there’s room for them and yard space. It won’t be cheap.”
His face softened, as if the mention of the wordgrandchildrenhad given him a new perspective. Or maybe it had been the words “it won’t be cheap.” “I see what you’re saying. But that doesn’t mean we should be dragging our heels.”
“Of course not,” I said. “But we need to make sure that we take enough time to do it right, however long that takes. Try to think of it in terms of money—the more move-in ready your house, the higher the asking price.”
When Michael smiled, I realized we were finally speaking the same language. “Fine,” he said as he stood. “Then bring your pencil and paper and let’s head home so we can get started. Hopefully, it won’t take too long.”
Michael was already walking toward the door and didn’t notice Veronica’s thumbs-up, which she gave me behind his back.
“Hopefully,” I said, shoving the pad and pencil into my briefcase and retrieving my coat. “Just for good luck, let’s all cross our fingers that there’s nothing major that needs to be done on the house before we put it on the market.”
Michael opened the door and held it for us, dramatically displaying his other hand to show his crossed fingers. “I got us covered.”
Veronica exited in front of me, delivering a brief kiss to Michael’s cheek and distracting him just long enough that he didn’t notice the red pillow fly across the room and hit me in the back before falling to the floor.
Michael glanced behind me briefly as if the flash of color had caught his eye. Then he followed me out the door, pulling it shut with a soft snap.
CHAPTER 26
I took a pedicab from the Farrells’ house on Queen Street to Charleston Place to meet my mother and the children because if I’d had to walk in my heels after exploring all three floors of the Farrells’ Victorian, I would have had to self-amputate at the ankles.
I also had bruises on my rib cage and back from Veronica prodding me every time I said something was fine, and she’d continued poking me until I had ratcheted up the needed upgrade or repair to her satisfaction. By the time I left, my list was ten pages long, enough to keep the house off the market for at least a year unless Michael had his say. He certainly hadn’t looked happy as he’d closed the front door, and I doubted he would go along with even half of the suggestions I’d made.
