Lie of the Needle(31)
Thinking how Cyril and I had restored a Victorian dollhouse for Claire’s birthday this past Halloween brought a rush of renewed anxiety for his safety, but I tamped it down and pasted a smile on my face.
Claire kept an arm around my waist as she looked up at her mother. “Do you think we can be in the new house by Christmas, Mommy?”
“Not sure about that, sweets. Heck, Christmas will be here before we know it. Look at all the stuff in the stores already, and it’s not even Thanksgiving. Drives me crazy.”
I winced as I thought of my festive and decidedly Yule-like store.
“I don’t understand why you guys don’t just move in with me,” Angus said. “I got lots of room. Hell, I’m rattling around that old place by myself.” He nodded toward the pristine white stucco three-story farmhouse across from the auction building. Angus had sort of adopted these two, like the child and grandchild he never had.
Patsy stifled a sigh, as if they’d had this conversation many times before. She looked at me with a plea in her eyes.
I cleared my throat. “Well, that’s certainly very generous of you, Angus, and I’m sure Patsy appreciates the offer. But with you two working together, it might be best for all concerned if she had her own home. As a woman, I can tell you that sometimes we just need our space.”
Angus grunted, but he was a smart enough man to know that three females were too much to take on at once.
We’d arranged to meet the real estate agent at the first listing, so we piled into Angus’s truck and headed toward the south end of Sheepville.
“The first one we’re going to see is a resale in a development that Beau Cassell built a couple of years ago.” Patsy consulted her sheaf of property listings. “Fairview Farm Estates. He’s still building over in the newer section, but this one’s well within my budget.” She directed Angus through the development until we found the right road.
The agent was waiting for us in a common parking area near a row of beige single homes, built close together with tiny yards in front.
“Are we the only crazy people looking for a house at this time of year?” Patsy called to her as she got out of the truck. Claire bent and gathered some snow into a snowball.
The real estate agent shook her head and smiled. “It’s the serious buyers who are looking now, and so sellers are generally willing to make a deal. But I have to point out up front that this one is a foreclosure.”
“So? What’s your point?” Patsy demanded.
“Foreclosures can be tricky because you’re dealing with the banks. It could take longer than the average sale and may not go through at all. But if it works out, you can get a great value. Anyway, here’s the house.”
She led the way to one at the end of the row.
“This is it?” Claire murmured, dropping her snowball in dismay. “Ooh, Mommy, it’s ugly!”
“Shh. Knock it off,” Patsy hissed over her shoulder as she followed the agent into the foyer.
I had to admit it wasn’t the most attractive place I’d ever seen. Just a plain shingled box with four windows and a door in the center of the bottom story.
Glancing back toward the newer section, I saw the same unappealing cubes going up in rapid succession. Even a gable or two or some decorative feature above the front door would have helped. Guess Beau Cassell hadn’t spent much on architectural design. This one could have been sketched on the back of a napkin.
The previous owners hadn’t done any additional landscaping either. The three stunted bushes that the builder had originally supplied were spaced far apart, far too few for the front of the house.