Good Buy Girls 05 - All Sales Final Read online

  More than twenty years and a lot of living had kept them apart but Sam had moved back to St. Stanley after retiring from the Richmond PD. He was sheriff for their small town and as circumstances had thrown them together over the past year and then some, he and Maggie had discovered they had unfinished business. Now they were getting married. It boggled.

  As Maggie climbed out of the car, Ginger quickly grabbed her and held her still. Then she took off the cross she always wore around her neck and pressed it into Maggie’s hand.

  “Just in case,” Ginger said.

  Maggie rolled her eyes but draped the necklace over her head to hang around her neck just to make her best friend since preschool happy.

  “Text us,” Claire said. “ASAP.”

  “Yes, anytime,” Joanne added. “You know I’m up all night.”

  “It’ll be fine,” Maggie said. “But yes, I promise I’ll check in.”

  She waved as the van pulled away. Sam joined her at the curb and gave her a quick hug.

  “What’s up with the thrifty three?” he asked.

  “Ghosts,” she said.

  Sam frowned at her. “Whose?”

  “Ours. They are concerned that we are looking at a haunted house,” Maggie said.

  “The Dixon house?” he asked. “Nah, it just needs a little love, or possibly a wrecking ball.”

  Maggie laughed. “I like your flexibility. Let’s not keep Marcy waiting. I swear she almost swooned when I told her we would look at it.”

  “Did you tell her we were bringing a third opinion?” Sam asked.

  “No, I thought I’d leave that to you,” Maggie said.

  Sam smiled. He led Maggie to the car and opened the door. Curled up on the passenger seat waiting for them was Marshall Dillon, Sam’s cat, who was now their shared cat. A gray tabby with a distinctive stripe in the shape of an M on his forehead, he liked to ride around in Sam’s squad car and spent most of his days in the station. Maggie was pretty sure Sam would have deputized him if he could.

  Maggie scooped Marshall Dillon up and then sat down, replacing him on her lap. Sam took the driver’s seat and they buckled up and headed over to the historic part of town.

  The Dixon house was one of the oldest houses in St. Stanley. It wasn’t as big as some of the mansions on the street but it was a beautiful two-story Victorian with a wraparound porch and arch-shaped windows on the upper level. Maggie had always admired it and she had even occasionally daydreamed about having a place like this of her very own.

  The grass was freshly mowed and the bushes had been trimmed back, but it still had an untamed air about it. The house badly needed a coat of fresh paint and the windows longed for some elbow grease but the bones were all there. Like any aging beauty, with a little upkeep, Maggie felt certain it would be spectacular again.

  Sam pulled up in front of the house. Maggie carried Marshall Dillon to the front porch where Marcy Hayes was waiting.

  Marcy was a very earnest woman, a single mom with two teenagers. She worked seven days a week doing listings, showings and open houses, all in an effort to provide since her husband ran off with a woman half his age and was selfish enough to clean out their bank account on his way out of town.

  Maggie glanced at Sam as they climbed the steps to the porch. He didn’t seem the type to have a midlife crisis but then she was pretty sure Marcy would have said the same thing about her husband. She glanced at the house. If Sam did leave her, would she want to live here alone?

  Marshall Dillon hissed which made Maggie jump and she let him go. He leapt down onto the porch with the scruff of his neck in an agitated ruff and his tail fluffed.

  “Well, hello there, little fella.”

  Marcy knelt down and wiggled her fingers at Marshall Dillon then made kissy noises. Maggie did not think Marshall Dillon was going to go for this in the least but he lowered his head and plowed toward Marcy, not stopping until she was scratching him under the chin and he was purring. His fur slowly lowered from its full alert state.

  “What do you suppose that was about?” Maggie asked Sam.

  “Maybe he smelled another cat in the area. The place has been empty for a while. It could be we have some feral cats living under the porch.”

  Maggie looked at him. “I like the way you’ve already mentally moved in.”

  “Noticed that, huh?” he asked.

  Marcy rose to her feet and Marshall Dillon twined around her ankle.

