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“Anatoly, I’m in Ashbury Heights.” It was amazing how I could keep my voice smooth even as my hands shook. “A Realtor was just giving me a tour of this Victorian he’s representing and—”

“Now? It’s almost nine o’clock.”

“Yeah, I know it’s unusual, but that’s not why I’m calling. Listen, the owner’s here and he’s sort of…dead.”

There was a moment of silence followed by a Russian curse. “You found another dead body.”

“It would seem that way, yes.”

“Are you safe?”

“Yeah, I’m here with the real-estate agent and he’s calling 911.” Scott and I had now reached the bottom of the stairs and he was standing by the bay windows answering some dispatcher’s questions. “The owner was old so he probably died of natural causes. Still, could you come over? I mean, it’s not like I’ve never been through something like this, you know that and…well, you’d think it would get easier, but…”

“Tell me how to get there and I’ll come over immediately.”

I looked up at Scott. He was describing the state of the body to someone on the phone and gagging between sentences. Thank God for Anatoly because I was pretty sure Scott wasn’t going to be that big of a comfort to me.

2

Smart Agoraphobics Invest in Real Estate.

—The Lighter Side of Death

LESS THAN FIVE MINUTES LATER, A POLICE CAR AND AN AMBULANCE arrived. The paramedics and one of the two officers immediately went upstairs to check out the body while the other officer, a sergeant with salt-and-pepper hair and a face like Paul McCartney, lingered in the living room to ask Scott and me a few questions. He introduced himself as Sergeant Poplar, but in my head he was Sergeant Pepper. After giving him a quick rundown of why we were there and what we had found, his partner (a cute blond woman who looked more cheerleader than cop) appeared at the top of the stairs and said something about it looking like “natural causes,” at which point Sergeant Pepper asked us to stick around while he took a look for himself. Once both officers were out of sight, Scott and I simultaneously collapsed on the couch and stared up at the vaulted ceiling.

“Well,” Scott said dully, “I’ve never had a house showing like this before.”

“Did you know Oscar well?” I asked. The cushions on the couch were overstuffed to the point of discomfort, but neither Scott nor I moved to find a better seat.

He shook his head and ran his fingers through his hair. “He’s more Venus’s friend.”

“Who’s Venus?”

But before he could answer Anatoly burst through the door. His hands were still encased in the thick black gloves he so frequently wore while riding his Harley, and he creased his forehead in concern. Without a second thought I went to him and he received me with a tight embrace. “You seem to have a talent for being in the wrong place at the wrong time,” he scolded, but his tone was gentle and comforting.

“I just wanted to see the house,” I said, my words muffled by his shirt.

Anatoly pulled back slightly and took in his surroundings. “Nice,” he noted before his eyes landed on Scott. “I take it you’re the Realtor?”

Scott nodded and wiped his palm sweat on his designer jeans before extending his hand to Anatoly. “Scott Colvin, Sophie’s Realtor, friend and ex-husband.”

Anatoly’s smile of greeting froze midhandshake.

“He’s lying,” I said quickly. “At least about being my Realtor, or my friend for that matter.”

“And the ex-husband part?” Anatoly asked, keeping his eyes on Scott. He hadn’t let go of his hand yet, and judging from Scott’s expression, Anatoly’s grip had gotten a little tighter than necessary.

“That part’s true.”

Anatoly released Scott and turned to me. “You came to this house in the middle of the night with your ex-husband?”

“Eight-thirty’s the middle of the night?” Scott asked. “Guess you must be an early-to-bed guy. Sophie and I have always been night owls.”

“We haven’t seen each other in ten years, Scott,” I hissed. “You have no idea what my sleeping habits are like now.” The cool damp breeze coming in from the open door was beginning to get to me and I rubbed the back of my arms in an attempt to increase my circulation.

Scott cocked his head to the side, and shot me the first real grin since we had discovered Oscar. “There’s no way you’ve turned into an early bird. Not my Soapy.”

“Soapy?” Anatoly raised his eyebrows.

“You didn’t tell him about that nickname?” Scott chuckled and refocused on Anatoly. “Man, you’re going to love how she got it. We were washing her car and she was wearing these Daisy Duke shorts and this sheer white tank top—”

“They were regular denim shorts and the tank was not sheer,” I snapped. “I can’t believe you’re trying to play juvenile head games while the paramedics upstairs are trying to determine the cause of death of one of your friends.”

