Chapter 2
“I’m looking for a small bungalow,” the potential new client said. “Three bedrooms, two baths, two floors, and a large kitchen. A yard that gets direct sun, because I’m always out in the garden. A garage, too. Something set a ways off any major road, but close enough to zip into town when I need to. Do you have anything I can look at tonight?”
Joanne should have said no. She should’ve said give her some time, let her look around, and she’d call back in a few days. It was already quarter after four, and five o’clock was only a few heartbeats away. But the thought of an easy sale dangled in front of her and, stupidly, she said, “Sure. I have a few homes I think you’d love. Give me a half hour to get a few things together, and then we can meet to review what I come up with. How’s that sound?”
Idiotic, her mind whispered, but she ignored it. Turning back to her computer, she typed in the client’s requirements and hoped she’d get a few hits from the firm’s listings which she could show now, without having to wait to coordinate with the owners or retrieve the keys from another agent. It wouldn’t take too long. The client probably didn’t want to be out all night, either.
* * * *
She really should have said no.
In their database, she only found two homes of interest, and of course they were on opposite sides of town. At five o’clock during rush hour traffic, it would take a good thirty minutes to get from one to the other, and that was only if the interstate was clear. Add in the time the client would spend at each home, and Joanne was looking at an hour overtime, tops. But if it landed her a sale…
However, though the client had sounded really interested on the phone, she was less than enthusiastic in person. Joanne drove her to the first home, sure the woman would love it, but she spent most of her time fiddling with her smart phone as Joanne led her through the rooms. Maybe she’s taking pictures,Joanne thought. Or, who knows? Facetiming with her husband so he can see the place, too.
But when Joanne snuck a peek over the woman’s shoulder, she saw a game of Words With Friends in progress. Dull anger rose within her. Seriously? I’m wasting my evening on this?In a clipped voice, she suggested, “If you’d rather we picked this up again tomorrow…”
“What? No,” the woman said hurriedly, pocketing her phone. “I was just checking my e-mail. I’m waiting on a message from my boyfriend.”
Lying bitch. Joanne bit the inside of her lip to keep from saying the words out loud.
Though she knew she should have called it a night, Joanne agreed to show the second home. This time the woman’s phone stayed in her pocket, but Joanne could tell her heart wasn’t in the visit. With a sigh, the woman told her, “I’m really looking for something a bit…I don’t know. Larger?”
“You said you wanted a bungalow,” Joanne pointed out.
“Maybe something split-level?” her client asked.
Joanne suppressed a growl of frustration. “That’s a completely different kind of house.”
The woman nodded, her mind made up. “That’s what I want. Do you have any of those available?”
By then it was already after seven. “I’ll have to look,” Joanne said.
The woman stood, waiting, as if she expected Joanne to pull out an iPad and start searching right that minute.
Joanne clarified, “Tomorrow, when I get back to the office—”
“Oh, I was hoping to see some more homes tonight,” the woman complained.
The next home I’m going to is my own,Joanne thought, irritated. Had she really once thought going into real estate would be fun?
* * * *
At the top of the steps leading to her apartment, Joanne saw a white piece of paper wedged between her door knob and the jamb. Her first thought was a maintenance notice—a scheduled filter change, or maybe the water would be off for a few hours the next morning, something like that. She carried a briefcase in one hand, a paper bag and soda from Hardee’s in the other. Her purse swung precariously from her shoulder. Shifting her dinner into the crook of her arm, she plucked out the paper with her free hand and shook it open.
It wasn’t from maintenance. It was from Miranda. Damn.