  “He is just precious,” she said. “I think he’d really love having such a big house to play in, and maybe you could even get him a friend.”

  “We were thinking about a dog,” Sam said.

  “Oh, the backyard is just perfect for a dog,” Marcy said. “So much room to run and play.”

  Maggie pressed her lips together. She had a feeling they could say they were going to breed elephants and Marcy would find a way to make the house the perfect location for them.

  “Let’s go inside and I’ll give you the room-by-room tour,” she said.

  Sam gestured for Maggie to follow Marcy first. She had a feeling Marcy wasn’t going to have to work too hard to sell Sam on the place. As for her, this was probably the biggest change she’d made in her life since she quit her job working for Dr. Franklin, bought her own business and started dating Sam.

  Okay, now that she considered it that was a lot of change in the past few years, and all since Sam came back to town. Maybe buying a house together would be the final upheaval for a while. She tried not to think about how leaving her home of so many years was going to feel.

  She stepped into the foyer with Marshall Dillon scampering ahead. There was no furniture in the house. Wainscoting was the only decoration on the walls. It looked prim and proper but homey, too. The floors were hardwood and polished to a high gloss.

  Maggie’s footsteps echoed in the empty rooms, and then Sam’s joined hers and it didn’t sound so lonely anymore.

  “This is the front parlor,” Marcy said. “It could be turned into a library, however, and the fireplace is original but was converted to gas about ten years ago.”

  Maggie crossed to the fireplace. The mantel shelf looked good and strong, the perfect place to put all of the pictures of their loved ones. Sam’s hand slid into hers and he laced her fingers with his.

  “We could put a loveseat right here,” he said. “And read in front of the fire on cold winter evenings.”

  “Oh, that sounds nice,” Maggie said.

  “Through here is the formal dining room,” Marcy called as she disappeared through a door on the far side of the room.

  It was a large space with a big bay window that overlooked the side yard. Maggie could see her own dining room table in here. It would look amazing when set with her grandmother’s china for the holidays.

  “The kitchen is in here,” Marcy called, still trotting on ahead. Maggie wondered if Marcy was moving at such a fast pace because she had another appointment or because she didn’t want them to linger in the house. Hmm.

  Marcy didn’t sound as peppy as she had before and Maggie got the feeling Marcy was hoping to finish up quickly with something distasteful. As soon as Maggie and Sam stepped into the kitchen, Maggie knew what Marcy had been dreading.

  The kitchen was sparkling clean, but it was also locked somewhere in the year 1956 with gray steel cabinets, aqua tile countertops and even a matching aqua refrigerator.

  Maggie ran her hand over the counter. It was in perfect condition with no chips or cracks, hard to believe for something that was easily sixty years old. The range was an old O’Keefe and Merritt gas and was equally spotless.

  “Does it work?” she asked Marcy.

  “Oh yes,” Marcy said. “There were some renters here a few years back. They said everything was in tip-top shape. I know it isn’t state-of-the-art.”

  “No, it’s more like art, period,” Maggie said. “Oh, I love vintage kitchens.”

  Sam grinned.

  “You knew it was all vintage, didn’t
you?” she asked.

  He nodded. “I’d heard the kitchen was remodeled in the fifties and hadn’t been touched since. I figured you’d dig it.”

  Marcy’s eyes went wide. “You like it as it is?”

  “Like it?” Maggie asked. “I love it. I specialize in retro at the shop. I think I even have a copper canister from the fifties that would look amazing over there.”

  “Well, isn’t this perfect?” Marcy spread her arms wide. She was beaming.

  “Yes, it is actually,” Maggie said. Each room was better than the last and she was really beginning to see Sam and her making their life together here.

  The master bedroom and bath had been modernized and updated. A big bay window with a love seat looked out over the two acre backyard. There was a walk-in closet that was as big as Maggie’s bedroom now, and the large master bath had another bay window and a Jacuzzi.

  There were several more bedrooms and a sitting room upstairs and Maggie and Sam haggled over which would be their home office and which would be guest bedrooms. Maggie didn’t really care and only put up a bit of resistance just to keep Sam on his toes.

