Mark Schweizer - Liturgical 12 - The Cantor Wore Crinolines Read Free Page A

think we’re driving the price up. We’re not.”
    “Let’s get to it,” came the same voice as before. Not Skeeter. Skeeter was sulking. “ We’re freezing! ”
    “Finally, St. Germaine Federal Bank is open this morning,” said Cynthia, “just in case any of y’all need to make a trip over there and get a certified check. Stacey Lindsey will be there until noon.”
    “How come we can’t go into the houses?” called Helen Pigeon. “We don’t know what shape they’re in.”
    “We don’t own the houses,” said Cynthia, “so we can’t let you in. The owners can’t be located, they’re probably in Brazil or somewhere. As soon as you buy it, or if no one wants it and the city buys it, we’ll cut the locks off.”
    General mumbling across the crowd, but most everyone was nodding.
    “We already got a peek inside,” Annette whispered to me confidentially. “Last week. Francis is looking to get another rental property.”
    Francis Passaglio was an orthodontist in Boone. He and his wife, Annette, were lifelong members of St. Barnabas Episcopal Church. Annette was from old St. Germaine money but had always worked mornings in Francis’ office as manager and bookkeeper. Now that the kids were grown and gone, she also kept busy as a local reporter for the St. Germaine Tattler . Francis was a good-looking fifty-year-old, fit and trim with salt and pepper hair and a smile that would make George Clooney blush. He was purported to have quite an eye for the ladies, although most of that was probably just grist for the St. Germaine rumor mill. One thing about Francis Passaglio — he was used to getting his way. This I knew from experience. He could be quite unpleasant.
    Cynthia quieted the crowd again. “Then let’s get going. The first house is on Oak Street. Lot number 317.”
    “Ten dollars!” yelled Skeeter.
    Cynthia put her hand over her eyes and shook her head.
    “The town bids twelve thousand, three hundred fifty-six dollars,” said Monica from her clerk’s table. “That’s the outstanding tax bill.”
    “ What?! ” yelled Skeeter, outrage in his voice. “Are you kidding me?”
    “Fifteen thousand,” called Jeff Pigeon. Jeff was a chiropractor and he and his wife, Helen, had several investment rental properties in St. Germaine. Helen taught second grade. They could be counted on to keep the bidding going, at least for a little while.
    “Sixteen,” countered Francis.
    “Twenty,” yelled Roger Beeson, manager of the Piggly Wiggly grocery store.
    The bidding went higher as people decided what a house near downtown St. Germaine was worth to them. I suspected that most all these bidders were after an investment. If they could get it cheap enough, they’d turn around and sell the house, or rent it out. Rental houses were currently at a premium.
    The tax assessment on the Oak Street house was $294,000. Tax assessments were always high in St. Germaine, though. Realistically, in today’s market, this one might sell for two fifty, or so. It was a mid-century vacation cottage, probably not recently updated, and not very big. When the bidding got to one hundred twenty, things started slowing down, and finally there were two. I didn’t recognize the woman who was bidding against Jeff Pigeon. Someone from out of town, but maybe close — Boone or one of our other surrounding townships. Jeff offered one final bid at one forty, then dropped out, and Francis Passaglio jumped back in with Annette whispering furiously in his ear. Back and forth for another five minutes, then Francis through his hands up in disgust, turned and walked away through the crowd. Annette followed, hissing at him all the way.
    The other woman bought the cottage for $158,000. A deal probably, although the inside was a mystery. She made her way up to Monica’s table and the crowd buzz started back with a vengeance.
    The second house, a larger, three bedroom Victorian on Cherry Bluff Lane, about four blocks off the square was bought