Chapter 38

A home for sale as-is can sit on the market months longer than homes that are move-in ready.

It was one thing trying to solve the mystery of two murders, but it was another thing trying to do it while attempting to make a living. Fortunately, we had been getting calls from people who’d picked up our flyers at the Small Business Fair. I’d spent the last two hours doing a consultation with a man who wanted to sell his home and move to Florida. I didn’t realize it would be just him there. And although he was a nice man, I decided in the future I would take Nita or Tyrone along on calls from men. You just can’t be too careful.

After I had gone over his home and made recommendations, we stood on his porch talking. “Since my wife has gone down to Florida to take care of her mother, that leaves all this staging to me. Sometimes I think we should ship everything to Florida and sell the house as it is.”

“That’s entirely up to you. But with vacant homes, buyers are in and out within minutes and make quicker decisions. They’ll stay longer in a furnished home, and the longer they stay, the more likely they are to imagine themselves living there. If you’d like to move your things sooner than later, we could always bring some furnishings in to make your home look lived in. Also, be aware that if you sell it as-is, it could sit on the market for a while. We could help you get it in condition to sell.”

“All at a cost?”

“Yes, but within your budget. The staging cost will be far less than your first price reduction if it doesn’t sell right away.”

“Yeah. Furniture or no furniture, it needs to sell fast. The house across the street will be going up for sale soon, and I don’t want to be competing with it. I thought it would go on the market by now, but the nephew of the woman who owned it was murdered. I don’t know what’ll happen to it now.”

“Murdered?” I looked at the large Victorian home. “Was that Doris Becker’s house?”

“Yeah, it was. Did you know Doris?”

“No. I just read about her nephew in the paper.” It didn’t serve any purpose telling him that I’d been one of the people who found him.

He slowly shook his head several times. “Sure was a shame about him. He used to spend summers with her when he was a youngster.”

“Did you know Doris Becker well?”

“Not really. She kept pretty much to herself. But the times I talked to her, I found her to be a real nice lady. She was a painter, but we never saw anything she painted. Too afraid people would laugh at it. Darn shame she developed dementia. Got to the point where she didn’t know who we were.”

I looked over at the house with its large wrap-around porch and a huge turret. With all that natural light, the turret must have been a lovely place for Doris to paint.

“Sad she lived there all alone for so many years.” I felt a pang thinking about how lonely she might have been. It made me think of Aunt Kit growing older and living alone in another town.

“She used to have friends come and go, but over the past few years, the only person I saw was that woman from the arts group—Anne somebody.”

“Anne Williamson?”

“Yeah. That’s right. We’d see her going in a couple of times a week. She’d carry in groceries and occasionally bring things out. I went over once to ask if I could give her a hand loading up her car, but she said she was managing fine. Said she was taking some of Doris’s things down to the Salvation Army to donate. I have to give it to her. For a woman her age, she didn’t have any problems carrying that stuff. Awfully nice lady to help Doris as she did.”

The grand old Victorian house had seen better days. The shrubbery was overgrown, the paint was chipping off, and one piece of decorative grillwork around the top of the porch was barely hanging on. “The house could use some work.” I wondered what it looked like inside.

“That’s another reason I’m anxious to sell soon. The more neglected that place becomes, the harder it’ll be to sell. And it’ll affect prices around here.”

  

As I drove back home, I used my cell phone to check in with Kimberly, Monica’s assistant, and made arrangements to see her tomorrow about another project. Just as I hung up, I received a call from Nita.

“Did you schedule an appointment to meet with someone this afternoon?” Nita asked.

“I don’t believe so. Or if I did, I don’t remember it. Everything has been so chaotic. Why?”

“We received a message on our website confirming your appointment with an M. Cassatt at two.”

“Oh, dear.” Great for business, but not great for my schedule. I pulled over to the side of the road and entered the address Nita gave me into my phone. Looking at my watch, I had just enough time to get there.

“Thanks, Nita. It would have been embarrassing if I’d missed that one. I’ll check in with you when I’ve finished there.”

I drove to the address Nita had given me and parked in front of the mid-century modern home with a large For Sale sign hanging out front. M. Cassatt must be a real estate agent I didn’t know. Thank you, Nita, for alerting me. I didn’t want to miss an appointment with an agent since they referred work to us. Finding a better method for keeping track of appointments needed to go on my to-do list.

No other cars were parked nearby, so thankfully, I wasn’t late and had arrived before Mr. or Ms. Cassatt. That would give me time to evaluate what attention the outside of the house might need. As I got out of my car, I looked toward the house and saw the front door was open. That was strange. Perhaps M. Cassatt had parked in the back.

I knocked on the door, and receiving no response, pushed it open further. “Hello, anyone here?” Still no response. Perhaps the agent had left the door open for me to get in and would be back. Well, if nothing else, it would enable me to look at the house and be better prepared to discuss a staging approach. I pulled a notebook from my canvas tote bag ready to make notes.

The home was empty, so we wouldn’t have to deal with furniture that might not be in good shape or attractive—or with furniture not in keeping with a mid-century modern home. Homeowners frequently selected furniture so out of character with the style of their homes. I could never understand why someone would buy a modern home and then fill it with Victorian furniture.

I noted the terrazzo floors in the living and dining rooms and then headed down a long hall toward the bedrooms. I scrunched up my nose at the musty smell that permeated the house and pointed to a need for a good airing—or maybe something more drastic. I made a note about needing some charcoal air filter bags to help with the musty odor.

I turned into the first bedroom and gave it a quick look. The carpet was a bit worse for wear and would need to be replaced or pulled up. With any luck, terrazzo flooring would be under the carpeting.

The master bedroom was a good size. As I stepped into the room, suddenly something dark flapped over my head and strong arms wrapped around my middle. Before I could react, I felt myself being pushed forward into the nearby closet. I hit the closet wall and felt pain shoot across my shoulder and down my arm. My knees buckled and I collapsed onto the floor with a thud.

The door slammed behind me, and I found myself enveloped in darkness. Once I had gotten over the shock, I realized that I still had some type of cloth or blanket covering my head. I struggled with it and once I got it off, I could see a thin band of light at the bottom of the door.

When I could get my wits about me, I stood and tried the door handle. It turned easily, but when I pushed against it, it wouldn’t budge. I pounded on the door. “Help. Let me out.” A lot of good that was going to do. Whoever had locked me in wasn’t going to respond to my pleas for help.

In the struggle, I’d dropped my bag and along with it my cell phone. All I could do was hope the person who’d locked me in the closet was satisfied to leave me there and that was all. I shuddered to think for what purpose?