Free Moving Can Be Murder by Susan Santangelo

apologize,” the
young man said. “I should have introduced myself when you answered
the door.”
    He took my right hand and crushed it in his.
I noticed his palms were wet, which always grosses me out.
    “I’m Jack Cartwright.” He continued to pump
my hand. “My family and I saw your house this afternoon, and we
just love it. We want to buy it. It’s exactly what we’ve been
looking for.
    “Oh, hello, Mrs. Green.” This last was
directed at Nancy who, hearing voices, had come to the front of the
house along with My Beloved. She hates to miss anything.
    “Why, Jack,” Nancy said. “This is a
surprise. Why are you back here so soon? Are you alone? Where’s
your Realtor?”
    “I was anxious to see how our offer was
received,” Jack confessed, flashing his perfect teeth again in a
boyish grin. “I guess I shouldn’t have showed up this way, but
Alyssa is in love with this house. She thinks it’s perfect for us.
And the fact that it’s in this neighborhood, right near her family,
is great. I love seeing her so happy, and I hope you’ll accept our
offer.
    “Mr. Andrews,” Jack said, turning the full
force of his considerable charm on My Beloved and shaking his hand,
“it’s such a pleasure to meet you, sir. The job you’ve done
landscaping the house is spectacular. I can tell you’ve taken years
to get the yard looking as good as it does. What curb appeal. I
want to hear all about how you did it. I know I have a lot to
learn, and you’re obviously a master gardener.”
    Huh? Give me a break. Our yard is nice, but
Jim had a long way to go to qualify as a master gardener. Jack
Cartwright reminded me a little of Eddie Haskell on Leave It To
Beaver. Remember him? “That’s a lovely dress you’re wearing, Mrs.
Cleaver.” What a suck-up.
    Of course, My Beloved reacted to this
shameless flattery like a typical guy. The next thing I knew, he
and Jack were settled at the dining room table chatting away like
old buddies.
    I rolled my eyes at Nancy. She, however,
pulled up a chair to join them. And had the nerve to pour each of
them an Irish coffee.
    Jeez.
    Was I the only one who thought Jack
Cartwright was pushy? And noticed that, when he talked, he never
made eye contact with the person he was talking to? He also was
adept at bending the truth, if his remark about Jim being a master
gardener was any indication of his character.
    I ignored that little voice in my head that
announced, Takes one to know one.
    I was nitpicking. Trying to find fault with
the poor guy so I wouldn’t have to sell his family our house. Truth
to tell, I was also not happy that, if the house sale went through,
my persnickety neighbor Sara Miller would have free rein here. I
could already hear her, going from room to room with her daughter,
criticizing my decorating choices.
    Oh, Carol, get a grip.
    Jack and Alyssa Cartwright loved our house.
And it would be wonderful to have this place filled with a young
family again.
    So what if his palms were sweaty? He was
probably nervous.
    Well, what else could I do? I gave in,
reluctantly, and accepted the offer. And then I had a large Irish
coffee myself.
    Sláinte!

     
    The closer we came to moving day, the
grumpier I became. And we still hadn’t found a permanent place to
live. We had a temporary rental, a one-bedroom furnished apartment
the size of a shoe box. It was the only place we could find that
allowed dogs. As a bonus, we could rent week-to-week, so when we
found a property to buy, which I prayed would be soon, there
wouldn’t be a problem getting out of a lease.
    I was making slow-to-no progress with the
packing. Jim, cynic that he was, accused me of dragging my feet to
delay the closing, which was totally untrue. Since our rental was
furnished, we only needed personal items and some clothes to go
with us. The rest, including Mike’s precious comics, was going into
the storage unit since, according to our son, it was impossible for
him to come home and do his own packing on