“Whose friend is dead?” a Kathleen Turner–type voice demanded.

We all turned toward the front door and standing there was a human hanger.

Actually “human hanger” was my friend Dena’s term. She used it for runway models and those who looked like them; in other words, women who were too skinny, angular and narrow in the hips to look sexy in lingerie, but managed to make clothes look fabulous. This particular hanger was hanging a delicate off-white long-sleeve top under a spaghetti-strap charcoal-gray empire wool dress. The outfit would have made me look like a matronly dwarf. She, on the other hand, looked ethereal. She glided over to Scott and wrapped her arms around his neck.

“Scott, darling, who’s dead?”

“Venus, what are you doing here?” he croaked.

She pulled back, her height enabling her to look him in the eyes without tilting her head. “Perhaps you didn’t hear me, darling. I asked you who was dead. That is what you said, isn’t it?” she asked, whirling around to look at me. “You said that there were paramedics upstairs determining the cause of someone’s death.”

“I think you should answer your girlfriend’s questions, Scott,” Anatoly suggested. “This woman is your girlfriend, right?”

Scott nodded mutely.

“Then why don’t you explain to her what Sophie was talking about. Fill her in on what’s happened and what it was you said that got Sophie so irritated.”

“Your name is Sophie?” Venus asked. She truly was beautiful. Her skin was a creamy-white and her chestnut hair, which was pulled into a loose, low ponytail, had enough sheen to make an Herbal Essence model jealous. Her features were kind of perfect, to the point that I had to wonder if she had been crafted by genetics, or a very talented plastic surgeon. When I stared directly at her I could see that she was wearing makeup, perhaps a lot of it, but everything was so perfectly blended and the tones so muted that it managed to look natural. The only things that didn’t quite fit were her hands, which were a little too big to match an otherwise delicate figure. However even this inconsistency served her well, making her seem a bit more powerful than her heart-shaped mouth would suggest.

But she wasn’t nice. I could just tell. Something about the icy sheen in her green eyes hinted at a foul temperament.

“What’s your last name?” she demanded, not waiting for me to answer her first question.

I inched a little closer to Anatoly. “My last name is Katz.”

“This is your ex-wife, Scott,” Venus said slowly. “How interesting.” Her mouth curved into a wry smile. “Now, someone is going to tell me why we’re all here and why there’s a police car and ambulance outside. I know Oscar’s staying at the Nikko tonight so—”

Scott put a firm hand on her shoulder and turned her back around to face him. “Venus, Oscar didn’t get to the Nikko.”

I couldn’t see Venus’s face, but her body had gone absolutely still.

“I’m so sorry, love. We found him in his bed and—”

“Stop.” Venus’s voice was shaky and discordant. She moved away from Scott and farther into the house, pausing before the fireplace. As skinny as she was she still had the presence to fill up the spacious room. “I don’t want to hear this from you. I want to hear it from Oscar.”

Anatoly and I gave Scott a questioning look. “Right…” Then Scott looked longingly at the door. “Venus, um, sees dead people.”

“Feel,” Venus corrected. “I can feel them. The circumstances in this room aren’t right for a ghost to actually make an appearance right now.”

Anatoly stared at her for a few seconds before pulling me closer so my ear was near his lips. “Why don’t I take you home and we’ll let your ex deal with the crazy woman.”

“I heard that,” Venus called over her shoulder. She turned around again to face us, her posture upright and her head high. A single tear trickled out of the corner of her eye and she allowed it to slide down her cheek, unchecked. Most people are uncomfortable with the idea of shedding tears in front of strangers, but Venus wore hers like a badge of honor. The effect was disconcerting because instead of making her seem vulnerable, the pride she seemed to have in her own grief made her appear stronger and maybe even a little bit unnatural. She reached a hand out to Scott and he was instantly by her side as she whispered, “I knew he wasn’t well, but I thought he had more time than this. It was a…natural death, wasn’t it? No one did him harm?”

“I think it was natural,” Scott said quietly. “Venus, why did you come here?”

But before she could answer, the police and the paramedics came down the stairs. The paramedics went out to the ambulance to fetch a stretcher while the police officers stayed to talk to us. “It was most likely a stroke or a massive heart attack,” Sergeant Pepper explained after establishing Anatoly’s and Venus’s identity and collecting all of our phone numbers and addresses. “We’ll need to do an autopsy, but there’s no evidence of homicide here.”

