and dallying at Kelly Wymonds’ had me racing to make my house-showing appointment with Doc.
I paused long enough to download the pictures I’d taken of Harvey’s house, return Mona’s camera to her desk drawer, and wet my throat with a much-needed Diet Coke. Then I grabbed the MLS printouts I’d prepared for today’s house-hunting adventure and scooted toward the front door.
“Where are you off to in such a hurry, Blondie?” Ray spoke with his usual demeaning tone.
Oh, how I longed to cram one of my sandals down his throat, but I was wearing my only pair of Anne Klein sling-backs, so I resisted. “To show some houses.”
I’d hoped to see something akin to fear in his eyes, the realization that his nephew’s future at Calamity Jane Realty was in danger. A smirk was all I got.
“You really think you have a fighting chance this late in the game?”
I backed against the door, pushing it open. Heat whooshed inside. “Kiss my ass, Ray.”
The sound of his laughter followed me out onto the sidewalk, where Doc stood waiting for me. He had to be boiling in his black jeans and tan T-shirt, which hugged his broad shoulders.
“Hi,” I said, squinting up at him. “I didn’t realize you were out here. You should have come inside where it’s cooler.”
He shrugged. “I don’t mind the heat.”
I did, from both the sun and Ray. “You ready to go?”
“Sure.” He followed my lead, quiet until we climbed into my sizzling Bronco—parked one teeth-grinding block away from my usual spot. “Ray likes to give you a hard time, doesn’t he?”
That was a loaded question. Bad-mouthing a coworker to a client was on Jane’s list of “No-Nos.” I cranked down the window and started the engine, trying to come up with a nice, non-insulting answer.
“Ray can be ...” a huge asshole, a colossal dickhead, a gargantuan bastard . “Let’s just say Ray can be a little uncouth, sometimes. I’m sure he means no harm by it.” If I had been made of wood and string, my nose would have been crossing the North Dakota state line right about now.
I could feel Doc’s eyes on me as I wheeled onto the street. I glued a smile on my face and pretended that working with Ray made swimming with blood-sucking leeches sound peachy-keen.
The first house on my list didn’t look so bad, considering it was supposed to be haunted by a murdered prostitute named Lilly Devine.
When Mona had informed me of this well-known rumor early this morning, I’d debated striking the place from today’s itinerary. However, she’d hushed my R-rated rant with one of her shoulder hugs and informed me that every other house in town was rumored to be haunted. With a history as greed-filled and violent as Deadwood’s, the ghosts probably outnumbered the living.
If I believed in Casper and his wispy pals, Mona’s pep talk would have had me jumping at every groaning floor board and creaking door hinge. Fortunately, my fear of things that go “bump” in the night ebbed about the time my period kicked in. However, that didn’t mean I planned to broadcast to a client any superstitions about ghostly hangouts, especially when I was peddling the haunt to him.
Shutting off the engine, I stared at the brick, Tudor-style cottage, the looming chimney and steep roof both desperate for some TLC. “What do you think? You want to see the inside?”
“Sure.” He pushed open the door and stepped onto the cracked concrete drive.
I followed him to the arched wooden door, handed him the printout detailing the property, and fished the key from the lockbox. The front door opened into a yellow living room carpeted in wall-to-wall, orange shag. I heard Doc inhale from behind me and peeked over my shoulder at him, expecting to
I paused long enough to download the pictures I’d taken of Harvey’s house, return Mona’s camera to her desk drawer, and wet my throat with a much-needed Diet Coke. Then I grabbed the MLS printouts I’d prepared for today’s house-hunting adventure and scooted toward the front door.
“Where are you off to in such a hurry, Blondie?” Ray spoke with his usual demeaning tone.
Oh, how I longed to cram one of my sandals down his throat, but I was wearing my only pair of Anne Klein sling-backs, so I resisted. “To show some houses.”
I’d hoped to see something akin to fear in his eyes, the realization that his nephew’s future at Calamity Jane Realty was in danger. A smirk was all I got.
“You really think you have a fighting chance this late in the game?”
I backed against the door, pushing it open. Heat whooshed inside. “Kiss my ass, Ray.”
The sound of his laughter followed me out onto the sidewalk, where Doc stood waiting for me. He had to be boiling in his black jeans and tan T-shirt, which hugged his broad shoulders.
“Hi,” I said, squinting up at him. “I didn’t realize you were out here. You should have come inside where it’s cooler.”
He shrugged. “I don’t mind the heat.”
I did, from both the sun and Ray. “You ready to go?”
“Sure.” He followed my lead, quiet until we climbed into my sizzling Bronco—parked one teeth-grinding block away from my usual spot. “Ray likes to give you a hard time, doesn’t he?”
That was a loaded question. Bad-mouthing a coworker to a client was on Jane’s list of “No-Nos.” I cranked down the window and started the engine, trying to come up with a nice, non-insulting answer.
“Ray can be ...” a huge asshole, a colossal dickhead, a gargantuan bastard . “Let’s just say Ray can be a little uncouth, sometimes. I’m sure he means no harm by it.” If I had been made of wood and string, my nose would have been crossing the North Dakota state line right about now.
I could feel Doc’s eyes on me as I wheeled onto the street. I glued a smile on my face and pretended that working with Ray made swimming with blood-sucking leeches sound peachy-keen.
The first house on my list didn’t look so bad, considering it was supposed to be haunted by a murdered prostitute named Lilly Devine.
When Mona had informed me of this well-known rumor early this morning, I’d debated striking the place from today’s itinerary. However, she’d hushed my R-rated rant with one of her shoulder hugs and informed me that every other house in town was rumored to be haunted. With a history as greed-filled and violent as Deadwood’s, the ghosts probably outnumbered the living.
If I believed in Casper and his wispy pals, Mona’s pep talk would have had me jumping at every groaning floor board and creaking door hinge. Fortunately, my fear of things that go “bump” in the night ebbed about the time my period kicked in. However, that didn’t mean I planned to broadcast to a client any superstitions about ghostly hangouts, especially when I was peddling the haunt to him.
Shutting off the engine, I stared at the brick, Tudor-style cottage, the looming chimney and steep roof both desperate for some TLC. “What do you think? You want to see the inside?”
“Sure.” He pushed open the door and stepped onto the cracked concrete drive.
I followed him to the arched wooden door, handed him the printout detailing the property, and fished the key from the lockbox. The front door opened into a yellow living room carpeted in wall-to-wall, orange shag. I heard Doc inhale from behind me and peeked over my shoulder at him, expecting to
Similar Books
