Free Dying for a Change by Kathleen Delaney Page B

Brian, suffering from an unexpected attack of guilt, had let me take most of the things I had grown attached to over the years, and I had come away with more than my parents’ old house could hold. Now I had to figure out what to do with some of it.
    By the time I had hung a few more pictures, repacked several boxes, stored them in the work shop next to the garage, and put the empty ones out for the trash man, it was after ten. I was out of excuses, so I exchanged jeans and sweatshirt for wool slacks and a sweater and headed for the office.
    Sharon looked up as I came in and followed me over to my desk.
    “ I understand you are going to list Alice Ives’ old house.”
    I nodded, too surprised to say anything. How did everyone know all this stuff?”
    “ Have you talked to her about a marketing price?”
    “ No,” I admitted. “I have no idea how to go about it.”
    “ You might start by going to look at these,” She put several sheets of paper down on my desk. “These are listings of homes a little like Alice’s. They’ll be good comparables.” She walked away.
    I can take a hint. I picked up the phone, made an appointment to see each house on the sheets, and left.
    I’ll bet Sharon wouldn’t let a little thing like unpacking dishes deter her from working real estate, I thought. She seemed to be doing something constantly. Not that the others didn’t work hard. Everyone was either on the phone or running out the door to an appointment. Once I got the hang of this, it looked like my free time would be gone. I shrugged as I climbed in my car. Sounded good to me.
    This is the part of real estate I’m going to like best, I thought, as I pulled up to the first house. The three I had scheduled had all been built during different periods. This one dated back to the late eighteen hundreds. The high ceilings, richly ornate moldings, and long, narrow rooms, one opening on to another transported me back to another time. The people who owned the home had done a marvelous job restoring it. Patterned carpets, cabbage roses on the wallpaper, even the old chandeliers still hung from the ten foot ceilings. The bathrooms had clawfoot tubs with lace shower curtains on round rods above them, but I was amused to note the kitchen stove burned gas, not wood. I stood for a moment, looking at the steep stairs leading up to the bedrooms and down into the basement, and marveled at those women, trailing skirts and petticoats, traveling those treacherous steps many times a day.
    The next two places were closer in age and style to Alice’s, built just after the turn of the century. Larger rooms, wider stairs, much better kitchens, but still no closet space. Neither of them was kept as well as Aunt Mary’s or mine. I wondered what I would find at Alice’s.
    By now I was hungry, so I stopped at Kenny’s market for some lunch. My mother had always shopped there, and my mouth watered at the thought of homemade breads, mile high sandwiches, and Mrs. Kenny’s lemon pie. The deli counter had given way to prepackaged meats, the fresh bread smell had disappeared behind plastic wrap, and the only pie was in the freezer. I had to content myself with something on a Styrofoam tray and a carton of milk.
    Sighing, I returned to the office to munch my greasy tuna and work on my presentation for Alice, but my mind kept drifting away from real estate and onto other matters.
    Finally, I grabbed the telephone book, wrote down two addresses, gathered my things together, and said to Dottie, “If anyone needs me, I can be reached at home later.”
    “ Alright.” She looked up at me intently. “Ellen...”
    I stopped expectantly and waited.
    “ Oh, nothing.” She dropped her eyes to the desk again and her voice died away.
    I hesitated, not wanting to walk out on her. “I’m in no hurry. If there’s something I can do...?”
    “ No, it’s just that...”
    She broke off as Ray appeared at her desk and dropped a couple of files on top of her other