“Someone needs to tell his son,” Venus said. “Poor Kane will be devastated. I don’t believe he’s ever even recovered from the death of his mother.”

“Do you know how we can reach Mr. Crammer’s son?” the female cop asked.

“I have his number stored in my cell phone.” Venus glanced down at her hands as if expecting to find the cell there. “I must have left it in the car.” She gestured toward the door and a moment later she had Scott and both officers escorting her to her parking spot.

“So if Scott isn’t your real-estate agent, why did you come here with him?” Anatoly asked as we stepped aside to allow the paramedics to come in with a stretcher.

“He was the agent representing the open house I went to this afternoon,” I said once the paramedics were upstairs again. “It was a total coincidence.”

“That still doesn’t answer my question, Sophie.”

“He told me about a house that just went on the market this morning and when he described it I knew I had to see it. I mean, look around you! This place is so me!”

Anatoly scanned the living room with disinterest. “Real-estate agents usually don’t give tours after dark.”

“He wanted to show me the house before anyone else and I agreed because he said that if I made the first bid I might be able to get it for nine-eighty.”

Anatoly’s head snapped in my direction. “This house is worth a million-seven easy.”

“Oscar wanted out of the house.” I walked over to the bookcases and fingered a hardbound edition of Jean-Paul Sartre’s plays. It was the most contemporary of all the literature held by the mahogany shelves. “He said it was haunted.”

Anatoly snorted. “Didn’t Scott tell him to up the price?”

“My guess is he was planning on making the suggestion, but probably not if I was the prospective buyer. Apparently Scott grew a conscience in the ten years since our divorce and now he wants to make up for all the wrongs he’s committed against me by setting me up in my very own Ashbury Heights three-bedroom.” My voice faded off at the end of my sentence. I had been so disturbed by the discovery of Oscar’s body I hadn’t yet thought about how his death was going to affect the deal. This house now belonged to Oscar’s son. What if he didn’t want to sell it? And even if he did, he probably wouldn’t want to do it for only $980,000. My hand moved from the book to the bookshelf and I clutched it so hard my thumb began to cramp, as if I could make this house mine if I just held on to it.

“It’s for the best,” Anatoly said, correctly reading my thoughts. “If you were to buy this place it would come with strings attached. By not convincing Oscar to sell at market, Scott was giving up on at least $20,000 of commission. Men don’t make those kinds of sacrifices because they want to make amends for the past. Those kinds of sacrifices are only made when men think they will be repaid with power or sex.”

“Well, obviously.” I spun around to face him. “That’s what makes my possible inability to buy this house all the more painful. How fabulous would it have been if I had been able to cheat Scott out of a huge commission and then turn around and reject him? Do you have any idea how much I wanted to inflict that kind of pain and suffering on that bastard? He used my distress over my father’s death as a way to worm his way into my life and then he screwed me over in every way you can think of. Do you know that he sold a diamond pendant my father gave me to a pawnshop just to keep some bookie from breaking his legs? And the bookie’s name was Vinny! Everybody knows you’re not supposed to borrow money from bookies named Vinny! He was not only a bastard, but he was a stupid bastard!”

Anatoly opened his mouth to respond, but then abruptly closed it when the paramedics reappeared. They were carrying Oscar on the stretcher and his body was covered in a white sheet. With his face hidden, the corpse took on an anonymity that scared me. The body being carried down the stairs could have been anybody. In fact, my father’s body had looked just like that when they put a sheet over him and carried him out of my parents’ house twelve years ago.

That isn’t my father, I reminded myself. I pulled up the image of Oscar’s countenance and held it in my mind as Anatoly and I watched the stretcher go out the door. This was the body of a stranger who had been foolish enough to rearrange all his heavy furniture despite his age and reportedly bad health. No wonder he had a stroke.

My eyes moved to the couch. When I had first seen it all, I could think of was how unstylish it was. But I hadn’t thought about its mass.

I walked over to the armrest and threw all my weight into trying to push it forward. It moved, but only a half of an inch.

“What are you doing?” Anatoly asked.

“I couldn’t move this,” I said slowly. “Not by myself.”

“So don’t,” Anatoly wisely suggested.

“I won’t, but Oscar did. He had to have had help.”

“Excuse me.” Sergeant Pepper was standing in the doorway looking bored and irritated. “I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you both to leave the house.”

