DEATH COMES TO AN OPEN HOUSE Page 3

  Chapter 5

  Jean woke just before her alarm went off. Almost immediately, a wave of happiness swept through her.

  A listing! Only her mother’s presence on the love seat threatened to subdue her elation. Ellie’s current inamorato, as her mother liked to call them, had kicked her out and she had been waiting, ready to dump her load of misery on her daughter when Jean bounced into her apartment last night.

  Jean moved about the small space quietly, running water slowly, filling the coffee pot, setting her mug and spoon carefully on the scratched grey Formica. In the combination dressing room/closet, she checked her gray suit and found it still damp in places. At least it was wrinkle-resistant polyester. She could buy a new suit when the DeLucca’s house sold. Another little jab of happiness, then a subdued laugh. Was ever before a damp suit cause for joy?

  For a moment, anxiety froze her hand halfway to her brown dress. What if the listing expired and the DeLuccas gave it to someone else? Sellers did that all the time, taking for granted the effort and money spent by one Realtor, then switching to another in the hopes their luck would change.

  Then her hand reached confidently for the dress. The DeLuccas wouldn’t do that! In this market, it might take a year or more to sell, but they wouldn’t abandon her.

  By the time Jean poured her coffee, she didn’t care if she woke her mother. In fact, she took a certain pleasure in the few noises her small breakfast of an English muffin and microwaved bacon required.

  “Oh, good morning, honey,” her mother crooned as Jean snapped the microwave door shut.

  “Morning, Ellie. Sleep well?”

  “Not in this thing! I’m all cramped.”

  Jean smiled as, perched on one of her three kitchen stools, she smeared peanut butter on her English muffin. It went well with orange juice and bacon.

  The little efficiency was furnished with items carefully pruned from her father’s collection of badly worn, ornate furniture inherited from his mother. The one exception was the wide, square chair that opened up into a single bed Jean had ordered on line. Her father had said that almost worse than Ellie’s spending habits was her total lack of interest in taking care of anything but her own body. Jean retained a small amount of affection and sympathy for the self-indulgent woman curled within the confines of the green velvet love seat, but had made sure there was no bed to offer her.

  “You sure you have to go to work, honey?”

  Ellie Terrence opened her blue eyes wide and Jean had to admire the fact that her mother, with her baby-doll face, bleached hair and still pleasingly rounded figure looked good at thirty-five. Ellie had been sixteen and pregnant by a halfback on the high school football team when she married the kind and homely man Jean called father. For a short time, he had considered himself lucky to have rescued the class beauty and for a few more years Jean would have to admit that her mother was much sexier than she was. Slender was good, but her unmemorable features failed to echo her mother’s looks or, to judge by the picture in her mother’s yearbook, the halfback’s handsomeness. She was her father’s daughter. In some ways, not such a bad thing.

  “Sure, Ellie. Got to enter the listing.”

  “I thought we might go shopping first.”

  “You have no money, Ellie. I have no money. Therefore, no shopping.”

  “But you have that nice listing.”

  “A listing is not money.”

  “It will be.”

  The soft, almost sexy, whine. Part of life with Ellie. Jean could feel her heart switching into fourth gear. She had to get away. But her mother wasn’t done yet.

  “You could buy me lunch.”

  It was no use. There was no way Jean was going to enjoy her favorite breakfast.

  “You could buy me lunch! That’s what parents do for teenage children!”

  Ellie’s adorable little nose wrinkled. “You’re mean. You know I don’t have a job. And you got the money from that college fund. I didn’t even get any furniture!”

  “Because you were living with Hal and didn’t have any place to put it. You got the money from selling what I didn’t take.”

  “A measly four hundred dollars. Besides, you’re younger, not twenty yet.” A trace of envy entered the self-pitying whine. “You should have let me have your chair-bed thing last night.”

  Jean sighed. Ellie also got the bank account, the proceeds from a small life insurance policy and the car. She had to stop letting her mother push her buttons.

