Granddad's House (On Geneva Shores) (5 page)

“Where is
your husband?” Olivia asked.

“Ex-husband—at least I
hope he’s an ex by now. I haven’t heard from my attorney, so I don’t know if it’s final yet.”

Helen
opened the door and ushered Melanie and Olivia into the cool interior of the living room. Its ambience suggested happier times. Family pictures adorned the top of the grand piano, books in the shelves, most of them neatly arrayed.

“What a lovely room!”
Olivia remarked.
Deep plush carpet, tasteful décor, brick surrounding the gas fireplace, nice coved ceiling, although it needs some paint
. She pointed to the area near the entrance to the dining room in need of paint.

Melanie scribbled more notes, then asked Helen, “Are you keeping all the furniture?”

“I want some of the pieces. I don’t think Dave wants any. He hasn’t said.” Helen pushered back her flyaway brown hair and looked hopefully at Olivia. “But if a buyer wants to buy something, let me know. I could use the extra cash.” The woman led them into the kitchen.

Melanie exclaimed over the appliances and the recently-installed granite counters and tile flooring. “When did you make these improvements?”

“We put them in right before Dave decided to split. I haven’t had much time to enjoy them, what with the divorce and all,” Helen said.

“Could you show us the upstairs?” Olivia moved toward the extra-wide staircase as she imagined how a bride might look gliding toward her intended, pausing at the landing before joining her groom in front of the minister, family members, and admiring guests. The bride would have an off-the-shoulder gown with a lace overlay, and a lacy veil over her shoulder-length curls. The groom would be tall and have an angular face, dark hair, green eyes. Her stomach jumped.
Where did that image come from?

Helen’s voice penetrated Olivia’s inadvertent daydream. “I’m not sure Dave came for his stuff in our bedroom. I just got home a few minutes before our appointment. Let’s start with the kids’ rooms.” She gestured toward the end of the upstairs hall.

Olivia glanced first into a guest room—nicely made up and overlooking the front of the house. The next two rooms were clearly devoted to children’s activities. In the large bonus room, obviously a place where children played, clothes lay in haphazard piles and toys dotted the floor.

“Hmm. I see what you mean,” Melanie remarked.

Helen pursed her lips into a thin white line. “I’ll have to get on him for leaving it like this. Let’s check the master. It should be in better shape.”

It wasn’t. The covers on the large king-size bed had been pulled away from the pillows. Clothes had been tossed onto the bed from the nearby walk-in closet. Several pairs of shoes lay clustered near the bed, topped by what looked like soiled T-shirts, shorts and socks.

Helen wrinkled her nose. “I’m sorry, Melanie, Olivia. I wasn’t expecting him to leave things like this.”

Melanie touched her friend’s arm. “It’s okay. We’ll talk to Dave together. If he understands how important it is that we stage the house for showings, maybe—”

Banging on the back door preceded a man’s harsh demand. “Well the hell! Let me in, Helen!” Helen sucked in her breath.

“You’d think he w
ould be nicer about things. It’s Dave.”

All three women
walked quickly down the stairs and through the dining room into the kitchen.

A stocky man
was peering through the screen door. “Did you change the locks already, Helen? Couldn’t you wait till everything was final, for Christ’s sake?” He wiggled the doorknob.

“I did not! You know that key sticks.”
Helen opened the door and backed up as her ex pushed past her and stopped in front of Melanie and Olivia.

“Who are you?” His
dark cold eyes roamed from hairdo to shoes, as if assessing whether either woman was worthy of his time.

Melanie laid
her notebook on the nearest counter, offered him a business card, and thrust out her other hand, a smile brightening her face. “Hi, Dave. Remember me? I’m Melanie Holmes. Helen and I have been friends since high school. And this is Olivia Brown, of Brown Family Realty.”

“Oh, yeah—‘our homes can become your home,
’” he sneered as he looked at the card Melanie offered.

