Free Hell Fire by Ann Aguirre

didn’t expect much of a burn; there shouldn’t be any trauma associated with this object. The pain was slight, and the coat showed me that they usually walked out together. He made sure she got to her car safely each night, and he sometimes stood by the driver’s side, chatting to her, after he shut her door. Wonder if he knows how much that means. I could see her face tilted up toward him, reflected back in the rearview mirror, and these moments meant everything to her.
    “You don’t have time to talk to these folks tonight, Phillip,” Miss Pettigrew said then. “They should schedule a proper appointment.”
    And you won’t miss your nightly date.
    The real estate agent dismissed her concerns with a wave of one meaty paw. “Go home, Agnes. I can talk to these folks without you hovering, so don’t worry. You won’t miss Wheel of Fortune . Lock up on your way out and flip the sign to ‘Closed.’ I can surely handle this myself.”
    Her lips drooped as she gathered up her purse, but she didn’t waste any time in getting herself out the front door. She probably wanted to make it home before dark. I offered a pleasant wave, and she frowned before turning to hurry down the walk, head down in anticipation of a coming storm.
    “Thanks for your help,” I said with a polite smile. He was the first normal person we’d met in Kilmer. He didn’t seem nervous or frightened—just eager to sell us something, which fit the real estate agent profile to a T. His face was broad as an iron skillet, pink skinned, and smooth. His eyes shone like blue stones, but with considerably more warmth.
    “Not at all. I’m Phil Regis.” He shook my hand with a grasp that ground my knuckles a bit, and then he ran a hand through his salt-and-pepper hair, sheepish, as if he constantly forgot his own strength.
    Mr. Regis stepped back and waved us into his office, a good-sized space with a big cherry desk littered with pens and paperwork. The pictures in here were prettier than the ones in the waiting area, good watercolors that might be worth something. I’d need to look at the signatures before I could say for sure. Chance and I settled into padded vinyl chairs on the other side of the desk.
    “Now then,” Regis said, “I heard something about y’all needing a rental. Are you newlyweds? Because I could probably get you a mortgage cheaper than you’d expect. It’s a buyer’s market, you know.” He gave a deep laugh that swelled his chest like a bellows.
    Chance shook his head, though I don’t know whether he was disagreeing with the buyer’s market, the mortgage, or our being newlyweds. “We’re just vacationing in the area. I’d like to let for a month while we’re exploring all the historic sites nearby.”
    “Huh,” said Regis. It was a thoughtful sound, not a doubtful one. “We don’t have much to rent, but I do manage a couple properties that might fit the bill.”
    “The receptionist mentioned as much,” I said. “Can we take a look?”
    “Sure, sure.” He stood, crossing past us into the waiting area. We heard him rummaging through Agnes’s desk; then he returned shortly with a black three-ring binder lofted in triumph. “She tries to hide it from me. Fool woman thinks I’ll put the pages out of order or something.” Regis shook his head, but I noted underlying fondness in his tone.
    “She did seem protective,” Chance observed.
    “And isn’t that a hoot?” Regis laughed. “She seems to think the world will come to an end if someone sees me without an appointment. It’s beneath my consequence, according to Agnes.”
    “Thanks for seeing us,” I said again, hoping to nudge him back on track.
    The real estate agent flipped through the binder, then tapped a white piece of paper with handwritten notes. I admired the penmanship, even upside down, and imagined Agnes deserved the credit. A picture had been stapled to the top of the listing. He spun the book so we could take a look.
    “This farmhouse