Page 76 of A Wolf After My Own Heart
found the mess, found the
(aw jeez poor thing urrgghh here comes my lunch)
body, called the cops and asked them to send an ambulance, which turned out to be waaaay too optimistic.
There’d been nothing but trouble since. Needless to say, potential buyers weren’t keen on the wreckage. Assurances that such a thing had never happened before—and what were the odds of a repeat performance?—were shrugged off. Worse, the cops had told her the whole thing would be sealed off for a bit, probably just long enough for spring buyers to peter out.
But then what? Wendy didn’t even know who to call. Was her field a crime scene, or just an accident site? Was there a business that specialized in plane crash cleanup in rural Iowa? (Though her wife would say “rural Iowa” was redundant. But Kelly could be a snob and a half. Thought getting a degree from the U of M meant she was a city gal.)
So all week, she’d taken the path around the back of the house that led to the edge of the field, staring at the morbid mess and wondering if she could just rent a bulldozer and raze it all, damn the law and the consequences, just raze it and then bury it deep and stick the FOR SALE sign back up.
Today, someone beat her to the field. As she approached, she was waved at by a young woman with a mop of butter-colored curls and eyes the color of the sky. Not today’s sky. A random sky in June when the forecast was for pure sunshine. She was wearing jeans, a red sweatshirt (“It’s a beautiful day to leave me alone”), muddy sneakers, and glasses.
“Well, hi there!”
“Uh. Hello. Is that a plane behind you?”
“It’stwoplanes behind me.”
Wendy shook her head. “No, I meant the one that isn’t all smashed up.”
“Yes. The plane behind me is also a plane. Can I help you?”
“I think that’s supposed to be my line.” She came a bit closer, more curious than nervous. “This is private property. Mine, I mean.”
“Oh! I’m sorry. As soon as my pilot gets back we’ll take off. Heh.”
“Where’s your pilot?”
“His amoebic dysentery came back, so.” At Wendy’s wince, she added, “Don’t worry, he promised not to diarrhea downwind this time. I’m sure we’re perfectly safe. Well. I am. Have you had all your shots? No judgement, especially if you’re an anti-vaxxer.”
“Anti-vaxxers are gonna kill us all,” she said automatically, because Kelly had had plenty to say aboutthatas well. “So you’re not from the county? Were you maybe interested in the land? Is that why you’re here?”
“Why else would I be here? There’s simply no other explanation for this conversation. So yes, obviously, verrrrrrry interested. Does all the crash debris come with it, or will you be charging extra for that?”
“I don’t know.” Wendy felt desperate but hoped it didn’t show. “I’ve been trying to figure out how to get rid of it. Unless you want it. In which case I’ll throw it in for free.”
“Good to know. I’ll tell my client. Pilot, I mean. My pilot-client. My client who happens to be a pilot.”
“You’re a Realtor?”
“Number one in Fargo.”
“But this isn’t Fargo. It’s not even North Dakota.”
“That’s why I moved. There were no real estate challenges left for me in Fargo. Or North Dakota.” She spread her hands. “So. Here I am. Ta-dah!”
“Okay.” Wendy couldn’t tell if she was overtired (sleep had been in short supply since the crash) or if the woman was wacko. And there was always the chance that both things were true. “D’you have a card?”
“I threw them all down the garbage disposal.”
Don’t ask. Just don’t.“Why?”
“I was having a career crisis.”
Toldja not to ask.“So you’re not a Realtor anymore?”
“Well, the crisis ended. So, yes, I’m still a Realtor. Why else would I be standing in a muddy field by myself? I mean, with a client?”
