Free Hell Fire by Ann Aguirre Page B

relatively useless information, I said, “So, tell us about the apartment.”
    “Well, it’s cozy,” said Regis. “All utilities included, of course. It has one bedroom, a sitting room, full bath, and a kitchenette with two electric rings for cooking.”
    Real estate agent to real-world translation: Cozy equals claustrophobic.
    “Could you break down the pros and cons of each?” Chance asked.
    This should be funny. I didn’t think salesmen ever admitted anything had cons.
    “Well, the farmhouse has a lot more space, but it’s outside town, less convenient, but private and nicely wooded. The bachelor apartment is small, but it’s centrally located. You’d be in walking distance to a little corner store and a couple of nice shops on the square.”
    “What’s the rent on them?” The fact that we hadn’t asked before now probably told Regis we had more money than sense; a couple of yuppies fresh from the big city, curious how the other half lived.
    “I can let you have the farmhouse for seven hundred dollars,” Regis said, after pretending to run some numbers on an adding machine. “Since it’s smaller, three hundred seventy-five for the apartment.”
    “Could we have a minute to discuss it?” Chance curled his hand around the nape of my neck. The gesture looked possessive, but I knew it was mostly for show.
    “Of course. I’ll just run down the block to get coffee. Would y’all like anything?”
    We both shook our heads, bemused by this small-town mentality. We could have rifled his office looking for cash and valuables and taken off long before he returned, if we were lying about wanting to rent property in town.
    “Town or country?” Chance asked after we’d confirmed Regis’s departure.
    I sighed. “Hell, I don’t know.”
    “I think it’d be harder for someone to sneak up on us out at the farmhouse, and it’s easier to ward a house than an apartment inside an office building.”
    “You don’t want to stay in town,” I guessed.
    “I’m not crazy about shoe box flats, and I don’t want people to be able to mark our movements so easily.”
    “The house it is,” I said. “Though I’m none too excited about the prospect of a ghost and the proximity of those woods.”
    Chance grinned. “We’re safe unless Birnam Woods marches on Dunsinane?”
    “Funny,” I grumbled. “The yard will be better for Butch, anyway.”
    By the time Regis returned, we were sitting quietly, hands folded. The rich, slightly bitter scent of coffee wafted from his Styrofoam cup as he rounded his desk. He set it down on the edge and regarded us expectantly. “Did y’all decide?”
    “The house,” Chance told him. “But Corine is a little nervous about the prospect of staying where someone passed away. I’m afraid I can’t offer more than five fifty. If you can’t help us, I’m sure there’s another little town down the road.”
    Even when he had plenty of money, Chance was always a businessman. I could hear him saying it now: Never take the first offer. Regis’s face fell.
    “Now, let me run the numbers again, sir. Don’t be hasty.”
    I stifled a smile as Chance offered his impassive look. “If you think it would help.”
    “Six hundred,” Regis finally said, sweating. “Final offer. I pay the utilities on the house, you see. The power is still on, though I had the phone cut off. And if you’re out there, using up the juice, I just can’t afford to—”
    “That’ll be fine,” I cut in. I didn’t want to stroke the man out.
    “The cook stove is gas,” he went on, “but there’s a propane tank out back. You should be fine for a month. I’ll need one hundred down as a damage deposit. If you want to write me a check, I won’t cash it. I’ll just hold it until the month’s out.”
    Regis seemed to think, probably based on my messy, disheveled appearance, that we were strapped for cash. Well, I defied him to look any better after being shoved across a wet, muddy street. I set my