Free Catharine Bramkamp - Real Estate Diva 03 - In Good Faith by Catharine Bramkamp Page A

since Beverley supported it.  I’d take over a car-full on my way back from the Broker’s Open tomorrow morning.
    I wandered over to the kitchen counter.
    I rifled through her paper work in the kitchen; most important paper work starts in the kitchen.  I found the listing agreement in a basket next to the LAN line phone. I flipped to page six.
    “ You signed the listing agreement.” I pointed out.
    “ Did not.” He contradicted mildly.
    “Did so. Is this your signature?”  I brought it over to him.
    He glanced at the page. “No, but it’s good enough, Benjamin M. Weiss.”
    “ What does the M stand for?”
    “ Manly.”
    I did not take the bait.  “She said you’d be happy to sign.” 
    “I’m sure she did, and I’m sure this wasn’t the first time. All those loans against the house? I probably happily signed for those, too.  She was clever.”
    “Apparently not that clever.” I pointed out.
    “The police said she liquidated everything, all her accounts, and obviously, she sold the art. I wonder to whom?”
    I reviewed the listing price. “How am I going to explain the murder?”  I said out loud.
    “Accident?”
    “They said that in the papers.”
    He nodded. “That detective? The one who raced up the stairs?”
    “Yes, I thought he was the coroner or something.”
    “Doesn’t matter. At the station, the detective told me they didn’t want to release the details of the murder, so the confessions would be easy to cull out. Apparently, there are a number of people happy to confess to murders.”
    “Gets them on TV.” I confirmed.
    “Exactly, and when they don’t get on TV?”
    “It must piss them off.” I concluded, “but wouldn’t that be dangerous?”
    “What, pissing off a psychopathic murderer?  The police don’t think he’ll strike again, and they went to great lengths to tell me they thought this was personal.”
    “About as personal as you can get.” I agreed.  “Listen, what about reducing the price?” I suggested tentatively.
    “Of course. How much do we need to sell it for?”
    “Not too low, I want to give you a bit of wiggle room.” I suggested.
    “Drop it to the bare bone minimum, enough to cover the commissions and the loans if that’s possible.”
    I calculated. “It’s possible.” I glanced up at him. “Thanks.”
    “ I always pay people for their work.” He said seriously.

Chapter 6
     
    Thursday was not shaping up into a fun-filled day . First off, it was raining, not unusual, but it did contribute to the general atmosphere of gloom and despair for the day. To make the 8:30 MLS (Multiple Listing Service) and Broker’s meeting, I had to get out of bed earlier than my usual time.  There was no Ben to comfort me or cajole me or otherwise entertain me in the dark morning, which left me feeling flat and uninspired.
    I groped around in the shower for my shampoo and banged my elbow. Because it mattered, my hair didn’t cooperate . I couldn’t find my favorite Charles Jordan boots, and was forced to settle for my second favorite pair of Anne Klein boots, which were brown not black, which necessitated a whole new whole outfit. To add insult to injury, the skirt that matched the boots didn’t fit, and I had to come up with yet a third option. 
    I hit every red light from my house up to the Hyatt and had to circle the parking lot twice before finding a space big enough to prevent the doors of the Lexus from getting dinged.
    A two-story Christmas tree overpowered the lobby.  It festooned with enormous red bows that gradually decreased in size as they reached the top. A red draped angel with a tiny gold trumpet hovered over the fake pine tree. Hark and all that. I turned to the  greeter.  She nodded, as I approached the table with the Rivers Bend Realtor Association Sign prominently displayed.
    The cost for breakfast is eight dollars , says on on the sign.  I pulled out my wallet and found two, one dollar bills. 
    “Will you take a check?” I