lies, and thus creates a barrier to competition. Because most dealers don’t want to deal with an entire houseful of miscellaneous goods, I have a leg up, and almost never overbid.
I shrugged. “I think you should accept that person’s offer. I doubt you’ll do better.” I headed for the door.
“Wait,” she called after me. “Actually, that offer was contingent on our selling some of the pieces we decided to keep. You didn’t see them. Eight hundred cash?”
“Yes,” I said.
She looked at me for several seconds. “Okay. What the hell? Sold.”
My offer was fair, but her attitude made our interaction seem somehow sleazy, a feeling I hated. If a negotiation ends with anyone feeling bad or shortchanged, it’s a failure , my dad told me when I was first given bargaining responsibility at Frisco’s. It’s more than “win-win ,” he explained, which sometimes is more a matter of smoke and mirrors than substance. It’s being fair .
Do the right thing, kiddo , he added, and you’ll never be sorry .
I stood with the sun on my back, straddling the front door threshold, promising that we’d be there at 12:30 tomorrow, cash in hand, and that we’d pack and move everything out right away.
As I walked to my car, I dug my cell phone out of my bag and called Gretchen.
“Hey, Gretchen,” I said, “everything under control?”
“Absolutely. How did it go?”
“We got it!”
“Great!”
“Well, sort of. There’s a few good pieces and a lot of junk. Got a pen?”
“I’m ready.”
“Eric will need four guys and a twenty-footer, and they have to be there at twelve thirty sharp. Got it?”
“Got it.”
“They’ll only have a few hours, but that should be okay, because very little has to be packed carefully. Mostly, it’s furniture, so simple padding will do.”
“Okay.”
“I’ll talk to Eric, but if you speak to him first, tell him that he should focus on the living room and let the other guys take the rest of the house.”
“What’s in the living room?”
I took a quick glance at my notes. “Five cut-crystal bowls, two pairs of sterling silver candlesticks, and thirteen vintage evening gowns.”
“Cool!” Gretchen exclaimed.
“Yeah. Be sure he has proper packing—there’s lots of beading that can fall off.”
“Okay.”
“He’ll need eight hundred in cash.”
“I’ll get it ready.”
“Stress that he needs to count the gowns and bowls.”
I wouldn’t have put it past Verna to hold back one or two of those gowns, and if questioned, claim that they were favorites and weren’t included in the sale. It happens a lot, sometimes for nefarious reasons, and sometimes out of pure sentimental attachment. Regardless, it’s why I have a cast-in-concrete rule that the owner has to sign off on a listing of what we’re buying.
“Will do. Are you on your way back?”
“No,” I told her. “I have some other things to do. I don’t know when I’ll be back.”
That’s the truth , I thought as I ended the call. Knowing Rowcliff, I might be stuck at police headquarters all afternoon, enduring God only knew what innuendos and abuse at his hand.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
M
ax was leaning against his car, his eyes closed, a small smile softening his determined-looking features.
I hated to disturb him and stood several paces away, watching him. Today’s bow tie was dark green with small yellow polka dots. It went nicely with his cocoa-brown and green tweed suit and yellow shirt. His sandy hair was cut short and combed back. After a long minute, I cleared my throat and he opened his eyes.
“Were you six thousand miles away in Hawaii?” I asked.
“No, I was only about ten miles away, in my backyard, smelling the last of my tomatoes and wondering whether we could bring the basil inside for the winter, or whether it’s doomed.”
“Yum.”
“Yeah,” he agreed. He stood up and straightened his jacket. “So,” he asked, “how are you holding up?”
“Good. Better than I
I shrugged. “I think you should accept that person’s offer. I doubt you’ll do better.” I headed for the door.
“Wait,” she called after me. “Actually, that offer was contingent on our selling some of the pieces we decided to keep. You didn’t see them. Eight hundred cash?”
“Yes,” I said.
She looked at me for several seconds. “Okay. What the hell? Sold.”
My offer was fair, but her attitude made our interaction seem somehow sleazy, a feeling I hated. If a negotiation ends with anyone feeling bad or shortchanged, it’s a failure , my dad told me when I was first given bargaining responsibility at Frisco’s. It’s more than “win-win ,” he explained, which sometimes is more a matter of smoke and mirrors than substance. It’s being fair .
Do the right thing, kiddo , he added, and you’ll never be sorry .
I stood with the sun on my back, straddling the front door threshold, promising that we’d be there at 12:30 tomorrow, cash in hand, and that we’d pack and move everything out right away.
As I walked to my car, I dug my cell phone out of my bag and called Gretchen.
“Hey, Gretchen,” I said, “everything under control?”
“Absolutely. How did it go?”
“We got it!”
“Great!”
“Well, sort of. There’s a few good pieces and a lot of junk. Got a pen?”
“I’m ready.”
“Eric will need four guys and a twenty-footer, and they have to be there at twelve thirty sharp. Got it?”
“Got it.”
“They’ll only have a few hours, but that should be okay, because very little has to be packed carefully. Mostly, it’s furniture, so simple padding will do.”
“Okay.”
“I’ll talk to Eric, but if you speak to him first, tell him that he should focus on the living room and let the other guys take the rest of the house.”
“What’s in the living room?”
I took a quick glance at my notes. “Five cut-crystal bowls, two pairs of sterling silver candlesticks, and thirteen vintage evening gowns.”
“Cool!” Gretchen exclaimed.
“Yeah. Be sure he has proper packing—there’s lots of beading that can fall off.”
“Okay.”
“He’ll need eight hundred in cash.”
“I’ll get it ready.”
“Stress that he needs to count the gowns and bowls.”
I wouldn’t have put it past Verna to hold back one or two of those gowns, and if questioned, claim that they were favorites and weren’t included in the sale. It happens a lot, sometimes for nefarious reasons, and sometimes out of pure sentimental attachment. Regardless, it’s why I have a cast-in-concrete rule that the owner has to sign off on a listing of what we’re buying.
“Will do. Are you on your way back?”
“No,” I told her. “I have some other things to do. I don’t know when I’ll be back.”
That’s the truth , I thought as I ended the call. Knowing Rowcliff, I might be stuck at police headquarters all afternoon, enduring God only knew what innuendos and abuse at his hand.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
M
ax was leaning against his car, his eyes closed, a small smile softening his determined-looking features.
I hated to disturb him and stood several paces away, watching him. Today’s bow tie was dark green with small yellow polka dots. It went nicely with his cocoa-brown and green tweed suit and yellow shirt. His sandy hair was cut short and combed back. After a long minute, I cleared my throat and he opened his eyes.
“Were you six thousand miles away in Hawaii?” I asked.
“No, I was only about ten miles away, in my backyard, smelling the last of my tomatoes and wondering whether we could bring the basil inside for the winter, or whether it’s doomed.”
“Yum.”
“Yeah,” he agreed. He stood up and straightened his jacket. “So,” he asked, “how are you holding up?”
“Good. Better than I
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