Olivia sighed inwardly.
He’s not going to be easy to work with. Poor Melanie.

Helen brushed against
Melanie’s other arm to get her attention. “So, Melanie, what do you think? Can we get four hundred?”

“
I need to check the stats after I see what the competition is. Then, the three of us can sit down and go over things and—”

Dave interrupted.
“If you can’t get at least five, I’m not signing!”

He reached out and grabbed his ex-wife
’s arm, forcing her to face him. “You know that, Helen! Why are you talking about four hundred when we agreed it was five hundred thousand or nothing?” He shoved her against the wall near the door.

“Since when
do you know everything about selling houses, you ape?” she shouted back at him.

Melanie shot a look of concern at Olivia and took a step away from the couple
.

Olivia
backed away, too, recalling her father’s words years before.

“Just remember,
sweetpea. Couples in the middle of a divorce—most of them anyway—are like enraged cats, their claws connecting with anyone in range. Stay at least ten feet away.”

Olivia’s heart began to race
as she watched Helen and Dave verbally lunge at each other, their words like battering rams.

“I think
we’ll just go look around outside,” she said as she turned toward the back door, pulling on Melanie’s arm.

“Oh, no, you don’t!
I don’t want you two wandering around back there.” Dave’s beefy legs propelled him in front of them. “And, you can’t go upstairs, either. I haven’t got my stuff out of the game room or the bedroom. No one goes up there until I say so!”

Helen joined the fray. “We already have, and those rooms are a mess. I thought you were planning to clear out your stuff this weekend, when the twins and I were gone.”

His face, already red, took on a deeper hue. “I had better things to do.” His voice reminded Olivia of a bear’s growl. He turned toward Helen menacingly.

She edged away from him.

“Since when are you the only owner of this house?” Helen galloped up the stairs to the second floor. “It’s time your stuff was outta here. And, since you can’t seem to do that, let me help you.” She disappeared in the direction of the master bedroom. Seconds later, shoes were cascading in twos and threes over the banister and bouncing on the floor on either side of Olivia and Melanie.

Dave ran up the stairs, dodging a cluster of underwear that floated down over the bannister. Melanie glanced at Olivia and raced up the stairs to the landing.

Keeping her voice low, Olivia called out, “Melanie, no. We can’t get in the middle of this. Come back.” She fumbled in her purse for her cell phone and ducked as a boot sailed past her head, followed by several men’s shirts still on hangers.

She looked up in time to see Dave spin Helen around at the bedroom door, pulling her out of the room and toward the stairs. Her feet slipped out from under her and she screamed as she fell backward. Olivia punched 9-1-1 and turned away from the second floor action to hide her quick request for police assistance for a domestic disturbance.

Melanie screamed when Helen fell against her and they both tumbled off the landing toward the main floor. Helen’s head hit one of the risers with a dull thud. Melanie grabbed for a spindle as she slid backward, trying to slow her fall. Helen’s now-limp weight pushed Melanie toward the wall. When she landed on the tile floor, Helen hit her head on the floor, rolled off Melanie and lay still, a thin red line oozing from her right nostril. Olivia, aghast at what she had witnessed in the last few seconds, though it all seemed to happen in slow motion, sucked in a breath, hoping the police would arrive.

Olivia dialed 9-1-1 again, this time asking for an ambulance. Melanie eased her legs out from under Helen. She reached down and rubbed her left ankle, struggled to her knees and pulled down her skirt, which had ridden up her thighs as Helen’s body slid against her. The red splotch on Helen’s
cheek widened as Melanie leaned over her friend.

“Helen?”
Melanie touched Helen’s shoulder.

Dave clumped back down the stairs. “Serves her right,” he growled as he stepped around
the women, giving Helen a cursory glance before staring at Melanie and Olivia, his thick dark brows bristling. “And, you two—” He pointed one grease-stained finger at them. “Get out of my house. If you don’t bring me an offer of at least five hundred thousand, don’t expect to get paid—except in pain!”