“Why?” I asked.

“Because it’s not yours,” he said. “If you stay you’ll be trespassing.”

With that statement my potential loss hit me with renewed force. I had already fallen in love with this place. I wanted it, and I wasn’t good at walking away from things that I wanted.

3

One of the unfortunate side effects of my medication is that it hinders my ability to act crazy.

—The Lighter Side of Death

“HE DIED OF A HEART ATTACK. WHAT’S THE BIG DEAL?” DENA REACHED around the wood pole that held the yellow oversize umbrella above our outside table and handed me back the obituary that I had brought along for her to look at during our lunch date at MarketBar. She took a moment to peel off her fitted leather blazer before continuing. “You know you’re just obsessing over this to distract yourself from the fact that you might not get the house.”

“Bite your tongue,” I muttered, even though I knew she was partially right. It’s not that Oscar’s death hadn’t actually affected me. It had. I had seen Oscar’s pale, dead face in my dreams on more than one occasion since I’d found him. The cameo, the smell, the photographs…it all came together to create a scene that was as harsh as it was ominous. But I had seen worse and I had learned how to tuck my fears away into the dark corners of my mind that I rarely explored. But the house…that house had dominated my thoughts ever since I had laid eyes on it.

In a few minutes Scott would be here to tell me my future. Would I be buying the home of my dreams from Oscar’s son, Kane, at a price I could afford or was I fated to buy some $1.4-million-dollar rat hole on a fault line? I had called Dena and asked her to join me for lunch before this pronouncement of destiny, and to stay with me during its actual telling. My reasons for this were obvious to both of us. I needed my best friend for support and I needed her to help me stay grounded despite my agitation.

Dena took a sip of the cappuccino she had ordered in place of dessert and then licked the foam off her burgundy painted lips. “I don’t suppose you ever found out why Scott was calling you before?”

“Nope, and I’m not going to ask him about it.” I let my gaze linger on the clock tower that soared above us only fifty feet away. Time seemed to be passing slower than usual. “The goal here is to get the house and then get Scott out of my life—for the second time.”

Dena nodded and took a moment to ogle the cute Eurasian busboy who was clearing off a nearby table. He wasn’t really my type, although I recognized his beauty. He was tall and sinewy, almost feminine in his grace. She reached forward and emptied her previously untouched glass of water in three consecutive gulps.

“Okaaay.” I reached forward and tapped her empty water glass. “Are you suffering from diabetes or something?”

Dena smiled wickedly. “I have my reasons.” Just then the busboy crossed to our table to refill her glass. “Thank you,” Dena purred. “I was hoping you’d come over here and quench my thirst.”

The busboy looked up from the glass, surprised, and then, noting Dena’s expression, his eyes widened with understanding. “No problem,” he said uncertainly, glancing over his shoulder, presumably to ensure that he wasn’t the cause of the giggles coming from the women at the nearby table. But the women were deeply involved in their own conversation and he turned back to us with more confidence. “I’m Kim. Just call me over if you need anything else.”

“What a wonderful invitation, Kim,” Dena said. “It seems only right that I should reciprocate.” She pulled a business card out of her purse and wrote her home number on the back. “Obviously I’m attracted to you,” she said simply. “However I’m not looking for a serious relationship and I don’t tolerate chauvinists. If you’re okay with casual and you’re not a sexist then you can call me over and I’ll…show you what’s on my menu.” She slipped her card into his hand and added, “If you’re opinionated and smart I might even take you out for a nice dinner first.”

The busser flushed and then turned even redder after noting what it was that Dena did for a living. “Sole proprietor of Guilty Pleasures? Is that a…you know…a—”

“We sell upscale lingerie, sex toys and things like that,” Dena said matter-of-factly. “Some of it’s rather tame and romantic. Some of it would make Fergie Ferg blush.”

For a moment it appeared that Dena had rendered Kim speechless. “I think you may be the most amazing woman I’ve ever met in my life.”

Dena lifted her thick Sicilian eyebrows in amusement. “We’ve only just met.”

“Yeah, but you just basically told me that you want to…to…have an affair!”

“So all I had to say was that I wanted to mess around with you and I become the most amazing woman you’ve ever met? That doesn’t say a lot for your sex life, Kim.”

“No, I mean…most women are more coy and, you know…”

“I don’t do coy, and I don’t play games.”