  “Yeah, Ellie, I’m mean. But I’m also working, which you’re not. You can sleep all day.”

  She filled her blue Eddie Bauer mug and snapped on the lid. The office’s coffee was, as Stan liked to say, “piss poor.”

  “Coffee’s ready. Gotta go.”

  “I’m not ready for coffee. I’m going back to sleep.”

  Hugging her pillow to breasts that still attracted attention, Ellie got up and headed for Jean’s bed.

  “I’m having company tonight, Ellie,” Jean said firmly. It wasn’t true, especially not in the sense her mother would understand. “Be sure you’re out of here in time for me to clean up after you.”

  “I’ll clean for you, honey,” Ellie said from under the thin quilt.

  “Sure you will.”

  The door was open, but Jean had to add, “Turn off the AC when you leave. And find a place to stay.”

  Silently, she added, this is my place. My place!

  Chapter 6

  At the office, Stan Warren was on duty, which required a suit rather than his more usual slacks and tight polo shirt. He swore that muscles would win more listings from women, but Ed stood firm on the suit for floor duty. Today he was more exuberant than usual.

  “Jean! Thank God! My darling, my savior!” His grin was truly beautiful. “Saviorette? Am I blasphemous? Wouldn’t offend you for the world! Especially today!”

  Stan laughed a lot, easily able to pull anyone into his pleasure. A minor problem was that much of his fun was sexual innuendo and Jean wasn’t comfortable with that. Rita played with it, Marian took it for granted, Hua just said, “You bad! You bad!” and smiled at him in a motherly fashion. He played it soft with Jean, knowing she wasn’t quite up to dealing with this side of him. Jean hadn’t dated much.

  She dumped her purse and briefcase on the couch and bowed slightly.

  “At your service, Mr. Warren. What kind of help do you need?”

  “I …” Stan drew the syllable out, singing it up and down several notes in a rich bass. “… have a listing! He waved familiar legal-size papers in the air. “You entered all Theresa’s listings, didn’t you? At Mom and Dad’s office, a sweet little gal named Joanie does it. Help needed here!”

  Jean laughed, hurdled a barrier of self-consciousness and gave him a hug. His chest and arms were solid. It felt much too nice.

  “Sweet! This office is going to make some money!” she said, trying to match his confident playfulness.

  “Screw the office, sweetheart! I’m concerned with what I will make! This man needs cash!”

  Jean started to say, “This woman, too,” but it felt wrong to call herself a woman. Stan’s years in the Marine Corps supported Stan’s claim. Was it Theresa calling her “child” or her dependence on the others in this office that made her feel not yet a woman?

  “Me, too,” she said, matching his grin.

  Stan’s eyebrows rose. He hadn’t expected her to get a listing any more than she had.

  Two hours later, Jean had put Stan’s listing in the computer, saving him, as he said, “about twenty-four hours of bad typing.” She took her first deep breath of the morning. Thousands of Realtors could now read the words she had entered into the system. Pictures for the internet would have to wait until the painting was done.

  It was not a moment to rush. She sat quietly for a few minutes, watching the office copies run from the printer. Then the inevitable doubt set in. The Board allowed twenty-four hours to enter the listing. Should she have waited for Theresa’
s or Ed’s approval? The excitement of telling Theresa—and everyone else—began to feel more like anxiety.

  She knew Stan had no such doubts.

  “You’re so lucky, you know, to have your Mom and Dad,” she said.

  Stan looked up from his struggle to write an ad for Sunday’s paper and gave her an inquiring look.

  “Tough being on your own?”

  “I have Theresa.”

  “Screw Theresa. Bitch. You have Ed. Use him.”

  “Use him for what?” said a resonant voice from the reception room.

  Ed entered the sales room looking much more presentable than yesterday in a neat charcoal black suit, pale blue shirt and blue and silver tie. He looked more rested, too, but the worry lines around his eyes never went away. His pleasant personality sometimes seemed to Jean like a coat of paint over a worn building.

