Skeleton in a Dead Space (A Kelly O'Connell Mystery) by Judy Alter

cheerful and greeted her father affectionately. Over the girl’s head, Anthony smiled at me. Aloud he asked, “You come by the house later?”
    “I will,” I promised. ”I want to see how you’re doing.”
    “I have something to show you.”
    I smiled. Anthony could always improve on my plans. In a day when skilled carpenters were hard to find and harder to afford, he was a real jewel.
    The girls were cheerful when I dropped them at their schools. “Remember, I have ballet this afternoon. Theresa reminded me to pack my things. They’re in the car.”
    And as I walked Em into her classroom, the small hand clutching mine, I said, “Have a good day, Em.”
    “You too, Mommy. I think this is a good day.”
    I was smiling as I walked into the office. “You win the lottery again?” Keisha asked.
    “Almost. All three girls are happy, and I think things are going to improve.”
    Alan called a few minutes later, with the appraiser’s report on the house. “I’m going to give it to the Hunts right now. I’ll let you know what they say.”
    Waiting, I put pencil to paper, figuring what I’d clear on my house, what moving would cost, and how much I could pay for the Hunt house, calculating monthly mortgage payments, insurance, and taxes. I figured I could afford the appraiser’s estimate plus more if I had to—and still bank some. I was anxious for Alan to call, but he didn’t—and I had a house to show at 10:30.
    “If Alan calls, be sure he has my cell,” I said as I left.
    The client, Claire Guthrie who wanted a house in good condition, seemed to like the first house, a two-story that had been one of the earliest Fairmount houses redone, but it now needed remodeling again. It was in what I thought of as Lower Fairmount, where the neighborhood begins to edge into the more fashionable Ryan Place.
    “I like it,” Mrs. Guthrie said, “and I think my husband will. But three bedrooms. We did want four so each of the girls could have her own room and we’d still have an office that could also be a guest room. Do you have any two-story four-bedrooms to show me?”
    I thought a minute. I’d just put the sign up in my yard, and I hadn’t straightened this morning—breakfast dishes were still in the sink. Honesty, I decided, was the best policy. “I do have one,” I said, taking along breath. “It’s my house. But I didn’t straighten up this morning, didn’t even do the dishes. I wasn’t expecting to show it so soon.”
    “Oh, bother the dishes. I’d like to see it. If it’s good enough for a realtor, it must be a good house. Why are you moving?”
    “I’m moving to a smaller house.” No need to add, “And more charming.”
    I took her through the house, room by room. Even with unmade beds and messy girls’ rooms, the house showed well. And I knew how to point out its strong points—privacy in the master suite with its redone, spacious bath and its built-in office space. Claire Guthrie quickly saw that she could make another use of her guest room, and said, “I’ve wanted a separate place to put all my knitting supplies. This would be perfect.”
    In the kitchen I pointed to the warming drawer, the separate bar area Tim insisted on, the trendy glass-front cabinets, and the spacious work counter.
    “I’m a cook,” Claire gushed. “I’d love to cook in this kitchen. And we’d have to redo that other kitchen. How much are you asking for your house?”
    I knew my price from my calculations earlier in the morning, and I gave her a figure, saying, “It’s non-negotiable, and it doesn’t include agent’s fees.”
    “When could we have possession?”
    “As soon as I hear from the agent who’s handling the purchase of the new house, I’ll be able to tell you.”
    We made arrangements for Mrs. Guthrie to bring her husband back at five that evening. After she left, I flew around the house, straightening the kitchen, making beds, fluffing pillows on the couch. Then I went and bought bouquets of