Kim turned his gaze to me.

“Yes,” I said, reading the question in his eyes. “She’s for real.” Kim’s shock was a totally natural reaction. I should have been shocked, too. But I had become so accustomed to Dena’s brand of insanity that it honestly didn’t faze me anymore.

“Okay,” Dena said, running her hands through her short dark hair. “You have my number both literally and figuratively. What’s yours?”

“You mean my phone number or…”

“Who are you? What’s your story?” Dena clarified.

“Right,” he said grinning sheepishly. “I guess I’m sort of smart. I’m in my last year at SF State.”

“What are you studying?” Dena asked.

“I’m a radio and television major with an emphasis on audio production and recording.”

“Really?” Dena asked. “So what’s it going to be, radio or television?”

“I’m thinking about music production. I DJ a couple nights a week now and I’m always mixing my own stuff. I think maybe I can make a real career out of it. I’m going to try anyway. Either way it’s a hell of a lot of fun.”

Dena threw an arm over the low back of her chair and nodded approvingly. “See, that’s a conversation topic that could get us through a long dinner at a three-star restaurant.”

Kim lit up and then caught sight of a man watching him from the other side of the restaurant and immediately straightened his posture. “My manager’s watching me, but I’ll call you tonight,” he whispered. I noticed Dena didn’t bother leaning back when he reached for her plate, thus causing him to “accidentally” brush her right breast. He blushed again before hurrying away under his manager’s watchful eye.

“I arrived with the expectation of meeting with one incredibly beautiful woman, but here I find two!”

Dena and I both looked up to see Scott standing a few feet away. He stood with his left hand tucked away in the pocket of his dark denim jacket and the bulk of his weight on the corresponding leg, a still figure against the hustle and bustle of the sidewalk and street behind him. The passing tourists probably thought he was pausing to admire the outdoor café, but I knew he was posing for the benefit of the women in the area, and the knowledge made me queasy. Perhaps he noted my disgust because he broke into a self-conscious chuckle and strode over to our table. “Dena Lopiano,” he boomed, “I haven’t seen you in years.”

“Yeah,” Dena said wistfully, “those were great years.”

Scott laughed again and sat down between the two of us. “Any chance you two would agree to a few drinks and small talk before we get down to business?” he asked hopefully.

“No,” Dena and I said in unison.

“Very well.” He contorted his face into an exaggerated frown before relaxing back into his trademark Rembrandt-White smile. “Here’s the deal with the house. If Kane has to list it, he’s going to list it for $1.75 million with the expectation of having to reduce it to as low as $1.6. Personally, I think he stands a good chance of getting the full listing price.”

“Shit!” I seethed. I did some quick math in my head. I might be able to swing it if I got a really big loan from a bank at an extremely low interest rate. I gazed at my wineglass. Goodbye fine wines, hello cheap wine coolers.

“But if you buy it,” Scott continued, “and you make an offer right now, he’ll sell it to you for the original price of $980,000.”

Dena and I exchanged confused looks. This was fantastic news, but it didn’t make sense. “Scott, are you playing a game with me?”

“Kane is sentimental about that house. He grew up there, and when he heard his father had died, he briefly considered moving back in. But as it stands he’s already living in the house he inherited from his grandparents. He doesn’t want two houses and he doesn’t want to be a landlord or deal with property managers. Still, he doesn’t want to sell to just anyone.”

“But I’m just anyone,” I pointed out. “I’ve never met Kane. I have no relation to him. Nothing connects us at all.”

“On the surface, you’re right,” Scott said. “But Kane doesn’t see it that way. He knows that under normal circumstances I wouldn’t give a potential buyer a night tour of a residence. And normally you wouldn’t come within fifty feet of me, in the day or night. Hell, I haven’t even been able to get you to return my calls. But then, out of the blue, Oscar calls me up and tells me he wants me to sell his place ASAP. On that same day you show up at the open house I was holding in the Marina, and I convince you to come to see Oscar’s place at eight-thirty that night, the night Oscar died.”

“So?” Dena asked.

“So Kane thinks that means something,” Scott explained, still addressing me. “He knows you want the house, but he also thinks the house wants you.”

I brought my fingers to my temples in an attempt to massage away the headache that was beginning to form there. “If I understand you correctly,” I said, “you’re telling me that Kane is crazy.”

“Poor people are crazy, Sophie,” Scott corrected. “Kane is eccentric.”

