DEATH COMES TO AN OPEN HOUSE (4 page)

“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!”

Everyone in the office seemed to have a strong personality, charged with energy and confidence. Well, she amended, Harold had confidence if not a personality. And Kevin had neither, but apparently even he didn’t run from discord. Was it crazy to think she could earn a living in this business? How could she sell herself to other people if she didn’t have a high opinion of herself?

“But I do like myself,” she whispered earnestly to the old, black-flecked mirror. “I do!”

The mirror offered no reassurance.

 
Chapter 8

Jean woke on Sunday with a sense of dread. She had lived with these uncomfortable beginnings for much of her life. The cause was no longer her parents’ fights and the financial dragon had lost a little weight. Was it the murder at the open house and the other threat? Or the fight Wednesday between Theresa and Stan? The office family was all she had. Her life had become too different from her high school friends, all of whom had gone to college. She had drifted away from the painful difference between her life and theirs. Mom was … well, life would be easier without Mom.

Often, when the moon was in the right part of the sky as it was last night, Jean left the drapes open. From this third floor apartment, just the tips of a few trees were visible as Jean lay between the protective arms of her chair-bed. The cheerful red geraniums were gone. They now adorned the DeLucca’s front stoop, a memory that eased anxiety. From there, she followed the usual cure: list the good things. She had a listing, the test of any Realtor. If the DeLucca’s house sold soon, that one commission, with Theresa’s odd job payments, would last a while. Yesterday’s lunch seemed to have put her in the “family” in a way she had never been before. The fights were dismissed. Realtors were competitive and some of them didn’t get along. As long as she did, that was all that mattered. It helped that Ellie was gone; Jean didn’t know where. Ellie wasn’t big on explanations. Her absence always lowered Jean’s stress level.