Olivia watched him disappear out the front door before it slammed. Her temples began to pound and her heart was doing a jig in her chest. She looked down at Melanie and Helen. By the
time two police officers and the EMTs arrived, Helen was sitting up, trying to stem the blood still dripping from her nose and groggily rubbing her face, which was now swollen where she had hit the stairs. Melanie was comforting her.

“Hold still, ma’am.” The EMT wrapped Melanie’s ankle. “You’ll want to get checked out at the ER—to make sure—you know—that you’re okay.  You sure you didn’t hit your head as you fell?”

Melanie shook her head. “I’m sure I didn’t. And I need to get back to the office.” Her chin quivered slightly as she looked up at Olivia.

“But Helen did,” Olivia cut in. “She needs to go to the ER after she talks to the police.”

The homeowner was now on the phone, tearfully recounting what Dave had done to someone she called Fergie. Was Fergie her attorney? A friend? A family member?

Dave’s words rang in Olivia’s ears—“except in pain.” What did he mean? Was he going to be like that client who had pulled a gun on her father? She shivered as she stood up and began to walk toward the door.

One of the police officers, the tall one with sandy hair, stopped Melanie. “Ma’am, are these yours?” He held up her shoes by their straps.

Melanie nodded and took them from him.

“Are you sure you’re okay—that you can walk okay?”

“I’m fine.” But she looked to Olivia as if she was gritting her teeth, obviously not wanting to admit that her ankle hurt.

“Maybe we should go to the ER, Melanie. Let me take you,” Olivia offered as she leaned against the door casement. “Helen, we can’t list the house if your husband—ex-husband, whatever he is—won’t cooperate. If his name is on the deed.”

“I’ll get him to cooperate. My lawyer will get him to sign.
” Helen held a cold compress to her nose. “I’m sorry I landed on you, Mel. How’s your foot?”

Melanie ignored her question.
“Call me after your lawyer gets things straightened out with Dave—or maybe have the attorney call me.” Melanie headed for her car, not seeming to care that the heels of her pantyhose caught on the rough spots on the sidewalk with every step.

Olivia stopped her from opening the driver’s side door. “Let me drive, Melanie. Your foot is hurting. I did something similar at my last open house. Ice it tonight and stay off it as much as you can, but if it’s still hurting tomorrow, let me know and we’ll go to the ER.”

When Melanie limped back into the office, Genevieve had already left and the phone was blinking. Olivia picked it up to retrieve the messages.  The first one, it turned out, was from Dave. “Stay the hell away from my house—or I’ll make sure you never sell another house again!”

She walked into Melanie’s office. “How badly do you want Helen’s listing?”

“She’s my friend. I promised her.” Melanie looked close to tears. “Are they always like that? I mean, the wife wants to sell and the husband doesn’t, or wants more money than it’s worth?”

“Spouses don’t always agree. I think, in this case, the divorce is the major issue.” She pushed a tissue box closer to Melanie’s trembling fingers. “You don’t have to take this listing. It’s your choice, even though it’s your first one.”

“I’d like to at least try.” She sniffed.

“Okay. We’ll work on the numbers together, but if Dave won’t sign the listing docs, you’ll have to tell Helen you can’t help her.” Olivia turned to go back to her office, stopped and reversed direction. “Maybe the attorneys can help. Let me know.”

Melanie nodded. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Olivia
sipped on a soda and debated whether to call the police about Dave’s threats. At the house, she and Melanie had concentrated on his actions against Helen. “He can’t really mean it,” she mumbled to herself in the now-empty office. She slipped her feet out of her shoes.

But
what if Dave really did mean it? She sighed, more tired than she wanted to admit. “I’ll worry about it tomorrow—like Scarlett,” she finally announced to the empty room.

She’d reached over to turn out the desk lamp when she remembered the second message. It was from Ned. “Baby, I’m back.
Wanna catch dinner and a movie? Give me a call.”