  “For an old house, that front door is damn quiet, Ed.”

  “True, m’boy. Wouldn’t do to greet clients with a squeak, now would it?” He looked from one to the other. “Something’s up and it’s got to be good.”

  “Listing!” they exclaimed simultaneously.

  “Great! Who?” He looked from one to the other.

  “Both!” Jean said as Stan pointed one index finger at himself, one at her.

  “Way to go! Hey, Viv!” Ed called.

  Vivian Brumm came to the staff room doorway, a short, plain woman one would call dumpy if it weren’t for the fact that she was very fit, an unfashionable hour-glass figure, the muscles in her arms and legs too prominent for feminine beauty. Jean hadn’t seen her often and had an inclination to dislike her, probably because Theresa obviously did.

  “These kids got listings! Both of ‘em! You were okay, Stan?”

  “Did call Dad,” Stan admitted.

  “And I’m sure you were fine, Jean. Need help putting them in the multiple listing system?”

  “Been there, done that.”

  Jean admired Stan’s dismissive tone. Chutzpah. Wasn’t that the word? No mention that she did it for him.

  “Okay, then. You have to be independent in this business. I guess you got that.”

  Vivian spoke for the first time. Her voice didn’t match her strong body. It was soft, as comforting as her round, pleasant face. She was smiling, but, as always, it was gentle rather than joyous.

  “Congratulations, both of you,” she said. “I understand you’ve already planned for an open house Sunday, Jean.”

  “Yes. Haven’t written the ad yet.”

  “Stan?”

  “Yup. Got to sell this baby myself.”

  Ed looked skeptical.

  “Well, you both have a shot. But don’t count on it, guys. You know the market. You review everything with Jean, Viv. I’ll go over your stuff, Stan.”

  Stan made a messy stack of the many forms and they left for Ed’s office. Vivian sat at Hua’s desk facing Jean.

  “You write the ad, Jean, while I look these over. I’m told you’re pretty good with words. You’re all right being with Harold on Sunday?”

  That bit of insight and sympathy brought a spurt of liking for Vivian. Jean was aware that she would have been much more nervous working under Theresa’s critical gaze, but she wished that murder business hadn’t been brought up. It was hard to imagine a dweeb like Harold as much protection. He had trouble getting out of a chair. After a few moments of silence, Jean began to write.

  Ed returned to the sales room half an hour later, followed by Stan, who gave Jean a wink and a thumbs up behind Ed’s back.

  “Time to celebrate! How’re you two doing?”

  “Finished, I think. Jean has a feel for ads. What kind of celebration did you have in mind? Food, I hope.”

  “You bet! Manny’s?”

  Most nearby Realtors considered Manny’s their place. It had enough light to read a contract, but not too much to spoil the publike atmosphere created by dark wood, green and white checked tablecloths and autographed pictures of unknown people on the walls. There was a separate menu for liquor, a necessary item for those involved in a working world that was, as Marian put it, “fraught.” The business had its share of alcoholics.

  “Manny’s it is. On the house. Jean, you free?”

  Jean nodded. “I’m in!”

  “And Stan, you’re relieved of floor duty. Turn on the answering machine. Phone hasn’t rung since we got here.”

  It took only a few minutes to walk to Manny’s. By the time they were seated, orders given, drinks in hand, Ed was at his best, acting as genial host. Vivian was a listener, a compliment to her husband.

  When Vivian said that Jean was one of the agents Ed said he would like to adopt, Jean impulsively said, “I wish someone would.”

  She was immediately embarrassed. Did they realize she meant it? This could be her family, encouraging father, gentle mother, fun brother. Stan’s color was wrong, but not unusual in today’s world. She took a sip of her iced tea and stirred it carefully and unnecessarily, an excuse to avoid the others’ eyes.

  “I think we’re alike, Jean.” Vivian’s softly spoken words were like strokes of sympathy. “You want the conventional, comfortable life, home, family, children, security?”