“I see. Are his eccentricities ones that can be medicated?”

“Probably, although I don’t think Kane approves of drugs that aren’t recreational. But that’s neither here nor there. What’s important is that you can have the house, and you’re getting it for a song—at least by San Franciscan standards.”

“This is too good to be true,” Dena said. She was looking at Scott, but her eyes had become so narrowed with suspicion that it was questionable if she was able to see anything beyond her own eyelashes. “There’s got to be a major catch.”

“A major catch?” Scott scoffed. “He wants to sell you a house for over $600,000 below market. There are militant vegetarians who would eat a truckload of Big Macs just to get a crack at the deal I’m offering you. All Kane wants from you is a one-month escrow, your word that you’ll treat the house well and your commitment to become a lifetime member of the San Francisco Specter Society.”

“Excuse me?” Scott had said the last part so fast that I wasn’t sure I had heard him correctly. I certainly hoped I hadn’t.

On the sidewalk some man was screaming obscenities, but none of us turned to see what the problem was. “It’s not as bad as it sounds,” Scott said in a voice that was something less than convincing. “It’s a group of people who get together twice a month for about an hour or so just so they can hang out, schmooze and, um, try to talk to ghosts.”

Dena burst out laughing while I tried to digest this unexpected request. “Scott,” I said slowly, “please tell me this isn’t a deal breaker.”

“You won’t have to go to every meeting,” Scott quickly assured me. “Just go regularly for the first year or so and then if you can only make it to a meeting every two or three months after that I’m sure Kane will be okay with it. The group really isn’t as weird as its name implies. Venus is a member and so is Kane. Even Oscar came to a few meetings, although he hasn’t for a long time.”

“That’s what you meant when you said Oscar and you traveled in the same circles,” I said slowly as I pieced everything together. “Your current circles consist of a bunch of ghost-loving freaks. Really, Scott, isn’t it a little bizarre for a necrophobic to hang with people who are trying to raise the dead?”

“First of all, they’re not freaks,” Scott said defensively. “I’m not even convinced that all of the members believe in ghosts even though they all say they do. They just like listening to ghost stories. I’ve been to over twenty meetings with Venus and they haven’t been able to channel a single disembodied spirit. Trust me, if they had, I wouldn’t attend no matter how much Venus insisted. And Sophie,” he paused to wave a hovering bee away from his face, “it is a deal breaker.”

“But that’s ridiculous! Why is it so important to Kane that some stranger joins his precious society?”

“I keep trying to tell you, Sophie, Kane doesn’t see you as a stranger. He thinks your discovery of his father connects you in some peculiar way and he thinks…okay, try not to laugh, but he thinks that if he’s going to successfully channel his parents’ spirits the people who found his father right after his death need to be part of the séance.”

“Really?” Dena asked, her curiosity overcoming her mirth. “Is that some kind of Wiccan rule?”

“I have no idea,” Scott grumbled. “What I do know is that I’m stuck going to these meetings for at least another year. But really, they’re not that bad,” he said switching back into salesman mode. “And Enrico Risso is a member so we usually get to sample some dish that he’s thinking about adding to his menu.”

“Hold up.” Dena’s chair audibly scratched against the concrete floor as she scooted forward. “Are we talking about Enrico Risso, the executive chef at Sassi? The man who was just voted one of the nation’s twenty best chefs in Gourmet Magazine?”

“The one and only.”

Dena blinked and then turned to me. “I’m not saying you should join, but if you do you should invite me to one of the meetings. Enrico’s risotto is enough to make you cream your panties.”

Scott shot Dena a bemused smile. “You really haven’t changed at all, have you?”

“Before I agree to any of this I’m going to need to have a contractor come out and look at the pipes, foundation and whatnot,” I interjected. I really didn’t want to dwell on Dena’s panties remark.

“Naturally,” Scott agreed. “You can have a contractor come out anytime. Kane’s already moved all his father’s things into storage so it’ll be easy to check out all the floors and walls.”

“He’s already moved everything out?” I asked. “That was fast.”

“Kane’s efficient. But before you call a contractor you should take another look at the place. Make sure you really want it.”

Scott said the last words suggestively, implying that I might want more than just real estate from him. I didn’t. But I’ll admit I was pleased to know he still desired me. It put me in a position of power, and with Scott it was always important to keep the upper hand. “When can I look at it again?”