Sparing the Heart (Pastime Pursuits #3) Read Free

property.”
    “Took you long enough to answer my inquiry.” She sucks in and blows out air, undoubtedly from a cigarette. “How quick can you be at the place?”
    “Oh. I want to ask you a couple questions first.” I reach for my pen and notepad and splash tea all over my laptop. Damnit!
    “Don’t bother. Meet me at the house now. I want this place on the market as soon as possible. Do you need directions?”
    “I-“
    “Of course you don’t. Just put the address in your GPS and you’ll be here in no time. See you in twenty.”
    The phone is still on my ear when she disconnects. What just happened? She didn’t give me a chance to ask any of my pre-listing questions.   I keep a list I like to ask before I even go visit a property. My mouth hangs open as I place my cell down. “Okay, then.” I shrug and rub my neck. She is going to be an interesting client.  
    ••••••••••
    The neighborhood reminds me of The Wonder Years. The street is wide and lined with trees. A few kids ride their bikes on the pavement and an elderly man walks his dog. This is the type of location people want, especially those with growing families. Close to the park and only about ten minutes walking distance from the retail district. This may be an awesome opportunity and a potentially easy sale.  
    “Your destination is on your left in 500 feet,” the GPS voice says to me.  
    “Thank you.” Yes, I do talk to my GPS. She’s been the only other passenger in this car since I’ve moved here.
    My car jumps over the small cracks throughout the concrete as I park. The raised ranch’s exterior leaves little to be desired with its dirty vinyl siding and garage door sunken in. The screen door is hanging off the hinges and the bay window is cracked. “Spectacular. A fixer-upper.”
    This can go either way. I can find an eager buyer to come in at a low price and renovate it for resale or a first home, or it will sit on the market for ages. Ages.  
    I curse the steps as my heel catches in an uneven space. I grasp the railing, but it’s so wobbly I’m afraid the structure will give way. I already expect any offer to demand the owner fixes that and puts in some credit for the driveway and garage. This is going to be such a difficult sell.  
    I ring the doorbell, but there isn’t an echo on the inside. I press the button again in case the first time wasn’t hard enough, but still nothing. I knock on the door and a woman calls out, “The door’s open!”
    The door handle is sticky, and my mind immediately goes NCIS . I picture realtors coming to this house and never leaving. I’m the next victim. I signed up for this job, though, so I slowly pull the crooked screen door open being careful it doesn’t fall right off the hinges. The wooden door is much more secure. I open the door and plug my nose upon entry.  
    This smell is like nothing I’ve ever encountered before. I can only guess cat urine and cigarette smoke. Shaggy, brown carpeting graces the living room, covered with dark stains, matching ones on the walls. “Hello?”
    A woman with short permed hair and glasses races into the room. “What took you so long?” Her hands meet her hips and her lips are pursed with disappointment.  
    I check my phone. Twenty minutes. Right on time. “Sorry.” Why am I apologizing? The client is always right, though. Well, except when they’re completely wrong!
    “Go ahead. Take a look around.”
    “Okay.” I know we spoke on the phone, but I expected her to reintroduce herself to me. Maybe she could give me the tour. We met ten seconds ago and she’s already an odd one in my book.  
    She eyes me as I step past her into the kitchen. The cabinet doors are either torn off or hanging by a screw. The dirty linoleum floor is in need of a sweeping. Or sandblasting. Countertops are cluttered with junk. I walk through and glance in all three bedrooms, each boasting a vivid color carpeting. The bathrooms are disgusting and in