  “Yes,” Jean said positively. “I do. I know—have you noticed?—the heroines of most of the TV shows are like men. I’m no Joan of Arc. And the security and all—I haven’t had that for almost a year. It’s not a bad dream, is it? I want the moon and June and all the good stuff that follows. Like a fifties movie.”

  “That’s what I wanted, too. No apologies to anyone. I think it’s built into us biologically. For me—” her eyes closed for a split second “—the children didn’t come.” She smiled, erasing Jean’s discomfort. “Would it be nosy to ask if you were mooning and Juning at the moment?”

  Fortunately, the food arrived and Jean didn’t have to admit that no man or boy had shown any interest in her for some time. The conversation turned once more to the listings and then to football. Jean had never liked football, in high school a game that seemed to bring out the worst in boys. They became loud, aggressive and, in the crowd, sometimes a hand would poke her suggestively. When the men turned their chairs to talk about the next game with friends at the next table, Vivian returned to the subject of Jean’s life.

  You never talk about your mother. She’s still living, I think I’ve heard.”

  “She left Dad when I was twelve. She’s still here. But she doesn’t live with me. She moves around.”

  “I see.”

  Jean wondered if she did.

  “You’re young to be on your own. We—Ed and I—have wondered about that, but you seemed reluctant to talk.”

  “I was. And I—well, I just got a listing, so maybe I’ll be all right. And being alone is something I’m good at. I ran the household for Dad. It feels lonely sometimes, but it feels kind of nice and free sometimes, too. Maybe it’s easier taking care of just me. Like, I don’t cook much any more. Rita is making me eat healthy stuff. Raw carrots are easier than pot roast.”

  It was a good way to end the conversation, laughing.

  Chapter 7

  “Ah, there you all are!” A sliver of criticism glittered in Theresa’s greeting. “I was a little surprised to find the answering machine on.”

  “We were celebrating at lunch. Stan and Jean took new listings last night.”

  There was no apology in Ed’s explanation.

  Theresa smiled at Jean. “Excellent, my dear.”

  Joy took a little jump inside Jean, quickly squelched as her mentor added, “without my help. I hope it went all right.”

  Ed answered for her.

  “It went beautifully. Nice listing, well priced and the forms in perfect order.”

  “Good. I see you have learned.”

  “Thanks, Theresa. I did it just the way you said. I even used your words. They really liked me.”

  There was no hug, no handshake, but Theresa’s smile was genuine.

  “Well, why
shouldn’t they, child? Stan, you have no experience to speak of. Ed went with you?”

  “Nope. It really doesn’t require genius.”

  It was a challenge, no mention that Stan had called his parents and needed Jean’s help entering the listing.

  “Take this business seriously, Stanley. You haven’t even finished training.”

  Theresa’s eyes had become smaller. Jean wondered, as she had often this last year, why it seemed that Theresa was running this office. Probably because she brought in the most money.

  “It was fine, Theresa. They both did a good job.”

  “It’s your policy, Ed.”

  Kevin had appeared from the sales room and taken a stand in the doorway, arms folded across his chest, a faint smile on his usually bland face.

  “We were both available at the other end of a phone.”

  “We agreed on that rule, though. A new agent accompanies an experienced one for at least three listing appointments. Jean has been with me on six or seven. It’s protection for the—”

  “There’s not a damn thing wrong with either of these listings!”

  Stan’s small supply of patience had run out.

  From beside her, softly, so that only Jean could hear, came Vivian’s voice.

  “Not again, Ed. Not again.”

  Vivian turned and went back out the front door. Jean watched her leave, thinking that she was like Vivian. She would have liked to follow, but there was her ad to give to Ed. She compromised and walked up the stairs to the bathroom. The angry voices of Stan and Theresa could easily be heard from below.

  “Wuss!” she accused her reflection in the mirror. Theresa and Stan fought, Ed played umpire, Kevin enjoyed the excitement. Rita would have, too. Hua would have shaken her head and gone on with her work.

  “Life is like this. Deal with it!”