  She had been alone for a very long time. The thought of sharing the three Bs—bed, bathroom and bills— with someone again made her feel just a bit light-headed. She wasn’t used to making compromises; she was used to making all the decisions and doing all the heavy lifting. What would it be like to lighten the load? She could barely fathom it.

  Marcy’s cell phone rang and she glanced at it. “I’m sorry. I have to take this. You two go ahead and wander about, and I’ll meet you on the porch when you’re done.”

  Sam and Maggie poked their heads in the attic. It was dry and dusty with a few cobwebs and a bit of a draft but there was no sign of any critters of the furry or the insect sort. They also checked out the basement which, aside from creaky wooden stairs, was dark and dank but dry and free of mold.

  They examined the overgrown garden just outside the kitchen window. Maggie could just picture replanting it with an herb garden. She’d always wanted to plant parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme, well, just because. And she wanted to plant tomatoes since there was nothing like fresh tomatoes in summer.

  Sam was thrilled to discover that the toolshed at the back end of the property was big enough for a ride-on mower. Maggie noticed that the woods beyond the lawn looked friendly and cheerful, the sort of place deer and bunnies would roam, as opposed to being cold and creepy and full of monsters.

  At least Maggie imagined it that way, but maybe that was because she was falling in love with the house as quickly as she’d fallen in love with Sam. She knew from experience that when something was right, you could feel it all the way down in your bones. This house felt right. As they strode across the lawn, Sam put his arm around her shoulders and pulled her close.

  He leaned down and kissed her temple as they both examined the back of the house. It did need paint and some more landscaping. But the wraparound porch was just begging for a swing and Maggie could see herself sitting on it with Sam as they sipped iced tea and watched Marshall Dillon chase butterflies.

  “What do you think of it, darling? Do you think we could make a life here together?” Sam asked.

  Maggie noted that his voice was carefully neutral as if he didn’t want to influence her decision in any way.

  “I think . . .” Maggie began but she was interrupted by the loudest screeching meow she had ever heard. It made her heart clutch and the hair rise up on the back of her neck.

  “Marshall Dillon!” Maggie and Sam cried together, and they ran toward the house.

  Chapter 3

  They banged through the back door and into the house.

  “Marshall Dillon!” Maggie called.

  “MD, where are you, buddy?” Sam called.

  He made a soft clucking noise and they both paused to listen for the sound of Marshall Dillon’s feet coming toward them or for another howl. There was nothing but oppressive silence.

  “Where is he?” Maggie whispered.

  “Don’t worry,” Sam said. “He has to be here somewhere and we’ll find him. He’s a cat, a particularly curious one.”

  “You’re right. Should we separate?”

  Before Maggie could answer the yowl began again and they both started.

  “Basement,” Sam said. He strode toward the basement door in the hallway.

  “We must have shut him in down there,” Maggie said with a wince.

  Sam yanked the door open and they glanced at the top step. There was no sign of Marshall Dillon. Sam went to take a step into the basement and a ball of fur flew past him and out the door.

  Maggie and Sam both jumped back. Sam closed the door and they followed the gray tabby down the hall and into the front room where he scurried into a corner with his back up and his teeth bared.

  “Hey, buddy.” Sam crouched down. “It’s okay. You’re all right.”

  Maggie knelt beside Sam and wiggled her fingers. Marshall Dillon hunkered low and crept forward until he was under Sam’s hand. Sam gently rubbed his head and the back of his neck until his fur went down. Then he picked Marshall Dillon up and cradled him close.

  Maggie checked all of the kitty’s limbs, looking for bites, scratches, missing fur or sore spots but Marshall Dillon looked fine. He even purred and pushed his head against Sam’s chest.

  “He seems okay,” Maggie said.

  “Maybe he just scared himself,” Sam said.

  “Well, it is a deep, dark basement,” Maggie said. “Poor guy, maybe he thought we left him.”

  Sam lifted the kitty until they were nose to nose. “Never gonna happen, buddy.”

  Marshall Dillon gently batted Sam’s nose and Maggie could swear the cat smiled. She felt a bone-deep chill pass over her skin, and she shivered. Sam saw it and gave her a half hug.

  “Well, should we go tell Marcy what we’ve decided?” Sam asked.

  Maggie glanced around the room. “Yes.”

  “Is that yes, we should tell her or yes, we’ll take it?” Sam asked.

  “Both,” Maggie said and then glanced at him. “That is, if you want to.”

  Sam grinned. “Heck, yeah! Well, Maggie O’Brien Gerber, soon to be Maggie O’Brien Gerber Collins, it looks like we have a home.”

  The light-headedness hit again, but Maggie was sure it was just a rush of joy and not a panic attack. Okay, she was mostly sure and even if it was panic she told herself that it was okay because it was sort of like manic happiness, right?

  Marcy was just ending her call as they joined her on the porch. She turned to look at them with wary eyes. Maggie assumed she was being cautious and not wanting to get her hopes up about a sale.

  Maggie knew the feeling. In her consignment shop, Maggie frequently had people come in and eyeball an expensive dress or piece of furniture and it was agony when they kept coming back to look but wouldn’t commit to making the purchase. She didn’t want to do that to Marcy.

  “We’ll take it,” Maggie said.

  Marcy just stared at them as if she was waiting for the punch line, which was amusing because Marcy wasn’t the kind of gal to joke around, especially about real estate.

  Everything about Marcy was a statement in efficiency. She wore her brown hair in a fashionable bob. Her suit was flattering: not too boxy and not too sexy but just right. Her pumps were sensibly thick heeled and made for walking around houses for hours and hours while still being stylish.

  She wasn’t one to flirt or tease. She took her listings and her sales very seriously, wanting to sell homes but also to make sure everyone was happy.

  Sam and Maggie glanced at each other. Marcy wasn’t moving.

  “Marcy, did you hear Maggie? We’ll take it,” Sam said.

  “The house?” Marcy clarified.

  “Yes, the house, this house,” Maggie said. “We would like to buy it.”

  “You would?” Marcy asked. “Oh, my gracious. You’re not teasing me? You mean it.”

  “Of co
urse we do,” Sam said.

  “We wouldn’t tease you about something like that,” Maggie said.

  “Oh!” Marcy pressed both of her hands to her mouth as if trying to keep in a whoop of joy. Then she threw her arms wide and hugged both Maggie and Sam with Marshall Dillon squished in the middle. “I can’t believe it. I’ve finally sold the Dixon house after five long years. This is amazing. I just know you’re going to be so happy here.”

  As she started to cry, Maggie met Sam’s gaze over Marcy’s head and she grinned. Reducing your Realtor to happy tears of joy had to be a good sign, right?

  * * *

  “Maggie, you need to make a decision about the venue for your wedding. Did you get a dress yet? What about flowers? Daffodils are lovely.”

  Maggie would have said something but since her mother, Lizzie O’Brien, didn’t pause for breath it didn’t seem her input was warranted.

  As her mother continued to grill her about the wedding, Maggie puttered around the house that had been her home since she had said yes to Charlie Gerber more than twenty years before.

  It was small and cozy. Just right for a widowed mom and her young daughter, which was why Maggie had never moved. Well, that and the fact that making ends meet had meant living simply and cheaply without a lot of extras. The kitchen was woefully out of date as were the floors, the doors and the baths. In fact, she wondered if her love of vintage came from the fact that her home was still very much in its original state.

  As she walked from the living room to the kitchen, she ran a finger over the pencil marks that had charted her daughter’s height through the years. She’d have to remember to take a picture of it for posterity’s sake. The last mark made was right before Laura left for college in Pennsylvania. How had the years passed so swiftly?

  The corner of the living room where their Christmas tree always stood made her chest tighten at the thought that they would never have their beautiful angel smile benevolently down at them from that corner again.

  “Maggie, are you listening?”

  “Yes, Mom,”